True to their word, Emmitt and Lindsay managed to gather a sweater, a thick pair of socks and a pair of old sneakers – slightly damp and a size too small – and I used these items as protection against the bitter cold.
And boy was it ever bitter. As the four of us walked down the trail, each with a million questions but none willing to start a dialogue, the sun disappeared and the sky turned an eerie shade of gray. That's when the blustery weather kicked in, pulling the heat from my body faster than I could ever imagine possible. I started to believe that Mother Nature herself was against me and the wind was a malevolent force. Step by frigid step we would do battle and I would continually lose. No matter how tightly I wrapped my arms around my body, it found a way in – working its way under the collar of my flannel shirt and between each and every gap in the cable knit sweater Lindsay had given me. And in my frustration, I wanted to point my finger at Jackson and scream, "He's the one! He's the one that brought me here against my will. Tried to kill me! This is his fault," but no matter how satisfying it might be to get that weight off my chest, I couldn't do it. The fact remained that Jackson still had a shotgun in his hand; a gun he refused to relinquish no matter how many times he was told it would be of no use against this…thing.
"Is it going to snow?" I asked, almost hoping it would because the novelty would make all this easier somehow. I'd never seen a sky this dreary. It lacked the intensity of the so-called calm before the storm – those vicious thunderstorms we always got back home. It was different than that, more desolate and I kept hoping that something might come from it; even it was tiny white flakes.
"It's not in the forecast, but you never know," Emmitt said. Looking up at the sky, I thought I saw a knowing smile on his face. "This is New England, kids. A cloudy sky doesn't mean a damn thing."
"Well, I'm freezing," I practically yelled. My lungs so constricted by the cold that I had to force the words out.
Emmitt's smile quickly faded and he started to unzip his jacket. "Let's see what we can do about that, shall we. You'll be swimming in this, but it'll keep you warm."
"No, I couldn't," I started to say but he waved his hand indicating he would hear none of it.
"I'm used to the cold. You on the other hand; you're not from around here are you?"
"No, I…we're from Florida."
"Florida? Well, when we get off this mountain," he said, eyeing Jackson, "you'll have to tell me what brought you up here in your pajamas and why you're dating a guy who won't give a lady his jacket when she's cold."
Then all eyes were on Jackson and he didn't like it one bit – called on the carpet yet again and painted as a coward. Feathers ruffled, he pulled the zipper of his black, leather jacket down in one fell swoop and slipped it off.
'Take it," he said dismissively as he shoved it into my hands, then realizing that he was acting like something less than a typical boyfriend, tacked on, "Lisa…Leese," for good measure.
"Thanks, sweetie," I said with a sly grin. For my part, I wasn't thrilled with being labeled his girlfriend but given the circumstances, I wasn't above having a bit of fun with it.
But the jacket was like a slice of heaven. It fit well enough and still held his body heat. I relished the warmth not to mention Jackson's facial expression when the first rush of cold air hit him. He took on my all too familiar stance; gritting his teeth and hugging himself as tightly as one could with a shotgun in hand. Now that I was able, I pulled the collar of the jacket over my face to shield my lips, which I was sure were chapped, and nose from the biting wind.
What was it about smells? I've heard they have the ability to instantaneously trigger memory – even the memories we try our hardest to forget. The warmth and his scent melded though it was with the leather, made me think of a certain bathroom on a certain airplane and a dangerous, volatile man whose presence was all encompassing.
But there had been more to him than that.
"Did someone do that to you?"
I had seen flickers of humanity in him that day; a few times to be exact and that's what had always bothered me the most. It was unsettling that a man would bury his emotions, disregard the concept of right and wrong and for what? Money. That's all he had, all he ever would have and for a man with no soul that wouldn't be a problem. He should have been content. But aside from our initial drink in the airport bar, he had never seemed satisfied or settled in his life. Something told me he felt unfulfilled and empty inside and being the emotional weakling that he was, couldn't summon the ability to change. I wondered why I even gave a damn.
I raised my head to look at him and I didn't see a menacing killer. The mystique had vanished in the cold air, replaced with clarity. I saw a mortal man, boyish, unimposing…human and chilled by the harsh wind just like the rest of us, if not more so.
"What?" he asked when he caught me looking at him with what I'm sure resembled pity.
Thoughtfulness, it will be the death of me…
"Do you…," I began to say, before Emmitt cut in.
"Sorry to interrupt but do either of you remember seeing any cabins, campsites…anything on your way up here?"
I looked to Jackson because honestly, I wouldn't know. Thanks to him, I'd been unconscious the whole time.
"Not that I can remember," he answered solemnly because we all knew what Emmitt was getting at.
