Chilled by Death

by Dale Mayer

  She took a deep breath, dug deep, and tried to get into professional mode and do what she did naturally. Now that she was a little calmer, or maybe just frozen, she analyzed the scene. Both women had sustained multiple broken bones. Janice’s knee was twisted, the kneecap not quite right. Some attempts had been made to straighten it the way it would be normally. She noted in a dispassionate way that there were tiny wires used to hold her leg in a close approximation to the right location and position.

  She studied the twisted ends of the wire that had been fashioned into locking closures.

  There was an elaborate set up holding the women in the most natural positions possible as if they were flying down the mountain, on snowboards – just as they’d been before the avalanche had wiped them out. Their frozen knees bent, their arms out for balance, their bodies showing a natural grace of movement. Both women had been gifted snowboarders, taking to the sport easily.

  This macabre display puzzled her. Although broken, so many attempts had been made to place them in a natural position. A display of some kind. An artist’s rendering? A memorial?

  The person who’d done this had tried to re-enact that wonderful free spirit both women had in life. She could feel the tears sliding down her face as she stepped in front of Janice. Her face had a dead, flat white look of having been frozen for a long time.

  With a start, she realized a layer of color had been applied over her icy complexion, as if someone had used blush and possibly eyeliner to give the woman a more alive look.

  Well, it was beyond anything she’d seen before. She walked over to Francine, noting the same attempts with the makeup, the broken arm wired together, the tear in her snow pants that had been crudely mended, and there was something off in the neck and head alignment.

  To see what her friends had suffered through these years. The fear. The pain. The awareness at the last moment… She bowed her head, struggling to hold back the waves of emotion threatening to send her in a tailspin. After a long moment, the icy silence around her filtered into her mind. She shook her head and stepped back, distancing herself.

  With a heavy sigh, she turned back to Royce and Stevie, the blubbering ball of emotional distress on the floor. She walked over to him, compassion and sadness filling her head. Was he distressed at having just seen this, or had he done this and was now overwrought at being caught? She remembered him talking about the two missing friends and how he missed them. A mantra he’d said over and over again these last few years. She bent down and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. He hung on and cried and cried.

  “Easy, Stevie.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not right.”

  “I know.”

  She really hoped he’d had nothing to do with this.

  “They look so beautiful,” he whispered, staring in agony at the two women, poised on a snow bank in mid-dash down the mountain. “And so wrong.”

  She nodded, agreeing silently. She glanced over at Royce, but he stood staring at something beside the two women, a muscle in his jaw twitching in a hard staccato manner. He was furious. She knew he’d have sent out a distress call and it was only a matter of time before the place was overrun with police and crime scene people. In this case, she could easily pinpoint the time of death. That horrific avalanche off the cliff face three years ago.

  Still, someone had gone to a lot of time and trouble to find these women and bring them here.

  “Stacy.” Royce’s voice was cold, clear, direct. A command. Not a request. She patted Stevie on the shoulders and tried to stand up.

  “No, don’t go over there,” he said, clutching at her.

  “It’s okay, Stevie. Royce needs to show me something.”

  Stevie hung on harder, but she managed to step out of his grasp, and as if understanding he’d lost the chance to stop her, he collapsed into a pile of weeping jelly again.

  Concerned, she stared down at her friend, wondering if he’d done this.

  “Stacy.”

  She turned and walked over to where Royce stood. She stepped to his side and asked, “What?”

  He pointed to the spot higher up on the small hill of snow the artist had brought as part of the slope the girls were snowboarding on. He then pointed to the spot above the two women. Janice’s name was on a large card. Beside her was a card bearing Francine’s name.

  She sighed. Then realized he was pointing to a third and empty spot. A spot waiting for another model – a third art piece to be put into position.

  There was a name on that last label.

  Stacy.

  *

  As sad and so psychological heartbreaking as the display in front of him was, Royce’s stomach had wanted to follow Stacy’s massive upchuck when he saw the third name card. He barely managed to hold it back.

  He’d known both women. Just not as well as the others. They’d been Stacy’s best friends. And Stevie’s very close friends. He glanced over at Stevie, wondering what the hell his role in this was.

  God, what a sick thought.

  They’d never thought to find the women’s bodies after the massive search had been called off. The whole area had been too dangerous as more avalanches had threatened to go off.

  Obviously someone hadn’t been able to let them go. He couldn’t imagine the effort required to reclaim the bodies from the mountain. Someone must have seen the two women as they were tossed in the avalanche or maybe caught sight of one of them as the storm of snow had finally abated. Maybe that had given him a starting place, and he’d lucked into actually finding the one then had persevered to find the second one. There was no doubt the women had died that day, but to do this to them…

  He shook his head. He couldn’t imagine the mindset of the person who hadn’t been able to let them go.

  And then he’d seen the name cards. And found Stacy’s over the empty spot. Was she supposed to have died that day? Had someone set that avalanche off on purpose? It happened, but it wasn’t all that easy to do. Or had someone decided that the three girls belonged together?

