Dennis Yates - Red Mountain

It should have worked. The police had been called as Robert predicted. If Nolan had only done what he’d asked him to, then maybe…

Maybe you just got him killed.

No, Robert told himself. You did what you could, what you thought would work to save everyone. And even if he’d made the wrong decision, Nolan had been brave. He’d chosen to do what he thought was right…

He drove the backstreets home and took a hot shower. His skin was raw and stung when he rubbed soap into it. After he toweled off, he swallowed two painkillers and lay in bed. The sheets smelled like his wife, and he turned his head and kissed her pillow before his body shut itself off.

****

As he drifted off to sleep, Robert’s thoughts gathered at his grandfather’s cabin in the mountains. It was summer time, and after visiting for a month and a half he desperately missed his friends back home. He’d re-explored every nook and cranny in the surrounding forest, caught so many rainbow trout that he was growing bored with fishing.

If his arthritis wasn’t acting up too badly, Robert’s grandfather would pack sandwiches and they’d go for long hikes in the woods. On especially clear days they’d take the trail up to the timberline where they could touch the snowy slopes of Mt. Hood. Robert loved the higher altitude and the view of the giant glacier it opened onto. It made him giddy and caused his scalp to tingle. His grandfather was just the opposite. The old man would become quiet and reflective, and when he spoke it was to tell Robert strange things.

“What is it grandpa?” Robert always asked, and grandpa would lift a crooked finger and point toward the glacier.

“It’s a stunning thing to behold. But there’s something wicked inside that ice.”

Robert would squint up where his grandfather’s unblinking eyes seemed to remain fixed. Fissures in the ice closest to them gradually became larger as you moved your focus up between the spines of the mountain. To Robert, the crevasses looked like grinning jawbones, but what affected him most was the eerie blue light seeping from between their jagged teeth. The light had always beckoned him to come closer, and Robert would have gone to it if his grandfather had allowed him.

“I’ve never seen anything bad grandpa. You always say that when we come up here.”

“It’s not something you can see, boy. You feel it in your gut. And sometimes when a cold gust comes down from the glacier you can hear voices being carried with it.”

Robert shook his head and smiled. Today it’s the glacier story, yesterday the power of tree hugging. He was feeling too old for this silliness now. He needed to be around his friends back home, shooting hoop or hanging out at the public pool. Grandpa’s spooky discussions no longer had an affect on him, yet grandpa hadn’t seemed to notice.

“Whatever you say, Grandpa...”

A long silence followed between them, until Robert wondered if he’d offended him. Grandpa put a wrinkled hand on Robert’s shoulder while his gaze stayed on the mountain.

“You don’t have to believe me, Bobby. But some day you may.”

Right, Robert thought. I’m sure that will happen. But it was only a few days later when Robert found out his grandpa wasn’t always making things up…

****

He hiked alone on Old Burn trail, passing several acres of blackened dead trees. Something about the place always set his teeth on edge. Perhaps it was the contorted shapes of the snags and the bitter scent of old charcoal. Or the feeling someone was watching him. His mother would blame it on an overactive imagination.

The trail led to a remote lake deep into the mountains. Because he loved the solitude, Robert was willing to put up with the discomforts of getting there. Plump trout leaped high for the flies his grandpa had taught him how to tie. He often forgot what time it was.

Returning one evening with his largest catch to date, Robert decided to take an old logging road back to his grandfather’s cabin. He’d forgotten his flashlight and knew it would be easier to see his way in the moonlight than trying to take the usual deer-trail shortcuts through dense undergrowth. He nerves were jangled, for he’d been certain a pair of yellow eyes were following him through the woods. He’d stopped many times and listened, yet hadn’t heard anything definitive. Whoever was stalking him knew how to walk quietly. He wondered if it was a bear.

As he made his way up the path to the cabin he noticed a pair of yellow eyes waiting for him. The owner of the eyes wasn’t a bear, but the tall flickering shape of a man. Except this wasn’t a living man made of flesh and bone. It was a ghost.

Terrified, Robert dropped his fly rod and load of fish and ran back the way he’d come. But he didn’t get far before the figure blocked his way once again. He’d stood still while the shape floated closer, creating eddies of freezing air that wilted the ferns and trilliums.

“Listen to me, young man,” the misshapen face ordered.

“What do you want?” Robert asked. The ghost’s eyes burrowed into him and pinched at his heart. Robert reached out and grabbed hold of a cedar to stop from shaking.

“Remember to look in the box,” the voice continued, “I’ve left something for you. Remember to look.”

Robert squeezed his eyes shut, willing the ghost to leave him alone. He’d heard the surrounding vegetation crackle from the ice, listened as it broke apart and crumbled onto the forest floor like delicate crystal. When he finally dared to open his eyes, the ghost had disappeared.

He sat up, bathed in sweat. The clock read 3:30 am. Outside a car was idling, and he didn’t lie back until he heard it finally sputter down the street.

You haven’t had that dream in years…

CHAPTER 16

The trailer camp was still covered in shadow at dawn. A lone figure emerged from the old house and walked over to trailer number one. He picked up a rubber hose that was connected to a gas tank and screwed the free end to a pipe that fed into the trailer.

Dawn Nolan and her daughter did not awaken to the smell or hiss of the gas. Not immediately, anyway.

Kenneth Nolan lay inside a body bag less than three hundred miles away, awaiting his autopsy.

CHAPTER 17

At seven in the morning the phone began to ring. Robert got out of bed, heavy and sore as he limped to pick it up. At first he heard only the buzz of a radio in the distance.

“Hello?”

“Congratulations,” said Walker Marsh. “You choose a very fine means to dispose of your opponent. A very thorough job, sir.”

“Go to hell.”

Walker cleared his throat. “Now, before we discuss your next match, I need to know what we should do about Mr. Nolan’s surviving wife and child. You can ask for them to be spared if you wish. Otherwise…”

“Don’t do a goddamn thing to them. Let them live.”

“It’s your call, Mr. Crain. Consider it done.”

“I want to talk to Peggy… Put Peggy on the phone.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“It’s just not a good time.”

“You’re lying. You’ve done something to them.”

“I guarantee your wife and son are very much alive and unharmed. In fact, I just spoke to them less than twenty minutes ago, to let them know that you were just one more step away from getting them back. You should have seen the hope grow in their eyes. It was brighter than this morning’s sunrise, Mr. Crain.”

Robert swallowed hard. It hurt so much to think about what his family must be going through. Then he reminded himself that Peggy was strong, and she wouldn’t be waiting around for him to come and rescue her. She’d be working on a way to escape. He was certain of it.