Black Ice

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  "My dad will kill me," Calvin said, speaking in a cloud of disbelief. "I can't believe the old man won."

  Whatever he said next was swallowed up by the roaring whump-whump of the helicopter blades. The sound grew so loud, I thought the helicopter must be passing directly overhead. I didn't care what Jude said; if a spotlight came anywhere near me, I would run into the open and alert the pilot to our position.

  Calvin tipped his head toward the black dome of sky overhead. His expression shifted from disbelief to understanding. A shadow of defeat crossed his face, a helpless, gloomy, almost boyish look.

  He put his wrists together, extending them toward Jude. "Go ahead. Tie me up." His voice cracked and he started crying. "Better show my dad I can take my punishments like a man now."

  At that moment, I felt my heart break. I wanted to wrap my arms around Calvin and tell him it was going to be all right, but it wasn't. Nothing was all right. He wasn't all right. This warped, damaged version of him was beyond help. I wondered what Mr. Versteeg would say when he found out what Calvin had done. Would he feel responsible? I didn't think so. He would shun Calvin, wanting to distance himself from his son's disgrace.

  Jude twisted Calvin's arms behind his back.

  I started crying too. I felt hollow and uprooted inside, but I didn't think I was sad. Or maybe I was. Sad because I had loved Calvin, and I didn't understand how the boy I'd loved had grown into someone so brutal and destructive. Sad because I would have done anything to help him. But now I wasn't sure anyone could have helped him.

  "Where are Lauren's belongings?" Jude said. "Where did you put them?"

  "In the ditch behind Idlewilde," Calvin answered with soft resignation.

  "I was just there," I said. "I didn't see them."

  "There's a loose board on the underside of the footbridge." Calvin's shoulders were slumped, his chin tucked against his chest. "If you wiggle it free, there's a hollow space up there. I put everything in an envelope."

  It was so unlike Calvin to help us, even though he realized he was cornered and there was no way out. Had it taken defeat to change him? Before I could untangle Calvin's motivations, Jude ushered me toward the cabin with a jerk of his chin.

  "Let's tie him up first."

  Inside Idlewilde, Jude shoved Calvin into one of the kitchen chairs. I went upstairs to get the rope Calvin had used to tie Jude, and together we secured Calvin's wrists to the chair. He didn't struggle. He sat unmoving, eyes blank, staring into near space.

  He said, "I guess this proves I was never good enough. Not good enough to be the guy you wanted. Not good enough for Stanford. Not even good enough to get away with murder." He laughed, a choked, forlorn sound. "Too bad I wasn't born a girl. Korbie's been getting away with murder her whole life."

  Jude turned to me. "Show me the ditch."

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Jude and I knocked on every board under the footbridge. We double-checked our work. But each board was nailed tight.

  "He lied," Jude said. "There's nothing here."

  "Why would he lie?"

  Jude and I looked at each other. And then we bolted for the ladder, hoisting ourselves out of the ditch as fast as we could.

  I made it to Idlewilde first, racing into the kitchen where we'd left Calvin tied to the chair. My feet stopped working at the sight of Calvin swinging idly by the neck from the kitchen chandelier. Behind me Jude cursed, and rushed forward, uprighting the tipped chair below Calvin's twitching feet, jumping onto it to cut down the body.

  "Knife!" he ordered.

  I grabbed one from the drawer and Jude snatched it out of my hand, sawing viciously at the rope. The last fibers snapped apart and Calvin fell to the floor, limbs sprawled.

  I probed his neck for a pulse. Nothing. I tried his wrists, then went back to his neck, pushing my fingers against the stubble under his throat. At last I felt a weak but steady beat. "He's alive!"

  Jude gazed down at Calvin's open but vacant eyes. Both pupils were fully dilated, making his eyes appear almost entirely black. A slurred, blubbering noise slipped past his lips. Clear fluid drained from his nose.

  "I don't think we got to him fast enough," Jude said, kneeling beside me and gently turning my head away.

  Tears filmed my eyes. "What's the matter with him?"

  "Brain damage, I think."

  "Is he going to be okay?" I asked, crying harder.

  "No," Jude answered truthfully. "No, I don't think he is."

