Forgotten Spirits

by Barbara Deese

  “What is it, Mol?” Robin said. “What is she looking at?”

  Grace leaned forward and squinted in the general direction. “Snow and trees, and then more snow and more trees. That pretty much sums it up.”

  Robin couldn’t see what had caught Molly’s attention, but it had to be something on the lake below. When the dog tried to prop herself up on the steering wheel, Grace pulled her back and held her tightly. Molly’s bark was getting shriller by the minute.

  It was hard to see more than a few yards away, but every now and then Robin could glimpse the lake through the trees and driving snow. The drive from Virginia on had been harrowing enough, but this was insane. Hours of hunching over the steering wheel, straining to concentrate on driving, had caused her shoulder muscles to bunch up, but now the adrenaline had pushed the pain back.

  “Whoa,” Grace said, “Back up. I think I just saw a way down to the lake.”

  “Shouldn’t we stay on Foxy’s trail?”

  “I know her tracks go straight, but Foxy must have gotten to the lake by now. That’s where her dog is looking. And I think we just passed a little side road. God willing, it leads to the lake.”

  Ahead of them, the wide tracks of a heavy vehicle had ended. Dubious about the wisdom of leaving Foxy’s trail to follow that of her pursuer, Robin hesitated, and then backed up. There indeed was a narrow path going to the lake, and someone had driven on it very recently.

  Pointing the car downhill, Robin’s heart beat wildly. The tracks they were following, she was certain, had been made by a black SUV driven by a large man with dark hair. What she couldn’t figure out was why this man was so desperate to conceal the fact he was Beau’s father. “Oh, Gracie, what are we getting ourselves into?” she moaned.

  “Another fine mess,” Grace answered, trying to make a joke of it, but failing to get a laugh from Robin.

  They bumped their way down the hill. Robin let out a string of “damns” and “Oh, Lords” and Grace began laughing like a loon—a very nervous loon. By the time they were close enough to see the ridge of snow at the bottom of the hill, Grace’s attempt at suppressing a scream resulted in a monotone “Ahhhh!” that didn’t end until they’d ploughed through a drift and sailed through a narrow opening in the trees and onto the lake.

  Almost immediately, her wheels skidded on the ice underneath the snow. Robin held her breath as they spun, and when the spinning stopped, she had to take a moment to reorient herself. Molly Pat whined and shuddered. In all directions, the landscape looked the same, just as Grace had said earlier. It was nothing but snow and trees.

  But as she sat still, trying to figure out which direction to go, she started seeing something through the blowing snow, and knew they were not alone on this out-of-the-way lake in the middle of a blizzard. From one direction came a low moving shape with headlights, unmistakably a snowmobile. And then another, larger shape appeared from a different angle.

  Grace pressed forward, pointing over the dashboard. “Snowmobile and car!” she intoned.

  “Moose and squirrel!” Robin said in her best impression of Boris Badenoff. “Must catch moose and squirrel.” Her eyes widened as she realized the two vehicles were on a collision course.

  Grace’s laugh was cut off. “Oh, God!” she and Robin said at the same moment.

  In front of them on the lake, the two vehicles converged and caromed off each other. The crash was soundless to the two women in the car. They watched headlights spin madly in two directions, illuminating the snowflakes and creating infinite dancing specks of light—more like a ballet or a psychedelic light show than the violent demolition derby it actually was.

  Robin tentatively depressed the accelerator. The wheels spun, then caught. It was hard to pick up speed, but they soon arrived at the scene. The snowmobile was on its side, and whoever had driven it was nowhere in sight. “It isn’t even running,” Robin said.

  “Dead man switch,” Grace answered. “When there isn’t any weight on the seat, the engine stops. It’s a safety feature.”

  Robin turned to look at her.

