by Jo Jones
“Yes. Why?”
“I just wondered how you managed to take a break from teaching.”
He continued his perusal of her, then lifted a cocky shoulder. “Substitute teacher. Mr. Blanchard is on a lecture tour.” A smug grin oozed across his thin face.
She swallowed back the nausea rising in her throat. Keep it together, Brie. “You, uh, seem to know your way around the mountain quite well. Impressive, considering you’re not from around here, or at least I assume you’re not, since I haven’t seen you up here before. Until now,” she added.
Her skin crawled under his constant appraisal. “There’s a lot you haven’t seen.”
She tried digging her nails into the smooth bark of the log, making the marks as deep as possible, hoping Mac would find them, and Blanchard didn’t.
There’s a lot happening on this mountain that no one’s seen,” he sneered. “All of it, right under their noses.”
Brie chewed her lip. He had something on his mind. Something he wanted her to know. “What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.” He waved the gun toward the generator. “Break’s over. No more talking. Pick that up and follow the curve to your right, around the ridge. And, remember to watch your step, because I’m watching you.”
“Just when my muscles were starting to feel better,” Brie complained, reaching up to knead the back of her neck with both hands. Beneath the curtain of her hair, she hurriedly slipped off her pinky ring and let it drop behind her. The chance that Mac might find it was a really long shot, but it was the best she could do, for now.
Exhausted from warily maneuvering through thick trees and underbrush, Brie repeated a litany of landmarks in her head, as they moved further into unfamiliar, remote terrain. In some of the dips and hollows, she’d lost her bearings completely.
After the rocky ridge, turn south, keeping Black Mountain on my left. Downhill from the big lightning tree.
Calvin had pushed her hard for the last hour, and she began to fear, even if a miracle happened and she escaped, she’d never find her way back. She’d also realized Blanchard wasn’t fool enough to let her live. He was just enjoying his game of cat and mouse.
Brie detested being played with. That’s what put the ex to her ex-fiancé. But Blanchard’s game wouldn’t end with broken dreams and a dented ego. This game would just…end.
Her shoulders burned, and her hands cramped, and even though they’d stayed in the trees, avoiding any open meadows, the sun felt merciless. She itched everywhere from a mixture of sweat and dust and had to grit her teeth to endure whatever flying insect kept buzzing around her head.
After they’d passed the lightening tree, Calvin had pushed her even harder. The slope dropped rapidly toward a valley or ravine, almost as steep as the area below the turn, where she’d left Mac cutting the tree.
Mac. He’d have run out of gas some time ago. Where was he now? What were his thoughts when she didn’t return? Maybe he was already looking for her, but did he have the knowledge and skill to find someone when there wasn’t a trail to follow?
Or would he go for help, instead? Which was crazy, since he had no idea how he’d even ended up at her place. All he could do was walk out, following the road, and hope he’d eventually find someone. But he had no idea how far that really was.
She thought Mac would come for her. She prayed he would. But she had to face the very real possibility, that no one was coming, and even if they were, they may not find her in time.
Stall, Brie. Stay alive. Don’t give up.
“Please, Calvin,” she begged. “I’m exhausted and thirsty. Can’t we stop for a minute?”
“You’re fine.” He snapped. “Move out onto that grouping of flat rocks and don’t step in any low spots where sand may have collected. Do not, leave any footprints, Ms. Drummond, or I’ll make you crawl across these rocks on your knees.”
The hair stood up on the back of her neck. The further they’d gone, the harder he’d pushed, and now, he seemed even more paranoid that she might leave a track.
After several minutes of cautious steps along the rocky shelf, she saw it. A ravine much deeper than the one near her cabin. Nothing but rock ledges and outcroppings, broken up here and there by a few courageous clumps of vegetation. She didn’t want to get close enough to see how far down it went. Her stomach had already dropped to her toes.
“Over there.” Calvin circled around her and pointed to a natural cleft between two wide sections of rock. “Go down there.”
