Regi, on the other hand, had done everything perfectly.
She glanced his way. The steely determination on Regi’s face confirmed he was taking his role seriously. Then again, his life did depend on Oliver succeeding. There was something else about his expression that caught her off guard, though. His squared jaw, the determination in his uninjured eye… it made him look so much like Milton that it took her breath away. It also convinced her that he was telling the truth about Milton being his father, which also meant that everything else he’d said about Milton was probably true too.
The man she’d once loved had been a fraud.
While he’d serenaded her with his gentlemanly charm, he’d been having a long-running affair with another woman. Bile rose to her throat at how stupid she’d been. But the truth did something else too: it made her hate him. Until this moment, she’d been distraught over how Milton had died. But now, with this new knowledge, she considered his frozen grave the perfect place for a man whose heart was obviously cast in stone.
The sight of Oliver’s yellow safety hat launched her from her troubling thoughts. “There he is.”
He looked up, and when their eyes locked, it was obvious he was trying to tell her something. If ever there was a time she wished she could read minds, this was it. He held a suitcase out sideways, showing her, and she realized it was the one Fred had had positioned at his feet. She blinked at it a few times, trying to interpret the significance. But she had nothing.
All she knew was that she needed to be ready.
Regi continued to raise Oliver, moving his hands over and over in a movement that belied his inexperience.
“A little more; he’s nearly here,” she said.
“Hey, guys,” Oliver said once his head was above surface level. “Look what I found.” He held up the suitcase and offered it to Holly. She reached for it, placed it onto the snow on the opposite side where Pope was standing, and eased back from the edge.
“Who cares about a fucking case?” Pope snapped. “Did you get the DNA?”
Oliver crawled over the edge and didn’t answer until he was standing on solid ground. “Yeah, but you gotta check this out.”
Using his eyes, Oliver indicated for Holly to get back from Pope. She did, and Oliver bent over to unclip the locks on the case. “Look at all this money.” He flipped the lid and turned the case so Pope could see inside.
Pope stepped forward. His eyes widened at the contents. Oliver reached in, plucked a bundle from the case, and tossed it Pope’s way. The second Pope reached for it, Oliver swung the shovel, fast and hard, at Pope’s head.
The blade smashed into Pope’s already shattered nose with a sickening thud. He howled, stumbled sideways, and an inhuman noise burst from his throat as he fell into the void. The rope curled at Holly’s feet snaked into the hole. Icy terror shot through her as she realized she was still attached to Pope.
Her heart slammed in her chest. “Shit!”
Frantic, she tried to undo the knot. But blind panic rendered her gloved fingers useless. It was too late. There was no time. She turned to Oliver.
A single look said so much. Shock. Horror. Hell.
His eyes bulged wide. “No!” Screaming, he launched at her.
She reached for him, clawing through the distance.
The rope snapped like a whip and Holly shrieked as she plunged into the hole for a second time.
Tons of ice flashed before her eyes as she braced for the crunch she knew was coming. A jolt stopped her fall, whipping her backward and spinning her in crazy circles.
Oliver’s cries above confirmed she wasn’t dead. She couldn’t believe it herself, and she struggled to comprehend what’d happened. They hadn’t hit the bottom, and her rope was taut above her.
By some miracle, she’d snagged on a piece of metal in the ice wall. Pope had gone to one side and she’d gone to the other. Their weight had counterbalanced each other and then become entangled. Pope dangled about four feet below her.
“I’m okay,” she called out.
“Oh Jesus, thank god.” Oliver’s voice was frantic.
She looked down. Pope was almost doubled over backwards. He swung around in lifeless circles, but other than that, he didn’t move. She thought he must’ve broken his back, but when his head came around, she saw something she wished she hadn’t. Half his face was missing. At first, she thought Oliver’s hit with the shovel had done the damage, but when a drop of blood fell from the spike that’d saved her, she realized Pope must’ve hit the metal on the way down.