"We're not going to make it down this mountain before sunset, are we? It's too far," I said.
"And I'm not getting any reception up here," Jackson added. "What about other campers? Won't there be other people coming this way?"
"Not likely this time of year. Not this far up in the mountains anyway. It's too cold for most people to bother camping out and the leaves have passed their peak. I'm still shocked we ran into you two."
"Then what were you doing up here?" Jackson asked with just a hint of suspicion.
"Following the trail of the Wendicott," Emmitt answered.
"Wendigo," Lindsay corrected.
"Yeah, that – she's more into that supernatural stuff than I am; not so supernatural anymore, I guess."
"What's a Wendigo?" I asked, feeling those fresh scratches on my back sting at the mention of the creatures name, and if I'd gotten an answer my next question would have been, 'and why is going to come for me first?"
"We'll talk about that later," Jackson said and for once Emmitt looked at him in agreement. "You didn't walk all this way. Where's your car?"
"Torn to pieces, just like yours," Lindsay answered and she looked at Emmitt with glazed eyes. "We heard the noise, so we went to check it out. It was there, ripping the car apart and then it came for us. That's when Martin…"
She didn't finish the sentence. Her voice trailed off and she turned her back on us, continuing down the trail as if she hadn't spoken at all. I looked at Emmitt and softly asked, "Who's Martin?" but he shook his head and turned, quickly catching up to Lindsay. It wasn't a rude gesture. Our eyes had locked for an instant before he turned away and his expression spoke volumes. It told me that this too could wait. There were a lot of things that would be discussed later. Right now, the only thing that mattered was getting off this mountain.
"Come on, Sis. We need to keep moving," I heard Emmitt whisper.
We hung back, Jackson and I. Not far, just enough to give them a bit of privacy. They didn't need us breathing down their necks at the moment. But even with that space I could hear bits and pieces of their conversation.
Martin had been a lot of things; a childhood friend, Emmitt's classmate from kindergarten all the way through college and most importantly, Lindsay's fiancée. They were both hurting, both felt the loss. I could tell as much from their brokenhearted words, the way their heads hung low and the way they leaned against each other for support. Emmitt however, put up the braver front, burying his emotions as best he could because his sister needed him now. The display tugged at my heartstrings. It made me think of my father and the importance of family in general and how I might never see mine again.
"Don't fall in love too quickly, Leese. You don't even know him," Jackson whispered, picking up on the way I watched Emmitt comfort his sister but drawing the wrong conclusions.
"That's not what I was doing," I snapped, turning to face him directly and wondering which cheek I should slap first. "What would you know about love anyway? And wipe that smile off your face; gawky, chattering teeth, you look ridiculous."
"Yeah, because I gave you my jacket," he fired back, more than just a little hurt by my words. Not what he had expected from a self professed people pleaser I'm sure, but the fact of the matter was that times had changed; I didn't cotton to people's bullshit these days, certainly not his.
"And I'm just telling you to be careful," he said in an effort to save face.
"Thanks for the recommendation. I'll take it under advisement."
"Well, you know I'd hate to see you get hurt. I know how trusting you can be."
"Ha!" The laugh was pure reflex, flying from my mouth before I could censor myself and drawing strong but thankfully, brief looks of curiosity from Emmitt and Lindsay.
"Believe me, Jack, I'm not overly trusting. Not anymore."
"Just because of our little flight? Who ever would have thought you'd fall apart so easily? I feel terrible, Leese," he teased, his cold hands rising to cover his cold heart.
"Oh please, you're not that important. You reinforced the lesson. You didn't break new ground, so keep the ego in check."
The smile fell from Jackson's face but I could see in his eyes that he wasn't entirely sure what I was referring to. How quickly we forget…
"The man who did that was all smiles and charisma just like you; only he had his arm in a sling and asked for my help loading groceries into his van. Arm in a sling, my God, that's what Ted Bundy used to do and I fell for it! Talk about trusting…then he pulled a knife."
I stopped talking, waiting for Jackson to chime in with a snide remark or even his condolences; I had a snappy comeback waiting for either.
I got nothing in response and a sideways glance proved that he was only watching me. Other than a clenched jaw to show tension or maybe remembrance, he didn't show any emotion. Now I was the one staring at the road, not wanting to face those dead eyes of his. And despite it all, I continued because I wanted him to know – I felt that he needed to know what had been left behind- a woman, strong and independent but hardened from life experience and that was a shame. Innocence and naivety were not weaknesses to be exploited. Losing them was never a good thing. They were rights, entitlements in my opinion, and damn it, they should not have been taken from me.