Her mouth dropped. Was he kidding? “I can’t—”
“Go. Down. There!”
The gun he held didn’t frighten her nearly as much as the look in his eyes. She swallowed, tried to secure a better hold on her burden, and carefully began her descent. Balancing her own weight was hard enough, but with the generator and panels, the task proved nearly impossible. She slipped, wobbled, caught herself and moved on, keeping her eyes fixed on the next place to step, instead of the sheer drop-off ahead.
Below the deep split, a narrow, granite ledge rimmed a good portion of the gorge, broken up here and there with stony outcroppings that cantilevered over the edge.
“Go to your left another fifty feet, where that trail of boulders spills over the side of the ravine. You’ll find your way down through there.”
One of those boulders lodged in her throat. “Down?” No. There’d be no ‘down’.
“You can go under your own power, or I’ll help you take the shortcut.” He tipped his head and pierced her with another of his creepy appraisals. “I thought I saw something different in you, Ms. Drummond, but I must have been mistaken. I should have saved myself a lot of inconvenience and dealt with you in your shed.”
Brie’s need to appease him, and her terror of following some rocks over the edge of a cliff battled in her head and her stomach. Breathing trumped everything, she reminded herself. Stay alive. Whatever it takes. “Okay, but,” she nodded at the burdens she carried, “I can’t climb down that bluff face with these. I barely made it through those last boulders without falling.”
Calvin’s thin smile didn’t reach his eyes. “The helpless female routine doesn’t suit you. I’m afraid your little ploy to get me to put this gun away won’t work.” His smile turned to a sneer. “I’ve been down that cliff a hundred times with a load far heavier than yours.”
“You have?” She was dumfounded. “Why?”
“Because, I live there.”
“You what?” No wonder it had been so hard for the authorities to locate him.
“Get going before I change my mind about letting you accompany me.”
She moved toward the designated spot, desperate to find a way out that didn’t include the bottom of that chasm. Crazy, egotistical, bully. He was bent on getting her killed, one way or the other.
One reluctant step after the other, she closed the distance between her and certain death, and peered over the edge. The string of boulders went a little over half-way down the bluff. A wave a dizziness hit as she stared beyond the brink to the distant tips of pine trees and a narrow ribbon of water. Brie estimated them to be at least three hundred feet below. Maybe a bullet would be less painful.
“Could I please, just take one of these things at a time, so I have at least one hand to balance with?” She’d worry about getting the second one down, if she actually survived.
“You’re becoming far too much trouble, Ms. Drummond,” he warned. “But since this is your first time, I’ll grant you an exception. You may lay the panels aside and start down. You’ll see a natural route emerge as you go. And of course, I’ll be right behind you.”
As instructed, she laid the panels aside, clutched the generator box to her chest, and took a deep breath. If she wasn’t so petrified of tumbling to her death, she’d look for a way to help him to his.
Okay. She released her breath and spotted her initial path. Here I go.
It was slow and difficult, but not impo
ssible if she kept her eyes off the bottom of the gorge. She tried to hold the generator against her chest as much as possible, to keep her center of gravity from tipping off scale. But, maneuvering with only one hand for balance took all of her concentration.
Calvin followed not far behind her, taking the path through the boulders as easily as a mountain goat.
She hated him.
Finally, almost to the end of the rock flow, a space opened up where she didn’t have to just move from boulder to boulder. She could actually walk on the ground, despite it being steep and gravely. Latching onto the opportunity to be free of the weight of the generator for a minute, she grasped the handle and gratefully let the weight fall away.
She went with it, scrambling for traction on the loose pebbles. Suddenly, she landed on her back, sliding down the slope as bits of rock ground through her shirt. A sharp pain flared in her left ankle when her leg banged against something. But whatever she hit, didn’t break her fall. She kept going.
Please, God, don’t let me plummet to the bottom.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Och!” Mac set the useless saw aside and spoke to Gus. “ ’Tis just as Brie predicted. ’Twill no’ work without the gas she spoke of.” He shook his head, leaned against the tree, and continued speaking to the dog. “A true wonder, this chain-saw, but I’m no’ opposed to using an axe, either, as I’ve always done.”