The icy walls began to spin. A dark fog crept in. Her stomach churned in sickening somersaults. Holly squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to eradicate the hideous image, and willed the darkness to take her from this new horror.
“I’m coming down. Stay there.”
Oliver’s shrill voice snapped her from her mental murkiness. She looked up the icy walls and saw blue sky, and seconds later Oliver appeared as he backed down over the edge. His movements were frantic. Dangerous.
“Wait, Oliver, don’t hurry, I’m fine.”
He paused, tried to look down.
“I’m fine. Trust me. But I think Pope’s dead.”
“Thank Christ,” Oliver said. Even from her distance below she could hear Regi cheer.
“I need my axes and a rope.” She glanced down at the body and realized she needed one more thing. “I need a knife too.”
Oliver climbed back up, and seconds later he edged into the crevice again. As she dangled there, held in position by a dead man, she stared across the chasm. The ledge—her ledge—was there. Barely visible, to the left of a giant ice pillar, she saw Frederick’s shoe. She remembered the first time she’d seen it and how it’d scared the hell out of her.
But as sad as Angel and Fred’s demise had been, Holly had no doubt their final moments hadn’t been filled with grief. Their faces didn’t indicate they were distraught—quite the opposite. Fred and Angel died in each other’s arms, a blanket of love keeping them warm. They’d accepted their fate.
Was finding their bodies her fate?
If she’d hadn’t been in that helicopter crash, or fallen onto that exact ledge, she would never have seen them. If people had believed her story, then she wouldn’t be back here trying to prove it. And if she hadn’t learnt to rock climb, she would never have met Oliver. She glanced up at him now and her heart swelled. Fred and Angel had brought Oliver to her, and for that she would be forever grateful. She owed it to the couple to give them a final chapter.
Oliver lowered to her side, and when they reached for each other he wrapped her in a bear hug. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I thought I’d lost you.”
“It’s okay, I’m okay. You know I’m indestructible.”
“I’m beginning to think you are.” He glanced down at Pope’s hideous injuries. “Jesus. Did I do that?”
“No, I’m pretty sure he hit that.”
Oliver glanced upward and shook his head. “I saw that before. It’s the helicopter’s landing skid. You’re one lucky woman.”
She huffed. She’d never considered herself lucky. In fact, she’d always thought she was the opposite. But despite everything life had thrown at her, she was still here, so maybe she was blessed somehow. When she looked into Oliver’s concerned eyes, she realized just how lucky she was.
He glanced down at Pope and then up to their rope, looped over the spike. “If we cut him loose, you’ll fall.”
“I know. Fix me a new rope, then climb back up, and when I cut him free, you can pull me out. Okay?”
He nodded. Working together, they tied a new rope to Holly’s harness. Then he handed over her ice axes and she hooked them over her wrists.
Oliver clutched her cheeks and drew their lips together. “Be careful.”
“I will.”
“See you at the top.”
“Okay.” He looked upward. “Regi, pull me up.”
He inched upward, and a few minutes after he disappeared over the
top, the slack on her new rope was taken up. “Okay, Holly, cut the rope.”
With one hand on the new rope, she held the blade against the rope attaching her to Pope. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
The instant she slashed the line, she jolted out to the middle of the crevice. Seconds later she heard a dull thud, confirming Pope’s body had hit the bottom.
She glided upward, and using her axes and crampons she crawled up the overhang. At the top, she wrapped her arms around Oliver and he squeezed her tight.
After a long pause, he pulled back. “Okay, let’s get off this bloody mountain.”
But as much as she agreed, she didn’t want to go until she had what she came for. “Did you see the bodies?”
“Yes. Yes, I did. I took lots of photos.”
“Show me.” Regi stepped toward them, his hand outstretched, and that’s when Holly realized her mistake. When he saw the photos, Regi would know it wasn’t Milton.
She glanced at Oliver, and his darting eyes confirmed he realized her mistake too.
