“Kate.” Palmer raised his head, blood trickling down his face. “Help me.” There was blood on his teeth.
She felt a surge of disgust. She picked up the heavy snow shovel and stood her ground, watching for any sudden movements.
“My arm… I think it’s broken,” he muttered.
Kate adjusted her grip on the shovel and wondered if she could outrun him. Even with a broken arm he might be too fast. He’d caught her before. She glanced up the mountainside. Should she risk it?
He used his good arm to wipe the blood off his face, then drew a painful breath. “I was never going to hurt you.”
She shook her head, nausea building. “Just… don’t move.”
“I was never going to hurt you, Kate. That wasn’t part of the plan. We had something, didn’t we? Didn’t you feel it?”
“Fuck you. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she hissed. Her temples throbbed. All she could hear was the pounding of her own heart. “You killed my family. And for what? For jealousy and revenge. You’re a pathetic little man.”
He had a dead stare, like a shark. She could read her immediate future in that cold, calculating gaze. “I swear to God, I was never going to hurt you.”
She stared at him with revulsion. She didn’t care. She had watched her entire world melt to zero before her eyes. “Do you really think you can manipulate me? Look at you.” She took a step backward. “I’m leaving. I don’t know if I’ll make it, but the odds are looking better for me than for you right now.”
“You can’t just walk away. That isn’t who you are.”
She glanced up the mountainside and spotted a cairn, a pile of stones hikers used for marking trails. There were drainage channels trailing down the mountainside—maybe the trek back up wouldn’t be as daunting as it had first appeared.
“Kate?”
She looked down at him.
“Don’t kid yourself,” he said. “You’re never going to forget you left me here to freeze to death.”
Syrupy waves of nausea rolled over Kate as she turned her back on him and headed for the tree line. It took all of her strength to stagger through the snow. She plowed forward, leg muscles cramping as she dug in with pounding strides.
She had only gone ten yards when she tripped over something half-buried in the snow. The shovel flew out of her hands. An old leather briefcase, thrown from the Jeep, was sticking out of the snow. Kate pulled it free.
The interior was like a salesman’s display case, with blue velvet compartments lined with small glass vials, each one tucked into its own velvet pocket. Some of the vials had scattered across the snow. She picked them up. Inside each vial was a hair sample, twined at one end—blond, brunette, redhead, raven. Each vial was carefully labeled with a name and date. She sank to her knees and gathered them all in her lap—Susie Gafford, Emera Mason, Vicky Koffman, Lizbeth Howell, Hannah Lloyd, Maggie Witt, Tabitha Davidowitz, Makayla Brayden. There were other names she didn’t recognize.
Kate searched the snow for Savannah’s vial. Where was her sister? She tore through the briefcase—there were so many vials! She poked her fingers into velvet pockets, pulling out the remnants of other girls… until she found it. Savannah Wolfe.
She collapsed in the snow, limp as a ragdoll, dazed, staring at her sister’s golden hair inside the glass vial. Her breath plumed before her.
“Kate?”
She looked up.
Palmer Dyson was towering over her.
She tried to scramble away, too late. She had no strength left. Her feet were blocks of ice. She sobbed as she groped for the shovel, an inch or two beyond her grasp.
“Do you really want to know what my plan is for you, Kate?”
60
PALMER GRABBED KATE BY the hair and lifted her up off the ground with both hands. His arm isn’t broken after all—it was just another game.
She clawed at him blindly, and he punched her in the face. Her jaw cracked as her head jerked backwards, a squib of crimson jetting across the snow. The pain was so intense, she couldn’t catch her breath.
He cupped her face and showed her the blood on his fingers. “Stop fighting me. I don’t want to kill you.” He slammed her up against a tree, and she felt herself lose consciousness for a second. He shook her until she revived, then pinned her against the tree one-armed. She practically choked on the warm blood pooling in her mouth.
He observed her carefully. “Sooner or later, we’ll all be dead. It’s so boring. Death is pedestrian.”
She spat blood, seeing light trails, and kicked out at him, but it was hopeless.
