Deep Freeze (47 page)
Authors: Lisa Jackson
“You creep!” Cassie yelled.
He looked up at her. “You don’t even know who I really am,” and his voice changed slightly, was a tad higher. He pulled off his wig to reveal that he was nearly bald, short, blond fuzz over his head. Then he popped out contact lenses to reveal darker eyes. Eyes she’d seen before.
“Who are you?” Cassie asked as he removed his teeth and temporary implants along his jaw line so that he lost his jowls.
Jenna had seen him before. She was sure of it. When? California? He swung his face toward hers and she knew in an instant. One of the technicians on the set of
White Out
, one of the guys who’d been injured. The guy with the same name as one of the characters in her films. Steven White—that was it.
He tugged off his thermal wear and revealed a bodysuit. As he stripped it off, his thick waist disappeared, revealing a taut, corded body that looked honed by some kind of physical activity.
Seth Whitaker. Steven White. She wondered what his real name was.
Naked, he looked up at Cassie. “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 Cassie 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!” Cassie 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 Cassie got to the vat, the lower she got, his reaction was just the opposite: his dick started to rise.
The pervert was really getting off on this, staring at Cassie. 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 Cassie 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 bitch!”
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 Cassie, 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.”
Cassie 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, God, it was so cold, the water surrounding her felt thick, like gelatin, and was so cold. Cassie 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 snowbank. 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 massive 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.
Shit.
From his backpack he dragged out his walkie-talkie and hit the button. 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 hell out of this place, kill me. It won’t matter—I’ll be with her.”
“Help!” Cassie 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.
“Fuck 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. Cassie 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. Cassie 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 scraping 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. Cassie sputtered.
The harsh grip relaxed for an instant.
A shot blasted through the room, reverberating against the walls, and Whitaker fell away.
“Save Cassie!” 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.
Cassie was completely submerged, her body unmoving.
Carter didn’t wait. He aimed his gun at the glass tank.
Jenna screamed.
He pulled the trigger.
The gun fired.
Glass shattered as the tank exploded. Water, in a huge, cascading rush, flooded the room, pouring over the equipment, skimming over the floor.
Cassie 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, Cassie, breathe
. He tried again. And again.
Don’t do this, don’t die. Come on, fight. Don’t let that bastard win!
He heard Jenna climbing the ladder to the landing. “Oh, God, is she—”
With a jolt, Cassie 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…”
Cassie 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 glasses, 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 Cassie were alive.
Things could have ended up worse.
A whole lot worse.
“I thought you were through with ‘bullshit’ 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 space 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 helluva 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 Hatchell, 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 shell, though Cassie was still working through some of the trauma of her ordeal at Whitaker’s hand.
Carter’s jaw clenched when he thought of the bastard. In Carter’s opinion, there wasn’t a hell hot enough for Seth Whitaker.
Cassie’s healing would take time. Probably years.
Her hair was growing out but she wasn’t satisfied with it and, to make a point, she’d dyed the short strands a deep shade of magenta, which, surprisingly didn’t look as bad as it sounded, until she used enough gel to make the short clumps stand out in weird spikes.
Despite her mother’s counseling, Cassie was still struggling in school and hanging out with the wrong crowd, which, unfortunately, included BJ’s daughter, Megan. However, Carter noticed progress in the girl…she was softening toward her mother, trying harder with her classes and, if somewhat warily, accepting Carter and Jenna’s relationship.
“Get your message across to Randall?” Jenna asked as Carter slid into the passenger seat.
“Not quite.”
“No?”
“Maybe I should add something for emphasis.”
“Like what?”
Carter noticed Randall emerge from the building, adjust his tie, then hurry toward the parking lot. “Oh, like this,” he said and wrapped his arms around her, dragging her hard against him. He pressed his mouth over hers and kissed her as if he didn’t want to stop. Which, of course, he didn’t. Her lips were warm and pliant, the little giggle and gasp that she had emitted when he’d grabbed her, melting away as the kiss intensified.
