by Peter Darley
He walked into the bedroom, returned with a pillow and a blanket, and laid them out across the leather couch.
“Is that for me?” she said.
“No, this is for me. You take the bed. You look like you need some serious rest.”
She looked at him, bemused. His kindness and generosity were beyond what she’d been used to. “Why are you doing this for me?”
“Couldn’t very well have left you out in the snow, now could I?”
She felt sleepy. The vodka had affected her rapidly.
“Look, I think you need to get some sleep,” he said, as though noticing her weary eyes.
She needed no further prompting. He took the empty glass from her and led her to the bedroom door, but didn’t go in with her.
“Try to get some rest.” He closed the door.
Belinda looked around the bedroom. It had a bathroom in the far left corner. There was also the faint hint of a man’s antiperspirant, but she couldn’t tell which brand. The bedroom was warm and snug and the bed looked delicious—but terribly empty. A part of her still wished he hadn’t been such a gentleman.
She stripped down to her bra and panties, switched off the light, and climbed into bed. Emotionally exhausted and slightly drunk, she couldn’t stop the questions from flooding her mind. Maybe in the morning she’d learn some answers.
Brandon gazed at the bedroom door with uncertainty. Why had he brought her to the cabin? His life depended upon it remaining a secret. What was he going to do about his beautiful guest?
He removed his combat attire and picked up his jeans and a shirt from beside the sofa. As the minutes ticked by, he realized how much he wanted Belinda to stay with him, but he was uncomfortable with it. He stood to lose so much if she was to betray him. But why would she?
Ultimately, he had to face a cold, hard truth about himself that made him extremely vulnerable.
He was lonely.
Four
Exile
Brandon awoke with a start at 4:12 a.m. coated with perspiration. Every time he slipped into sleep, he awoke again, his mind preoccupied with his failure to get to Carringby Tower before the attack. Yet he’d acted precisely according to the information he had. It was the second time in a month he’d screwed up and it was weighing heavily on his mind.
And then there was the matter of his guest in the next room. My God. What was I thinking?
He leaped off the sofa and took a t-shirt and jeans that were resting on the back of the leather recliner. Quickly, he dressed himself.
He slipped his sneakers on, made his way over to the corner of the living room, and stopped at a break in the carpet. At first glance it appeared to be nothing more than lackluster workmanship by the carpet installer. He knelt down and scurried around until he found a hook buried in the carpet bed. Pulling on it, he brought up a trap door leading to a wooden basement stairwell. Just underneath the doorframe he found the light switch and flipped it on. With one hand holding the trap door, he descended the steps and closed himself in.
Arriving at the bottom, he looked around the well-insulated basement. There was a door to the outside in the far right hand corner, a boiler, and an electrical generator to his immediate left. A sizeable leather sack rested beneath the generator. He crouched down, unzipped it, and briefly checked a bulging collection of cash.
Satisfied, he zipped it up again, and with considerable effort, hooked the strap across his shoulder. The one-hundred-pound weight of more than one-million dollars in old twenty-dollar bills, was taxing.
He scaled the steps and pushed open the trap door with his back. With difficulty, he managed to rest the sack on the top step and gradually eased it onto the living room carpet. His breathing was labored, his toil enhanced by a gnawing sense of loss brought on by his own weakness and stupidity. Why did I bring her here?
After climbing up, he pushed the sack farther into the living room. As he did so, the trap door slipped from his back and closed again with an almighty crash. His heart almost stopped with the fear it may have woken his guest.
He headed for the front door with the sack and dropped it on the porch, exhaling with the relief of dead weight falling from him.
He reached out and touched his fingers to the door handle of the test aircraft. The door instantly unlocked and rose upwards as the internal electronics display illuminated the porch.
Leaning inside the craft, he touched a sensor and the seats folded forward with almost-silent motion. Once they were flattened forward, he pushed the sack across the porch and it slid into the back of the craft beside two sophisticated-looking chrome attaché cases. Satisfied everything was in place, he activated the seats again, and closed the door.
The incredible spectacle of the snow canyon caught his attention, and a stab of sadness pierced his heart. The cabin was so perfect. It was isolated and safe. But now he was going to have to abandon it and brave the outside world where danger awaited him around every corner. It was as much as he could do not to weep. Why did I have to be so stupid? If only I hadn’t brought her back.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end with the eerie sense that someone was behind him. He turned with a start to see Belinda standing in the living room wearing one of his t-shirts that ended at her knees. Even slightly hung-over and having just awoken in the middle of the night, her appeal hadn’t faded. He gazed upon her flowing, soft auburn hair, fulsome lips, and soulful brown eyes. Her lightly tanned skin had a flawless complexion, and he couldn’t deny how captivating he found her.
“Hi,” she said.
“I thought you were asleep. How long have you been standing there?”
“Just for a second. I heard a noise and it woke me up.”
“You should go back to bed. You need your rest after what you’ve been through.”
