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Jack listened as the water ran in the bathroom then strained at the sudden silence, wondering what she could be doing. When the warm hand touched his forehead he flinched in surprise and her low chuckle sent his mind swirling back to those few hours of happiness in her arms all those years ago.
"Come on Jack, I know you're fine so no need to play possum. How about a nice sponge bath, hmmm? I see you've been working up a sweat."
Taking no notice of his closed eyes, nor his silence, Liz sat on the bed and draped a towel over his shoulders. Taking up the sponge she began a gentle caress over Jack's forehead, dipping the sponge at every second pass to ensure it remained warm. The languid strokes, the musical trickle as the water ran from the squeezed sponge, the familiar hint of Liz's perfume and Jack, quite involuntarily, found himself relaxing. When she began to sponge his neck, he lifted his chin slightly to make it easier for her and then he felt the heat on his face as he realised what he'd done. Liz didn't pause; the sponge bath continued, with Liz slowly working her way down his body.
Jack knew he had no choice over what was about to happen, she was a master manipulator, well practised in the sexual arts. But though he had no control over his body, his mind was still his own and he could detach and disassociate. Retreating, he tried to make his mind go blank. But no matter what he tried, it seemed there was one image he couldn't erase, it played over and over in a constant loop. He went to sit up but the cuffs pulled him back and he sank down onto the bed, his heart racing, his body covered once again in a cold sweat.
Liz laid her hand on his chest, "Shhh Jack, it's okay, you nodded off and you had a bad dream."
But Jack knew it wasn't a dream, it was his living nightmare; the image of Chase's face as it erupted in blood, his look turning from shock to sadness as he flew backwards off the bluff.
Placing the bowl and towel aside, Liz stood and allowed the silk robe to drop from her shoulders. "I want to thank you Jack. I brought Chase here for him to die and I never expected you would help me. And now that he's gone there's no one left to rescue you." Leaning over him, she smiled, "You're mine now Jack, all mine, and I can do to you whatever I fancy."
Red leaned back against the smooth granite boulder and watched the clouds scud across the face of the moon. Bad weather was on the way and he ran through a mental checklist of their supplies and nodded in satisfaction with the final tally. Blake and Charley were good kids with lots of back country experience but they sometimes seemed somewhat lackadaisical when it came to safety. They took no chances with their dog team which they had transported down from Saskatchewan, nor with their camera equipment which they cleaned and fussed over every evening, but when it came to personal safety they could be arbitrary.
Red had found their system of packing emergency equipment on their sled was to simply throw their sleeping bags on top to cushion the camera gear. Thankfully they hadn't left Truckee at that stage and Red had marched them to the largest outfitters where he ensured they stocked up on extra bags, cooking equipment, thermals and a tent, all to be permanently stowed on the sled.
"If your sled sinks in the thaw or falls into a spruce trap, you need to ensure you still have your base camp intact," he sternly informed them.
No, his only concern here was the stranger. It appeared he was a victim but the wounds had been inflicted over a period of years and he wondered what kind of life he led to sustain so many deliberate injuries. Red had taken the precaution of getting ropes ready in case they needed to restrain him. And who had shot him? Were there others out there still posing a threat?
He looked again at the photo. It was the only personal item in the man's clothing and he wondered at the possible connection between the mysterious man and this carefree family laughing into the camera.
Watching at the shadows race across the frozen lake, Red felt the old familiar shiver of dread creep over him. He had grown up just outside Truckee and had spent his boyhood exploring the woods and lakes of the area. Yet since that fateful summer's day he had never felt comfortable near Azalea Lake. As kids they all used to scare each other with stories of the Donner Party, of cannibals hiding out in the woods just waiting to catch unwary children. Full of confidence in his abilities in the woods, Red hadn't taken much notice of the stories. But then there was that summer, the summer when he was 14 and was returning home to Truckee with his best friends Ben and Nate.