By the time he lifted his head, she was breathless and his crotch was definitely tight.
“Oh, my, Sheriff,” she teased.
Smiling, he glanced over her shoulder, out the window, and observed Randall’s look of surprise.
“What was that all about?” she asked.
“Just making a point.” He winked at her.
“Did you make it?”
“Pretty sure. Let’s go.”
She snapped on her seat belt. “Your wish is my command.”
“Yeah, right.”
Flush-faced, she rammed the Jeep into gear and they drove through the town, past the old church with a marquee for a new production.
The storm had abated in mid-December, though lingering cold had ensured the ski resorts a fabulous season. But there had been a persisting gloom in the small town over the holidays. On January first, Carter threw away his ice-climbing gear.
He’d removed all pictures of Carolyn from his house and erased her from his mind, even bought Wes Allen a beer at the Lucky Seven; though when Allen had drunk the pilsner, he’d told Shane to “fuck off permanently” despite the fact that Rinda, ever the mother, had tried to help the two men patch things up. Scott had taken off for Portland, chasing down a girl, and Rinda had adopted two dogs and a turtle. In Carter’s opinion, she needed a man, rather than the menagerie of pets she was collecting but figured she’d wake up to that fact soon enough.
Now, nine months later, Jenna drove to a section of town not far from the Junior High School, where a hundred-year-old Victorian home, complete with gingerbread accents, steep gables and a wide, sweeping front porch, stood behind a picket fence and small lawn where the grass was patchy and dry. Jenna checked her watch. “The lesson must be about over,” she said as the Jeep idled near the driveway where Blanche Johnson’s car was parked.
Allie was taking a piano lesson inside, though when Jenna rolled down the window, she didn’t hear the usual musical notes escaping through the old, single-paned windows. Dani Settler was supposed to be with her as the girls had back-to-back lessons and had planned a sleepover at Jenna’s place.
“My guess is she’ll be out in a sec,” Shane said.
Jenna checked her watch again just as Travis Settler drove up. He parked near the front walk and waved as he spied Jenna and Shane. His smile was still a bit tight, as if he hadn’t quite forgiven Jenna for choosing Carter over him, but he seemed to be getting over it.
Swinging a small bag, he walked up to Jenna’s rig. “Emergency call from Dani,” he explained, holding up the small duffel. “She forgot her overnight bag when she went to school this morning and told me to drop it off here.”
“We could have picked it up,” Jenna said.
“Too late. I had to come into town anyway, and I wanted to talk to Dani before she took off for your place.” He flashed a more amiable smile, then sniffed the air. “Do you smell smoke?” His gaze moved over the roof of the SUV toward Blanche’s house.
“No…”
“I do,” Shane said as he climbed out of the Jeep to stretch his legs. His gaze swept the area.
Jenna glanced at her watch again. The lesson was supposed to have been over nearly fifteen minutes ago and Allie wasn’t one to hang out a second past the stated time. “I’ll see what’s going on.” She was out of the Jeep and pushing open the gate as the acrid smell of smoke reached her nostrils. Not wood smoke. Something else.
“I’ll come with you,” Shane said as if he realized something wasn’t right.
The first shiver of fear crawled across her skin as she rang the bell and heard chimes peal through the old house.
Then she noticed the door.
Ajar.
Probably one of the girls hadn’t latched it properly as they ran inside. Right?
Jenna stepped inside and her heart began to knock. “Hi, Blanche!” she called, trying to calm herself. Nothing was wrong. Nothing could be. “It’s Jenna.” The foyer was empty. Dark. No sound inside except for the old timbers settling. “Blanche? Allie?”
She heard footsteps behind her. Travis and Shane had followed her inside. “What’s going on?” Travis asked. “Where are the girls?”
“I don’t know.” She rounded the corner to the small parlor where the old upright piano stood. The bench was kicked out. Sheet music scattered upon the floor. A knot tightened in Jenna’s gut. “Something’s wrong,” she whispered, her gaze flying around the room. Travis and Shane started searching. “Allie!” she screamed, and fear, the same mind-numbing fear she’d felt last winter, took a stranglehold of her. Not again, oh, please,
not again!