“Do you honestly think I’m going to get much sleep after all that’s happened?”
He rubbed his bare arms with the realization of how cold it was. “Come on. Let’s get back inside.” He walked past her, closed the door, and faced the back window. As desirable as she was, he felt extremely uncomfortable with her standing in his living room wearing no pants. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d put some clothes on.”
He glanced behind him as the bedroom door clicked shut.
Belinda tried to get back to sleep, but it was futile. Her mind was permeated with questions, and she knew her brooding host wasn’t likely to be forthcoming with any answers. She didn’t know what to make of him. She’d known, and been intimate with many men, including total strangers. But she’d never encountered one who had a problem with seeing her in various states of undress. Was it because he didn’t find her attractive? Surely someone as handsome and athletic-looking as he was wouldn’t have been the shy type.
Then she realized she was being irrational. She didn’t even know him. He may be a psychopath for all she knew. In her heart, she didn’t believe that.
At 8 a.m. she dressed herself properly and stepped out into the living room. She heard him scurrying around in the kitchen.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m just making some coffee. Would you like some breakfast.”
“That’d be great. Thank you.”
She continued to be mystified by him. He’d saved her life, and was tall, attractive and heroic, but who the hell was he? And where were they? All he’d told her was ‘somewhere near Aspen.’ That could mean anywhere in a vast, snowy, mountainous wilderness such as this.
She gingerly entered the small kitchen and saw the view through the window. The ground was covered with perfect, untouched snow, decorated with a spattering of aspen trees within a spacious clearing the size of a tennis court. The way in which the snow had fallen upon the trees formed shapes like alien creatures.
Behind the clearing was a forest of aspen trees with only hints of green from the branches visible through their snow coating. The tip of the mountains behind it on the far horizon reached up to a rich blue skyline. It was a vision from a fairy t
ale, reminiscent of a classic Christmas postcard.
In Belinda’s opinion, she had found herself in the most perfect place on earth. However, the experience was dampened by the circumstances. Overwhelmed and profoundly shaken by all that had happened, she didn’t know where it was all going to lead.
She became aware of the delicious scent of heated bread as Brandon handed her a tray of croissants and coffee. “Make yourself comfortable and relax in the living room.”
“Sure. Thank you,” she said, and took the tray.
“After breakfast, I’ll go into Aspen to get a more . . . conventional vehicle, and then I’ll take you back to Denver, all right?”
She knew she should have felt relieved he was going to take her home. He clearly had no ill intentions toward her. But she couldn’t deny a touch of disappointment. “Why did you bring me here? You got me off of that roof, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am. But why didn’t you just leave me in Denver?”
He looked at her sadly. “I made a mistake.”
Brandon flew the proto-type aircraft to the bottom of the canyon and hid it in a dense wooded lot, almost forty miles from the cabin. From there, he made the remaining, laborious, three mile journey on foot into Aspen.
Belinda’s words echoed in his mind. Why couldn’t he have just left her in Denver? He had no excuse or reason for bringing her back with him, except for . . . what? The maddening solitude of living in the cabin alone for so long? The natural need he felt to be with a woman? Every time he looked at her, his heart fluttered with the undeniable pull of attraction. Ruefulness for what he was about to do consumed him.
His circumstances dictated he couldn’t afford to be recognized in public. If the situation arose in which a photograph of him was made public by the authorities, witnesses might identify him as having made frequent appearances in the area. He was determined that nobody would ever discover his safe haven. He knew he was going to have to abandon it for the time being, although he was hopeful the day would come when he might return to it.
Having to disguise himself whenever he went into town, applying facial prosthetics in the small aircraft, was always a painstaking procedure.
The hurried cash purchase of a van, specially adapted for driving through snow with the appropriate tires, was the essential purpose of the visit. He drove an eight-thousand dollar, used, white Dodge Sprinter into the forest where he’d concealed the aircraft. With precision flying, he hovered it facing away from the open rear of the van, and gradually reversed it inside.
With everything secured to his satisfaction, he made his way back. With only thirty-seven miles of raw, snow-covered ground, there were no roads to the cabin. Fortunately, the surface wasn’t extreme, but it was always a rough ride, despite the modifications to the van.
Brandon hurried inside the cabin and headed straight for the bedroom without acknowledging his guest.
Belinda stood from the couch and moved to the bedroom doorway. He took two suitcases from the bedroom closet and rummaged through his drawers. She watched as he stuffed the suitcases with clothes. “Why are you doing this?” she said.
“I’m taking you back to Denver. Isn’t that enough?”
“You thinking of moving to the city too?”
“No.”
“Then why pack so much?”
He threw a pair of jeans into the case and didn’t answer.
But to Belinda it was obvious. “You’re leaving because of me, aren’t you? You’re running.”
Still, no response came.
“I won’t tell anyone about this place, I swear.”
He paused with a look of anguish.
