The Charity

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  The clock ticked up to the hour. Devlin walked through the door and looked around. “Teams’ll be here soon. Roads are pretty rough.”

  The sheriff’s expression did not change.

  Devlin continued. “I had to dress you down like I did in front of everyone yesterday. The griping I got from the teams and those reporters didn’t leave me a choice. This thing has been a mess from the beginning and I thought it best that I retake command.”

  Michael walked over to the window and leaned against its sill.

  Devlin mistook the sheriff’s silence as anger. “Michael, we couldn’t send out another team yesterday after Jessica. I sent a team up to the cabin at first light this morning on snowmobiles. Her last transmittal was pretty garbled so we figure the batteries were dying in the transmitter, too. Hunches are she made it there after the radio died. We’ll know soon enough.” The ranger took a gulp of steaming coffee.

  “Yeah.” He looked at the deepening snow. He pushed himself away from the window and switched on the shortwave radio. The nasally voice of the meteorologist filled the room and droned on about the weather system.

  Devlin got up from his perch by the wood stove and switched off the shortwave. He turned to the microphone. The two men stared at one another. “I have those reports memorized already and nothing’s changing. It’s warming up some. Snow’s getting heavier, but no break until this afternoon, if we’re lucky.” He flipped on the mike.

  “Base to Camp. Base to Camp. Status check.”

  The radio sputtered back to life. “Camp Team. Just arrived. No sign of Ridge Team. Repeat. No sign of Ridge Team.”

  “Do you have a reading on the transmitter beacon?”

  “Negative.”

  “Can you make an area sweep?”

  “Negative.”

  “Acknowledged. Base out.”

  The ranger rubbed his brow with his fingertips. “They can’t go forward and make a search.” He looked at the clock. “It took them nearly four hours to get there as it was and most of that was on pretty good trails. I told them to sit tight for a while and make it back by nightfall.” His sharp eyes settled on the sheriff. “Any word on that APB you sent out on the mother?”

  Michael straightened and shook his head. As soon as Devlin called with news that the mother had disappeared, he called in a statewide search for her. He did not tell the ranger that Toby was included in this effort. “No.”

  “That’s it. That’s all we can do.”

  Without a word, Michael grabbed his pack and walked out into the storm.

  The wind did not stop its attack as Jessica and her captor trekked along the spine of the mountain. It raced up one side of the peak, caught them in its frenzied dance of indecision, and then dashed down the other side of the mountain. In spite of its velocity, the air had softened its abrasive assault, indicating that the temperature was rising. Small snowflakes were colliding into one another, forming larger and larger flakes. Droplets of rain chased the lumbering snow downward, forcing still more dampness into all that moved.

  They had been walking in silence for what felt like days. The snow was holding the moisture that the skies had given it and offered more and more resistance to being moved. Fatigue and cold depleted Jessica. Each time she slowed or faltered, Gapman would be forced into her back pushing her on.

  Her leg was past pain. Mercifully, snow had wedged itself down into her boot and numbed it. But what was merciful on one point was hell on another. The injury, the nearly frozen leg, the dampness from her own perspiration, her raw hands, and the moisture from the increasingly wet snow was siphoning off her body heat. A snow-encrusted sweater did little to hold in warmth. She was shivering and groggy with exposure.

  Her walk was more of a series of lunges, using her uninjured leg to propel her forward and almost dragging her broken leg behind her. Her muscles were long passed exhaustion and she was falling more frequently. Snowdrifts were as deep as her waist and she struggled to plow through each one. The final drift felt more like a wall of cement than snow. She heaved her body against it and nothing budged. She remained motionless.

  “Move.”

  She worked herself into a sitting position in the drift despite the huge horse nudging her forward. Gapman had to be trusted not to trample her. “I can’t. I’ve got to rest.”

  Legs slammed against Gapman’s side and the horse grunted in confusion as he refused his rider’s command.