  “What was it Mark, or had that been Geoffrey, who’d said something about matched sets?” he asked in a low voice. He frowned. What else had he said? Something about – The three women had done everything together.

  Did either of those men have the expertise to pull this off? Then he realized the expertise would have been in recovering the bodies, but the rest was all about muscle and rope knowledge. So both did. Actually, they’d all done courses in search and rescue work. The wire was crude but effective. All the men in the group were big enough to manhandle the bodies onto sleds and into this space. He had to wonder if there wasn’t another entrance as Stacy had suggested early on. This display would never have been found if Stacy hadn’t fallen down that crevasse in the first place.

  Stacy, pale and shaky looking hovered protectively over a distraught Stevie. She would recover now. She’d been looking for her friends, but he doubted she’d expected to actually find them and had certainly never expected to find them like this.

  He glanced at his watch. He was loath to leave the two of them, but surely there should be a rescue team here by now? The police? Their friends? He’d texted damn near everyone he knew. Had this person despaired of Stacy ever joining the other two and had decided that Kathleen fit the bill as well, or had she stumbled onto this by accident and had been taken out?

  He kept watch, knowing all too well that this was not over. Not until they were surrounded by the police and the ‘artist’ caught.

  And where was Christine? He’d wondered if she could be here as well. It didn’t necessarily fit, but no normal mind would say this was logical, either. Christine and Kathleen to join Janice and Francine. Then Stacy for a perfect set?

  He had to wonder just how far over the edge this person had actually gone. Was he even now murdering women to add to his collection?

  Royce, now thoroughly chilled by death, returned to the other entrance and cocked an ear, listening for the others.r />
  Surely they should be here by now?

  Chapter 44

  Stacy stepped back from Stevie, her heart sore, her mind almost numb. She didn’t know if Stevie had done this, but he was in no shape to be questioned about it now. The police would take care of it. Although she had no idea what the charges would be in this case – if any. Had he attacked Kathleen as well?

  If so, then everything changed. She got up and walked closer to her friends, unable to leave them alone like this. Her body fought the chill that had settled deep inside. She’d wanted to find her friends since forever. Have their bodies sent home for burial. Find closure. Obviously someone else had needed closure as well. She shook her head at the enormity of this.

  Did the person come back and forth all the time and visit with the women?

  She spotted a box to one side. She walked over and opened the lid, making sure to use her gloves. Inside were candles and flashlights. Emergency rations. If Kathleen had found these, she’d have been a little better off, but nothing would have staved off that mind-numbing cold for long. She studied the items, wondering what they said about the person who owned it. Could she identify the owner of the box by the contents?

  Every one of the men she’d come to the cabin with would have kept candles and matches in here. A few would have put in a small something for warmth as well. She dug into the box further and sure enough, there were a couple of emergency blankets and even several granola bars. Just in case. She sat back on her heels. Just in case what? That they got caught out here in the cold? Chose to stay beside her friends? To watch over them? To be with them? Were they lost without them?

  “Stacy? What did you find?” Royce called out.

  “A box with supplies,” she called back. They weren’t far away from each other, but the sound of their voices echoed weirdly in the small chamber.

  With the flashlight she found in the box, she turned it on and used it to search further. There was an odd travel bag to the one side. She frowned, recognizing it. She turned around. “I think Christine’s bag is here,” she said, her voice rising.

  “What? Just her bag?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t see anything else.” She already had the bag open. “Makeup, a hairbrush, her wallet.”

  No response from Royce.

  “Royce?” she called back. Where the hell was he? This was too important. Still crouched, she spun around, flashlight shining across the darkened room. Royce’s flashlight wasn’t on. Shit. She turned hers off and moved quickly to the side. She could dimly see Stevie in the center of the room still crying. But it was more of a deep-wrenching sob. She knew he’d loved the two girls but had no idea they’d been this close. Then again, Stevie had always been a big teddy bear.

  Unlike Mark, who had always worshipped them from a distance. Lusting after women he couldn’t have. Adoring models and movie starlets with a passion. He almost set up a shrine to each and every one as they shifted through his consciousness and his life. He was fickle, too. He adored one woman then moved on. Even though he never knew them personally, it was as if they didn’t measure up and he had to go look for another one to idolize.

  He’d always been like that. He’d wanted her for a while, but she’d made it clear that it wasn’t in the cards. As she remembered, he’d been after Janice. She thought Janice had spent a weekend with him for fun then no more. It was so Janice’s style. Francine had been the same. When Janice had been done with him, then Francine had stepped in. Hell, they’d both done the rounds with every male in the group. Including Royce and her brother for sure. It had been part of the lifestyle. One Stacy hadn’t been a part of.

  She took another step back, her heart in her throat, and fear started to cut off her ability to think. There was no sign of Royce. No sound to say he was anywhere close.

  And yet she could hear heavy breathing. Heavy breathing she recognized.

  And she thought she knew.

  Please not.

  Please let her be wrong.

  She swallowed and closed her eyes. Her heart pounded as her blood rushed through her body. She could barely breathe.