As I’ve always done.
The words echoed in his head. Aye! He’d used an ax, he was sure of it! He could almost feel the heft and swing in his shoulders. But where had he used it? And for what?
Nervous excitement kicked up his heartbeat as he walked over to the pile of rocks, where he’d fallen. Where he’d left his memory. His hopes, dreams, and identity. He stared at the blood stain on one of the stones, wishing all he had to do was reach down and pick up his lost treasures.
Everything looked so different from this vantage point. Judging by where he’d fallen, he could roughly gauge where he must have stood, to land as he had. In the drying mud, his footprints told a story, despite several overlaid paw prints. Even now, Gus sniffed and investigated every interesting distraction, as he followed Mac.
A line of footprints trailed from an area not far away, to where Mac stood. His footprints? He placed his foot in one, already sure of the fit. His excitement grew as he followed the tracks, searching for their origin.
Suddenly, Gus barked at something, startling both Mac and a flock of boisterous birds from the treetops. The sound of their noisy scolding played in Mac’s head, as if a memory pushed at the dark shadows, but he couldna quite bring it into the light. Before he lost the impression completely, he closed his eyes, searching for any sensation he could capture.
Nothing. He waited, focusing on the image of the footprints in his mind, his feet sinking, sliding, in the heavy mud. A recent, heavy rain. Rich scents of damp earth. Heaviness in his bones. An ill-fitting sleeping hollow. His eyes flew open. A what? The impressions scattered as quickly as the birds.
Mac pondered the words, sleeping hollow, as he continued walking, surprised it dinna feel as odd as he’d first thought, but he couldna imagine why. He followed the tracks to an area near a large boulder where the ground was littered with footprints, all his. Wanting to study the spot for anything that might trigger a real memory, he leaned against the stone, but its ragged edges bit through his plaid. He shifted away. Then back.
He’d felt this before!
Almost giddy, he examined the ground. Something, or someone, had lain there, in the mud. All combined, the signs told the tale of events. He’d lain there, gotten up, leaned on the boulder, then made his way to the road, climbed the rocks to get over the fallen tree and fell, hitting his head!
“Aye!” he yelled, punching the air with a fist. ’Twas no’ as good as actually remembering, but at least he had a tiny piece of his past. ’Twas incredibly empowering! He’d stood on this very spot before he lost himself on the rocks.
Gus barked and jumped around him, as if he too, had discovered something marvelous. Mac laughed. Suddenly the sun seemed brighter, the air sweeter, and he couldna wait to share his discovery with Brie.
Sighing his pleasure, he lifted his face to the soft breeze moving through the trees like a whisper…
“Alistair…”
His breath hitched. Had he imagined it? He cocked his head and listened again. Nae. ’Twas naught but the breeze, stirring the leaves and branches.
“Alistair!”
He dinna imagine that! He was sure of it! He recognized Alistair’s name from his dream. And the voice. ’Twas Soncerae’s.
A chill spread through him. Then, suddenly, all the layers of frustration he’d been holding inside erupted. “Who are ye?” he yelled turning in a circle. “If I can hear ye, ye exist, so show yerself! I’m weary of yer tricks.”
“ ’Tis almost time tae come back, Alistair MacDonell.” The pretty voice whispered. “Are ye ready? Have ye found yer answer?”
Mac whirled, expecting to see someone standing there, but ’twas naught but he and Gus within sight. He’d gone daft from the bump to his head.
“The answer tae what?” he demanded.
Alistair MacDonnell. He let the name sink into his consciousness. Soni had spoken it, as if it belonged to him. Was he Alistair MacDonnell?
And who was Soni? Where had that come from? Soncerae. Soni. He knew her, no’ just the voice that held something familiar besides the brogue that matched his own. ’Twas a sense of peace and…gratitude? Mayhap even affection? But definitely no’ the kind he held for Brie. Mayhap, more of a sister?
