Ice Run

by Steve Hamilton

  “Show me.” She pulled me to my feet.

  “Natalie …”

  She shushed me. She unbuttoned my shirt and touched my neck. “My God,” she said. “Look what happened to you.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  She shook her head. “After everything you’ve done for me, this is what you get.”

  I took hold of her hand. “We’re going to make everything right,” I said. “We’ll do that tomorrow.”

  She kissed me.

  “Why did you come here?” she said.

  “I had to.”

  “I pushed you away so hard. What kind of a man would do that?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper now. “That much I know. This is better.”

  She pulled my shirt off my shoulders. I reached my arms around her and held her tight. I put my nose in her hair and breathed in her perfect sweet scent.

  “Everything’s going to be okay now,” I said. “I promise.”

  She spun me around and pulled me down onto the bed. I kissed her, again and again. We pulled the rest of our clothes off. We made love on top of the covers and then under them when it got too cold. It kept snowing outside, more and more white flakes coming down like it would bury us forever.

  Afterward I held on to her tight. She was breathing deeply. She was falling asleep in my arms. I tried to say something. This is how it should be. I am in bed. I should stay awake for a while, think about what we’re going to do tomorrow. No, I should sleep. Sleep.

  The wind blew. The sound turned into the faraway droning of an engine. A snowmobile. Then the sound became the wind again.

  “Natalie,” I said, finally finding my voice. I reached for her. There was nothing there. My left arm was being pulled upward now. It made my neck hurt.

  “Natalie.”

  A clicking noise. I know that sound. I’ve heard it before, a long time ago.

  What’s wrong with my arm? I reached with my other hand and heard the noise again. A light came on, blinding me. I felt the pain in my neck again. Pain and what was that? Something cold on my wrists. A metallic rattling. Almost like …

  Handcuffs. I squinted at the bright light and looked up at my hands. I was cuffed to one of the iron railings at the head of the bed.

  “What’s happening?” I said. “Natalie, where are you?”

  There was movement beside the bed. I shook my head and blinked.

  “Natalie!”

  “I’m right here,” she said.

  Everything came into focus. She was standing in the center of the room, putting her clothes on.

  “What the hell’s going on?” I said. “Why did you handcuff me to the bed?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I pulled at the cuffs. The iron rail was as strong as a prison gate.

  “I broke my promise,” she said. “I told you I’d never lie to you.”

  “Natalie, listen to me. Just let me go, okay? We can talk about this.”

  “You know, it’s funny,” she said. “I think I understand my mother a little better now.”

  “Please, Natalie. Let me go.”

  “A lie really does have a lot of power, doesn’t it? It makes everything easy.”

  “No. Come on.”

  “I had to wait until she was dead to see that.”

  “For God’s sake, Natalie …”

  She pulled her sweater on over her head.

  “He sent someone to kill her, Alex. He’ll kill you, too, in a second. You know that. We can’t run away. He’ll find us and kill both of us.”

  I yanked hard on the cuffs. The metal bit into my skin.

  “Natalie …”

  “I’m sorry, Alex. I’m glad we were together. One last time. I wasn’t lying about that.”

  She took her service automatic from her bag, checked it, then put it in her coat.

  “Do not do this,” I said. “Please, for the love of God …”

  “You’d do the same thing, Alex.”

  “No. No, I wouldn’t.”

  “If you were me,” she said, reaching into the bag again, “yes, you would. We’re the same, Alex. You understand me perfectly.”

  “No. Natalie. Please.”

  She brought out another gun. It was a revolver.

  “Do you know what this is?”

  “Natalie …”

  “It’s my grandfather’s favorite gun. It’s an old Webley Bulldog, from World War I.”

  “Please, you can’t do this.”

  “My grandfather’s gun. It was locked away in the basement. But don’t worry. I know how to clean an old gun.”

  She took one step closer to me. I tried to grab her.

  “I have to go now,” she said.

  She stood there for a moment, just out of reach. She looked at me one last time.

  “I love you, Alex McKnight.”

  Then she was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I pulled at the cuffs until my wrists were bleeding. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t bend the metal bed frame. There was only one thing left to do.

  I started yelling.

  “Help! Help! Vinnie! Can you hear me? Vinnie!”

  I stopped to catch my breath, then started again.

  “Anybody! Help! Get me out of here! Help!”

  I yelled as loud as I could until my throat was raw. I kicked at the wall again and again, making as much noise as I could. There was no way anybody could sleep through it, and yet when I stopped, everything was silent again.

  “Vinnie! Where the hell are you? Vinnie!”

  I collapsed in the bed, breathing hard.

  God damn it, I thought. I am such an idiot. She’s going to go out there and get herself killed because I’m the biggest idiot who ever lived. Just as I was about to start the noise again, I heard a knock on the door.

  “Hello in there!” someone said.

  “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Mrs. Larusso, from the front desk. Are you okay in there?”

  “Mrs. Larusso, thank God. You’ve got to get me out of here!”

  There was a pause.

  “Are you locked in, sir?”

  “I’m handcuffed to the bed! You have to help me!”

  Another pause.