  Time seemed to expand, slowing down to a crawl, and as I watched Calvin's body convulse on the floor, a tidal wave of memories surged through me. They say that when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. They never tell you that when you watch someone you once loved dying, hovering between this life and the next, it's twice as painful, because you're reliving two lives that traveled one road together.

  One blink later, time contracted, snapping me back to the kitchen. I remembered why the deafening clap, clap, clap of a helicopter thundered overhead. I remembered why my hands and feet throbbed with cold, why Jude's blood was streaked across my coat sleeves.

  I grabbed Jude's hand and together we ran outside, squinting against the gale-force winds blowing down from the helicopter hovering over the clearing behind Idlewilde.

  "It looks like a private helicopter," Jude yelled at me above the engine's whine.

  "That's Mr. Versteeg's helicopter!" I cried back.

  "I see two search and rescue volunteers on the ground and one man with a rifle." He pointed at the shadows at the far end of the yard, directly below the chopper. "They must have rappelled down."

  Two figures swaddled in red, and wearing white helmets, darted across Idlewilde's snowy lawn. I recognized the man behind them, the man carrying the rifle. Deputy Keegan. He and Mr. Versteeg hunted elk together every year in Colorado.

  I cried out in relief, waving frantically. They couldn't hear me over the helicopter, but they had flashlights. They would see us any second now.

  "You'll tell the police about Calvin," Jude said urgently. "You'll show them the map."

  Hot tears of joy streamed down my face. It was over. The nightmare was finally over. "Yes."

  Jude said, "I'm sorry I have to do this, Britt."

  Then he grabbed me from behind and pressed Calvin's gun into my hairline above my ear. Using my body as a shield, he dragged me backward, away from the search and rescue volunteers and Deputy Keegan, who hustled through the snow toward us.

  "Stay back or I'll shoot her," Jude yelled.

  A sick feeling climbed up my throat, but I managed to croak, "Jude? What are you doing?"

  "I said stay back!" Jude shouted at the men again. "I'm holding Britt Pheiffer hostage, and I will shoot her if you don't do exactly what I say."

  A spotlight glared down at us from the hovering chopper, momentarily blinding me. The whirling blades gusted snow off the branches, and I raised my arm to block it. Why was Jude telling them I was his hostage? We should be running toward them, not away.

  Jude hauled me into the forest, his arm latched painfully across my chest. He weaved erratically through the trees, but the spotlight found us easily. It also made visible the bold contrast of Jude's red blood splattered on the pristine snow at our feet. His wound was bleeding more heavily.

  The deeper into the forest Jude dragged me, the more crowded the trees became. It was hard to tell where one tree ended and the next began. The spotlight stuck to us, but with difficulty. Under the thick cover, Jude was able to dodge into the pilot's blind spots, behind boulders and under fallen trees, and each time we reappeared, it took longer for the helicopter to pick up our trail.

  Jude yanked me against a large pine tree, crushing us into the shelter of its branches. I was pinned with my back to Jude's chest, feeling his breath pant in my ear. There was a startling amount of blood at our feet. Given his injuries, I knew he was on the verge of collapse. He wouldn't make it much farther before he either passed out from blood loss or went into shock f
rom the excruciating demands he was placing on his weakened body. I was amazed he had the strength to drag me, let alone himself, over the rough terrain.

  The white glare of the spotlight swept frantically over the ground, then darted off in the wrong direction.

  "What are you doing?" I cried. "The gun isn't even loaded--I saw you empty it after we tied up Calvin. You told them you're holding me hostage. You're making things worse. We have to go out there and tell Deputy Keegan everything--how you saved my life, and that you were only with Shaun to find Lauren's killer."

  "When I tell you to, I want you to run as fast as you can toward him. Run with your hands raised and visible, and scream your name over and over, do you understand?"

  "Why?" I asked him, starting to cry. "Why are you doing this? They'll hunt you down. They'll take you into custody, if they don't shoot you first!"

  "They were already going to take me into custody." Jude grabbed my arm, forcing me through the thick, knee-deep snow, behind another pine tree. "Do me one favor. Don't mention Jude Van Sant. Tell them my name is Mason. Korbie's story will match yours. You were taken hostage by two men named Shaun and Mason, tell them that."

