Black Ice

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  At last Calvin found his voice. "So the kidnapper is trying to pin a few murders on me?"

  "One of the green dots on your map marks a trapper's hut where Kimani Yowell's strangled body was found by hikers. The other two dots mark abandoned cabins. While we're on the subject of theories, here's another. I don't think Kimani's boyfriend murdered her, and I don't think Macie O'Keeffe was killed by drifters along the river where she worked as a rafting guide. And I don't think Lauren Huntsman got drunk and accidentally drowned in a lake." Jude's voice caught as he spoke his sister's name. Swallowing, he disguised his emotion with a piercing black look. "I think you killed them, then dumped their bodies where they wouldn't be found."

  Calvin did not speak. His back rose as his breathing came faster; he was still trying to gather his words.

  "What kind of idiot killer creates physical evidence against himself?" Jude asked.

  "Have you shared your theory with Britt?" Calvin finally said, almost achieving an ordinary voice.

  "Why? How far are you willing to go to keep your secret? Would you kill Britt, if she knew?"

  Calvin shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Britt would never believe you over me."

  My whole body seemed to tighten. I pressed back against the wall, vibrating with fear. I felt sick. This wasn't the Calvin I knew. What had happened to him?

  "Don't count on it. I've got a pretty convincing story," Jude said. "At first I thought Shaun was the killer. When you shot him, my first reaction was despair--I'd lost the one person who could give me answers. My second reaction was to wonder why you killed him. It came out of left field. You could have tied Shaun up and left him for the authorities, but instead you shot him. You didn't even flinch. I knew it wasn't your first time killing. It made me suspicious of you, but I didn't know anything for sure until I saw the Cardinals ball cap you gave Britt. And your map."

  The ground slid out beneath me. My legs were shaking. I had to get out of the cabin. I had to go for help. But the thought of going back into the bitterly cold forest, so dark and haunted, made my blood race. How far would I make it? One, maybe two miles? I'd freeze to death before the sun rose.

  "Who are you?" Calvin asked, intrigued. "You're not law enforcement--you'd have a weapon and a badge." He rose to stand over Jude. "What are you?"

  In one convulsive movement, Jude flung himself up, the muscles in his good shoulder and neck bulging as he strained against the ropes, which held tight. The bedposts began to creak under the stress. The sound seemed to rally Jude, who squeezed his chest more forcefully, attempting to draw his wrists together and snap the bed frame. Calvin heard the noise too, and scrambled to return the candle in his hand to the nightstand, trading it for the more immediately threatening gun at his hip.

  He leveled the gun at Jude and commanded, "Lie still or I'll punch another hole in you."

  Ignoring him, Jude tugged harder on the ropes, his face screwed up in exertion and raw hatred, sweat pouring freely down his face. The bedposts protested with a higher wail of bending wood, and Calvin fired a warning shot into the air.

  Jude sagged against the mattress, his breathing coming in shallow, ragged pants. He gave a guttural moan of misery and his limbs flopped uselessly into the same sprawled star formation.

  "You're a coward," he told Calvin. "No wonder your dad tried so hard to make you succeed--he knew he had nothing to work with. He didn't have to worry about Korbie, she knows how to get what she wants, but you must have been a severe disappointment. You were never going to make it. Your dad knew it. Deep down, you've always known it too."

  Calvin's back went up. "You don't know me."

  "There's not a lot to know."

  Calvin shoved the gun in Jude's face. His whole body shook. "I can make you stop talking."

  "You killed those girls. You killed them. Say it. Stop hiding and man up. This is what it feels like to be a man, Calvin. Admit what you did."

  "Why do you care if I killed them?" Calvin spat wrathfully. "You don't care about people. You left my sister to die."

  Jude's answer was hardly audible, it was spoken with such quiet lethality. "If I'd known Korbie was your sister, back when I had my chance, I would have kept her alive long enough to make sure you were present when I slit her throat."

  A muscle in Calvin's jaw leaped in anger, his finger tightening on the gun's trigger. "I should kill you right now."

  "Before I've told you where the map is? Wouldn't advise it. I figured out that you killed those girls before I hiked here. I needed insurance that even if I failed to kill you, the death penalty wouldn't. Wyoming uses lethal injection. I'm not a man of many regrets, but I'll be sorely disappointed I won't be there to watch you lose your bowels when they strap you to the table. I put that map where it will be found by authorities. That's the one thing you can count on."

