Shelter from the Storm

by Molly Wens

  The law-enforcement officials of Jackson Hole had to be dealt with first, however. They had interrogated her for several hours that first night, until she finally begged to be allowed to rest. That was when the sheriff's wife had intervened on her behalf, demanding that a doctor have a look at her, and saw to it that she had been given a comfortable room in one of the luxury hotels in town. The doctor had been concerned that she was under weight but pleased with her condition otherwise. She had decided not to tell him she was expecting, determining that it would be better to keep that tidbit to herself, and not have the world find out about it. She would wait until she got home to see her own doctor for pre-natal care.

  It was not until the next morning that she was informed of the fate of her two kidnappers. She had asked the sheriff what action was being taken against the two men and he finally told her that action would not be necessary, that the men were dead. “Their deaths were pretty gruesome,” Sheriff Tomlinson had said with a bleak expression. “At least one wild animal, if not more, had a pretty good meal. Evidence inside the van suggested that the culprit was a wolf, but no one has seen a wolf in these parts for a lot of years."

  Tomlinson then handed her a large box that contained the personal effects that she had left behind when she had been forced to flee the van. “What evidence?” Carissa had asked as she slowly removed various items from the box, one at a time, to look them over carefully. She found a small tuft of white fur stuck to the inside of her over-coat, clinging to the dried blood that stained the lining. She immediately tossed the coat into the trash with a shudder of revulsion as he answered.

  "There were several bloody paw prints inside the van which could only have been made by a wolf. Looked to be a white one, too, from all the hairs found on the scene. That would be a rare animal for sure. What that animal did to those two men is the stuff of nightmares.” He had stopped for a moment, seemingly in need of mustering his self-control to stop himself from gagging before continuing. “According to the M.E., those boys were still alive when that animal was eating them."

  Carissa had been surprised that hearing the gory details of their deaths did not cause even the least bit of queasiness in her stomach. “How could the coroner tell?” she had asked.

  "Well,” the man had said slowly, blanching further, “the amount of blood in the van, for one. The wounds had continued to bleed after being inflicted. There was blood splatter patterns on the roof and walls of the van that suggest blood spurting from arterial wounds—the hearts of the vics were still beating. There were quite a few defensive wounds on their hands and forearms, and a fair amount of their own gore under their nails. Both men had lost their livers and had continued to bleed from those wounds. Kyle Pritchert was found outside the vehicle, with a blood trail under the snow where he had tried to crawl away. Quite a bit of his entrails was found under the snow, too. Must've fallen out as he dragged his body.” The man had shuddered at that, and turned to questioning her again, about how she had managed to escape the kidnappers.

  A woman had burst into the sheriff's private office at one point, screaming at Carissa, calling her a murderer, accusing her of being responsible for her brother's death. Carissa was later told that the woman was Kyle Pritchert's half-mad sister, a woman who had been completely dependent upon Pritchert. Though she had pity for the woman, Carissa simply could not bring herself to feel sorry that her tormentors were dead, or about how they had died. She shuddered again when memories of how she had been viciously attacked came from the corners of her memory, plaguing her already-troubled mind. They had been truly evil men.

  She thought of the wolf in her dreams, Alice, the white wolf who had helped her and had warned her. She had quickly dismissed that thought with a shake of her head, however. Alice was a figment of her imagination; something conjured in her addled mind during her horrendous experience while lost in the Teton wilderness. Her lips curled in a sinister smile at the thought that some force out there had gotten vengeance on her behalf, however, no matter how fanciful that idea was.

  The flight attendant's voice over the loudspeaker, telling them to fasten their seatbelts for their landing approach brought her thoughts back to the present. The shuttle flight would be landing at Salt Lake City where she was to make a connection with the Claire-Smith company jet that Mr. Claire had insisted she take. After the comments of the young man in the seat next to her, she would be glad of the privacy. She just did not think she was capable of dealing with any more idiots at this point.

  Before retiring to her own seat, the flight attendant bent over to speak to Carissa, telling her that someone would meet her at the terminal to take her to the private flight that would carry her home. Despite the misery in her tired soul, she felt a certain thrill of anticipation, an impatient restlessness that had her arms itching to hold her children and hug her mother. She was going home at last.

  As she listened to the plane's landing gear whirring into place, she thought again of Bryce. How could he have just turned his back, sent her away without a word? She knew a certain betrayal at his actions and a desire to erase him from her memory, to forget the man had ever existed, no matter how impossible a task that was. Tears welled again, threatening to spill over as she blinked impatiently, forcing them back. He was an asshole of the highest caliber and she hoped he was miserable in the empty solitude of his damned mountain.

  What Carissa did not know was that her wishes had come true. High up on that mountain, a giant of a man had been reduced to a broken, vacant shell, giving in to the despair that had taken hold of his life, despondent and lost in his dismal loneliness. He had not eaten or slept in days as he sat alone in his chair in front of a cold hearth clutching the discarded shirt that she had once worn. Not even Skoll, desperate to be let out of the anguished atmosphere of the cabin, could get the man's attention, and was forced to eliminate his bodily waste on the cold stone floor.

