Chris’s reply floated across the rising wind, indistinct and surreal, not quite discernible.
“You’re worthless.” Cory needled her, his tone dripping ridicule and spite.
A ragged sob.
“Don’t you have a comeback for that, sister dear?”
“I’m not your sister,” she snapped—the first hint of fire in her voice.
“Then you’re…something else.” More than sibling rivalry resonated in his tone. Bitterness. Resentment. And a hint of derision. The man sounded like a rejected lover. Had they once had a—Steve hated to call it romantic—involvement? The thought repulsed him as nothing else could have.
“You’re a contemptible low-life.” She hurled the words into the hyper-charged atmosphere.
“Oh, like you’re any better. You’re just as low as I am, and don’t you forget it.”
She muttered under her breath. Steve strained to catch their meaning. Then her words penetrated the wood wall separating them. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. How could I forget someone as evil as you?”
“You’re lying.” Cory’s tone was sarcastically dismissive. “Surely, you haven’t forgotten that night—”
“Shut up,” she screamed.
“Are you still trying to convince lover boy you’re a saint or something? I could tell him a few things about you.”
“I don’t remember. Just stop it. Don’t tell me anymore. Leave me alone.” Sounds of a scuffle and a hard slap and then Chris whimpered.
Steve felt helpless—utterly, completely helpless. His inability to see what was going on frustrated him and made him angrier. Raising his free leg, he kicked the door open wider, so he could see them next to the fire pit. “Leave her alone. Can’t you see what you’re doing to her? She doesn’t remember. Her mind can’t handle it.”
“Shut up,” Cory screamed and aimed the gun at him through the open door, slid the action, fingered the trigger. He had a tendency to wave the gun at them to punctuate his disdain. This time his grip leveled sure and steady. Steve wondered if the man was a good shot.
“She remembers just fine, don’t you, Carrie?” The angry heat in Cory’s eyes almost melted Steve’s resolve.
“Stop calling me Carrie,” Chris shouted.
“Would you rather I called you Carol?”
Why was Cory calling her Carrie now? Was Carrie a nickname for Carol? Was Cory trying to prove his familiarity with Carol?
“I told you I’m not Carol.”
“Leave her alone,” Steve repeated through clenched teeth.
“You’re defending her? You don’t know her. You don’t know anything about her.” He turned his wrath on Chris. “What would he think if I told him—”
“Don’t tell him,” Chris begged.
“She was the one who decided her sister had to die. She didn’t want Crystal ruining things. What do you think about that, Mr. West?” Cory laughed—a wicked laugh filled with spite. “What do you think of her now?”
Crystal? Was Chris short for Crystal? The two women obviously used nicknames. The picture was becoming clearer as the pieces fit into their rightful places. Cory was confusing Chris with her sister Carol and accusing her of Carol’s misdeeds. Were Carol and Crystal twins? Had Carol decided her twin sister Crystal had to die? Was Cory telling the truth?
The woman Steve knew as Chris raised her hands to her face as if to ward off the verbal blows that assaulted her. “No, that’s not so. It’s not true.” Terror reverberated in each syllable. Her lower lip trembled—her whole body shook—her eyes widened with rising panic. She crumbled and fell to the ground, holding her hands to her head, her face contorted in agony. No doubt, she was recalling her past, one hard memory stacked upon another.
She mumbled, “No. No. No.”
Steve’s worst fears for her mental stability materialized before his eyes. He felt the depth of his impotence—his utter inability to defend the woman he loved from this animal. If he were unfettered, he would kill the ruthless man who tormented her.
****
Chris crawled into the shed and sat with her back against the far wall, her arms wrapped around her legs. She appeared to be in a catatonic daze, shaking her head absently.
“She won’t be able to help you in her frazzled state. She’s worthless,” Cory simpered.
Steve growled and strained against the rope that tied his leg. Cory appeared to enjoy his desperate reaction. The door slammed. Something thumped against the wood. Cory cackled on the other side. Apparently, Cory intended to lean against the door all night.
