Extreme Instinct jc-6

by Robert W. Walker

  She tried desperately to pull him out, but he appeared rigid, as if rigor mortis had prematurely set in, his eyes still alive, still staring back at her. But he remained unable to move, dead in the water-shock and rapid dehydration, she guessed. He was next pulled under by the heavy, hot saliva of Hell, and she somewhat gratefully watched him go, thinking him the most grateful of the grateful dead now…

  Taking a deep breath and regretting it, for she'd filled her lungs with the sulfur fumes free-floating here, Jessica fell back against the earth at the edge of Hell, and relaxed her guard now, panting, catching her breath. Her breathing was just returning to normal when suddenly the scalding waters beside her erupted and Dorphmann's hand reached from Hell to take hold of her, his body surging upward, taking hold of her ankle, desperately attempting to drag her down with him, using his body weight against her.

  Jessica kicked wildly out at him again and again, ramming her heels into him until both her shoes fell away and turned to searing, inert balls of boiling gruel before her eyes as Dorphmann continued to struggle to bring her into Hellsmouth with him.

  His face emerged in a mask of madness and sloughing skin, portions of his face peeling away with the weight of the superheated waters that had infiltrated every pore and the spaces between his cells, turning him into a gelatinous creature.

  Jessica pulled away and his palms came away with her while his bone remained with him.

  She pulled farther and farther away, gasping and crying as she did so, frightened beyond all reason, seeing him rise now in some superhuman way from Satan's belly until he crawled on all fours from the pool, flopping onto the ground beside her, still desperately trying to pull her back in and down with him, a look of deepest pleading on his seared features, his white-red boiled skin falling away, tumbling with his eyebrows from his brow, his eyes now two red, unseeing oranges.

  He was blind, his eyes having been boiled away. His skin sloughed off in a pasty, gelatinous material, exposing bone in places; what seemed an entire foot slipped off and, like a mackerel, slithered back into the nearby, bubbling pool, claimed by it.

  It was too late for medical assistance for Dorphmann. He died in a blinding, searing, white-hot liquid heat that had become a part of him. Jessica kicked out again and again to release the frozen, solidified hold on her ankle, and when the monster's hand came off, the rest of him slid down into the pool. There, his clothing and skin finally consumed by Hellsmouth, the flesh became fishy and it wobbled and flopped from his every bone, his face a mask of pain so intense that a frozen rictus smile would forever remain.

  He's dead… He's got to be dead now, she assured herself. Dead of dehydration and the burns suffered over one hundred percent of his evil body and brain. Only silicified bone and teeth would remain, if anything of him at all could be salvaged from Hellsmouth.

  He still blindly reached out to her again and moaned in a sepulchral voice, "I didn't want to do it. He made me do it… Now he's got me…"

  Jessica passed out as the dead man slipped away from her, back into the cauldron.

  When she opened her eyes, Jessica found a crowd of onlookers staring and shouting at the scene, some calling for medical assistance.

  Jessica found that her own burns frightened some of the onlookers. Dirt and tears stained her face. Her blouse ripped, her skirt torn, her shoes missing, she was lifted onto the boardwalk by Rideout and some of Fronval's rangers. Rangers with salves and clean gauze bandages began to wrap both her ankles and her hands where she had been scalded either by Hellsmouth's waters or Dorphmann's touch. She heard the words "second-degree burns" and "third-degree burns," but she felt no pain.

  From the other side of the crowd, she heard J. T.'s voice and that of Eriq Santiva, each calling out her name, terrified of what they would find when the crowd parted around her. The cavalry had arrived just a bit late, but all the same, she was pleased to know that J. T. and Eriq were nearby.

  J. T. fell to his knees over her, his hands feeling for any broken bones, his questions coming at her in rapid succession. "Are you hurt? Where does it hurt? How bad are the burns? Get those bandages around her wrists, hands, ankles before any infection can set in."

  Santiva, equally concerned, now held her head in his lap, looking down over Jessica, asking if she were all right.

  "I'm fine. A few aches and pains, but I'll survive. For some reason, I don't feel the burns."

  "That's because you're in shock!" J. T. shouted at her, chastising her. "You fool, you bloody fool. You might've gotten yourself killed. You might be at the bottom of that searing hot pool right now."