“Let’s look at them later,” Oliver said. “When we get in the plane.”
“No,” Regi snapped. “I want to see them now. And the hair too.”
“Regi,” Oliver pleaded.
“Show me.” His clenched teeth indicated he knew something wasn’t right.
Oliver handed him the camera, and Holly shared her gaze between the two men and the camera display. Regi turned the camera on and flicked through the pictures.
“What is this?” A frowned corrugated Regi’s forehead. “Who’re they?”
“It’s Fred and Angel. Remember the ransom money we—”
“Where’s Milton?”
“He’s too far down, I couldn’t get to him.”
“Bullshit, I need his hair.” Regi’s fury was swift. He balled his fists and clamped his jaw. But after a couple ragged breaths, he changed again. His chin dimpled. A tear trickled out his good eye and he flicked it away. He strode to his left, bent over, and when he turned to them, he had a gun in his hand. Pope must’ve dropped it when Oliver struck him with the shovel. “I need that hair.”
Holly froze. Pope’s gun slotted into Regi’s right hand, not quiet menacing, but effective enough. “What’re you doing, Regi?”
“I need that DNA. Carson will never stop until I repay him.”
“You can have this money.” Holly pointed at the suitcase.
“It’s not enough. And it’s not just about the money. You don’t get it. He’s never gonna let me go, ever.”
“We can tell the police.”
“No!” Regi clamped his teeth and his jaw trembled. “Carson has the police in his pocket. Has everyone in his pocket.”
“We can help you,” Oliver pleaded.
Regi shook his head. He seemed torn between what was right and what he had to do.
“Tell us, Regi.” Holly opened her hands, hoping to portray genuine concern. “Tell us everything and we’ll help you. I promise.”
He glanced from her to Oliver and seemed plagued with indecision. Regi plonked onto the snow, the gun still in his hand, rested on his right knee. He inhaled a long deep breath. “When I was twenty-two, I took my mother’s boyfriend’s car for a joyride.” A slight grin curled on his lips. “It was a Firebird. You know. . . the car.”
When Oliver nodded, Holly did too.
“Afterwards I stopped to get cigarettes, and when I reversed outta the shop, I smashed into a guy’s car. A Corvette Stingray. Seven hundred-thousand-dollar car. Owned by Jeremiah Carson. You know him?”
Both Holly and Oliver shook their heads.
“You’re lucky. He owns an oil well, and he’s got more money than God. Anyway, ever since that day Carson’s owned me. He beats me up whenever he feels like it. Not Carson, exactly—Pope and his gang of assholes do Carson’s dirty work. He’s made me do other stuff too. And he’s messed up my mom’s house. What Pope said back there, in the plane, about Carson getting his claws in? Well, he’s right. I’m never going to be free. That’s why I need this money. To pay Carson off, to get a new life for me and my mother.”
The anguish in his voice convinced Holly that every word was true. He’d been living in hell for years. She could fully relate to that. “Let us help you,” she pleaded.
“I am letting you help me. I need that DNA.” He stood and aimed the gun at Holly, then at Oliver. Then, with his chin dimpling and a tear pooling in his good eye, he tossed it into the crevice. “If I don’t get that DNA, I may as well stay right here. I’m fucked either way.”
He was trapped. Holly knew exactly how that felt. She’d had her life taken out of her hands once before, when Victoria had forced her into a corner that she couldn’t get out of.
Holly had lost control of her own destiny. It’d taken years and a complete change of life to flip it around.
The look of absolute failure on Regi’s face had her coming to a decision. She turned to Oliver. “I’m going back into the crevice.”
“Holly…” Oliver pleaded her name and she shook her head.
“You’re not going to stop me, so you either belay for me, or I’ll ask Regi to.”
Oliver clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. But when he opened them again, he was in efficiency mode. He strode to the sled. “We’ll need all the rope we’ve got. Regi, clear a new patch of snow for me.” He tossed the shovel toward him.
