The wildlife probably could hear her five miles away and knew to hide. “There was that goat on the road and that wolf in the dumpster.”
Tempest snorted. “It looked more like a mangy ole dog to me.”
They walked along the path, sneakers squelching and socks becoming damp. “What about the ravens?”
“Mozart is cooler… Even his cussing sounds better.”
Ariel looked skyward, wishing that Tempest didn’t understand the Farsi curses their parrot spewed out at every opportunity. Distant birds cavorted beneath the filmy clouds, but nothing in the pale blue sky offered inspiration for a new, safer topic.
“Did’ya ever think land could be so cold and spongy?”
“Siberia was just like this.”
After a few quiet paces, she said, “I suppose hell would be worse.” Tempest kicked at a clod of muck. “Before we got here, I sorta wondered why Father never came hunting here.” She squinted at the desolate landscape. “He’d have hated it here. No place to hide. No trophies to hang on the wall, no politicians to pay off. I don’t get why Uncle Link seems to think this is such a great place.”
“Not all men are like Peter. Link has different values.”
“You mean he fishes.”
“That’s partly it.” Much as Ariel disliked the conversation's turn to the subject that haunted her, the desolate path to nowhere was as good a place to talk as any. “I wish things were different.” Tempest glanced up at her. “I wish there’d been a better way to survive than trying to hide.”
“It’s not your fault, Sherry.”
“Isn’t it? I was the one who was so certain that justice would prevail.”
Tempest bit her lower lip, then exhaled hard. “Uncle Link and Mr. Stone are nice, yet somehow, I get the feeling that they’re involved with oil. For the longest time, I thought everyone that worked with it got covered with slime and turned into an evil person. Kinda like those ole’ Ninja Turtles getting changed in that toxic sewer.”
Ariel chortle as she ruffled Tempest’s spiky mop. “That’s a clever comparison, and you’re right, the problem isn’t the oil itself, it’s the power surrounding it and the way that power infects people.”
“Yeah, I sort’a figured that out.” They reached the river and began ambling northward, along its bank. “Do you think Uncle Link would turn out like Father if he was richer and had more power?”
“I don’t know, but I think there’s some sort of basic ratio of good and bad in any given person and the way they respond to situations can show us what motivates them.” Tempest stared at her as if she was speaking Greek. “Okay, let me try to explain another way: some people are super good – Mother Teresa for instance – she would have done anything for anyone just for the satisfaction of helping or giving. That’s the mark of a very good person. On the other hand, some people are willing to do most anything for power or some form of wealth and they never do anything nice for anyone unless they expect something ten times better to come to them because of it.”
“Like Father.”
Ariel nodded. “Peter will always be the standard I measure evil against.”
“Until he found out that we knew about him, he sorta seemed okay.” Tempest sighed. “Sometimes I wish we’d never found out who he really was.” She glared at the river’s calm waters.
“Me, too.” If they hadn’t found out and confronted him, their mother might still be alive. Ariel wondered if she’d be practicing pediatrics in some nice, safe, warm place, right now, if the truth had never been spoken aloud. The creepy feeling was getting worse with each step. “Let’s sit down for a while.”
“Here?” Tempest’s voice squeaked with surprise. Ariel nodded. “But the ground is like a icky sponge.”
“Then let’s just slow down. We’re not running a race, after all and so few people see this river, we should take our time and admire it.” Tempest glanced at her as if she’d lost her mind. The ominous feeling was getting so bad that Ariel wondered if she was losing it. Even at a slower pace, her sense of impending doom worsened. Ariel clenched her teeth and tired to shove aside the unwanted feeling.
“What about preachers?” Tempest asked.
Ariel frowned, as she tried to understand the question. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you said Mother Teresa was good. Does that mean that you think everyone who is doing something with religion is good? I mean what about that evangelist guy who took all those donations and bought his dogs that great five-thousand-dollar doghouse? Was he doing good or not?”