It was a mental struggle to think of the man as Cory rather than Jeff. Steve felt betrayed. Jeff was someone he trusted; Cory was someone he was starting to abhor. He had never hated anyone in his life, although he had come close to hating Carol’s kidnappers. He could have allowed this budding enmity to devour him if his attention hadn’t been on Chris’s well being. Their escape and safety consumed him.
He craved the warmth of the fire, not so much for himself as for her. She could develop hypothermia, dehydration, or both. Turning as far as he could, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Her nose was running, and her face was flushed. She was trembling and mumbling to herself. He strained all the harder against his bindings, finally giving up in defeat.
“Chris?” He got no response from her, so he tried again. “Chris?” She raised her head. “Are you all right?” No answer.
He didn’t want to raise his voice any louder, afraid he might rouse Cory, so he listened for the sounds of shallow breathing. Eventually, he heard Cory snore. He understood why Cory chose to brave the night rather than take shelter in the tiny shed. Steve felt claustrophobic in the cramped space. The cold wouldn’t bother Cory as much as it did Steve and Chris. Cory had a heavy, insulated jacket. The top of his thermal underwear peeked above his ripped flannel work shirt. Cory had pulled water and food out of his pockets. But most of all, Cory had the fire to himself, and he had the gun. Steve wanted to kick the door into Cory’s back, but he couldn’t. As it was, he could only shift from one uncomfortable position on the hard floor to another.
Steve was freezing in the poorly constructed shed. A hint of moonlight filtered through the cracks in the walls. Had the sky cleared? Had the snow ceased to cover their tracks in a blanket of shivery white? How far would the temperature fall tonight?
“Chris? Are you awake?” She grunted, but didn’t answer, so he tried another approach, knowing he had to pull her back from the mental abyss she was surely headed toward. “Listen to my voice.” She lifted her head and stared at him, but he couldn’t make out her expression in the darkened building. “I can’t see you very well. You’ve got to talk to me, so I’ll know what’s going on over there.”
“I can’t believe she’d do that to me.” The brokenness in her voice nearly shattered his last ounce of hope. “After all I went through for her, she told him to kill me. I can’t believe she wanted me dead.” Steve flinched. She couldn’t focus on her physical wellbeing if she was dealing with a mental breakdown. She shoved her trembling hands in front of her and studied them, pushing at her ring finger as if rubbing away a spot of dirt.
“You can’t believe anything that man says, Chris,” he pushed her to see the truth, intentionally calling her Chris instead of Carol. Everything Cory had ever said to him had been a bald-faced lie. Cory could lie as easily as he took his next breath.
“He knows her,” she said as if stating an undisputed fact. “But he doesn’t know me.” Her eyes glittered. “Does he?” Her tone indicated pathetic entreaty. She didn’t want Cory to know her. That was clear. The man was toying with her mind.
Steve’s helplessness chafed against his mental stability. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, but he couldn’t. To save her this misery, he would have taken her place. She began mumbling to herself. “Chris, who are you talking to?”
“I’m not Carol. You believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course,” he assured her, not
wanting her to dwell on what Carol had done. “I know this is difficult, but you’ve got to snap out of it. I need your help.”
By the time he finished his sentence, she had passed out.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Something startled Steve awake, and it took him a moment to remember where he was. He groaned and tried to roll over, but his numb limbs refused to budge. Blinking at the sunlight sneaking in between the slats of the railroad shed, he wanted to scream his frustration. He should’ve stayed awake. Instead, he had fallen asleep, despite his cramped position and the freezing temperatures.
He turned to the rear wall of the shed. Chris was no longer there. He muttered to himself and kicked at the door with his free foot. “Where is she?” he shouted, determined to be heard.
The door swung open. She stared down at him—her eyes reflecting an incomprehensible light, glittering with a foreign expression he’d never before seen in them. It frightened him more than last night’s mental breakdown.
“Be quiet,” she whispered. “You’ll get us both killed.”