“I’ve killed more people than you know.” His tone was confiding. “Okay… so maybe I can’t be cured. Maybe I can’t change, Kate. Maybe it’s time for you to change.” He grabbed her by the throat and squeezed, applying expert pressure with his thumbs until her windpipe closed and she couldn’t breathe. He drew so close, she could feel his heartbeat right next to hers—the banging muscle tissue, heart valves squeezing open and shut, lungs expanding and collapsing. She experienced a pure shining hatred as she struggled in his arms, but he only squeezed her tighter.
“You can’t win. You know that.”
He released her, and she collapsed to her knees. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her toward the wreckage of the Jeep, smoke wafting up from the mangled mess. She twisted around, scratching and clawing at his hands, but Palmer seemed oblivious as he pulled her over to where a coil of rope lay in the snow and picked it up. Kate spotted a tire-pressure gauge a few feet away, a pencil-thin metal rod. She grabbed for it, but he hauled her upright and started looping the rope around her wrists. She screamed and tried to fight him off, struggling fiercely, but he was too strong. “It’ll be much easier if you don’t fight,” he said angrily.
“No!” She punched him in the face, and James’s ring sliced into his cheek.
He touched his cheek and felt the gash. Before he could grab her again she tackled him, and the two of them went rolling down the snowy incline. Kate scooped the tire gauge out of the snow and plunged the metal rod into Palmer’s neck, but it only penetrated about half an inch, not deep enough to do much damage. It just made him angry. He yanked it out and flung it away, then pinned her to the ground.
“Don’t move,” he said, softly. “I’m going to see you through this, kid. That’s a promise.”
“See me through what?” she asked in the smallest of voices.
“Every. Last. Thing.”
She felt a kind of transcendent numbness. “What are you going to do to me?”
“You’ll see. It won’t make any sense to you now. But the bigger picture will become clear later on.”
“What bigger picture?”
“You’re going to be all right,” he promised, wiping the blood off his face. “I’m going to take you someplace safe.”
She struggled to keep breathing through her terror. “And do what?”
“Shh.” He smoothed the hair off her face. “Don’t worry. You’ll be well fed and taken care of. You’re my Julia now.”
A welcome rush of adrenaline flooded her veins. She screamed, her voice echoing off the mountainside. Maybe somebody out there would hear her?
He clamped a hand over her mouth. “I want to tell you about your sister,” he told her. “She taught me about humility. That night, she cried at first, but then she looked at me clear-eyed. She gave in, understood there was a greater will at work, that I couldn’t be defeated. It gave me pause, because I knew what I was going to do, you see. But it was all planned. There was no stopping it. She gave me the gift of acceptance. And that’s the only thing I want from you, Kate. Acceptance.”
She heard a thumping sound and realized it was her wildly beating heart. She thought of Savannah in this man’s hands. He picked up the rope again, but before he could bind her hands together, she reached up and screwed her thumbs into his dead eyes. He cried out in pain and stumbled backwards, fighting the pitch of the slope. Kate leapt up and looked around for a weapo
n. Anything. She picked up a broken branch and flung it at him. It landed a heavy blow to his chest, and he groaned. He glared at her.
She picked up another branch and charged forward, swinging it hard at his face, the impact reverberating through her arms and chest. She could hear the bones of his nose crack as he dropped to his knees, dazed, eyes going in and out of focus. There was blood pouring out of a deep gash in his forehead. Now she had a shot.
Kate ran for the shovel a few yards away, a mad fury driving her. She grabbed it and went storming back to him, found her footing in the snow and braced herself. A monstrous energy came over her as she swung the shovel high overhead and brought it down hard on top of Palmer’s skull.
She heard a hollow sound as the impact knocked him forward, flat on his face in the snow. She watched with a total lack of emotion as he took a ragged breath and tried to crawl away on his hands and knees, pathetically inching his way down the incline toward the wreckage of the Jeep. Drops of blood splattering the snow. He stumbled to his feet and started veering right, as if he had no idea where he was. She’d injured him. Something wasn’t working in his brain.