  Neil Gallagher now knelt over her, shaking his head. "I have to agree with Dr. Thorpe on that score, Coran. And Dorphmann, the Phantom? What's happened to him? Has he escaped into the park? Shouldn't we be launching a manhunt, Santiva?" he asked.

  Jessica realized only now that no one besides her had actually seen the horror of Feydor Dorphmann's end, that no one else had witnessed the death. She imagined Karl Repasi's smug and debunking attitude now: With no body, who was to say if Dorphmann had actually been killed here or not? She was the only person alive to see him removed from this world. If nothing of Dorphmann were ever retrieved from Hellsmouth, there would always remain an element of doubt on the part of others. She alone would know the truth, that the monster had been relegated to another, more scorching environment.

  Jessica's mouth had gaped open with her thoughts.

  "Well, Dr. Coran?" pushed Gallagher.

  "Let her be," snapped Thorpe.

  Jessica said, "Someone here must've seen what happened to Dorphmann!"

  "He's resting comfortably in Hellsmouth," pronounced Corey Rideout over Santiva's and Gallagher's considerable shoulders. "Isn't that right, Dr. Coran?"

  Karl Repasi came into Jessica's line of vision, and she heard him ask, "Is that right, Dr. Coran?"

  Jessica's eyes lit up, and she reached out with her half-bandaged right hand, the bandage like a spectral gauze peeling from a mummy, laden as it was now with the sulfur-filled, phantasm-like breezes here. She pointed to Rideout, asking, "Then you saw him die?"

  Everyone turned to Rideout for an answer. He'd been ahead of the other men with his high-powered rifle, in search of the killer and first to hear Jessica's distressed cries, and first to find Jessica here. It had been Rideout who had lifted her onto the boardwalk with the help of other rangers.

  "Well?" asked Santiva, "Did you see the man drown in that?" He pointed to the boiling, steaming water alongside the boardwalk.

  Rideout had their attention, including Jessica's. His answer must corroborate her story. It meant at least a second witness to the man's final demise, that she would not be alone in that judgment, as she had been alone all along with the man's evil phone calls.

  "Well, no, I didn't exactly see him go down, no… but I sure heard his screams, screams straight outta Hell. All the rangers and savages with me-park employees, I mean-they all heard him, too, didn't you, boys?"

  A wave of agreement went up among the rangers and park employees, known in Yellowstone parlance as savages.

  "He tried to drag me into Hell with him," she explained. "Had some idea that an exchange would be made, that his soul would be set free for mine. It was some supernatural message he'd received from the ruler of Hades himself."

  "Satan himself wanted a go at you, heh, Dr. Coran?" asked Repasi. "That should play big in the press."

  "Shut up, Karl!" shouted J. T., losing control. "One more word from you and I'll knock your lights out."

  Repasi ignored J. T., continuing with, "You must admit, Jessica, your ahhh… relationship with this fiend is big news. The National Enquirer's gotten hold of it."

  "And how much did they pay you for it, Karl?" snapped Santiva.

  "Damn you, Repasi," J. T. exploded, gaining his feet and shoving the other man away from Jessica. "Go chew on somebody else's bones." When J. T. returned to Jessica, continuing to minister to her medical needs, he said to her, "Karl's ra
ntings can't be taken any more seriously than those of that madman Dorphmann."

  Repasi called out, ''I never meant to imply for one moment that Jessica was the root cause either of this man's obsession or the god-awful acts he has committed in the name of that obsession."

  "Well, thank you for that," replied Jessica, but she didn't believe Karl was here in the interest of mending fences.

  Gallagher quickly agreed with Repasi's last words. "Dr. Repasi is absolutely correct, Dr. Coran. Listen to him."

  "Thank you, gentlemen," she replied. "Whatever the truth, we may never know, not completely. All the same, I'm just glad that we've been able to put an end to this madness."

  "But did we?" asked Repasi. "Or did Dorphmann end it?"

  "Either way, it's over," Jessica countered. "Thank God."

  "Whose god, yours or Dorphmann's?"

  "Goddamn you, Repasi," said J. T. "I mean, it! Shut up!"

  Around them, the park was coming awake, into the light of a new dawn. There was a softness to the light as it filtered in among the steam pools here, like a scene filmed through a filter, Jessica thought.