They had spent an unusally hot 4th of July weekend camping out on the shores of Lake Angela, their days filled with swimming and fishing. But hiking back out with their heavy backpacks seemed endless and exhausting in the blistering heat. They had paused on a bluff overlooking Azalea Lake; the water still and dark, it had appeared very inviting for a cooling dip. Throwing down their packs and shrugging off their sweaty clothing, the three boys stood together, egging each other on for the 25 foot drop into the black depths below.
With a scream of joy Ben ran straight off the bluff and cannonballed into the dark waters below. Red followed immediately, dropping off the bluff in a pencil dive, his feet smacking the water with such force his mouth opened in pain. As the cold water washed over his head, his mouth automatically closed but the pain had taken his breath and he pulled strongly with his arms as he began a powerful scissor kick to return to the surface, his chest heavy with need. Breaking the surface he tipped his head back and gulped for air, the sky looking impossibly blue against the black of the granite boulders and the green of the spruce trees. Looking around, he wondered where the twins were, they were never quiet and they were never apart.
A faint shouting reached his waterlogged ears and he looked over to see Nate treading water, his face ashen, "Red, he's still down there, he hasn't come up!"
Taking a lungful of air, Red dove down searching through the black water, but he couldn't see a thing. Rising up, he took a deeper lungful and descended, trying to remember from his life-guard lessons how many minutes Ben could be 'dead' before any attempt at resuscitation was pointless.
His lungs burning, he felt he had to return to the surface but he could see pale movement ahead. Kicking frantically, he swam towards it and saw Ben's face turn towards him, his arm reaching out for help. His eyes wide open in shock, his mouth opened in a silent scream as he drew further away. Red wondered how Ben was able to move so fast when neither his arms nor legs were moving. Desperate now for air, Red turned for the surface when he was grabbed by the ankle and he found himself being pulled down into the darkness. His mouth opened in a desperate strive for oxygen and he watched in despair as his last bubbles of air rose upward towards the surface, towards life, as he was pulled downward through the layers of frigid water.
His movements getting clumsy, he reached for the knife strapped to his arm and pulling it clear of the sheath, he slashed out at whatever was holding him. The relentless grip released and he looked up at the faint light far above and he knew he couldn't make it. Never one to give up, he flailed as the light began to fade but then a calm acceptance took over his body and he relaxed, his limbs hanging loose. He didn't feel the sharp pull on the top of his head as his crew-cut was grabbed, nor did he feel the smooth stones as he was dragged from the lake.
Rolled onto his stomach, his arms were vigorously pumped back and forth until he heaved up a throat-burning passage of water. Lying back on the hot stones, he tried to catch his breath and he found himself repeating 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry' over and over. The image of the pale hands grasping at Ben's shoulders, pulling him down, would remain with him forever. It was only when Nate brought his clothes down to the clearing and he went to dress that he noticed the strands of long blonde hair wrapped tight around his ankle.
Ben's body was never recovered. The divers spent a week looking, but eventually the search was called off. The Inquest mentioned lake weed and cold water temperatures as probable causes of the drowning but Azalea Lake was a 'dead' lake from its high alkaline content. It had neither fish nor weeds.
Suppressing a shudder at the memories, Red stubbed out his cigarette and rose to return to the tent. The boys wouldn't allow him to smoke in 'their air'. A situation he didn't mind as the touch of solitude each day was welcome.
Red paused as a distant rumble reached his ears. It was a more constant noise than the occasional grumbling of the lake as the ice began to thaw, this sounded like a plane overhead, a heavy military plane, flying low. He wondered what it was doing in this area. Despite their close proximity to Nevada's various military bases, the planes usually avoided flying here because of the communications dead zone.
Red wondered briefly if the mystery man could be attached to the military. But no, the starvation and bites seemed far more personal than a military operation. He thought again of the man's bullet wounds. High on the right shoulder, they were placed precisely as if to disarm without killing. So was he shot by an expert marksman, or was the placement merely by chance? Well he shrugged, whatever it was, it wasn't his problem. In the morning the helicopter would land to take the stranger and they would be left to continue their hunt for the wolves.
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