Even though he still dinna ken the whole of what was happening, he felt a surge of relief. Soncerae dinna wait for him, at least no’ that way. He couldna wait to share his realization with Brie.
The surge of new understandings spawned even more questions and made his head spin. He stumbled back to the rock and sat, to regain his wits. What answer did Soni expect him to find? He dinna even ken the question, let alone an answer.
Och! ’Twas almost too much, too fast! He yearned, ached, for the return of his memory, but these pieces and parts that he couldna ken were muddling his ability to reason.
Again, he let the name, Alistair MacDonell, swirl in his head and once more, closed his eyes to let the sensations come.
Alistair. Alistair…
“Get out of here, ye filthy ragamuffin!” Alistair stuffed the treasured bit of rotten fruit he’d pilfered from the garbage heap, into his pocket and ran. If they caught him, he’d be sent back to the workhouse. He was six, now, and big enough to pass for seven, mayhap even eight. He could make it on his own. He couldna be much hungrier on his own, and unless he got caught doing something he shouldna, he’d at least escape a daily thrashing from either the headmaster or the older lads, stealing whatever scraps of food he’d been given.
Mac groaned and shifted, recalling the gnawing emptiness of his belly. He settled again, and waited…
Alistair MacDonell, ye’re a coward! The three lads jeered at him from the cold corner of an abandoned building. How can ye be thirteen and still act a frightened wee bairn?
“ ’Tis one thing to take from rubbish piles, but I’ll no’ break into someone’s home and take what is no’ mine. ’Tis wrong!” Alistair argued.
“Och! ’Tis a waste! Someone with yer size and strength. Go back then, to yer mother’s lap, until ye’re weaned, right and proper. Ye’ve no place wi’us.”
Alistair watched them leave. He had no place anywhere. No mother’s lap. No family. Just himself and his determination to no’ let his circumstances steal his honor. ’Twas all he had that someone couldna take from him.
Again, he shifted, remembering the almost impossible struggle between integrity and hunger.
“State yer name, and age, lad.”
“Alistair MacDonell. Eighteen, sir”
The officer quirked an eyebrow and gave him a hard stare.
Alistair remembered how overwhelmed he’d been to finally belong somewhere. The days were long, the work hard, but he’d never been happier. And for the first time in his life he had friends. Real friends, who dinna want to take from him.
He blinked and stared blindly at the surrounding forest. He was Alistair MacDonell! He knew it in his gut, his head and his heart. He knew his name. His real name! But, something was off about the time and places he remembered. They’d seemed to have happened in centuries past. How could that be?
If he was Alistair, then Soncerae was real, so how had she spoken earlier, and no’ been present? What about Angus and Gregor? They were connected to Soni, so were they real, as well? And what of the battle where he’d fought and died, with Angus. And the scars he bore?
Every realization brought a flood of new questions, stuffing his head beyond capacity. Struggling to sort it all out, Alistair rose to his feet and whistled for Gus who’d likely gone off in search of a new discovery.
He went back to the footprints. Hoping they could reveal more, he circled the area, studying the tracks to find where they began. Puzzled, he scratched the back of his neck. Certainly, if he’d walked here, there’d be proof in the mud. But ’twas nothing there—as if he’d just…appeared.
A chill settled in his bones. ’Twas more here than just his lack of memory. Something troublesome. An uneasy feeling churned in the pit of his stomach. Whatever was afoot, he couldna allow any harm to come to Brie.
He glanced at the sun. She’d been gone a long time. He couldna imagine what kept her. Mayhap she couldna find the gas. “Come, Gus. Let’s go see what our lass is up to.”
Alistair tossed sticks ahead for Gus all the way up the road. He was anxious to finally share his real name with Brie. They’d both become so used to Mac, it would be strange, at first. When he turned onto her lane, he spotted her wheeled-machine, just off the path. ’Twas curious that she’d leave it clear out here.