”You can’t judge goodness by a person’s profession. The good or bad parts depend on the person’s reason for doing what they’re doing.” Ariel chewed the inside of her cheek. “Maybe the guy who asked everyone for money to do good honestly thought those dogs needed a special kennel.” Tempest snorted. “I think his choice was weird, too. A lot of time, people go into a profession like that because they feel it’s something they need.”
“Kinda like shrinks going into psychology because they’re nutso?”
“Some have probably been motivated by that, but you shouldn’t make such a big generalization.” Ariel grinned. “For instance, would I be correct if I said all blonds were dumb?”
“No!”
She nodded. “You get the point - we can’t judge religion by the charlatans, even if they make big headlines.”
Tempest stooped down and picked a tiny blue flower. She twirled it between her fingers, staring at it as if it had all the answers in the universe. “I suppose you’re right.”
The uneasy sensation of approaching disaster tightened around Ariel’s chest, making it hard to breathe. She’d thought a walk would ease this awful feeling, but it was getting worse and worse.
Tempest leaned forward and touched the water. She jerked back, staring at her finger. “It’s cold as ice.”
So was the ground under Ariel’s boots. “In the Arctic, things never really warm up.”
“Who are they?” Tempest pointed down river.
Ariel looked downstream in surprise. They hadn’t seen another living soul, since they left the airfield. But about a half mile downstream, two fishermen, dressed in the latest outdoors wear and carrying expensive looking poles, were organizing their equipment on the bank. “They look like fishermen to me,” she managed to say, as a wave of nausea washed over her.
Tempest gave her an exasperated look. “Surely, fish can’t live in that.” She pointed an accusing finger at the water. “They shouldn’t be able to move a fin.”
“Plants and animals can exist in some amazing environments.” Though Ariel wasn’t watching them, she was as aware of the fishermen as if they’d been Peter and his brother. Something deep inside her urged her to flee as far away from them as possible. And another inner voice cautioned her that running would be a fatal mistake.
“I think I’m going to wet my pants,” Tempest whispered.
Surely her sense of disaster hadn’t transferred to Tempest. “This is a joke, right?”
“No.” The word was barely discernible. “Don’t turn around and look but I swear that’s Father.”
Unable to heed the warning, Ariel sneaked a peek. Sure enough, one fisherman was staring at them. Though he was too far away for her to be certain, he appeared to be the right build. Worse, he had dark hair and held his head the arrogant way Peter did. Had Stone and Link’s friendship been a ploy to get them to walk into a trap? She wanted to look around for his companion but knew that if it was him, her interest would attract suspicion.
“Relax.” Ariel tried to take her own advice. “Act natural. It’s probably just some man starved for the sight of a woman.” Her stomach knotted at the falsehood. Ariel picked up a few rock shards and tried to bounce them on the water. One by one, they landed with a plop in the frigid water and sank. “Link told me that the sun doesn’t set for eighty-four days in summer.”
“Sherry.” Tempest’s harsh whisper sounded near panic.
“I know he’
s still watching us. But we need to lighten up. Or at least appear to be relaxed.” She swallowed. “The down side of so much sun in summer is that it stays below the horizon for an equal length of time in winter.”
Tempest hopped from foot to foot “I want to leave.”
“Please act calm.”
“I can’t.”
“You have to try.” Ariel casually took Tempest’s hand. “Whatever you do, don’t run unless someone starts shooting at us.”
“It really is him, isn’t it?”
“I hope not.” Ariel hoped she appeared unconcerned.
“But how could he have found us in the middle of nowhere?” That was the stupidest question Ariel had ever heard. If Peter Baldwyn decided he wanted to find someone, the universe wasn’t a big enough place to hide.
“I can think of two people who knew exactly when we’d be here.”
Tempest’s eyes dilated. “No!” Tempest shook her head. “I will not believe Uncle Link works for him.”