  “I have sons.” Grace opened the door. She’d barely gotten one boot on the ground when Molly Pat leapt over her outstretched arm and shot off into the vast whiteness. “Molly!” she yelled, but knew she had to let the dog go. She plodded through the snow to where the machine lay, illuminated by Robin’s headlights. She bent to get a better look, walked to the other side, and then hurried back to the car. Tears were streaming down her face from the biting wind. “Nobody underneath,” she said to Robin as she got in, “and I lost the dog. She went in that—oh, wait! I think something’s over there.”

  Robin looked where she pointed, and steered the car in the direction of the large dark vehicle, which had come to rest about fifty yards from the overturned snowmobile. Before they got there, Robin saw something else and without thinking, slammed on the brakes. Again, the car lost traction and made at least two revolutions before she got it under control. Moving forward very slowly, she gasped at what she could plainly see straight ahead of her, caught in the headlights. Someone was crawling across the lake, keeping low, like the soldiers she’d seen in movies. Just then, the figure collapsed and lay still.

  Grace pointed and squawked, “Foxy!”

  Robin stopped the car only feet from the crawling person. “Please be Foxy,” she said. Exiting the safety of the car, she and Grace threw caution to the gale force winds and dashed over to rescue their friend.

  Grace fell on her knees next to the person in the snowmobile suit. “Foxy?” she yelled.

  Bending to put a hand on the shoulder of the collapsed figure, Robin echoed the name.

  The person rolled and struggled, one-handed, to try to open the visor. Grace shucked off her mittens and worked the visor open. She saw immediately it was not Foxy.

  Chapter 32

  The first to respond was a volunteer with the Ely Fire Department known as Flash, not only because he fought fires and had the reputation for being the first on the scene, but because his real name was Gordon. Arriving by snowmobile ahead of the other emergency responders, he found Matt unconscious, his lips taking on the bluish hue of cyanosis, and his breathing slow and ragged. Flash talked loudly to him, shook his shoulders and rubbed his knuckles across his sternum in an attempt to rouse him, but with no response. He noted the nearly empty wine glass on the table. As Flash checked vital signs, Matt gasped for breath once and then his breathing returned to slow and shallow.

  Flash tried to remember exactly what the woman had said in the call he’d picked up on the police scanner. She clearly said someone at Twin Loons was unconscious. And she said his name, too. She might have said “Matt is drunk,” but he could have sworn she’d said “drugged.”

  Matthew Tripp was no stranger to him. Theirs was a small, close-knit community of outdoor enthusiasts. Just last week he and Matt had gone snowshoeing with a group from Ely. Afterwards, they’d headed over to Silver Rapids Lodge for steaks and drinks. He and Matt had ordered one glass of wine apiece, and the other four shared a pitcher of beer. It wasn’t a heavy drinking crowd.

  Drug overdose was consistent with the symptoms. He couldn’t wait any longer for the ambulance to get there. In fact, he could only hope he’d gotten there in time. Pulling a bottle of naloxone from his rescue kit, he drew up five milliliters into a syringe, attached an atomizer, and sprayed half of it into Matt’s nostril. Opiate overdoses were becoming more and more common. Over the summer, Flash had been on the scene when a twelve-year-old honor student died from taking his mom’s prescription painkillers. If Matt hadn’t overdosed on heroin or OxyContin or morphine, the naloxone wouldn’t harm him, but if he had, the opiate antagonist would buy him precious time.

  * * *

  Looking into the stranger’s eyes inside the helmet, Grace shrieked when a strong hand gripped her wrist and hung on. A gravelly
male voice said, “Go to Foxy.”

  “Who are you?”

  He shoved her away from him. “Go!” he said, pointing in the direction he’d been crawling.

  Grace and Robin stared into the whorl of snow. There was nothing but white, but then suddenly Robin saw the dark shape of a vehicle in the distance, and knew, without a doubt, they’d found the black SUV driven by a murderer. It sat, unmoving. As she stared, a blur of movement passed across her vision between them and the vehicle, racing in the direction the man in the snowmobile suit pointed. She thought she heard barking through the noise of the storm. “Molly Pat!” she yelled to Grace as she tore off after the dog.

  Grace turned her attention to the man lying in front of her. “Let me help you to the car.”