  "You're lying." Calvin dismissed the threat immediately, but there was a wavering in his voice that hinted at worry.

  "You searched my clothes. You know I didn't bring the map with me. Why else wouldn't I have it, unless I knew I couldn't risk it falling back into your hands, because I knew what the map really marked--the grave sites of your victims." Jude managed to keep his tone cool and level. But his body, racked by shivers, and the sheen of sweat on his pale, clenched features revealed he was in agonizing pain. A wide crimson circle spread across the sheet beneath his wound.

  "I'll give you a choice," Calvin said finally. "Tell me where the map is, and I'll kill you with a bullet to the head. Keep chasing me in circles, and I'll draw out your death as slowly and creatively as I can."

  "I'm not talking. If you kill me, quickly or slowly, I have the assurance that you're up to five counts of first-degree murder, and there's no chance in hell you're escaping the death penalty with that kind of blood on your hands."

  Calvin's eyes slid over Jude in curious assessment. "Who are you?" he asked again, with something almost like amazement.

  Jude raised his head off the pillow, his eyes reflecting a brilliant, savage light. "I'm Lauren Huntsman's older brother. The last guy you should have crossed."

  Calvin's composure faltered, but he recovered quickly. Flinging his head back, he managed a spirited laugh. "What's this? You assume that I killed your sister, and now you're here for--what? Retribution? This is a vendetta? Let me guess. Mason isn't your real name. You clever bastard," he added, with a strange mix of admiration and disgust.

  In the hallway, I leaned against the wall to hold myself up. I'd made a horrible mistake. Jude had been telling the truth. He'd quit school to avenge his sister's death. I remembered him mentioning how close he was to her, how she had meant everything to him. Of course he wanted justice for her. I wondered if his parents knew. I wondered if his friends knew. What lies and excuses had he told them when he left? I was beginning to sense the enormity of his mission. He had given up everything to hunt down his sister's killer, and now he was about to give up the last thing he had. His life.

  Because Calvin would never let him leave here alive.

  Calvin shrugged, businesslike. "I guess The Godfather was right. Blood is blood and nothing else is its equal."

  Jude shut his eyes, but not before I saw him grimace with emotion.

  "I won't stop until I have the map, you have to know that," Calvin said, strolling around the bed, stopping on the far side. He lifted his eyes, staring directly toward the door I hid behind.

  I froze. It was dark in the hall. I was sure he couldn't see me. He continued to stare my way, but I was positive it was a blank, unfocused stare; my silhouette couldn't be distinguished from the shadows behind me. He tucked one arm against his chest and rubbed his jawline more vigorously, a look I knew meant that he was weighing his next move.

  When Calvin's eyes shifted back to Jude, I took my chance. I walked silently down the hall, and down to the kitchen. I checked the phone. No dial tone, like Korbie had said. Either the storm had brought down the lines or Calvin had cut them.

  Calvin had left his cell phon
e on the counter, but I couldn't get a signal. I rifled through the kitchen drawers, looking for a gun. Nothing. In the living room, I sifted through the desk drawers, but Calvin had already removed the gun. Growing more desperate and panicked, I looked under the couch cushions. I nearly hurled the last cushion against the wall in frustration. Calvin's dad collected guns. There had to be several in the cabin. Rifles, handguns, shotguns--where were they?

  I hurried over to the antique trunk pushed against the far wall, thinking it was my last hope. Lifting the lid, I looked in, my heart fumbling.

  At the bottom of the old, grooved trunk lay a small pistol. With shaking fingers, I pushed it into a pocket of my pj's.

  I rose to my feet, feeling the weight of the gun drag at me. Could I shoot Calvin? If it came down to it, could I kill the sweet, vulnerable boy who was always at the mercy of his father--the boy I'd fallen in love with? Our story began years ago, and his life was so deeply woven into mine, it was impossible to find two separate threads. Who was this warped, damaged version of Calvin? I felt him slipping away, growing cold to me, and the loss slashed me to the core.

  Turning, I found him standing behind me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  "Looking for something?" Calvin asked.