  "Dorphmann was a raving lunatic, a madman," muttered Santiva. "No doubt his god was also a lunatic."

  "A lunatic god," muttered Repasi. "Very good, Agent Santiva."

  Eriq ignored Repasi and spoke directly to Jessica. "We'll have the pool dredged now that light is coming on. We'll recover the body."

  "Maybe the skeletal remains, the bone and teeth," she replied, "but nothing else."

  J. T. quickly added, "We have the bastard's dental records. We'll ID him."

  "Problem is, sometimes these pools don't give back anything of a person who's fallen victim to 'em," said Rideout. "We might get lucky, maybe in a few days, what little remains of the man might rise to the surface, maybe not."

  ''Just hafta wait and see's all,'' added one of the rangers standing by.

  "How's Sam Fronval?" asked Jess.

  "Hold still, Jess," complained J. T. as he continued bandaging her hands. "Both your hands are badly scalded. It's going to be a while before you wield a scalpel again."

  "How bad, J. T.? How bad is Fronval?"

  The ranger in charge replied, "Sam's a tough ol' bird. From what everyone could tell, he's going to be all right. The medics took him on down to Mammoth, to the hospital there. He was sittin' up and cursin' when they hauled his ornery ass off."

  This made for an eruption of laughter from all those who knew Sam.

  "I'm more worried about your burns, Jess," J. T. told her.

  Jessica considered her injuries. "I don't feel any pain. How bad off can I be?"

  "You will," he replied.

  Her eyes implored him for the truth.

  "Don't worry. Like I said, it'll take some time, but you'll heal. Your ankles and feet aren't quite so badly burned. You must have had quite a struggle with that maniac. I can't believe you got so close!" He was angry with her. "Can't believe you let him get his hands on you. Damn you, Jess." J. T. was near to tears, and to combat them, he finished off the bandages about her feet and ankles, shouting orders to the rangers to get a stretcher out to them and to have an ambulance waiting, that he wanted Dr. Coran transported to the nearest burn facility.

  "That'd be Mammoth hospital, over to Mammoth," said Rideout. "We don't need to wait for assistance. I'll take her in my bird."

  Jessica felt herself being lifted in the hands of her pallbearers, but these pallbearers were carrying her away from the death that Dorphmann and his Devil had planned for her, Gallagher, Repasi, J. T., Santiva, and Rideout, all fussing for the privilege to help her away from the grave. She closed her eyes, exhaustion settling in over her, and she blacked out.

  EPILOGUE

  Fire is an event, not an element.

  — Stephen Pyne

  Later, at Old Faithful Lodge, the team recuperated, sitting out on the massive deck, drinks in hand, watching from comfortable knotty pine chairs the eruption of Old Faithful every half hour or so. Everyone was pleased that the Phantom had finally been put down, and a twenty-four-hour watch had been placed on Hellsmouth in the hope that something of Feydor Dorphmann might return to the cauldron's surface.

  Jessica remained in Mammoth for now, her injuries being attended to by people who knew a great deal more about rehabilitating burned tissue than J. T. or Repasi or anyone else on the deck here. The bus that Feydor Dorphmann had been using for the greater part of his trek to his wished-for freedom from his demon had arrived, bus 67, carrying its cargo of sight-seeing passengers and Doris, the tour guide. J. T. recognized the VisionQuest bus as soon as it pulled up at midday. Had Dorphmann not been interfered with in Salt Lake City, if J. T. hadn't run down the bus and tour group that one Chris Dunlap had attached himself to, if Dorphmann hadn't had the run-in with Warren Bishop, the fiend might well have remained on this schedule, today's schedule. Feydor Dorphmann would be arriving this moment at Old Faithful Lodge, awaiting Jessica's arrival in a less agitated state of mind, far more prepared to face her and put an end to his fevered brain one way or another.

  J. T. considered this possibility. What might Dorphmann have done differently had he the luxury of time? The night Dorphmann had arrived here, he believed he must kill two more sinners for his crusade or puzzle before facing down Jessica Coran. Dorphmann had hastily done just that, killing two more innocent bystanders, hurrying his showdown with Jessica.