“Jesus,” Travis said as he looked behind the couch. His face turned white as death. “Call an ambulance!”
“What?” Panicked, Jenna was across the carpet in an instant, Shane already on his cell phone. Behind the couch, lying faceup, a pool of blood staining the carpet, lay Blanche Johnson. “No! Oh, God, no!”
Blanche, her skin a pasty white, her hair disheveled, blood pooled beneath her. Glassy, lifeless eyes stared upward.
Jenna’s hand flew to her throat. “Not again,” she whispered, fear grinding through her.
“Find the girls!” Travis ordered as he reached down to feel for Blanche’s pulse. What seemed a lifetime later, he shook his head. “We’re too late. She’s dead.”
Carter stepped over to the body. Held Jenna close. “I’ve called 911. Units are on the way.” His eyes narrowed and he walked closer to the wall behind the piano. “What’s this?”
For the first time Jenna noticed the mar in the wallpaper print, the angry words, scratched deeply, tearing the paper, smeared with a dark substance that trailed down the cabbage roses and vine print:
Payback Time
.
“What the hell does that mean?” Travis asked, fear tightening his voice.
Allie? Where was Allie?
Turning, Jenna noticed the smoke. Thick and black, it curled in the hallway from the kitchen. “Fire!” she yelled. “Allie! Dani!” Oh, God, where were they? Frantically she ran to the front hall. They had to be safe.
Had
to. “Allie!” she yelled again. “Oh, God, where are they?”
In the distance, sirens screamed.
Travis grabbed a cloth arm protector from a side chair, held it over his mouth and nose and jogged toward the smoke. “Dani! For God’s sake, are you here? Dani!”
Carter was already racing up the stairs. “Get out of the house, Jenna. Now!”
“No way.”
“They’re probably already outside!”
If only she dared believe it.
Screaming her daughter’s name, she threw open the door to the coat closet. Empty. She rushed into the living room. The dining room and butler’s pantry. Nothing! She heard the crackle of flames and Carter’s boots ringing overhead.
Travis, backing out of the kitchen, a fire extinguisher spraying, called over his shoulder, “No one in the kitchen. Just a grease fire.”
The house was empty.
As the police and fire crews arrived, a crowd gathered, and Shane shepherded Jenna outside to the Jeep. The cell phone! She climbed into the rig, found her phone and was about to dial when she noticed that she had two new messages. Both from Allie.
Insides churning, she listened and tears of relief flowed from her eyes at the sound of her daughter’s voice. She blinked and swiped at her nose as she said to Travis, “She’s at the school waiting for us there. Dani told her she’d gotten a call from Blanche. Piano lessons had been cancelled.”
“So they’re all right,” Travis said, relief evident in the lines of his face. He pulled out his phone and dialed. Waited and frowned, then said, “Dani, this is Dad. Call me back.” He clicked the phone shut. Stared at Shane. “She’s not answering.”
Jenna was already calling Allie and her daughter picked up immediately. “Hello?”
“Hi, honey.” Relief flooded through her.
“Where are you?” Allie was angry. “I’ve been waiting forever!”
“I’m at Mrs. Johnson’s. We must’ve gotten our wires crossed. I thought you were at your lesson, but stay put, I’m on my way to pick you up right now. I’ll be there in five minutes. Is Dani with you?”
“No.”
“No?” Jenna froze. Dread crystalized through her brain. Her eyes met Travis’s. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” Allie grumbled. “She ditched me out.”
“Ditched you out?” Jenna repeated. “That doesn’t sound like Dani. What happened?”
“I said ‘I don’t know.’ At lunch she told me that the piano lessons had been cancelled and that she’d meet me after last period and she’s not here.
No
one’s here.” Jenna’s heart nose-dived. “Are you coming?”