  Where the hell was Royce?

  *

  Royce couldn’t catch his breath. He’d been sucker punched from behind so fast he not only hadn’t seen it, he hadn’t felt it until his ribs could no longer expand to gasp for air. He couldn’t groan. He couldn’t move. Someone had snuck up on him and taken him out so damn easily.

  Anger filled his brain and the rest of him was so full of pain.

  Physical pain. He had to move. If he’d been taken out that fast, not even leaving him a clue as to who had done him in or his intentions, then what would they do to Stevie and Stacy?

  He could still hear Stevie sobbing. Had he been the one to rig up the girls? He’d been completely devastated when they’d gone missing. He’d come here for several holidays to be close to them. In a twisted way, Royce could understand Stevie needing to keep the women here like this. But he couldn’t see Stevie attacking Kathleen or Yvonne. And Christine? That made no sense.

  So who else?

  He rolled over and gasped, willing himself to get to his knees. The shards of pain almost dropped him. Black mist filled his eyes, and his head dropped. Christ.

  Stacy. He had to keep going for her.

  He used the wall to stand upright. He hit vertical. Dizziness took over and he sagged. He had no idea what the guy had done to him, but it was lethal.

  Lethal? He frowned, considering what he was up against. Who he was up against? Did he know anyone with that kind of training? The man had moved too smoothly. Too quickly. It was a practiced move. He’d known what to do and where to hit. Royce had to consider that there might be a few other people hanging here than just the two girls. He’d hate to think so, but if he’d been dropped so easily, his attacker would have been able to pick the winter enthusiasts off without much trouble.

  Although there weren’t many missing people from the area.

  But they’d found a dead man who hadn’t been reported missing, too.

  He took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and hobbled a couple of steps forward. There was only darkness around him. He didn’t dare turn on the flashlight. He searched the shadows. Where was Stacy?

  Silently, huddling close to the wall, he sent a message screaming for help to George, the only one not here and the only one he could then trust. George would help. And fast.

  As soon as he was finished, he crouched and waited. Up ahead in the deep darkness in front of him, an odd sound tinkled through the space. A sound that was odd, discordant to the surroundings. And too damn perfect in timing. He froze.

  It was a cell phone.

  And it played George’s favorite ringtone.

  *

  Oh, what fun. Now the cat was out of the bag. Or was it? They had no idea whose phone went off. Ringtones were fun and easy to change. He smiled. He didn’t even bother looking at the text – but he’d have to remember to thank the sender – it was a great time to get one in.

  He wasn’t nuts, although more than a few people might think so.

  He wondered if Stacy recognized the ringtone. She was incredibly brilliant in one way but in others…not so much. Still, she was about to take a very different career path.

  One she’d been destined for a long time ago. He could feel that sense of accomplishment well up inside.

  This was working out perfectly.

  They were all here. He had no idea what to do with the sniveling Stevie. God, the man was a mess. A coward and just a wimp.

  Well, he wasn’t a wimp himself. He’d never been one. He loved women. Of all kinds. Some men kept mementos. So what if he kept the women? He’d been hearing news stories of all kinds of men out there keeping women as sex slaves in their basements. He wasn’t that bad. Geesh. He did love to look at them though.

  He knew where they all were. They hadn’t found his collection yet. The matched set was front and center. And that one wasn’t even his.<
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  He’d been forced to find another stage to play on. A happy sigh slipped out.

  Creativity was inspiring. He could do so much. None of these women would mind. Even if they were still alive, they wouldn’t. He knew them. Knew what they were like under the skin. The two showcase specimens took the highest position, and that’s where both of them would say they deserved to be. They’d also put Stacy slightly below them both, whether she’d understood that about her friends or not.

  They considered her an oddity, someone below them in life. Not as good as they were.

  And her place was ready and waiting for her.

  At least for a little while.

  Chapter 45

  That ringtone.

  Stacy’s heart froze. Then shattered. Blow after blow. How many more could she take and still stay upright? This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be. There had to be another explanation. Her mind struggled to grasp for any logical reason her brother’s ringtone should have sounded in the dark space. She’d curled up tight against the corner beside her friends. Hoping, praying she was wrong. Maybe whoever it was had changed his ringtone so that he’d be mistaken for George. Or, and her heart seized at the idea, maybe George didn’t have his phone because this asshole had taken him out and retrieved the phone. She brightened. Maybe George had left it behind.

  She knew she was grasping at straws. There were only so many options ahead of her, and none of them looked good.

  And none of them addressed why Royce wasn’t responding.

  Her mind kept asking. Was she sure it wasn’t Royce? He could have taken George’s phone before George pulled out. It’s not like her brother had been organized or collected. No, it had to be someone else. Royce would never do that. Janice’s snowboard was only inches away from her hand. She wanted to reach out and touch it, to make sure it was real and she wasn’t caught in some psychotic drug-induced nightmare.

  But the thought of touching her friend – board, boot, clothing – three years dead, was too much, even for her. On her table, yes. In the field to get the answers needed, yes. Here and now – no.