  “No!”

  “It’s just a few feet. Can you walk?”

  “Don’t move me.” He mumbled something else she couldn’t hear.

  She had no choice but to leave him. Grace stood awkwardly and immediately slipped on the ice. She scrambled on hands and knees to the open door. Hauling herself up, she reached into the back seat and grabbed Molly’s blanket. She covered the injured man, pulled her cell phone from her pocket and hit the numbers 9-1-1. “Help is on the way,” she hollered to him over the howling wind.

  “Help Foxy,” he said again.

  Leaving the phone on, she shoved it into the palm of the man’s mitt and ran, or rather, hobbled, after the fading silhouette of Robin. In Girl Scouts, she’d learned how to find her way in the wilderness by lining up at least two trees ahead of her to avoid walking in circles. She wondered, idly, if lining up Robin and Molly Pat counted. She pulled the hood of her coat over her hat, which meant she could only see straight ahead through the tunnel of fabric.

  Swirling snow changed the landscape, building white hills and valleys that shifted by the minute. She’d lost sight of Molly Pat long ago, and now Robin’s figure blanked out, only to reappear in a different place than she’d expected. The dark SUV loomed closer. She tried to ignore the danger it represented.

  She stopped walking and closed her eyes against a strong gust of wind, and when she opened them, she saw a strange tableau only twenty feet away. Against the backdrop of a small snow-covered island, Robin knelt over an black-clad body that lay perfectly still, curled up as if to ward off a blow. A single black boot lay three feet away, giving the illusion she’d been cut in two. Red hair spilled from under the snowmobile helmet. The black-and-white terrier whined and yipped as she nosed the body in an attempt to revive her owner.

  “Is she alive?” Grace yelled to Robin, coming up behind her.

  At the exact moment Robin’s face turned toward Grace, the SUV’s engine came to life. They watched in horror as the vehicle picked up speed, heading right toward them. And then suddenly, the SUV became a giant spinning top. As it spun, it created a flume of snow in an arc around it. There was no chance of getting out of its way. Robin and Cate shrieked as it bore down on them, circling ever closer.

  As it spun past them, the side-view mirror grazed Grace’s back and knocked her onto Robin, who fell onto Foxy’s outstretched arm. Robin and Grace, the top two layers on this heap of humanity, flinched when they heard a loud thud. Peeling herself off Robin, Grace knelt and helped her to her knees. They looked up to see the SUV sitting lopsided next to the rocky outcropping at the point of an island.

  As they considered the situation, the driver’s door opened and a hulking figure stepped out. Grace watched in horror as he lumbered toward them.

  “We can take him,” Robin said in a tough voice that sounded nothing like her.

  All Grace could think was If he’s armed, we’re all dead.

  “Hey!” he yelled. His voice was deep and sonorous. “Is she okay?”

  “Help is on the way!” Grace yelled back, for the second time that day.

  He walked with a distinct limp, even dragging one foot along the snow and ice. His head swung from them to where Grace assumed Matt’s cabin must be and then to where Foxy lay.

  He was only a couple of body lengths from them now. His dark hair was mostly concealed by his stocking cap, but nothing could conceal the fanatical gleam of his eyes. “Leave her to me. I’ll take it from here.” The way he growled this order told Grace he expected to be obeyed.

  He was close enough Grace could see his grim expression. She glanced quickly at Robin, who raised her eyebrows and nodded her head very slightly. It was a signal.

  He was only two feet from Foxy. Looking at Robin, Grace braced herself. The stranger leaned down, his lips parted in a phony smile and then opened in a shout as Robin and Grace aimed their kicks at his injured leg. His foot slewed to the side and he went down hard. The crack of bone was audible and his wail mimicked the sound of the raging storm.

  * * *

  Vinnie knew something was broken, but he managed to drag himself to the car. Pain tore through his side. Propping one arm on the seat, he was able to press a button on the dash to turn on the flares. Then he leaned on the horn.