“Where is Cory?”
She glanced behind her. “You’ve got to work with me. Just follow my lead.”
“What are you telling him?” Cory snarled from behind her and shoved her aside.
“Nothing,” she replied.
The heat in her reply caused Cory to hesitate a fraction of a second, but he regained control quickly. “Stay away from him.”
“When do we start?” She addressed Cory, but her eyes remained riveted on Steve. Her voice sounded unnatural—a harsh, abrasiveness in her tone that wasn’t usual. She acted like a very different woman than the one he had come to know.
“The sun’s up. Now’s as good a time as any,” Cory replied, tossing her a suspicious glare.
“Good.” She backed away from the open door. Cory didn’t try to stop her.
The dynamics had changed. Cory no longer strained to keep her under his control. What had she done to regain his guarded trust? Cory was a clever man, not easily fooled.
Chris must have convinced him she’s on his side, but how? Then he had a horrible thought. Maybe she is on his side. Was he betraying her by even thinking it? Then her previous words echoed through his mind. Just follow my lead. He didn’t understand what she was doing, but he knew not to ask too many questions.
“Let’s get started,” she urged.
“We’ll get started when I say we get started.”
She didn’t react as expected. She sniffed her disagreement.
Cory slit the rope that bound Steve’s foot, then backed up, and showed him the gun. “No sudden moves.” The threat was unnecessary. Steve planned to make very deliberate moves.
His aching shoulder grumbled in protest as he pushed himself up on his elbows. Cory dragged him by his bound wrists out of the shed and shoved him in front of the dying fire. The rope bit into Steve’s already raw wrists. The icy chill of the previous night’s snowfall stung his cheek as his face skidded across the cold ground. His head bumped into a piece of stray firewood. The heat of the fire singed his hair.
Cory waved the switchblade at Chris. “Take the knife and cut him loose. I’ve got him covered.”
She took the knife from Cory with a yank and pulled Steve into a sitting position. He glanced at her over his shoulder, but she averted her eyes, deftly cutting the rope. He took his jacket off as soon as the rope slid from his wrists.
“What are you doing?” Cory yelled, raising the gun.
“I’m just giving her my jacket,” Steve responded with controlled anger, refusing to allow the threat to stop him. Cory snorted his disgust and lowered the weapon.
Steve ignored Cory and offered Chris the jacket. After she pulled it on, she stood by Cory—an unreadable expression on her face. Her step-brother adopted a smug expression as he draped his arm across her shoulder. She didn’t flinch, but the look on her face changed. A raw emotion, hard and cold, reflected in her eyes. Her distaste for the man radiated from her. Steve could almost feel the heat of her hatred toward Cory.
It was obvious what she was doing. Cory and Carol had once been intimate, and Cory thought she was Carol. She must have somehow convinced him she wanted to rekindle their old, burnt-out relationship. What did she have to do to convince him of that? The thought turned Steve’s stomach.
He stretched his argumentative limbs—keeping his eye on her. She squirmed under his scrutiny and turned away from him, brushing Cory’s arm from her shoulders.
The blood flowed back into his numb legs, and he stomped the ground to ward off the inevitable stinging and tingling sensation. He held his trembling hand out in front of him. He was cold to the bone. Shuddering in the frigid air, his body missed the warmth of the lined jacket. But he was thankful Cory had allowed him to provide her the jacket’s warmth. She appeared ill.
“Get moving,” Cory ordered and jabbed the gun into Steve’s back, causing him to stumble, but he didn’t fall.
Chris headed up the track toward the train trestle. Where was she going? She had to be leading them into the wilderness above the river in search of the Jeep. Did she leave Virginia with the ransom money? Was it in the Jeep? If Chris took the money and ran, it explained a lot. Cory would think she double-crossed him. Was she as culpable as they were? Had Chris pretended to be Carol and outsmarted them all? Was that why she suppressed the memories? A guilty conscience?
Maybe she was play-acting amnesia just as Cory suggested.