  Jessica watched in horror as the man exploded in a murderous rage. The figure leapt off the back of the horse and his arms began flailing at the horse’s face. Gapman reared and tried to get away from the onslaught, but the rope bridle reins in the man’s hands held him fast. The man swung his arms and beat the horse with his fists. An inhuman howl filled the air. Insane with the anger at the horse’s refusal, the man grabbed the green roll and produced a long, stainless steel knife. Gapman fought back against the man as hard as he could.

  “Stop it! Don’t hurt him!”

  Jessica tried to hurl herself at Gapman’s attacker, but her legs had turned into sodden logs. Her attempt landed her at the killer’s boots. One boot kicked her aside and she thudded backward, stunned.

  For an instant, the wind seemed to hold its breath. Then the howl changed timbre and fell into a laugh.

  The sound sent frozen spikes of fear down her spine. Her bones clattered with cold and emotion. As she watched in horror the continued brutalizing of Gapman, she remembered other times that laugh sliced into her life. She closed her eyes and prayed.

  The horse’s shrill scream was followed by something hard thudding onto the snow. Jessica opened her eyes to see Gapman, running away through the woods, with an open wound on his side. His attacker stood watching. Laughing. The saddle and gear had fallen to the ground, the long bladed knife was tossed on top of the heap. The knife had been used to slice off the saddle by cutting the girth, injuring Gapman with the same motion.

  For the second time that day, Jessica looked into the eyes of her captor. Through them, she could look straight down into hell. She wanted to just give in to the weight of sleep that dragged over her. Sleep? Anything. Something had to make this nightmare go away.

  “Give me your sweater.”

  The request was ludicrous. Jessica put her head back and opened her mouth as if to laugh. No sound came out. Arms came down and yanked the sweater off her. Soft tendrils of steam curled up from her sweat soaked shirt.

  The man smiled at her body.

  She was too debilitated to protest. Only instinct guided her to fold into a tight ball.

  She lay there for hours. When the woods came into focus again, the snow had stopped and the wind had died down. She forced her shivering and stiffened arms to bring her frozen hands to her face. The little bit of snow in her palm did not melt.

  The sense that another person was close by slowly registered through her grogginess. Using every morsel of determination, she summoned her chattering body to obey. Rolling to her side, she struggled to sit up.

  At first glance, the campsite was a model of orderliness. The snow had been pushed around to make a semicircular wall around the site to deflect much of the wind. A small tent with a bedroll was set up inside the arc and a fire had been built with her gas stove. A makeshift wooden brace held a canister of melting water. No smoke curled from the clean flames. What caught her eye as odd were two ropes suspended from a nearby tree. The drab green roll of fabric was placed neatly at the foot of the tree.

  Even her eyes were slow to obey her commands. She was shivering violently and knew she was freezing to death and needed help. Summoning all of her strength, she forced herself to think clearly, rationally. Her gaze moved sluggishly around the site, reviewing each object. She stopped when she saw the man.

  He was sitting off to one side on a tree stump he had cleared of snow. He stared at Jessica without moving, eyes focused.
Waiting.

  “I... I’m f-f-f-freezing.”

  His expression did not change. She waited for a response. Getting none, she tried again.

  “P-p-p-please. I... I‘m-m f-freezing.”

  His lips pulled back, showing his teeth. “I know.”

  He had been watching her for hours, first trudging onward through the snow without so much as a whimper, then more slowly, struggling with each step. The hours appraising her abilities while she tried to free herself from his trap were well spent. He knew exactly what it would take to break her and he was savoring every minute of it. This was the part of his job that he liked the best, and he had no intention of rushing.

  The pride he felt flowed from the sense of duty he had to the cause. Performing his orders, he always succeeded in what he did, taking enjoyment out of the price his enemies paid for their actions. Today was no different, except that the score was being settled across generations.

  “Let me go. Th-this is c-crazy.”

