Northwest: Deep Freeze Part 56

Naked, he looked up at Ca.s.sie. "Now, Katrina, it's time."

"Are you talking to me? I'm not Katrina. Just get me down from here."

"Always the feisty one," he said, and walked into the computer room and typed on the keyboard. Instantly, music began to fill the room, music from Innocence Lost, the same music that had been played during the phone call she'd received.

While he was still in the computer room, she frantically tried to find a means of escape. She had to untie herself, but her hands were bound so tightly, she could barely move.

With a clank and a deep whir, the bar on which Ca.s.sie was suspended began to lower, slowly easing her toward the vat of the clear fluid. What was it? It looked like water but it could be anything horrible.

"Hey! No!" Ca.s.sie was screaming now, her bravado failing. "Let me down, please," she cried, her voice cracking. "I've never done anything to you. Please, don't do this!"

He returned from the computer room and stared at her. Didn't say a word, and to Jenna's horror, the closer Ca.s.sie got to the vat, the lower she got, his reaction was just the opposite: his d.i.c.k started to rise.

The pervert was really getting off on this, staring at Ca.s.sie. While his back was turned on Jenna, she scooted closer to the mannequin meant to be Anne Parks, to the knife that was suspended from the mannequin's hand. Only a few more inches, but she was running out of time; the pole on which Ca.s.sie was braced had reached the surface of the liquid. She saw Jenna move.

"Mom! No!"

He spun, eyes glittering.

It was now or never.

Jenna lunged for the mannequin, sending it toppling, the knife even farther from her. Anne's arm hit Paris, and in a domino effect, all of the strange, lifelike replicas of her fell, thudding, jewelry and props skittering across the floor. One mannequin's head twisted upward at an impossible angle.

"No!" he said, spinning, his eyes narrowing on the pile of crumpled mannequins. His hard-on shriveled. "Leave them alone!" He advanced toward Jenna and the pile of dummies. "Paris! Marnie! Faye!" he cried, his face twisting in pain before he glared furiously at Jenna. "Look what you've done! This was your shrine, you thankless b.i.t.c.h!"

Jenna moved as quickly as possible, keeping eye contact with the madman, seeing, in her peripheral vision, the long-bladed knife mere feet away.

Walking swiftly, he seemed to have forgotten Ca.s.sie, who, as her toe hit the surface of the liquid, let out a screeching howl that echoed to the rafters.

"Let her go!" Jenna ordered. "It's me you want. Obviously. So let her go."

"I need you both."

Ca.s.sie was inching into the liquid. Shivering. Her naked body trying to twist away. "Help!" she cried, then squealed in terror.

"Please, Seth," Jenna said. "Let her go!"

"I'm not Seth."

"Steven, then. Please!" She appeared to be moving closer to him, meeting him, supplicating. "I'll do anything you want. Anything. Just let my daughter go."

Oh, G.o.d, it was so cold, the water surrounding her felt thick, like gelatin, and was so cold. Ca.s.sie tried to shrink away, to shimmy backward up the pole, but it was no use. She sank lower and lower, her gaze darting from the freezing liquid to her mother and the monster and back to the tank.

Icy water-if that's what it was-crawled up her legs, over her knees, up her thighs.

Carter pulled himself over the edge and rolled into the s...o...b..nk. He gasped for air, ice crystals stinging the exposed parts of his face. Drenched in sweat and shivering, he rolled to his feet, released his cleats, and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Through the trees, the old lodge appeared, a ma.s.sive structure completely covered in snow. Only a few small windows remained, the larger ones boarded over.

He approached with caution, an eerie feeling of dread stealing through his blood as he surveyed the place. No pickup or truck, but a snowmobile was parked near a door and a rescue stretcher had been attached to it.

Grimly, he realized this was how Whitaker brought his victims here. A few lights glowed from the inside through the icy windows, and Carter's guts felt like lead. He reached into his pocket, found his cell phone, and turned it on. Nothing. No signal.

s.h.i.t.

From his backpack he dragged out his walkie-talkie and hit the b.u.t.ton. A crackle of noise erupted. "It's Carter-I'm at the lodge, and I think Whitaker's here. Send backup!"

