“What is it?”
Another male voice responded, but it was farther away. Grace figured she must have been in some kind of isolation room because the first voice sounded enclosed with her but the second voice did not seem confined within.
“She’s waking up.” Again, her head pounded.
Grace remembered an interaction with some men with guns up on the mountain. One of them hit her, and she assumed she had blacked out. She grunted as she stirred.
“She sounds like a moaner.”
“What?” This time the second voice sounded alarmed, like it was not what he wanted to hear. Grace heard boots moved across a hard floor with haste. “Shit. Is she?”
“Nah,” said the first voice. “Just sounds funny, that’s all. I must have fucked up her head pretty bad.”
This must be the asshole that knocked me out, Grace thought. Great.
She shifted in her seat and let out a howl as she put pressure on her foot.
She looked down and saw her injured foot wrapped tightly in white bandages. Someone had treated her wound while she was unconscious.
Well, that was unexpected, she thought.
The urgent footsteps came to a stop just outside the room. The owner of the second voice had finally arrived. There was a sharp intake of breath when he saw Grace.
“Jesus Christ… that’s one hell of a bruise.”
Grace’s attacker, Tom, laughed. “Ha, I know, right?”
Grace finally summoned enough courage to open her eyes fully. As if she needed additional confirmation, she recognized Tom. Her seated position enabled her to see Tom from a different perspective. He was tall, well-built, if even artificially. Steroids have been generous to you, she thought. Grace was not sure of the second man. He was older, perhaps Tom’s father, but there did not appear to be a strong family resemblance. He was built like Tom and his short-sleeved polo fit tightly against his muscular frame, but the older man was generally cold and stiff toward him. To Grace, however, he was overly polite.
“Hi there,” the man said. “How are you feeling?” His voice was calm and gentle.
Grace opened her mouth but when she tried to speak, only mumbled consonants and vowels came out.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll feel better shortly. Here, drink some of this.”
He pushed a cup toward her and Grace backed up in her chair.
“Don’t worry,” the man said. “It’s just water. Go on, drink.” He then stuffed a hand into his pocket and produced a bottle of Advil. “Here, take some of these. For the pain.”
Grace hesitated at first, then she tried to grab the cup but both hands were bound behind her.
The man laughed. “Sorry, that’s my fault.”
Grace knew it was no mistake and was ready to unleash one of her trademark sarcasm-laced remarks, but felt it was unwise to do so with this man.
He walked around the table and drew a set of keys that were attached to his belt by a retractable lanyard. He flipped through them until he found the right one and unlocked the cuffs. She groaned. The release of the cuffs caused her arms to ache as they returned to a more natural position.
“There you go,” he said. “I have to do that. You understand.”
She looked at him dubiously, despite his affable demeanor.
“Okay, maybe you don’t.”
Grace unscrewed the cap to the pills, poured several into her mouth straight from the bottle, and then drank the water quickly.
“More water,” she said. “And food. Do you have any food?”
“Now wait just a minute there, girl. You and I have to have a chat first.” His disposition was still pleasant, but firm.
The older man motioned for Tom to leave the room, and he closed the door as he left. Then he pulled another chair close to the table and sat across from Grace.
“You don’t understand,” Grace said. “I can’t remember the last time I ate. I’m starving. I hurt. I need something.”
“We’ll get to that, but first I have a few things to ask.”
“What? Please… can I just have something to eat?”
The man pounded his hand on the table and Grace jumped in her chair.
“Goddammit!” his voice boomed. He seemed even more rigid and militaristic than just a few moments ago. “We’re going to do this my way! Understand?”
Grace sat straight and did not respond.
“Good.” His voice was calm again. “That’s more like it. Now, let’s start with how long you’ve been here?”
“I don’t know,” Grace said.
“Try to remember.”
Grace rolled her eyes, which was a big mistake because now they hurt again. She squinted and stared at the table, and pretended to think.
“Maybe a week ago. Maybe a month. I honestly can’t say.”
“Who did you come with?”
“My husband.”
The man reached into his pockets and produced a pencil and a small slip of paper. He scribbled something Grace couldn’t read.
“What’s his name?”
“Fuck you.”
The man sighed.
“I’m going to let you get away with that one because you’re tired and you’re hurt, but one more outburst like that and you’ll pay for it. I promise.” He stared into her eyes longer than what seemed necessary. He was trying to make Grace feel uncomfortable. It was working. “Now, your husband’s name.”
“Brad.”
“Brad?”
“Yeah. Brad Pitt.”
The man sighed again. He stood from the table and pulled a long flathead screwdriver from his back pocket.
“I warned you. You just couldn’t play nicely, though. Could you?”
He grabbed her wrist and pinned her hand flat against the table. He pressed the tip of the screwdriver against the top of her hand.
“I didn’t want to have to do this…”
There was a knock at the door. Frustrated, the man relaxed his grip and the pressure of the screwdriver against her skin lessened.
“Who is it?” he asked gruffly.