  He stood up and pulled his hood down farther over his head. “I’ll be finished with you soon enough.” He glanced over at the ropes.

  The ropes were strung over the trees in the fashion that hunters use to hoist their large game up for cleaning. It reminded her of crossties. The realization crystallized within her. She forced herself to sit upright, hugging her knees to her chest.

  “It’s over now. K-killing me won’t stop M-Magnus from going to jail. It won’t bring back the Charity.”

  A shrill laugh caught in his chest. “Ah, Missy. Ya jest don’t seem to understand. It isn’t the old man that I’m doin’ this for.”

  Jessica focused on his mouth as he talked. Her brain was fighting hard to understand the words, and bore down in concentration. It was as if he was speaking a foreign language. She could only continue with her original thought.

  “I... I’ve a-already g-given my testimony. Sh-Shea’ll c-convict him.”

  Something like enjoyment flashed across his face. “I don’t think so, Missy. Shea’s dead and that ol’ man’ll n’er make it to trial.”

  Two words jelled and seeped into her head. “Shea’s d-dead?”

  “I had my orders. A shame though, it was a fast death for him.” Ahh, much too fast. There was no satisfaction out of that one. This one’ll be different.

  That’s not true, Shea’s coming here. Jessica opened her mouth to protest, then stopped. She lifted her eyes to the sky. It was late afternoon. “Th-they’ll send out teams again. Th-they’ll f-find you.”

  “They won’t look here for days. That sheriff of yours has been a great help to me.”

  Jessica held her breath. “Magnus’ son.”

  The scar rippled. “Aye. And the heir to the Charity.”

  She put her head down on top of her knees. She had been a fool to come back. It was Michael that insisted she help with the search and it was he who managed to get her alone on the mountain. Serving as Magnus’ successor, this soldier was going to carry out his orders. She thought of Rowdy Howe and the way this madman made Howe’s death look like an animal mauling. She squeezed her eyes shut against the reality. Her thoughts floated off the mountain. No family. No friends. She wanted just to let go and willed herself to sleep.

  The killer looked at the small figure of the woman hunched in the snow with satisfaction. No one who ever witnessed his work survived, and she had been a thorn in his side for too long. He remembered each one of his killings, savoring the details. Who they were was irrelevant. They were all worn-out cogs in a machine that had to be replaced. This woman escaped from him twice. He had taken great pains to make sure it would not happen again.

  He reached down and yanked Jessica to her feet, using one hand to pull her upright and the other hand to keep a tip of his knife pointed to a spot below her chin. It took seconds before her frozen limbs uncoiled enough to simulate a standing position. Satisfaction crept over him as she let out a cry of pain. The fun was beginning. He would take his time to hoist her up in the ropes and cut off her clothes. Her white skin would grow pink with cold. Then he would go to work with his knives. The scar twitched upward. He half pushed, half dragged her over to the tree.

  Terror was clouding what little ability she had left to think clearly. Remembering how easily he had kicked her aside before, she knew she was too weak with pain and too frozen to be any match for him. She looked around the mountainside and tried to get her bearings. The peaks looked the same. The trees were too thick and their shadows too dark to get an impression of the terrain.

  Shadows? Jessica looked at the sky again. Thick gray clouds were breaking up. An occasional patch of blue sky would show, letting the last of the day’s sunlight spot through. The search teams. The snow had stopped and the search teams would be dispatched again.

  Delirium played with her. She made her body as clumsy and as hard to move as possible. The fire. Maybe if she just...

  Channeling the last of her energy, she forced her uninjured leg out and down into the snow. The action caused a thick ball of snow to form under her foot. With the same movement, working her toe under the ball, she flicked it up. It landed just short of the flames.

  The killer’s laughter filled the woods. “Ha! Missy. Ya got ta do better than that, ya know.” He beat her for her attempt at survival, the blows stunning her and filling her vision with stars and blackness. Her groans of pain warmed him. He pulled her closer to the tree, wrapping one arm around her neck and pulling it tight to prevent her from squirming. He used his free hand to balance the heft of a knife while he reached for a rope. The pressure on her neck was cutting off her breathing. She began to gasp for air.