“Enough money would probably make the Pope Peter’s lackey.” Tempest appeared faint. Ariel put her arm around her sister’s shoulders in what she hoped would look like a friendly fashion, and hauled her close to steady her, then brushed grass off her in an attempt to look like a fussy mother. “Get a grip,” she whispered. “Breathe.” Tempest managed to inhale. “That’s it.” She kept swiping at non-existent dirt until Tempest’s color returned. “You okay, now?”
Her head bobbed. “I gotta pee.” She grimaced. “Really, really bad.”
Ariel did too. With what she hoped looked like a nonchalant gesture, she indicated a path that paralleled the one they’d come on. “There is no reason in the world for Peter Baldwyn to be in Deadhorse, Alaska today or any other day. We’re probably just paranoid.” Except that she knew in the marrow of her bones it was Peter.
“There’s oil here,” Tempest whispered.
“Which is why we are probably suspecting some poor innocent man of being him.” She dusted off Tempest’s back. While she was certain they didn’t know every evil thing Peter had done, they had learned that normally his targets had ‘accidents’ after they challenged OPEC.
“Quit beating me or I really will pee.” Tempest’s sharp tone told Ariel that she was getting over her fright.
Ariel straightened and stretched. Despite her words, she’d know Peter anywhere. She prayed he couldn’t recognize them. “Let’s play a game.”
“What da’ya mean?”
“Let’s think of a song and try to walk to its beat.”
“You’re weird.”
“Thank you.” Ariel took a few steps. “I’m thinking of My Little Demon. Does it change my walking pattern?”
Comprehension suffused Tempest’s expression. “I knew it really was him.”
“Can’t we do anything for the fun of it or practice for ‘just in case’?” She hoped her tone was lighter than her sense of foreboding.
“I suppose.” Tempest’s walk resembled Elizabeth’s favorite dance, the cha-cha.
Ariel mirrored her and she giggled. “Is he still watching us?”
“Yes,” Ariel said. Odd that only Peter was watching them. The other fisherman sat slumped on the riverbank. “If I were him, I’d be watching the two silly females, too.” Hopefully he’d turn his attention to the freezing water. She boogied a few feet down the thin path. When she spun around, Tempest was mimicking her and trying to put the scare behind her, but the lone fisherman was packing his gear. Ariel didn’t see the second man or his gear. The realization that they might have been in the vicinity of a second murder, nearly brought her to her knees. Ariel fought the temptation to look for the second man. Some functioning part of her mind sorted through the likelihood of whether the other person was moving to block them, or if she’d just witnessed another assassination. Her gut told her that it was the latter and if they didn’t get to safety, they’d be next because he never left any witnesses, if he didn’t have to.
Peter picked up his gear; looked right and left, then took a deliberate step in their direction. Ariel’s heart slammed against her ribs.
Tempest struggled for breath. “He’s coming this way and he looks just like Father.”
“Everyone has a doppelganger somewhere.” Though she felt like screaming and running, she knew the only way to survive was act innocent and look oblivious. “Let’s keep moving as if we don’t have a care in the world.”
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”
“Me too.” Ariel deliberately slowed her pace. “Remember the lesson Peter taught us?”
“Which one?”
“That man is an animal. Some are predators. Some are prey. Peter is a predator. If that’s him and we move too fast, we’ll trigger his need to chase us. As is, we’re only certain where this path leads.”
“So you lied,” Tempest stopped as if turned to stone. “It really is Father.”
“I didn’t say that. I said we could use the practice, just in case we ever do see him.” Tempest snorted. “Think about this, we’re not blue-eyed blonds and I’ve lost a lot of weight. Some mornings, I don’t recognize myself in the mirror … even if that is Peter, he can’t possibly recognize us at this distance.” And if there had just been another murder, any panic on their part would seal their fate, whether they’d actually seen anything or not.
The lone fisherman paused to look around the barren landscape.