  It took me too long to find my voice. "A blanket. I was cold."

  "There's one draped over the back of the sofa. Just where it always is."

  "You're right. It is."

  I stared into the dark pools of his eyes, trying to glean some hint at his thoughts. Did he know I'd overheard everything? His gaze slid from my face to my hands, and back again. He was watching me just as closely.

  "Did you kiss him?" Calvin asked.

  "Kiss who?" I asked. But I understood him perfectly.

  "Did you kiss Mason?" Calvin repeated, eerily quiet. "When you were in the forest alone with him, did you sleep with him?"

  I wouldn't let him unnerve me. Trying to act as normal as possible, I gave him a bewildered look. "What are you talking about?"

  "Are you a virgin or not?"

  I did not like the probing, fixated glow in his eyes. I had to change the subject. "Can I make you a cup of coffee? I'll go start the--"

  "Shh." He rested his index finger on my lips. "The truth."

  The glow in his eyes was pent-up energy, waiting to be unleashed, and despite my mustering of defenses, I felt my courage crumbling. I chose to stay silent, knowing Calvin hated an argument. He wanted the final say, always.

  Calvin wagged his head in disappointment. "Oh, Britt. I thought you were a good girl."

  It was this self-righteous declaration that drew out my anger. For one brief moment, it eclipsed my fear. How dare he judge me. He'd killed three girls! Everything I'd ever hated about Calvin suddenly seemed heightened: his faults, his superiority, his superficial charm, his insincerity--and most of all, the detached, insensitive way he'd ended our relationship. Disturbing hints of his darker side that I'd always known, yet somehow ignored. He hurt people. I'd just never guessed how good he was at it.

  "What I did with Jude isn't your business."

  The corners of Calvin's mouth pinched downward. "It is my business. He hurt you and Korbie, and I'm trying to make him pay. How do you think it makes me feel when you side with him? When you go behind my back and help him? It hurts, Britt. And it pisses me off."

  His hands curled into tight balls, and I drew back a couple steps. He squeezed them open and closed in a methodical, absent way. I had seen Mr. Versteeg do the same thing, and it had always been Korbie's and my clue to hurry from the room and huddle together in perfect silence at the back of her closet, where he wouldn't find us.

  "While I was out there in the forest, cold and hungry, searching nonstop for you and Korbie, you were flirting with some guy you don't even know, letting him shove his tongue down your throat, keeping him warm at night, showing him my map"--he punctuated the word by pounding his fist to his chest--"leading him here to my house"--pound--"putting my sister in harm's way"--pound--"Do you know what my dad would have done to me if Korbie had died in that cabin? Died on my watch? You're so concerned about Mason, Jude, whatever the hell his name is, but what about me? You led him here, you screwed me over, you gave him the map-- You screwed me over!" he shouted, his face a dark, throttled red, his lips contorting with rage.

  I pulled the pistol out, aiming it at his chest. My hands trembled, but at this range, nerves or not, he'd be hard to miss.

  Calvin's face blanked at the sight of the gun.

  "Don't come any closer." I hardly recognized my voice. The words came out solidly, but the rest of me teetered on the edge of hysteria. What if Calvin didn't listen? I had never shot a gun before. The cold metal felt foreign and heavy and frightening nestled in my fingers. Sweat slicked my palms, making my grip more clumsy.

  A smile inched into Calvin's eyes. "You wouldn't shoot me, Britt."

  "On your knees." Blinking hard to correct my reeling vision, I tried to focus on Calvin. He slanted left, then right. Or maybe it was the room spinning.

  "No. We're not going through this charade." Calvin spoke with smooth authority. "You don't know how to handle a gun, you said so yourself. Look--your thumb isn't clear of the hammer, which will pop back abruptly when you fire and injure your hand. You're nervous, and you're going to jerk the trigger and it will throw off your aim. The sound of the shot will startle you, and you'll drop the gun. Save us both the trouble and put the gun on the floor now."

  "I will shoot you. I swear I will."

  "This isn't Hollywood. It's not easy to hit a target, even from this distance. You'd be surprised how many people miss this shot. If you fire at me, it's over. Someone will get hurt. We can stop that from happening. Hand me the gun, and we can work this out. You love me and I love you. Remember that."