She followed cautiously as he tried to regain to his bearings, stumbling and falling, then crawling the rest of the way toward the Jeep. He touched a dented door panel with bloody fingers. He looked around a confused instant, and then locked eyes with her.
She stood motionless, gripping the shovel. A horrifying feeling punched her in the gut as he got to his knees, reached out, and sputtered, “Kate.” Then he reeled backward and dropped like a dead weight, landing flat on his back, arms outstretched, gasoline dripping and pooling over his body.
A dull ache spread outward from her chest as she waited for him to wake up. He didn’t stir for the longest time.
“You’re lying,” she hissed. “You aren’t dead.”
She inched a little closer, ready to swing the shovel again. She felt a sick desire for his complete destruction.
Still, he didn’t move. Blood ran from his wounds, branching inkily into whiteness. She didn’t trust it. He’d lied to her before. He was probably lying now.
Very carefully, Kate crouched down next to the body. Was that him breathing? Had his eyelids flickered?
She waited. Gripping the shovel. Blinking the sweat out of her eyes.
What if he woke up and grabbed her? What if he made her his Julia? A Julia he could control?
She moved back, safely out of range.
He didn’t make a sound.
She glanced over her shoulder at the mountainside. A formation of wild geese winged by overhead. It was freezing cold. She would have to aim for the cairn and climb up the mountainside to safety. She spotted a bottled water in the snow, scooped it up and drank thirstily. Now was her chance. She looked around for her bag. There, over by the jumper cables. She rummaged around for her phone and tried calling 911 but she couldn’t get a signal. She noticed scarlet ribbons running down the front of her parka. She was covered in blood. She didn’t care. She found a first-aid kit and a couple of protein bars and shoved them in her bag. She picked up a flashlight, tested it, and tucked it in her pocket. She found her mother’s Zippo lighter at the bottom of her bag, lit it, and studied the flickering flame.
The first thing she would do when she got back home— she’d ask James to marry her. Then she’d help Maddie Ward become a normal teenage girl. She would make peace with herself.
A low groan.
Kate turned around. Oh God.
Palmer was stirring.
She pocketed the lighter and raised the shovel again.
He propped himself up and stared at her wild-eyed. He tried standing up.
“No,” she said loudly.
He stumbled to his knees. “Don’t!” she screamed. But he ignored her, and stood up to his full height.
“People pay for their actions,” he said.
The air reeked of gasoline—his jacket was soaked in it. Fear galvanized her. She took out the old Zippo and held it up threateningly. “Stay where you are! Don’t come any closer.”
He ignored her and took a step forward, while she took a staggering step back. With complete clarity she realized he wasn’t going to stop. And she’d run far enough. She lit the Zippo and threw it at him.
There was a loud whoosh, and his jacket went up in flames. A sulfurous smell filled her nostrils as she turned and ran, scrambling up the slope and crouching behind a boulder. It was a moment before she could bring herself to look back, to watch him thrashing around blindly, fueling the fire with more oxygen and collapsing next to the Jeep. He flung out his arms, his left hand hitting the leaking fuel tank, and there was a brief lull before the Jeep exploded—a sound so loud, it volleyed off the mountain in a thunderous roar as a fireball rose. Kate hugged the boulder as the shockwave rolled through her body, muscle and bone. Clods of dirt fell around her, and she shielded her head with her hands.
She waited what seemed like an eternity before she took a peek. The Jeep Renegade had flipped on its side and some of the nearby trees were on fire. Thick plumes of smoke rose from the wreckage in a steady roar. She spotted something black on the ground, flames lapping at the burnt and twisted limbs. He was dead. It was over.
She sank down into a snowdrift out of sheer exhaustion. She wondered how long it would take to freeze to death. The temptation to close her eyes was great. It would be so nice to fall asleep…
A strong wind stirred through the treetops, carrying the smoke in the opposite direction. She worried he might come crawling out of the ashes toward her. She felt her emotions unraveling. She inhaled the crisp bitter air and drew her coat collar tighter as a flock of birds passed by overhead, rushing toward the sky.