Ariel swallowed, but the lump in her throat remained. “There are millions of dark men, probably hundreds of thousands of them have that build.” A flock of birds swirled into the air, water dripping from the bellies and feet. Ariel and Tempest shaded their eyes and watched them escape.
“I wish I could fly away,” Tempest said.
They could … on a claustrophobic Cessna … if Link and Stone weren’t Peter’s accomplices.
Were they walking into another part of Peter’s trap or escaping?
Chapter 5
Tempest visibly shivered beneath the gooseflesh covering her arms. Ariel hoped that if the man behind them noticed, he chalked it to up the cool air. “If it is F-f-father, ‘nd we’d stayed where w-we were, we could’a pushed him into the r-river.” Tempest’s teeth chattered from more than the permanently frigid soil beneath the soles of their hiking boots. “That w-water is s-s-so cold he’d of surely d-died and the current would’a carried him out to sea for the p-polar bears to eat.”
Was that what had happened to the other fisherman? Ariel glanced at Tempest, who didn’t appear to have carried her train of thought to the same conclusion she had. In an attempt to avoid emotional meltdown, she teased, “What do you have against polar bears?” A glare was her only answer. She sighed. “Much as I’d like to drown Peter, I’d never be able to live with myself if I killed him.” To do so would be to behave like him and she wasn’t at all sure she could. Worse, if anyone got thrown into the river, odds were good that it wouldn’t be Peter.
“Even if it was an accident?”
“Well, maybe.” And maybe every step they were taking approached the real ambush. Would she fight Link or Stone to the death if cornered? Definitely to defend Tempest. She hoped upon hope that no matter how suspicious the coincidence seemed, Link and Stone had not purposefully lured them into a trap. “I’d never plot to murder anyone or cause serious injury.”
“That’d be too much like my father, huh?” Tears welled in her eyes.
“Exactly.”
Tempest swallowed hard. “Gramma says meanness is in his genes.” Her voice quivered. Ariel glanced at her. “And I feel it.” She pressed her palm to her chest. “I want revenge and I think I really could kill him.” Ariel shook her head. Tempest made a gasping sound as she inhaled. “I didn’t give any vow to heal and protect, like you’re stuck with and I would never want to.” Tempest’s tone sounded strangled. “What if Gramma is right and I’m turning out like him?” Tempest’s chin trembled with the message she’d extrapolated from Elizabeth’s casual comment.
“I
don’t think genetics define how a person will behave.”
“But Gramma wouldn’t lie about that.”
“No, but you might have misunderstood what she meant. Genetics gave you mom’s blond hair and blue eyes and Peter’s long legs, but those are physical features, not reactions. Genetics can not determine what a person does.”
“Well, why not?”
“Mainly, because it’s a choice.” Tempest frowned. “Okay, consider this – how did you decide to dye your hair?”
“Well, I wanted it totally different and I saw a picture in Rolling Stone with this haircut.” She patted her spikes. “Then, when I realized all black was blah, I put a few hot pink ones in.”
Ariel nodded. “You consciously made choices based on influences from external stimulus. That’s how most behavioral choices are determined. So, when it comes to behavior, parenting is much more important than genetics.” She tightened the arm around Tempest’s shoulders. “Peter’s father abused him and Giovanni, then they abused their sons and Peter probably would have abused you, if we hadn’t found out about him and run.”
“So Benji acts like Father because he was taught to, not because he was born to?”
Ariel nodded. “Peter’s father was violent, so violence became his way of life.”
“So you don’t think there’s any hope for Benji.” It was a statement, not a question.
She shrugged. “I don’t know if his behavior is an act or not, but he seems to like hunting and he certainly loves money.”
“Spending it, you mean.” Tempest sighed. “How come parents get away with teaching kids the wrong thing?”
“Lots of reasons, but most of them come down to our freedoms.”
“I’m willing to kill Father to be free.”
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