  "Because Mason doesn't exist anymore."

  Jude brushed his hands over my wet cheeks, drying them. "Yes. I'm leaving Mason here in the mountains," he said softly. "He finished what he came to do."

  "Will I see you again?" I choked.

  He pulled me to him. He ground a rough kiss to my mouth, making it last. I knew right away that it was a good-bye kiss. I was losing Jude. I didn't want to let him go. This wasn't Stockholm syndrome. I had fallen in love with him.

  I peeled off my coat. "Take this at least." I slid it over his shivering shoulders. It fit comically tight, but I couldn't bring myself to laugh. Nothing about this was funny. There was so much I had to say, but there were no words for a moment like this. "I'll tell them you're headed to Canada. I'll tell them you're planning to hide there. Will that help?"

  Jude stared at me with stark gratitude. "You'd do that for me?"

  "We're a team."

  He gave me one final hug. "Now run," he said, shoving me into the open.

  I staggered forward into the deep snow, thrown off balance. As soon as I had my footing, I whirled around.

  He was gone.

  Not a moment later, the spotlight bathed me in a cone of blinding light. I could hear a man's voice speaking commands through an overhead PA. It was Mr. Versteeg. The two search and rescue volunteers rushed in from the trees with Deputy Keegan. I raised my arms and started running toward them.

  I yelled, "My name is Britt Pheiffer. Don't shoot."

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  A gentle rain drizzled on my bedroom window, falling slantwise under the streetlights outside. At least it wasn't snow.

  Ten days had passed since I'd been flown off the mountain in Mr. Versteeg's helicopter. I'd learned that a park ranger had found my Wrangler abandoned on the roadside and notified the county sheriff's department, who'd then notified my dad and Korbie's parents that we'd never made it to Idlewilde. Without waiting for the sheriff to organize a search, Mr. Versteeg had immediately hired two search and rescue experts, and had flown his helicopter up to look for us. I wondered if Mr. Versteeg would have been as anxious to get up to Idlewilde had he known what he'd find.

  After I'd been treated at the hospital for hypothermia and dehydration, I'd given my full report to the police. I'd told them where they would find Calvin's map. I'd explained where they'd find Lauren Huntsman's remains. Mr. and Mrs. Huntsman had flown out to retrieve their daughter's body, and the event had been broadcast by every local news station. I did not watch it. I could not see the Huntsmans and not be reminded of . . . him.

  I had not talked to Korbie since that night at Idlewilde. Her cell phone was turned off, and I wasn't even sure she and her parents were in town. The lights at the Versteeg home were turned off too. Or maybe that was to deter the news reporters camped on their lawn.

  I did not know what I would say when I saw Korbie again. I had told the police about Calvin. She saw it as a betrayal, I knew. Her entire family did. Because of me, Calvin's secrets had flooded into the open.

  As for Jude, I did not allow myself to wonder. He'd escaped into the forest bleeding and battered and without sufficient clothes. He faced exposure, starvation, and capture. His odds of survival were minimal. Would a hiker stumble across his frozen body weeks from now, and then I'd hear about his death on the news? I shut my eyes hard and emptied my mind. It hurt too much to wonder.

  I went downstairs for a bedtime snack, glad to find my brother, Ian, leaning against the kitchen counter chewing a peanut butter sandwich. Ian and I usually fought, but he'd been uncharacteristically sweet to me ever since I'd come home, and I was actually looking forward to his company tonight.

  Ian slathered peanut butter on another slice of bread, folded it in half, and crammed the whole thing inside his mouth. "'Ont 'un?" he grunted.

  I nodded, but took the jar and knife to make the sandwich myself. Ian eyed me with open astonishment as I spread peanut butter smoothly over the bread.

  "You actually know how to make one?" he said.

  "Stop being melodramatic."

  "Dad told me you did your own laundry today. Is it true?" he asked, widening his eyes in feigned wonder. "Who are you and what have you done with my sister?"

  I rolled my eyes and boosted myself onto the counter. "In case I haven't said it lately, I'm glad you're my big brother." I patted him affectionately on the head. "Even when you do insult me."

  "Want to watch a movie?"

  "Only if you brush your teeth first. It's so gross when your breath smells like peanut butter and popcorn."