He didn't wait for a response, couldn't risk the time. Stuffing his walkie-talkie into the pack again, he pulled out his sidearm and held it in one hand.

The fingers of his other hand gripped the ice axe.

A scream tore through the woods, a terrified wail erupting from within the building.

Carter didn't think twice.

He kicked open the door, ducked inside, and with his weapon drawn, yelled, "Police! Freeze!"

What!

Whitaker heard the shout and turned. The lawman was standing in the doorway, gun drawn, aiming at him. Walking toward him as if he had the right.

Jenna let out a gasp of relief that curdled Whitaker's stomach. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when he was so close.

He lunged to one side and hit the ground, rolling over and grabbing Jenna, holding her against him like a human shield. He had no weapon, but grabbed her neck and twisted.

She cried out.

"I'll kill her, Carter," he said calmly. "And then you can shoot the h.e.l.l out of this place, kill me. It won't matter-I'll be with her."

"Help!" Ca.s.sie cried, and Whitaker chanced a glance her way. She was almost submerged, gasping for breath, the freezing water slowing her reactions, hypothermia setting in.

"Shane, help her," Jenna cried. "The controls are in the computer room."

"Let her go."

Carter trained his gun on him, but Whitaker didn't care. He'd die with Jenna, take her with him, and he would have reached his goal. Here, with Jenna in his arms.

"I said 'let her go,'" Carter repeated.

"f.u.c.k off," he growled, and while staring at Carter, held Jenna's head twisted with one arm while fondling her breast with the other. It was heaven.

Gurgling sounds came from the other side of the room. Ca.s.sie was drowning, and the lawman couldn't stop it.

Jenna bucked. All of her body convulsing, her tied hands flailing. Whitaker saw Carter shift, and he tightened his grip on Jenna, wrenching her neck.

The pain was excruciating, but Jenna didn't care. Ca.s.sie was drowning. In front of her eyes. And the knife was only inches from her hand. She threw herself up at her attacker, throwing all of her weight against him, her hands sc.r.a.ping the concrete, breaking nails. She found the hilt of the knife, picked it up in both hands, and turned, slashing wildly, her head feeling as if it would fall off.

Whitaker yelped. Ca.s.sie sputtered.

The harsh grip relaxed for an instant.

A shot blasted through the room, reverberating against the walls, and Whitaker fell away.

"Save Ca.s.sie!" Jenna cried, stumbling to her feet. With his ice axe, Carter unbound Jenna's wrists and ankles, and she ran blindly toward the computer room while Carter climbed the rigging.

Ca.s.sie was completely submerged, her body unmoving.

Carter didn't wait. He aimed his gun at the gla.s.s tank.

Jenna screamed.

He pulled the trigger.

The gun fired.

Gla.s.s shattered as the tank exploded. Water, in a huge, cascading rush, flooded the room, pouring over the equipment, skimming over the floor.

Ca.s.sie lay still as Carter pulled on the rigging and the beam swung to a platform. With keys he found on the ledge, he unlocked her and she collapsed onto the ledge. "Look for blankets," he yelled as he started mouth-to-mouth, forcing warm air into her lungs, then pressed on her chest. Come on, Ca.s.sie, breathe. He tried again. And again. Don't do this, don't die. Come on, fight. Don't let that b.a.s.t.a.r.d win!

He heard Jenna climbing the ladder to the landing. "Oh, G.o.d, is she-"

With a jolt, Ca.s.sie spluttered and coughed, water spewing from her mouth and nose as she turned to her side. She gasped, dragging air into her lungs, and coughed again.

"Oh, honey!" Jenna kneeled over her, wrapped her in a blanket, and cradled her head. "Oh, baby, baby, baby..."

Ca.s.sie was crying, shaking, trying to understand, and as she did, her eyes took in Shane Carter standing a few paces behind Jenna. Shivering, she looked down at her naked body, and groggily must've put two and two together. "Oh, gross..." She wrapped the blanket closer around her. "Yuk."

Carter, looking down at dummies of Jenna half-submerged in the icy water stained red from Whitaker's wounds, couldn't agree more. Jewelry and props, a broken umbrella and bracelets, floated in the murky red water that collected around the dentist's chair. A pair of plastic gla.s.ses, their lenses shattered, skimmed along the water's surface.