  “You’re handcuffed to the bed, sir?”

  “Please! Just come in!”

  I heard her fumble through her keys for a moment. The door finally opened. She poked her head into the room. Then she screamed.

  “You’re naked, sir!”

  “Please, ma’am. Where’s Vinnie?”

  She stayed just behind the door. “The gentleman who was with you?”

  “Yes! Please go get him.”

  “I put him in the room next to you, sir.”

  “Where is he?” There was no way he wouldn’t have heard me, not if he was right next door.

  “I don’t know, sir. Can you tell me why you’re handcuffed to the bed?”

  “I don’t have time. Please. Do you have a hacksaw?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do here, sir. That woman you were staying with, Miss Reynaud, she’s with the police, isn’t she?”

  “Ma’am, please!”

  “I thought I saw a badge in her purse, when she paid me for the room.”

  Oh God. Think, man. Think.

  “Okay,” I said. “Look, I’m a little embarrassed. That badge wasn’t

  real. We were playing a game here, and it got a little carried away. Can you please help me now?”

  “Where is Ms. Reynaud?”

  “She must be down at the bar, having a drink. Please, ma’am.”

  “The bar is closed.”

  “She’s with Vinnie,” I said. “They went out for a walk. It’s all part of the joke, see? But I really, really have to use the bathroom right now, ma’am. I don’t want to ruin your nice bed. Please, please, go get a hacksaw.”

  “It’s three o’
clock in the morning,” she said. “I don’t like any of this, I have to tell you.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. Please, I can’t wait any longer.”

  “I’ll go get the saw and let you out. But if you’ve done anything to that bed frame …”

  “Hurry!”

  I shifted around my legs to cover myself with the blanket as well as I could while I waited for Mrs. Larusso to find her hacksaw. Minutes passed. Hours. Days. At long last, I heard her coming down the hallway again.

  “Are you covered up now, sir?”

  “Yes! Please come in and cut this off.”

  She peered around the door. “You know, I was sleeping,” she said. “I really don’t appreciate this.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry, ma’am. Please hurry.”

  “I’m not sure how to do this. Where do I cut?”

  “Here,” I said. “Right on this chain, between the cuffs.” I pushed one hand through as far as I could, and pulled with the other.

  “My husband is better at this kind of thing,” she said. “He’s on the mainland tonight. He missed the last plane.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” I said. “Just cut right there.” I had to try very hard not to yell at her. That wouldn’t help her move any faster.

  “Okay, let me try,” she said. She took one slow drag of the hacksaw across the chain, making a microscopic notch in the metal.

  “Give it a little speed,” I said. “It’s all in the motion.”

  She tried to saw faster.

  “That’s it,” I said. “Back and forth, back and forth.”

  She got into the rhythm. Then she stopped.

  “Look at this mess,” she said. “We’re getting metal dust all over the sheet.”

  “I’ll clean it up, I swear. Please hurry.”

  “I don’t know what kind of game you were playing,” she said as she started again. “Handcuffing somebody to a bed. That doesn’t sound right to me.”

  “Never again,” I said. “I promise. That’s it. Keep going, just like that.”

  “I think we’re almost there.”

  “Ma’am, let me ask you again. This is very important. Did you see either of my friends leaving?”

  “No,” she said. “I told you, I was in bed. I have a room right behind the front desk.”

  “Okay, I understand.”

  With one last stroke of the saw, the chain broke open. The handcuffs were still on my wrists, of course, but now my arms were free to move again. She screamed when I jumped out of the bed, scrambling for my clothes.

  “Let me leave first, for Heaven’s sake!”

  “Thanks for your help, ma’am.” I threw on my pants and my shirt, laced my boots on over my bare feet. I was just about to step into the big snowmobile suit, said the hell with that thing. Grabbing the gun out of the pocket, I ran out into the hallway and down the stairs.

  When I got outside, the cold air filled my lungs. The snow had let up, lonely flakes drifting slowly from the sky. There was no wind. Everything was quiet. I ran down the street to the restaurant. It was dark. I had left my snowmobile in front. But now it was gone. Vinnie’s was gone, too.

  Son of a bitch, I thought. They couldn’t have gone together. Maybe Natalie took one of the sleds, then Vinnie followed her? Why the hell didn’t he come get me? Was he afraid he’d lose her? At that moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was down here at the bottom of the hill, and Natalie was up at the house.

  I started running. I still had the gun in my hand, so I tucked it into my pants. The handcuffs were rubbing my wrists raw. Within a quarter mile, I was gasping for air. My boots started to slip. Another quarter mile and I was in real pain. I slid on a patch of ice and fell face-first into the snow.

  Get up, I said to myself. You goddamned broken-down worthless piece of shit. Get up and help her. I pushed myself up, the snow hanging from my eyebrows. I wasn’t cold. I couldn’t even feel it.

  I got back on my feet and ran. I was almost up the hill, the Grand Hotel looming above me. I knew that was the halfway point. The ground would be level once I got there. Everything would be easier. I pushed myself harder and harder. I couldn’t breathe anymore, but I kept running.