Sadness came over her, along with the pangs of guilt. This courageous man was about to embark upon a self-imposed exile because he dared not trust her. What was he running from that could be so terrible he would do that to himself?
After collecting a few bathroom essentials, he clasped the two suitcases shut and carried them to the front door. He took his laptop from the living room table, placed it into its carrying case, and returned to the door.
“Please, don’t do this,” she said. “I appreciate you taking me back, but . . .”
He exhaled as though he was sorely tempted, but still didn’t speak. Without looking back, he picked up the suitcases again. “Let’s get going.”
She followed him out and climbed into the van while he concealed his suitcases and laptop in the back of strange aircraft.
The rear doors closed and within seconds, he was sitting in the driver’s seat. She wanted to ease his anxiety, but she knew there was nothing she could say. “I’m so sorry” was the best she could offer.
Five
Trust
Belinda gazed out of the window as Brandon drove the van through Glenwood Springs. It was past one o’clock in the afternoon, and it would be at least two and a half hours before they reached Denver. The silence was oppressive. She wished he would give her some answers, or at least say something. He drove on as though she wasn’t even there. He’d been so warm toward her only the night before. So why would he have become so cold? Nothing made any sense. She questioned whether she would ever learn who he was, what he was all about, or who had been responsible for attacking Carringby Industries.
She felt ambivalent about him taking her back to Denver. He’d saved her life, and was now willing to sacrifice his home in order to get her back to hers. She didn’t know what he was running from, but it was obviously something extremely threatening to him. The sadness in his eyes was clear. She wondered what kind of a man would do something so selfless for a stranger.
She had fallen in love with his cabin almost immediately. She’d never forget the view from the kitchen window at daybreak, or the spectacular sight of the snow canyon in the moonlight. It was a secret paradise; a sanctuary so far removed from the stresses, strains, and misery of the city. Only the night before, those factors had intensified to the most horrific level she’d ever experienced. The sight of her colleagues being massacred played over in her mind incessantly. It was a miracle she was still alive, and only by virtue of the guy who was driving her back to that same world. All that waited for her in Denver was loneliness, unemployment, and dreams of an amazing haven somewhere in the mountains.
Although she’d been planning to go into Denver with her friends from college the night before, she hadn’t been in contact with any of them for almost a year. She’d been estranged from her family for eleven years, and wasn’t close to anybody. That was the empty existence to which he was returning her.
“What’s wrong?” he said finally.
“Nothing,” she replied. “And . . . everything.”
“You’re going to be fine. In a few hours you’ll be back in your own home, and you can get on with the rest of your life.” He kept his eyes forward as the road sped by. “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through.”
She felt slightly encouraged that he was talking again. “That’s just the point. I have no idea what I’ve been through, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“Believe me, it’s better that you don’t know. If I explained it all to you, anything could slip out in conversation, or even in your sleep. You could tell a secret to someone you trust and tell them not to tell anyone. They could then go and tell someone else they trust and tell them not to tell anyone. Before you know it, the whole damn world’s going to be in on it, and that wouldn’t be good for you, I can assure you.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions.”
“Like what?”
“You’re presuming I have people in my life I trust and that I’m close to.”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
He seemed to become slightly easier about the situation, as though he was relieved she was so alone. “Don’t you have family?” he said. “Friends? What about boyfriends?”
“Nobody at the moment.”
“OK. What about family? Do you have a mother or father?”
She shru
gged her shoulders. “I never knew my father. I was a one-night-stand baby. My mother held it against me ever since.”
“Why? She can’t blame you for that.”
“She’s Catholic and they’re real big on guilt. I couldn’t take the dogma anymore so I ran away from home when I was sixteen.”
“When did you see your mother last?” His tone seemed filled with an intense urgency to learn more about her.
“Four years ago, and that was after seven years of no contact. It was a disaster. She disowned me after I told her to go to hell.”
A combination of guilt and relief showed in his eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that. What about your friends? Surely you must have some friends.”
“Acquaintances. I was planning on going out with some of my old colleagues from college last night. I hadn’t seen any of them in over a year. I watched the people I knew best get gunned down before my eyes, but I’d never been tight with any of them either. I keep to myself. Life’s a lot easier that way.”
He glanced at her empathetically. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”
She reached across and turned on the radio in an attempt to lift the bleak atmosphere. The news came on:
“Removal of the dead from Carringby Industries by the Denver Fire Department has ended this afternoon,” the female reporter began. “Sixty-two fatalities have been recorded, although not all have been identified. The reason for the attack and the identities of the assailants are still not known.”
“You know who did this, don’t you?” she said.
He didn’t answer.
The newscaster continued. “Fifty-one of the victims were located on the floor of the office of CEO, Barton Carringby, who was also killed during the shootings. However, this tragic incident has brought with it another mystery. Belinda Carolyn Reese, Barton Carringby’s personal secretary, is currently listed as missing. It has now been confirmed she was not among the dead.”