"I guess I'd better see if he's still alive," Carter said, but took his time getting to Whitaker, who stared up at the ceiling where posters of Jenna were tacked. Blood showed in the corners of his mouth and oozed from beneath his back.

Carter waded through the water, leaned down, and felt for a pulse at Whitaker's throat.

There was none.

Seth Whitaker, aka Steven White, was dead.

Jenna and Ca.s.sie were alive.

Things could have ended up worse.

A whole lot worse.

EPILOGUE.

"I thought you were through with 'bulls.h.i.t' sessions," Dr. Randall said nearly ten months later, when Carter arrived on his doorstep.

"I am." He stepped into the room where he'd spilled his guts for so many months and frowned at the soft leather couch, pastel seascapes, oak bookcase filled with tomes on every kind of psychosis, mental disease or syndrome in the world.

A fern, near the corner, catching the late summer light through the window, flourished, showing off new green fronds.

Randall seemed pleased, as if his prodigal son had finally returned. They both stood near the window overlooking the parking lot. "I don't have time to see you right now. I'm on my way out."

"That's fine, I won't need much of your time. I just want to remind you that I'll be watching, okay? I've heard rumors that you're writing a book."

"Everyone's dream."

"Not mine."

"Well, we can't all be authors," Randall said.

"I heard that it's loosely based on Seth Whitaker's obsession with Jenna Hughes."

Randall touched the edge of his goatee, turned a palm toward the ceiling. "It's about an unbalanced person obsessed with an ex-movie star."

"And you've had some bites, right? An agent and publisher interested, even Hollywood knocking on your door."

"Well...I don't know about that." Randall checked his watch and Carter hitched his chin toward the parking lot, suggesting the psychologist look through the window to the parking s.p.a.ce where Jenna, seated at the wheel of her Jeep was waiting, the rig's engine idling in the hot afternoon air.

"Things are working out for you, I see," Randall observed with the tiniest of smiles. "Maybe winter isn't so bad after all."

"Maybe, and yeah, things are working out, but Jenna, she's still got connections in L.A. and there are rumors that her ex is going to try and produce a story that sounds a h.e.l.luva lot like yours."

"Is that so?" Randall's humorless eyes met his gaze and Carter noticed it then, that hint of superiority, the look of soft disdain for those less intelligent than Dean M. Randall, Ph.D. At least he hadn't lied and denied it.

"I just thought you should know that I suspect you might have taped all my sessions with you."

Randall frowned. "I taped your sessions?"

Again the non-lie. "And if there is anything, just a whiff of what I told you in confidence finding its way into your book, I'll sue."

"I wouldn't-"

"Of course not," Carter said, allowing his mouth to stretch into its most disarming country-boy smile. "But I just want to forewarn you."

With that, Carter left. He walked through the door, down the stairs and outside where late summer was giving way to the first vestiges of autumn. The parking lot was dry, a few dry leaves scattered over the pavement. Falls Crossing had survived the coldest winter in nearly a century and though there were some scars remaining, Randall was right, things had worked out.

It had taken some time for the police to locate the bodies of the women Seth Whitaker had abducted. They'd been wrapped in tarps and hidden on his property, their frozen bodies naked and waiting for permanent disposal. Sonja Hatch.e.l.l, Roxie Olmstead, and Lynnetta Swaggert, their heads shaved, their teeth filed down, had been located. The police had found Sonja's car hidden in an old shed and, locked in a drawer, dental appliances shaped from a mold stolen from the set of White Out. A way for Seth to give all of his mannequins Jenna's spectacular smile. The crime scene team, FBI psychologists, and of course, the press had all had a field day with the case.

Carter had been elevated to the status of local hero, a position he wasn't sure he deserved or wanted. He and Jenna had hardly left each other's side. They were talking about living together, perhaps getting married, though still taking things slowly.

Her kids, after spending last Christmas with their father, had returned to Falls Crossing. Allie had outwardly bounced back and puppy-dogged after Carter whenever he was at their house. He'd taken her and her friend Dani Settler riding, fishing and hiking in the woods before school started again. Allie seemed to be flourishing, coming out of her sh.e.l.l, though Ca.s.sie was still working through some of the trauma of her ordeal at Whitaker's hand.