  Bryce's last vision of Carissa replayed constantly in his mind. She had been looking around, searching the trees, and even at a distance, he could see the sadness in her eyes. He knew that he had wounded her deeply, knew that she would never forgive him but it was for the best. There was no way he would be able to leave his home or live among those sainted members of society who had condemned him to this exile. He was where he belonged, alone on his mountain with no one around to judge him for what he had done.

  Carissa, he reminded himself, had never judged him. She had offered him only love and understanding and he had tossed her away as if she had meant nothing. The woman had taught him to love again, to open his heart and feel and had given so freely of herself. He had rewarded her by sending her away, broken-hearted and with his betrayal in her eyes.

  He had hiked—even run at times—through the snow and ice without stopping, for the whole of the dark night and into the day, just to catch that last glimpse of her before she was gone from his life forever. His muscles had burned and his lungs had ached but he had made it in time to see her leave with the park ranger who had come to retrieve her. When Skoll had come running out of the cabin, barking and happy to see him, he had thought that he would be seen. He knew that if Carissa had seen him, had come to him in the shadows of the trees, he would never have been able to let her go.

  It was for the best, he told himself time and again. She would have a better life without him, a better future without the disgrace of his past to drag her down. Coward is what she had called him and he knew she was right. He was afraid of the world below, afraid that he would never be more than what society had named him—a monster. Carissa was an angel compared to his devil, and deserved better than what he was and would always be.

  But the pain ate away at him, the loss of her love and her strength was enough to drive him mad. The peace he once had in his soul, hard-won after his retreat to this secluded place, was gone forever in the flash of deep green eyes and the tinkling music of her laughter. Peace—that was not really the word for what he had found up here on his own. It was more
of an acceptance of what the future was for him, of the reality of spending the rest of his days alone. That reality, after knowing the kind of love that Carissa had so willingly granted him, was too much to bear now, too much for him to carry on in this empty existence.

  This cabin had been a happy place once, a very long time ago, and in the recent past. It had been the honeymoon cabin of his grandparents and a place of wonder in his childhood. He had known true joy making love to the elfin woman that had captured his heart and taken it with her when she left. As he sat with his head in his hands, clutching at the dirty hair that tumbled over his face, he knew that he could no longer soil that spirit of love that had once been such an important part of this place.

  He stood and walked to the door on shaky legs, pulling his coat off the peg as he stepped into the sharp December wind without bothering to close the door. There was no sense in continuing like this, no need for it when he could simply walk away. There was a place where he could go, a place that would take him with mercy and blissful darkness. He would go there and leave the memories of the cabin behind forever.

  Another storm was brewing, but he paid it little heed as he walked out into the forest. He found the place at the bottom of a steep incline where he had found the nearly-frozen body of Carissa. His breath caught in his throat as he remembered how close to death she had been and what it was like to feel her tiny, fevered body curled up on his lap in front of the fire. He forced himself to turn away, not to stare at that frozen spot on the ground any longer.

  He climbed that steep slope down which she must have tumbled that night, his bare hands clawing through the thick blanket of icy snow. This would be the way to his salvation, the place that would take away all the pain. Skoll, oblivious of where his master was going, sniffed along happily beside Bryce, glad to be out of the cabin.

  Over the top of the ridge, Bryce climbed, slipping his way down the other side, to walk along the edge of another ridge. He had taken this path so many times in the summer months, hunting and hiking and exercising with Skoll. Rarely in the winter months had he been here, the environment looked almost foreign. He continued onward for several hours, ignoring the biting wind and the flakes of snow that stabbed through the short growth of beard on his face. There was only one thought on his mind—getting to his destination.

  Finally, he came upon the place he had been seeking. The huge crevasse yawned before him, beckoning his broken spirit and offering eternal solace. His grandfather had called the place Suicide Gorge, a seemingly bottomless crack in the mountain that could swallow a man whole. A small, tortured smile played at Bryce's lips as he thought how this hole in the ground was finally going to live up to its name. He stood for a moment on the brink of the precipice, thoughts of the dark loneliness of his life pounding at his brain. Skoll whimpered softly and Bryce knew a moment of regret for the poor animal that would be left to fend for himself.

  "I'm sorry, boy,” he told the dog and prepared to take that next step. Just then, a thing below him caught his attention. It was small and flashed only briefly but he knew he had seen something. He kept his eyes focused, hoping to see it again without really knowing what it was. Another gust of wind kicked by and the thing flashed on the current. It was something caught in the tangle of roots below, beneath the rocky ledge.