  He sighed. "Just when I thought you'd changed."

  We flopped onto beanbags in front of the TV and Ian clicked it on. The ten o'clock news was in full swing.

  A female reporter said, "Calvin Versteeg is being held on four counts of first-degree murder and two counts of attempted murder at the Teton County Detention Center. Sources tell us that Versteeg will most certainly be found incompetent to stand trial. He suffered severe brain damage during an attempted suicide shortly before his arrest and is expected to be committed to a state mental hospital for appropriate treatment."

  "Do you want me to turn it off?" Ian asked, with a worried glance at me.

  I motioned for him to be quiet and leaned forward, focusing intently on the video feed that the station had briefly switched to. It was airing footage of Calvin being pushed into the detention center in a wheelchair. News reporters and camera crews pushed as close to him as the police would allow, taking photographs and thrusting microphones at him, but my eyes traveled to a man on the outskirts of the crowd.

  He was wearing a goose-down parka and dark-wash jeans that appeared brand-new. My palms started to sweat. His head was tipped down, shielding him from the cameras, but he almost looked like . . .

  The reporter continued, "Versteeg graduated from Pocatello's Highland High School last year and told family and friends that he was attending Stanford University this year. Stanford's admissions office confirmed that Versteeg applied to the school, but was not accepted. Calvin Versteeg's father, a CPA, and mother, an attorney, have not given a public statement on their son's arrest and did not return our phone calls. We interviewed Highland High School senior Rachel Snavely, who attended school with Versteeg since elementary school. She said, 'I can't believe Calvin killed those girls. He wouldn't hurt anyone. He was, like, such a great guy. I went to a pool party at his house last summer. He was the perfect gentleman.'"

  "You can turn it off now," I said, rising to my feet in a daze.

  Ian clicked the remote. "Sorry you had to see that. Are you okay?"

  I walked to the window. I pressed my hand to the glass, searching the dreary darkness of the street outside, praying I'd see a figure in the shadows gazing intently back at me.

  I didn't see him, but he was out there somewhere
.

  Jude was alive.

  That night I was either too hot or too cold.

  At six I woke up tangled in my blankets. I gave up on sleep and went running. I had too much adrenaline, too much restless energy. The sky was overcast, threatening more rain. It reflected my mood uncannily.

  I ran through the park, pumping my arms hard, trying to leave Jude behind. He wasn't coming back. He'd done what he set out to do. His life as Mason was over. Right now he was probably on a plane back to California to resume his life as Jude Van Sant. I was no longer in the picture.

  I knew it was illogical to be angry with Jude. He'd kept his promises to me. But my heart was in too deep for me to be logical about him. I needed him now. We were a team. I felt cheated knowing we'd never go driving with the windows down, singing to the radio at the top of our lungs. We'd never sneak out to a late-night movie and hold hands in the dark. We'd never get in a snowball fight. After everything we'd been through, didn't I deserve to know him during the good times too?

  It wasn't fair. Why did he get to leave on his terms? What about what I wanted? I tore my earbuds angrily from my ears and bent at the waist, catching my breath. I wasn't going to cry over him. I felt nothing. I was certain I felt nothing.

  Once I was able to put him out of my head, I'd realize these feelings weren't real. We'd been trapped together in horrific circumstances, and because of this shared experience, I'd formed a powerful attachment to him. One of these days I'd remember that night under the tree and laugh at myself for thinking I cared about him. If I chose to remember that night at all.

  I rounded a bend, and a man stepped into my path. I stopped in my tracks. It was early, the morning shadows blotting the tree-lined trail ahead. He wore a leather bomber jacket and he had a duffel slung over one shoulder, like he was about to board a plane.

  My mouth had gone dry and my hands were trembling. He'd cleaned up. New clothes, and a trip to the barber. But despite the fresh shave, he didn't look harmless. Small cuts still nicked his face, and the bruises weren't completely healed. In the low morning light, he looked dangerous.

  His jacket fit snugly around his muscled shoulders, and I shivered as I remembered what their smooth contours had felt like. I remembered that night under the tree in vivid detail. I remembered the taste of Jude's kiss, and the way I'd felt warm and safe in his arms.