He once again ventured a glance backward, but Cory pushed him. “You take the lead.”
Chris shot Steve an anxious look as he passed her.
She led them along the track until it crossed Cascade Creek over the trestle bridge. Cory pointed Steve toward the rugged, uphill landscape. The gurgles of rushing water mixed with the rustling of wildlife. Steve headed into the rocky terrain and chose the most difficult path he could find. To their left, a wash ran parallel with the creek—an easier course. Cory didn’t seem to notice Steve was making the ascent as rough as possible for them. He pushed against the tangle of overhanging shrubs and underbrush. The backward swing slapped Cory in the face.
Cory swung at the offending branches in escalating fury. “Stop that. You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Make me,” Steve challenged and continued his premeditated use of limbs as weapons. Cory hurled insults, but Steve ignored them, keeping his eye on the hill ahead of him. The brush became sparser and the rocks more jagged. The climb grew harder and more challenging. Cory was struggling, but he still had a firm grip on the gun.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As the sun rose in the sky, the snow began to melt. It made grabbing the rocks difficult. Chris’s feet slipped on the slick surfaces. The closer they got to the creek gorge where it paralleled the trail, the harder the climb up the creek bed became.
Chris stared upward and thought she saw the narrow ledge along the trail where she had the flashback. She blinked back fresh tears; she wouldn’t let Cory see her cry. Carol never cried. He believed she was Carol, refusing to acknowledge her denial. All right, then. She would allow him to think she was Carol—for a little while longer anyway. If it saved Steve’s life, it was worth letting Cory believe whatever he wanted. She no longer had the advantage of hanging back waiting for an opportunity to escape. Cory had pushed her ahead of Steve.
Then, she felt the bump of the knife on her thigh. She had stuffed it in the pocket when Steve offered her the jacket. Since Cory kept a tight grip on the gun, she was reluctant to make any sudden moves as long as he had the gun trained on Steve’s back. The knife stayed buried in the depths of the coat—her little secret. A security blanket of sorts.
It seemed Steve had been making the climb as fast and as difficult as he could, trying to get as far away from Cory and the gun as possible. She guessed it might also be an attempt to wear Cory down. Sticking with Steve’s strategy, she chose the most difficult terrain possible for their ascent. She couldn’t be sure how far up the gorg
e they had already climbed. They had been hiking all day long. The sun had already made its daily arc across the sky. The day would soon be receding into night.
Cory demanded they stop for a break. Each of them found a small but precarious place to perch. The spray from the rushing waters of Cascade Creek splashed across her soaked shoes. A stream of sweat rolled down her backbone. As she stood on top of a flat boulder, the chilling breeze dried the perspiration from the small of her back. It felt good. Her feet ached, and her back hurt. She wanted to sit down awhile, but the rock wasn’t large enough. By now, her nose ran like a faucet, and her throat was raw. She was certain she had developed a nasty cold or something worse.
She fought to stay alert—the dual rigors of dehydration and hypothermia threatening to overtake her. She knew enough to know what she faced. Her damaged psyche longed to retreat into merciful oblivion, but her heart wouldn’t allow it. She kept her mind on Steve and what she felt she owed him. She had to try her best to save his life, because she could easily guess what was on Cory’s mind. Cory intended to kill them both.
Cory was breathing heavy, large beads of sweat forming on his forehead. He seemed not to notice as he wiped his brow—his attention solely on retrieving the ransom money. She had known him most of her life. Single-minded determination was how he approached everything. This current escapade was no exception.
She considered the man she now knew without a doubt was her husband. Steve appeared miserable with dark circles beneath his eyes. His head rested on his chest as he sat on a large boulder that jutted out over the creek. Water pounded the bottom of the rock, shooting spray over it and wetting his back, but he didn’t seem to notice. She glanced his way, hoping to catch his eye. At the same time, she was afraid Cory would catch her staring at Steve, so she thought better of the effort and aborted the attempt. She wasn’t about to bring any more of Cory’s wrath on Steve if she could prevent it.
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