  “Shut up!” The command was emphasized bringing the knife’s point back up to her throat. His head turned to the right.

  A snapping sound sifted toward them. He cocked his head toward it and looked at the fire. Jessica’s kick had toppled the brace of wood. The flames licked at the logs, making curls of dark smoke.

  He focused again on his task and moved to pull a rope around Jessica’s arm.

  The snapping and hissing of the fire did not mask the sound of a gun being cocked. All of his muscles instantly tensed, readying for a response. The killer turned toward the sound, using Jessica as a shield.

  “Let her go.”

  The killer’s body relaxed as soon as he saw who had joined them. “Ah. Sheriff Connaught, you’re just in time.”

  “Conant. Let her go.” Michael stood about twenty feet away with both arms outstretched, hands clasped around his gun.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Jessica’s head was pulled backward by the killer’s arm under her chin. She could feel the smooth edge of the blade on her neck and could not speak. She could only catch a glimpse of Michael. His eyes were locked onto them.

  “Those are my orders. Do it.”

  “Aye. If those are the orders from the chairman himself, then of course I have to obey. But are they?”

  Michael worked his way closer to them. His gun never wavered from its mark.

  “This is not the way to do it. You’ve got to stop.”

  The killer cackled. “I have my orders from your father to kill her and I’m going to carry them out. Who are you to tell me what’s the right way to do things, eh?”

  “You said it yourself. I’m the chairman. Those were my father’s orders, not mine.”

  “Aye, but you never changed them, did you.” He paused and shifted the knife in his hand. “Old Liam and the others don’t think you should be the successor. They think you don’t have what it takes to lead them. Everyone knows your father wanted your brother to lead. He tried to groom young Liam to take over as chairman. Your brother’s vision of a unified Ireland burned a hole in his belly so he had the passion, but we all knew he didn’t have the ability. You had the ability, but your mother stole your passion and robbed you of our loyalty.”
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br />   Michael looked at Jessica. Her eyes were closed and a thin line of red appeared at the edge of the blade on her throat. He thought of his uncle in Ireland. “Old Liam would never support you.”

  “Wouldn’t he? What have you done for them except throw money at insignificant causes? Money makes for interest, not loyalty. Your father knew how to build loyalty through action. He knew how to lead and use my talents.” His lips pulled back into a misshapen grin. “They will be loyal to me for a very long time and if they see me at your side they will know they have a true leader—a true successor to Magnus. Prove yourself now and you will never have to question their loyalty or support.”

  “Old Liam supports me.”

  “No. He doesn’t. He doesn’t think you have the guts to lead the cause. Just getting Magnus out of the way by putting him in jail won’t cement Liam’s—or your—following.” He put his head back and smiled. “Liam did like the touch of the lighter, though. Nicely done, lad.”

  “The lighter?”

  “Yes, of course, Mickey. We all know the nail in yer father’s coffin was havin’ that Cabot fellow give his perfect testimony about that lighter. You put your father away as well as anyone could. Liam liked that, but he needs more.” He shifted his arm and drew the tip of the blade down Jessica’s throat. She let out a small gasp of pain.

  A bare flicker of disgust crossed Michael’s face. “You’re lying. I think it’s you that needs more.”

  Breathless laughter escaped from the killer’s throat. “Perhaps that’s true, too.” His black eyes moved to the ropes. “I think it’s time you made a decision. Your money thrown at our affairs isn’t enough. Either you lead us or yer out.” He shifted Jessica’s body toward the tree, making sure she stayed between him and the gun. The shivering had subsided, and now she was little more than a stiffened doll. “C’mon, now, Mickey, ya killed yer brother for this, now kill her.”

  “My brother got himself killed.”