A muffled voice on the other side of the door said, “It’s me, Dad.”
The man’s eyes lightened.
“Well,” he said. “That sounds like my son, Robert. I was going to keep you company a little longer, but it seems I won’t have to.” Then he leaned in close to Grace and whispered, “But don’t you worry, he’ll treat you real nice.”
He backed away and moved toward the door. He turned the handle and his son, Robert, entered. Grace immediately recognized him as the man who had come to the hut with his girlfriend earlier. She also saw the strong family resemblance. Robert was built like his father, but not quite as tall. His hair was brown and he wore it longer and messier than his father’s grey crop-top.
His eyes immediately went to Grace sitting at the table.
“Oh, she’s awake. Perfect timing.”
“Yep,” his father said. “Just came out of it a few minutes ago.”
“Anything yet?”
“Well, we established that she got here either a week or a month ago, and she arrived with her husband, Brad Pitt.”
Robert snickered. Then he said sarcastically, “Well, I’ll make sure someone contacts his agent. I’m sure they’re looking for him.”
Robert’s father laughed. Then, as an aside, he asked, “Anybody check the cameras?”
“Yeah,” Robert said. “Kyle has been watching them. So far nothing on video. Ground sensors all over the mountain have been quiet, too.”
Robert’s father nodded.
“Well, the PSA will continue to run daily until we give the all clear.”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that.”
“What’s up?”
“Well,” Robert said, “the public believes the mountain is closed off due to a possible airborne toxin.”
“Right.” Robert’s father was indifferent to his son’s concern.
“So… how long can
we keep up with that excuse before people start to get concerned?”
“Not very long,” his father said matter-of-factly. Then he tapped a finger against Robert’s chest. “Which is why you’re going to wrap this up quickly.”
Grace stared at the two men, but especially at Robert. He tried to conceal the pressure he was under, but to no avail. He lowered his eyes and nodded slowly. His father then left the room without further comment.
Robert turned and took a seat in the chair across from Grace. His face relaxed and he seemed to recapture some confidence with his father’s departure. He stared at her quietly, his eyes seemingly searching for something, but as to what, Grace could not tell. She waited for him to speak but he continued to watch her.
Maybe the stalling approach is his tactic, Grace thought.
She watched as he studied her more deeply. He shifted in the chair to get more comfortable, unbuttoning his vest, puffing out his chest and stretching his neck. He cleared his throat several times. Cracked his knuckles. Eventually, Grace grew tired of his theatrics.
“Is this really what you’re going to do the whole time?” she asked.
“Ah, she speaks!”
“Sometimes.”
He laughed with mild disdain.
“I was just thinking of how you might be able to help me.”
Grace raised an eyebrow.
“What, you need a new reason to keep people away from the mountain? Afraid you’re not going to make Daddy happy?”
His lips cracked with scorn as he smiled.
“Cute, but no.”
“That bullshit really works? Some crap about a toxin?”
He spread his hands open.
“Hey, it’s worked so far. You’d be surprised by what people will believe these days. People can only be force-fed so much information by the media before they start thinking it’s true.”
“You must be proud.”
“Doesn’t matter how I feel. Only matters that it works. Now, we were about to talk about how you’re going to help me.”
Grace again raised a single eyebrow.
“You think I’m going to help you?”
“How’s your foot?”
The question was unexpected and Grace didn’t know how to respond at first. She was happy someone treated her wounds, but to what extent she couldn’t be sure. For all she knew, they easily could have ripped out the stick and slapped some gauze on it. She doubted highly that they cleaned it properly.
When she said nothing, he questioned again.
“Aww, what kind of ‘thank you’ is that? I think we deserve a little credit for saving your foot.”
“Credit?” Grace finally spoke. “It’s because of your asshole friends this happened. If they hadn’t pointed guns at me, I wouldn’t have run. Certainly wouldn’t be in this room right now.”
“Nah,” he laughed. “We would have caught you.”
“Oh,” Grace said. “So it wasn’t by chance that I ran into those guys? You were trying to catch me?”
She watched his smile fade as he realized she was onto him. But why were they trying to catch her? What person would believe her story if she ever got off the mountain to tell it?
He ticked his head to the side.
“Do you even remember me?” he asked.
She laughed at his overconfidence. “Of course I remember you. Your friend didn’t hit me that hard.”
Robert smirked.
“You and that other chick—I forget her name. You’re the night hikers, or whatever.”
Robert smiled.
“Yes, that’s us. I’m Robert. Her name is Shelly.”
“I’m so happy to know that now.”
Robert shifted uneasily. He tried not to show his annoyance, but Grace saw it. She had no idea what this man did for a profession, but apparently interrogation was not an acquired skill as she could already see his patience beginning to unravel. Like father, like son, she thought.
He regained his composure quickly and noted, “You seem angry. Why is that? Is it something I said?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Are you really asking me this?”
Robert stayed quiet and only prodded Grace with his eyes. She sighed. She was going to have to tell him something.