  "You killed three girls!"

  Calvin shook his head adamantly, his cheeks flushing. "Do you really believe that, Britt? Do you think that little of me? We've known each other our whole lives. Do you really think I'm a cold-blooded murderer?"

  "I don't know what I think! Why don't you explain it to me? What did those girls ever do to you? You had everything going for you. You're smart, good-looking, athletic, rich, and you had a free ride to Stanford--"

  Calvin wagged his finger at me. I could see his frustration in the lines around his pinched mouth. His whole frame began to shake, and his face darkened again. "I had nothing! Stanford rejected me. I never got in! You don't know what it's like to feel powerless, Britt. I had nothing. They had everything. Those girls--that was supposed to be me! That should have been me," he echoed wretchedly.

  "That's why you killed them? Because they had what you wanted?" I was horrified. Horrified and sickened.

  "They were girls. Girls beat me, Britt. How could I live with that? My dad never would have let me hear the end of it. It was bad enough at home, how he'd turn everything into a competition between me and Korbie, and rig the rules in her favor. She could have sat on her butt and it would have been enough to beat me. My dad didn't expect anything from Korbie, because she's a girl. But he expected everything from me."

  There was no remorse in Calvin's voice. I wanted him to sound sorry and scared. I wanted him to admit that he was broken. But he didn't blame himself. He felt threatened by the girls he'd killed. Humiliated by them. I thought of the rope in the garage, dried with blood. Kimani Yowell had been strangled. Had Macie and Lauren been as well? He hadn't only killed them--he'd made it personal. He'd used his hands. It was never about them. It was about him.

  "You killed Lauren while we were dating! Would you have killed me if I'd gotten into a better school?"

  His eyes snapped to mine. "I never would have hurt you."

  "I trusted you, Cal! I believed you were the one. I wanted to protect you and make you happy. I hated how your dad treated you, and even when you took your anger at him out on me, I never blamed you. I thought I could make you better. I thought you were a good person who just needed to b
e loved!"

  "You can still trust me," he said, missing the point completely. "I'll always be your Cal."

  "Are you even hearing yourself? People are going to find out about this. You could go to prison. Your dad--"

  Calvin's hands knotted up tightly again. "Don't bring him into this. If you want to help, leave him out of it."

  "I don't think I can help you anymore!"

  His eyes flashed, but behind the quick anger, I saw deep sadness. "I was never good enough. Not for him, not for you, especially not for him. He would have killed me, Britt. If I'd told him I didn't get into college, he would have killed me rather than deal with the humiliation. So I had to lie to everyone about Stanford and hide here at Idlewilde. I didn't want to, and I definitely didn't want to kill Lauren. I didn't plan her death. I was hiking one night and came across Shaun taking pictures of her. She was wearing a Cardinals ball cap and something in me snapped. She was wasted and that only made me angrier. Stanford had accepted a drunk, but not me. I wanted to take Stanford from her, but I couldn't. So when Shaun went to the toolshed, I took . . . her life."

  "Oh, Cal," I whispered, looking at him with pity and disgust. Shaun must have come back from the shed to find Lauren dead; he must have panicked and hid her body in the toolbox. He'd taken her locket, knowing it was valuable, something Cal would have overlooked--money had never been an issue for him. Now that I knew the full story, it was easy to see how Jude had mistaken Shaun for the killer.

  But Cal was the killer. My expression turned revolted.

  Calvin saw the way I looked at him, and something inside him seemed to break. His face transformed into a cold, untouchable mask. In that instant, he truly seemed to become someone else. I had never seen him look so hardened or unfeeling. He took a step toward me.

  "Don't come near me, Calvin," I said shrilly.

  He took another step.

  My shoulders ached from holding the gun upright for so long, and I realized I'd locked my elbows and was losing feeling farther down, in my hands. At the realization, they began to shake in earnest.

  Calvin advanced again. Another step and he'd be close enough to take me down.

  "Stay back, Calvin!"

  Calvin rushed at me, and in that upended moment, it was instinct that propelled me to act. I squeezed the trigger, jerking the gun forcefully like Calvin had predicted. A hollow click filled the air, and Calvin stuttered at the noise, the whites of his eyes bulging around his green irises as he tripped onto one knee in shock.