"I stopped dating. I stopped going anywhere aside from work for two years until you came along. And like I said, you reinforced the lesson; never trust anyone…never again. So don't worry about me. I'm not falling in love, Jack."
We continued on; Jackson strangely quite, looking lost in thought while I wallowed in my intractable depression.
"Leese, you s-shouldn't talk like that," he said, breaking the silence and stuttering from the cold.
"Really and why's that?"
"You're on a slippery slope," he advised.
Slippery slope, what was that supposed to mean and what the hell did this little weasel know about anything?
"Such deep thoughts and me without a pen and paper," I said, using sarcasm to end the conversation because I didn't like where it was going. Painful memories and inner thoughts were the last thing I wanted to trade with Jackson Rippner.
In typical male fashion he absorbed the acerbic words and grunted in response; knowing that even a civil conversation was impossible at this point and the only thing left to do now was bicker. But what other type of exchange could I hope to have with the man who had forced his way into my life and trampled over those newfound feelings of trust just as I was beginning to have faith in man kind again? I wondered if a tiny part of him, the human part, felt any remorse over having done it.
But I didn't waste my time worrying about it. It didn't matter.
Hours passed. I wasn't sure how long we'd been out here but it seemed like forever and the human part of me started to worry about Jackson, whose skin was beginning to match his eyes; such a lovely shade of blue. He kept his head down and I could see his lips were moving. Acting indifferent, I listened and his soft muttering told me he was counting. I wondered why but quickly took it for what it was; a way to keep his mind off things – heavy concentration to block the cold.
With everyone else staring at the ground or otherwise occupied, I was the only one that saw it; the cabin. It was small, one or two rooms, no heat or electricity but compared to being stuck out in the open, faced with dark skies and a rapidly approaching sunset; it was a fortress.
"Look over there!" I yelled and everyone perked up, particularly Jackson.
We all broke into a run, making it to the doorstep at the same time, stopping when the door creaked open before we even touched it. That couldn't be good.
Jackson muttered something about the man with the gun going in first and he brazenly pushed his way through the crowd. Emmitt and Lindsay looked to me, hoping I would help explain Jackson's sudden valor but I had no concrete answers, only assumptions. You see, the older I get the more I understand why my grandmother was able to go to the mall and just watch people for hours on end. People are strange, interesting and sometimes predictable. Jackson fell into the predictable category; the poor guy, the lengths to which a man will go to regain his dignity – especially if he's been labeled a coward. Or it could be as simple as a cold man hoping to find a discarded jacket.
We all stood on the doorstep, our eyes trained on Jackson as he scanned the living room. There wasn't much to scan; a small room furnished with an equally small table and two folding chairs...but there was a door. An old wooden door with a large crack running down the center which looked more ominous to me than any dark New England sky; Jackson approached it with his gun held firmly in front of him and the rest of us watched and waited.
I held my breath when he opened that door because I couldn't see inside and I couldn't see his face. Seconds felt like hours as he stood there, gazing into the room.
"What's in there?" Emmitt finally asked and that was all the prompting the three of us needed. As a collective unit, we joined Jackson in the cabin unable to stand the suspense any longer.
When Jackson turned, he looked ashen and merely shook his head, closing the door before any of us could have a look inside.
"Nothing," he said softly, "nothing that needs to be seen."
We took him at his word and watched in silence as he crossed the room and approached the closet, the door to which had been left wide open.
Inside was a camouflage jacket. Jackson took it and slipped it over his shoulders, almost disappearing inside that oversized, down filled garment but he was thankful to have it.
I was about to ask if we should try to stay here or if it would be better to move on when a sudden gust of wind blew the front door wide open. We all jumped, Lindsay screamed and all of us ran towards the back door, the one Jackson had told us contained things best left unseen. Something told me that whatever was in there, no matter how horrible it might be, couldn't hold a candle to the creature that could walk through our door at any minute.
But as time past and the silence returned, my heart stopped racing, slightly, and I started to breathe again.
"Nothing, just the wind," I said and began to shut the door, taking a final look outside before I did so.
The sun was setting so fast. It would be dark soon. We would have to stay here; hunker down until morning and pray that we would stumble across a fellow human being or a working vehicle in the morning.
I had shut and almost locked the door before it was thrown open, hitting me in the face and knocking me flat on my back. A howl pierced the air and I knew for a fact that it wasn't the wind this time.
"Get the hell out of the way, Lisa!" I heard Jackson scream.
It was coming for me; a partially decomposed, outstretched hand pressed closer and I rolled away, kept on rolling until I crashed into the only piece of furniture in the cabin.
That's when I heard the first gunshot.
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Author's Note: Wow, it's been a while since I updated this story but I hope it was worth the wait.
Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review. It's very much appreciated.