“My husband is dead,” she said softly. “All I wanted was to get off this damn mountain with him. Alive. Now that hope is long gone. I didn’t want to leave him but he wanted me to escape those… monsters. When you and your girlfriend came to the hut, I thought my chance to do that had finally come. Then I ran into your asshole friends and now I’m here.” She noticed his eyes averted her at the word girlfriend, as if he had a moment of self-reflection, and Grace wondered what that meant. Was she his girlfriend? His wife? She waited a few more seconds for a reaction. When she received none, she asked, “Would you be happy?”
“No,” Robert agreed. “I can’t say that I would be.”
Grace nodded. She then looked around the room, suddenly aware, again, of how hungry she was.
“Do you have anything to eat? Please?”
“Oh god, you must be starving.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a granola bar. “Here you go,” he said, and slid the bar across the table.
Grace squeezed the wrapper, forcing a small, unbroken pocket of air around the bar and ensured the package had not yet been opened.
“Aww, I’m offended,” he said.
She then tore open the wrapper and stuffed half the bar into her mouth.
“Gee, didn’t tink dat wuh possible,” she mumbled while chewing.
“Seriously, if I wanted you dead, I would have had you shot much earlier. I wouldn’t have waited to feed you food laced with poison.”
Even Grace admitted to herself that was a fair statement.
“No,” Robert continued. “My interest is in who you have waiting for you. And where that person is hiding.”
Grace stopped chewing long enough to replay Robert’s words once in her head. She then swallowed.
“What?”
“Oh, you didn’t think we’d find your journal?”
His tone and general disposition had changed, as if this information suggested he had some kind of leverage against her. Grace did not have to think long before she recalled writing in the diary, but she couldn’t think of much consequence upon someone else reading it.
“Okay, you found it. What about it?”
Robert leaned closer and tented his fingers over the table.
“You know.” His voice was dark now, but Grace still didn’t understand why.
“Right,” she said tentatively. “What exactly do I know?”
“The game is over, so you can stop with the bullshit.”
Robert’s face was completely cold. His easygoing manner, which had been a charade from the start, was gone. Any pleasantries, real or pretend, had been replaced by something sinister.
“There is someone on this mountain waiting to hear from you,” he said. “And you’re going to tell me where he is. Because if you don’t, not only will you never leave this mountain alive, you will never leave this room alive.” He then stood, rested his knuckles on the table and leaned even closer toward her. “Of that I can assure you.”
For the first time, Grace was afraid of this man. His father’s outbursts and fist-pounding on the table had been jarring, possibly even staged, but ultimately did not frighten her. Robert’s nonchalant-turned-emotionless disclosure seemed genuine. The threat of death was no act and Grace knew it. Robert sought something from Grace, some secret, but she had no idea what it was and feared she would never be able to convince him she knew nothing. How long would it be until his patience ran out and he killed her?
It was not the first time today that Grace foresaw the end of her life.
Chapter 24
Shelly stood behind the counter inside the camp store and anxiously tapped her fingers next to the register. She loitered by the door to the interrogation room, careful not to make obviou
s her attempt to eavesdrop. She could hear only muffled discussion within the room and speculated on what the woman was telling Robert. Assuming she would claim to have no idea what Robert was talking about, would he believe her and turn his attention to Shelly, or would he be too stubborn and continue to press the woman until…
Shelly desperately wanted to get in there, to question the woman, possibly even work out a strategy with her, but she knew either of those outcomes was a slim possibility.
Even if she was able to talk to the woman alone, gaining the woman’s trust would be another challenge; Shelly was a complete stranger. All this woman knew about Shelly was that she had arrived with Robert, and he had not put out the best first impression when they met at the hut hours ago. It was likely the woman did not think highly of either of them.
The store was in mint condition, as if the dead somehow ignored it entirely. Tom, Kyle and Liam stood with each of their fathers in the middle of the store. Robert’s father, James, stood with them. Ryan’s father, Sam, sat in a chair. He had only just found out about his son minutes ago.
It was awful. He had immediately lunged for Liam in an emotion-filled rage, claiming Liam had not done enough to protect Ryan, that he should have been better prepared and that he was gutless and a coward. It was as if Sam had forgotten how long and close a friendship Liam and his son had.
Sadly, Liam’s father, Peter, hardly prevented Sam from attacking his son. He didn’t even open his mouth to defend Liam when Sam called him those awful things. And now Sam cried for Ryan while each of the men did their best to offer comfort and condolences.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. McKenzie,” said Kyle.
“He was a good boy,” offered Peter. “A good man.”
Robert’s father knelt across from Sam and placed a firm hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Sam,” James began, “we’re going to do everything we can to make this as easy as possible on your family.”
Ryan’s father nodded through heavy sobs, his face buried in his hands.
“You won’t have to pay for a thing, so don’t worry about funerals or memorials… it’ll be taken care of. I know you’re hurting right now, but I just want you to know that.”
Sam nodded again and began wiping at his tears.
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