“Thank you. Thank you both.” Regi’s eye was bright, lit up with hope and appreciation.
“Don’t thank us yet. That body is a long way down.”
“I know you can do it, Holly.”
She turned to him, and the gratitude in his good eye convinced her she was doing the right thing. Within a few minutes, Oliver was ready with the belay rope and Holly had all the equipment she thought she’d need, including the camera. Oliver pulled her into a hug. “Don’t do anything silly.”
“Me? Never.” She tried to make it a lighthearted moment, but Oliver didn’t take the bait.
“Holly, please… I mean it.”
She kissed him. “I won’t, I promise.”
“I’ll lower you as fast as I can so you can get back up here as quickly as possible.”
“Okay. Good.”
The weight on her belt was heavy as she clomped to the edge of the crevice and turned with her back to hole. “Climber ready.”
Oliver nodded at her, and with their eyes locked together he released the rope. She eased her weight onto the harness and walked backwards down the overhang. Oliver wasn’t joking when he said he’d lower her quickly. Within a few seconds she passed her ledge. In another twenty or so the crevice opened into an enormous chamber, remarkably circular in shape. The crevice was shaped like half a giant hourglass, narrow at the top and bulbous at the bottom.
It grew darker and colder with each foot she lowered and, turning on her headlamp, she played the beam over ice walls so dense they permeated a blue tinge. The chasm was silent at first, eerie. But as she lowered further, she started to hear the ice creaking and cracking, and the wind seemed to whisper around the abyss. She had to push away thoughts of ghostly whispers. It didn’t help that she was sharing the chasm with six bodies.
Down below, the middle of the cave was a giant mound that rose dozens of feet higher than the outer edges. The center was in direct line with the opening above, so the hill was the result of years of snow falling in one place. Just off center of the mound was Pope. He’d fallen face up, and had his arms and legs apart like he was in the process of making a snow angel. What was left of his face was worse than any Halloween mask a designer could dream up.
She snapped her eyes away and forced herself to scan the area for Milton.
Against one side of the chasm lay the helicopter carcass. The charred blemish, upside down and displaying its red underbelly and registration number, was a brutal contrast to its natural surroundings. She assumed it’d rolled down the mound to where it was now.
Fifteen feet before her
feet touched solid ground, she stopped. Swinging in a lazy circle, she glanced up. “A bit more,” she yelled.
“No more rope.” Regi’s voice drifted down to her.
“Shit.”
She was so close. Too close to give up now. She turned her attention to the walls of the cave. They were pure ice. She’d climbed walls with greater difficulty before. Hell, she’d climbed a frozen waterfall. These looked easy in comparison.
Holly made a snap decision. She plucked her glove off with her teeth, and working quickly, before Oliver began pulling her back up, she released the clips holding her in place and fell the rest of the way. After free falling for a couple of heartbeats, several feet of snow cushioned her fall.
“Holly!” Oliver bellowed.
“I’m okay.”
“Jesus, Holly, what the fuck’re you doing?”
“I’m okay.”
“Damn. You crazy woman.”
He was furious. But she didn’t care. Blocking out his angry torrent, which continued above her, she clambered down the snow hill toward the wreck. She shoved her glove into her jacket and removed the camera. A pair of legs protruding from beneath the chopper caught her eye, and as she made her way toward it, she prayed it wasn’t Milton. Because if it was, she had no hope of getting a sample of his hair.
She’d nearly reached the legs when she spied another body. It was Milton. He’d been flung clear of the wreck. He was on his side, one arm stretched upward like he’d used it as a pillow. His legs were curled up, almost in a fetal position. The beanie on his head was down over half his face and his mirrored glasses were skewed. But other than that, he looked peaceful, and if she didn’t know better, she’d be tempted to believe he was sleeping.
An overwhelming dose of sadness gripped her as she made her way toward him. But she forced it back. She’d been crying over his death for years. Enough was enough. She’d grieved more in her short life than most people had in their lifetime.
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