  Again J. T. wondered how differently things might have worked out if Feydor Dorphmann were just now getting down from bus 67, which J. T. stood staring down at now from the deck overlooking the front entry to Old Faithful Lodge. He imagined the monster among the meek travelers now searching impatiently for their bags.

  J. T. found himself vacating his position above the bus to stand at the side of the bus tour director. She didn't know who or what he was until he flashed his FBI credentials and asked if he might have a word with her.

  "I could use a drink," the heavily made-up lady with the name tag of Doris replied.

  J. T. waltzed her into the lounge, which was, at this hour, nearly empty.

  "How can I help you?"

  "I thought you'd like to know that Dorphmann, the man you knew as Dunlap, was killed here by an FBI agent early this morning out at one of the hot springs."

  Doris's mouth hung open for a moment, and after a deep breath, she said, "That's good news."

  "You don't sound convinced of that."

  She was understandably shaken. She told J. T., "I knew from day one he was a sad man. Lonely, I figured, like… well, like so many. But he wanned a bit the last few days he was with us. Ask anyone on the bus. I mean, he seemed such a… a nice man…"

  "Really?"

  "I mean after we got the ice to break with him. I mean he was always helping others on and off the bus with a smile, bought little presents in the gift shops not for himself or his family-guess he had no family-but for people on board the bus, strangers to him. Couldn't get him to join in on the sing-alongs, but Chris, Mr. Dunlap

  … Dorphmann, always offered a kind word to me about my voice. Said I was a fine entertainer, that I could play Caesar's Palace in Vegas if given a chance."

  "I see."

  "I just can't believe it-that he'd kill anyone, and in so brutal a fashion as they say. Are you writing a book, too?" she asked.

  "Ma'am?"

  "In Jackson Hole I met another medical man, an M.E. like yourself. Said he was writing a book in which this case would figure prominently."

  "Oh, yeah… That'd be Dr. Repasi."

  "Yes, that's him. So, are you?"

  "Writing a book on the case? No, not me."

  J. T. thanked the woman, paid for their drinks, and said good-bye. He momentarily wondered how Karl Repasi intended to portray him in the book, if he'd be mentioned at all; then he wondered how Karl meant to portray Jessica, and he wondered if anything remained of the teeth in libel laws. Then he promptly forgot about Repasi and his damned book.

  Several d
ays had passed and Jessica had returned to the lodge, where she was the guest of the FBI. Santiva had told Jessica to take off as many days as she felt necessary, while he, J. T., Gallagher, Repasi, Rideout, and everyone else returned to their normal lives. Jessica was left to wonder what exactly "normal life" meant. She feared she would never know the feeling of a steady existence. She feared for her friend Warren Bishop, whose wounds had thankfully healed to the point where he was talking of leaving the hospital in Salt Lake City but the moment he did so, the FBI brass wanted to see him. He was up on charges of selling his position and influence, his connection with Frank Lorentian in this affair now public information. She worried for Warren, knowing that if he had any future with the bureau at all, it would be a dim one, three steps back.

  At the hospital in Mammoth Springs, Jessica had received telegrams, flowers, and cards from well-wishers, friends, relatives, colleagues, and strangers. With hands heavily bandaged, she had a nurse open them all for her. One enormous flower arrangement had been waiting for her in her room, brought in moments before she'd come up from the ER. The arrangement's size and beauty, twenty-four mixed-colored roses, had her believing that it must be from James. A nurse read the card to her, saying, '' 'Thank you for sending that murdering pervert straight to Hell.' Signed 'Frank.' And there's a.. a sizable check made out to you, Dr. Coran."

  "Check? Let me see that." She looked at the amount. It was a stunning one-hundred-thousand-dollar check. She hoped that Frank Lorentian had finally found some closure in the horrid death of his daughter. Obviously, his answer to everything in life was wrapped in green. In the meantime, he had bought and paid for one FBI agent who'd subcontracted out to a once-reputable medical examiner already. And Karl Repasi planned an early retirement on royalties from a book that promised the unvarnished truth in the Phantom case. Enough was enough, Jessica concluded, and asked the nurse, ' 'Would you please give these flowers out among all the other nurses on the floor? And make arrangements for me to see whoever's in charge of accepting donations for your burn center? I'll be wanting to make a sizable donation."