  Without thinking, he dropped to his belly, reaching his half-frozen fingers downward, clutching blindly at the thing. On the tail of another blast of icy wind, he felt something soft touch his skin and he closed his fingers around it. Pulling himself up to his feet with the item grasped in the palm of his hand, he leaned against a tree to discover what he had found. It was a scrap of cloth only a couple of inches long, once white but now stained brown with what looked to be blood.

  Bryce examined the cloth, felt the texture of its tatters against his palms. It was thin and delicate and something he had seen before. With a startled gasp, he looked again at the yawning hole in front of him, knowing now the path that had brought Carissa to his cabin. There had been something inherently magical about the woman; in the manner in which she had stolen her way into his heart. Had that magic been what brought her to his door? Had it been fate that the two of them were brought together, to give the other what they both needed most in life? How had she managed to cross that crevasse without plummeting to her death?

  Bryce was shaking from head to toe, clutching the scrap of material in his hand. He had been about to kill himself, end it all so that he would not have to face the remainder of his years alone, but Carissa had still managed to touch him, to steer him away from those thoughts. She had reached out with that tiny piece of cloth to remind him there was someone who would always love him. He suddenly realized that he had let her down enough, that dying in this fashion would be just one more betrayal that would again break her heart.

  He turned away from the gorge and pointed himself back to his home, calling Skoll to join him. Survival, at this point, was the most important thing he had to offer. If he never saw the beautiful woman again at least he would die with the knowledge that he had not given up, had not thrown away his own life. He would go on living, and that life would be the only monument to their love that he had to offer.

  The trail back to the cabin was difficult; the exposed skin of his face and hands began to burn as the growing storm picked up speed. Darkness had fallen by the time he and his shivering dog found their way through the forest to see the old cabin standing like a beacon in the shadows of the night. The interior was cold and dark with tendrils of airy snow swirling across the floor through the open door. There was a definite aroma of feces and Bryce shot the dog a scathing look but held his tongue knowing the animal could not help himself.

  Once inside Bryce set about lighting a fire and bringing in wood to see him through the long night ahead. Once the wood box was full and a fire blazed on the hearth, he lit the lamps that would chase the dark shadows back into the corners of the room. Then, with a disgusted grunt, he cleaned up the mess the dog had made, scrubbing the stones of the floor with strong disinfectant.

  "Jesus Christ, Skoll,” he exaggerated. “I need a crane to move this shit.” He glared at the dog as Skoll cocked his head and wagged his tail joyfully.

  With that distasteful task completed, Bryce stowed the scrub bucket and returned to the main room of the cabin. Everywhere he looked he saw reminders of Carissa, items she had used or touched that brought her face to mind. He did not know how he would do it but he was determined to survive, to live for her even if they never saw each other again.

  With the business of living in mind, he decided to find someway to distract himself from thoughts of her. He spied his book, a copy of The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner, nestled on the pillow of his bed, laid there by Carissa's own hand, that he might find it with little effort. Even in her sadness, she had been taking care of him, a thought that both warmed and grieved him at the same time.

  Picking up the book, he decided it was too dark, the theme too emotional for him this night, and carried it to the bookshelf that lined the wall next to the closet door. He needed something lighter, a hunting story or mystery novel, to draw his attention away from the oppressive sorrow that surrounded him. He set the book on the shelf and reached for another without paying much attention to how he had placed the novel. It teetered and landed with a loud thump against the hard floor, falling open.

  Looking down he saw handwritten words on the front inside cover of the old leather-bound volume, words that he did not remember having been there before now. He bent to retrieve the book, walking to the table beside the bed and holding the book up to the lamp that burned there. His heart caught in his throat, his hands shaking and his pulse racing as he read the signature: “Cari". Reading the note and reading it again, his emotions began to take hold of him, a snarled mixture of rage, elation, guilt and anguish.

  His knees felt weak causing him to sink to the mattress and struggle to bring his breathing and his heart rate under control. Sk
oll sensed his state of mind, touching him with his nose, nudging to get some response out of the man. Bryce glared at the dog, silently willing him to sit, to be still so that he could think.

  "How can she do this to me?” he asked the dog, anger and grief evident in his voice. He dropped the book to the floor, pressing his face into his hands, growling his frustration and rage into the chilly air.

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  Chapter 16

  Dear Bryce,

  A man is here to take me away. He says that you sent him. I'm sorry that my presence has brought you such discomfort or that you felt the need to send me away. I thank you for saving my life and for the brief happiness that I knew with you.

  I had wanted to tell you this in person and not in a note that you will read later, but you took the easy way out, not even bothering to say good-bye. I'm going to have your baby and I just thought you should know.

  I don't intend to raise this child alone. All of my children need a father, a decent man that can be counted on to be there for them. I had hoped that you wanted the job, but I know now that you are too selfish to give a damn. I will never love anyone the way I love you, but I need someone with me, a companion to grow old with, who will share in my dreams and offer me his. You don't need to worry, your son or daughter will have a family and will be well-provided for. I only hope that it doesn't upset you too much to know that another man will be rearing your child.