  I got closer and closer to the hotel. Keep going, Alex. Keep going. Every second counts. I had two hundred yards to go now. Then a hundred. Then fifty.

  When I got to the top of the hill, I had to stop for a moment. My lungs were on fire. I stood there with my hands on my knees, trying to breathe.

  Almost there, I thought. Almost there.

  I set off again, along the front of the hotel. It rose above me like a huge black cliff. All the happy summer people long gone. The men and women all dressed up, playing croquet on the big lawn. The children in the pool. The horses. There was nobody here on this dark road except me.

  I tried to pick up the pace again. I ran up the street, past the million-dollar Victorians until I could finally see the woods ahead of me. I couldn’t see the Grants’ house yet.

  Natalie’s there, I thought. She has to be. And Vinnie?

  Damn, he doesn’t even know where the house is. He’s never been here before. Unless he followed her. I hope to God he followed her.

  I made myself slow down as I came to the edge of the woods. I had to catch my breath. You can’t sneak up on somebody when you’re wheezing like a goddamned asthmatic.

  I left the road before it went into the trees. I’ll take a shortcut, I thought. I’ll come at it from the back, in case somebody’s watching.

  The snow was deep. It was hard work, making my way through it. By the time I got to the first house, my pants were soaked. I leaned against the house, catching my breath again. There’s this house, I thought, then two more. The Grants’ house is the fourth.

  Another thought hit me with a sudden jolt. What if nobody’s there? What if everything’s going down somewhere else on the island? Somewhere I don’t even know about?

  God damn it, no. It has to be here. This is the only place.

  I left the first house, cutting my way through the snow, going from tree to tree. I still couldn’t see the Grants’ house yet.

  Please be there, I thought. Please be there.

  I stopped again at the second house. For a moment, I thought I heard something ahead. It was hard to tell with my own heart pounding in my ears.

  I kept going. One tree to the next tree to the next. Finally, I saw a light.

  It was coming from the house. Someone was there.

  I stopped and listened.

  Nothing.

  I took the gun out of my pants. I moved slowly now, stopping behind each tree. I could see the house clearly now. There was at least one light on, in a room on the ground floor. But none of the outside lights were on.

  I thought back to when I had been there before. We talked to Chris there, in the main room, on this side of the house. Did we leave a light on? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t be sure.

  One way to find out, I thought. I’ve got to get to the house so I can look inside.

  I stayed down as low as I could. The snow helped hide me. It muffled any noise, too. For once in my life, I was thankful for two and a half feet of snow on the ground.

  As I passed the second house, I thought I could make out a break in the snow. It looked like a long line, leading from the Grants’ house, right toward me. A trail maybe. Someone had come this way, not that long ago.

  I stopped and listened. Then I moved around a great, fat tree and saw the path in the snow right there in front of me.

  What the hell? It just stopped. Somebody had come through here, then what? Turned around?

  Wait a minute, what was this? I thought I saw something in the snow. Something dark. As I moved toward it, I felt myself tripping. As I reached down to catch my balance, I put my hand on it.

  Fabric. It was a coat.

  Dear God, I thought. I felt the body. I moved up to the head and pushed the snow away. I couldn’t see who it was.

 
Please, no. Don’t let it be.

  I touched the face. It was as cold and hard as stone. A man’s face. The head was tilted at an impossible angle, the neck cut wide open.

  He’s been dead for a while, I thought. He’s frozen solid. I bent down to look closely at the man’s face.

  It was Marty Grant.

  You poor bastard, I thought. This is what happened to you. You called DeMarco and this is what happened.

  I was about to get up when somebody spoke.

  “Don’t move.”

  I turned to see who it was.

  “I said don’t move. If you move again, I’ll put a bullet right through your left eye.”

  A man was standing there. He had a gun pointed right at my face. He was dressed in white winter camouflage.

  “Okay,” he said. “That’s better. Now we’re going to go inside. I think there’s someone in there who’d like to meet you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The first thing I thought of was my gun. Then I noticed he was holding it. I must have dropped it when I went down on my hands and knees to look at the body.

  “Right this way,” he said. “Please don’t try anything stupid.” He spoke with a French-Canadian accent. He was definitely not the man I saw getting off the plane with DeMarco.

  He waved me in front of him. I started walking.

  “What’s with the outfit?” I said. “You think you’re a commando or something?”

  “Shut up and keep moving.”

  “You specialize in Arctic warfare, right? What’s your unit called again? The JTF2?”

  “I told you to shut up.”

  “I think I’ve got it now,” I said. “You’re not a real soldier at all. You’re one of those losers who likes to dress up and pretend.”

  He didn’t say anything. If I’d knocked him even slightly off balance, that was one small thing in my favor.

  “You must have been the first man here,” I said. “DeMarco sent you to kill Marty Grant. He was a big man, wasn’t he? It’s a good thing you had a gun.”

  As long as I had him out here alone, I had a chance. If he got me into that house, I was probably a goner.

  “You should really shut up now,” he said. “Or I’ll show you exactly how I killed him.”

  “I’m not nearly as big,” I said. “Put the guns down and we’ll see how tough you are.”