At first, she thought she was imagining the figure in the smoke. Then she realized she was looking at a girl, a girl wearing a summer dress the color of skim milk—the palest of curdled blues.
“Savannah?”
The girl walked out of the whiteness and stood before Kate. Her green eyes sparkled, and her hair fell around her shoulders in an exaggerated halo.
Kate’s head was spinning. Her skull throbbed. Grief and guilt threaded through her heart. It was time to say goodbye.
Knock knock.
Who’s there?
Savannah.
Savannah who?
See? You’ve forgotten me already.
Kate smiled. The air smelled chaotic, of balsam and dead flowers. “I’ll never forget you, little sister.” She looked around. Savannah was gone.
She wiped her tears away and made for the cairn on the side of the mountain, climbing the rugged trail past ancient evergreens, conifers, and Douglas firs. She would climb out of these woods.
EPILOGUE
Six months later
KATE PLUGGED IN HER cam and clipped an ascender to the line, heat steaming off her skin as she groped her way up the rock face. The last leg of the journey was always the hardest. She reached into her chalk bag, clapped some loose powder on her palms, and gripped the rock before adjusting her position. Her arms shook with strain as her toes sought refuge in the smallest indents, and her fingertips pressed into cracks the width of a dime.
She reached the top of the six-hundred-foot cliff and pulled herself up over the edge, breathing hard with exertion. She stood on the precipice and turned toward the morning sun, catching the light on her face and shoulders. August in Seattle. To the west was Puget Sound. To the east were the Cascade Mountains, snow-capped peaks jutting above the tree line. Down below, spread across the foothills for hundreds of miles in all directions, were the wilderness trails. A long morning hike had brought them to this crustal block after a steep drive along a wooded road. She took her bottled water out of her backpack and drank greedily, then wiped her mouth with her hand. There was a sultry, leathery smell to her sweat. It had been a tough climb, but well worth the effort.
Six months ago, Kate had crawled out of the Maine woods in the dead of winter with nothing worse than a mild case of deh
ydration and a couple of bruised ribs. Only her psyche had been battered and broken.
Palmer Dyson had left two deep purple thumbprints on her windpipe. She’d watched them gradually fade away, going from cobalt to green to yellow in a matter of days, until there was nothing left. Healing took time—she reminded herself of that every day.
The depth of her fear had woven itself into her nightmares, which smelled of wet adrenaline, of the burning urge to flee and hot dry breaths. Nightmares could be cured through therapy, but the payload of fear lingered. You couldn’t turn it on and off like a light switch. You couldn’t medicate it away. You had to coax it out into the open, then try to reason with it and convince it not to take up so much space in your life. Recovery was slow. But her life was gradually taking back its natural rhythm.
Kate was back in therapy, and Ira was helping her deal with her losses. She missed her father terribly. She felt guilty for ever suspecting him. He’d tried his best. At first a question nagged at Kate: Julia could’ve had any man she wanted, but she’d chosen Bram Wolfe. Why? Julia was beautiful and vivacious. Men flocked to her. But the more she thought about her father, and about her mother’s final days, Kate grew to realize that what Julia had loved about Bram was his essential decency. He’d managed to keep her grounded for a while.
Palmer Dyson had left a trail of death behind him. There were thirty-eight hair samples in the briefcase, and he was linked to disappearances as far away as Oregon. The Blunt River PD was cooperating with jurisdictions from at least six states. There was speculation Palmer went on holiday murder sprees, killing all over the country to get his fix. Cold cases were being reopened, and the media dubbed him the Shaved Head Killer. For Kate, it revealed Palmer’s lies, the way he had tried to blame her mother for his twisted nature. He had murdered many girls without even the slightest connection to Julia Wolfe or his desire for revenge against William Stigler. He had just loved to kill.
She struggled with the fact that she’d killed another human being. It was as if Palmer had crawled into her head and taken up residence. No charges had been brought against her; the police, the DA’s office, the media, and the public had all concluded that it was a case of self-defense. Some hailed her as a hero, but Kate couldn’t help thinking—once you entered the darkness, the darkness entered you.
A Breath After Drowning Page 31