  He was still honking the horn when the rescue worker drove up on his snowmobile. Although he was slipping in and out of consciousness, Vinnie managed to point in Foxy’s direction and say, “My wife. I think she’s hurt bad. Her leg’s ripped off.”

  But the man shook his head and said, “Don’t worry. We’ve got someone on the way.” And sure enough, Vinnie saw a pair of headlights heading toward where he knew Foxy had been thrown off the snowmobile.

  The guy who introduced himself as Flash asked him a bunch of questions and then helped him onto a toboggan he towed behind him. “I’ve got an ambulance waiting on shore. We don’t have to go far.”

  Vinnie’s pain, once he was covered with a blanket and strapped into the toboggan, lessened enough so he could close his eyes and let himself drift into oblivion.

  * * *

  Foxy was alive. She’d roused enough to say her abdomen hurt and she was cold . . . so cold. In light of the fact they couldn’t find any visible injury, those words made ice water run through Robin’s veins. Internal injuries could be fatal.

  The man lying just feet from her groaned. “What about me?” he yelled.

  “Yeah, what about you?” Robin said with exaggerated calm.

  “I’m a pastor, goddamit! Don’t I get any consideration here?”

  Foxy mumbled something and Robin and Grace leaned to hear, asking her to repeat when necessary. Her voice was faint and getting fainter, but she managed to pack a lot of information into a few words.

  Turning to the man Foxy had just identified, Robin said, “Foxy just said you can go to hell.”

  “I was just trying to help you!” he bellowed.

  Grace set her jaw and stood. Looming over him, hands on hips, she said, “How were you helping, exactly? By killing Sierra and trying to kill Matt?”

  “Who? You can’t—” Like a cobra striking, his hand shot out and grabbed her around the ankle. Instead of falling backwards on the ice, she tilted forward to fall, and wound up planting all her weight on his midsection, knocking the air out of him.

  He gasped and then screamed in pain.

  Grace shoved herself into a standing position, put her hands on her hips again and said, “You’re not going to try that again, are you?”

  “I’m not a bad person,” he said, and began to cry.

  Robin screamed suddenly, jumping to her feet and waving her arms. “Here! We’re over here!”

  Through the snow and dim light, a pair of headlights appeared. A vehicle stopped within arm’s length of her. Molly Pat didn’t move from her owner’s side, even when the person in a heavy parka and Steger mukluks got out of the four-wheeler.

  It occurred to Robin she should be suspicious of yet another stranger who just happened to show up in the middle of the lake in a blizzard, but she had only so m
uch energy, and she wasn’t going to waste it on any emotion other than hope, or any thought other than saving her friend.

  Leaning over Foxy, the latest arrival asked her, “Can you talk?”

  Foxy answered in the affirmative. Molly licked her face.

  “I’m a doctor,” the young woman said. “Tell me where you hurt.” She pressed her fingers to Foxy’s throat. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “What about me?” The voice behind them boomed. “I broke my fucking hip!”

  The doctor gave him a backward glance and said, “Someone’s coming with another board. We’ll get you to the hospital as soon as possible. Just hang in there.”

  “My balls are frozen to the ice,” he moaned.

  “That’s what he worries about?” the doctor muttered as she got a bright yellow rescue board from her vehicle. “Oh, look!” she called back to the man Foxy had identified as her former pastor and father of Sierra’s only child. “Help is here.”

  Together, Grace, Robin and the doctor lifted Foxy onto the board and got her secured for the ride. Molly Pat, not about to be left behind, jumped in and lay by her side.

  Another snowmobile zoomed up, trailing a toboggan. Paul’s rescuer wore the badge of the Ely Police Department.

  Chapter 33

  The storm raged for another hour, and then, as night fell, the winds began to die down. The exhausted staff at Ely-Bloomenson Hospital was already overworked, what with downed power lines, a number of falls, and even more car accidents. In the summer, a lot of their patients came from out of town. They were the weekend warriors who appreciated the beauty of the wilderness but didn’t understand nature’s power or their own limitations. At this time of year, though, it was mostly locals.