Pitch Black (4 page)
While the SAR team secured McPherson’s body to the stretcher, Gabe continued to look around. He started at the body and worked his way out in a spiral pattern. The woods thickened quickly as he moved away from the creek. About twenty feet from the body, he knelt down, inspecting the broken branches of a mountain laurel. The injury was fresh, the green wood still moist, and the foliage showed no signs of wilt. There could be any number of reasons for broken branches—an animal; J.D. had said Jordan was running around in a panic—it might have no significance at all.
He moved a little deeper into the woods, slipping on the wet, uneven ground more than once. Nothing out of the ordinary caught his attention. Then, just as he was about to loop around and return to the falls, he saw something small and light-colored on the ground near a two-foot-diameter boulder. He moved closer.
Cigarette filters, discolored from use and swollen from the rain. Impossible to tell how old they were. Brand marking said they were Marlboros—probably the most popular cigarette in town. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ziplock baggie. He turned it inside out, placed his hand inside, and picked up the butts without contaminating them with his touch.
He remained kneeling, the slope of the land making him work at keeping his balance. He examined the ground around him carefully, then scanned the surrounding foliage and trees. Once he was satisfied that he wasn’t missing anything, he straightened, stretching the knots out of his back. After spending the next several minutes working an increasing circumference from the spot of the cigarette butts and not finding anything noteworthy, he worked back toward the body in a zigzag pattern.
The light beneath the heavy canopy of trees was dimming rapidly. By the time Gabe reached the falls, the rescue team had already left with McPherson’s body. For a moment, he stood alone and admired the beauty of this place. It was easy to be seduced by such splendor, forget that beauty sometimes disguises danger. Had Steve forgotten that most valuable of lessons? Or had it simply been an odd twist of fate, one of Mother Nature’s little ironies?
He made one last pass around the area, then started back down the mountain himself.
ETHAN WAS BEGINNING TO THINK
M was never coming back. How long could it take to call somebody to pick them up and find out where Jordan was?
His stomach tightened with nerves. What if Jordan had snapped out of it and started talking?
He was just throwing off the covers, determined to go find Jordan himself, when M reappeared. She had a paper bag in her hand and didn’t look happy.
“What’s wrong?” Ethan’s mouth went dry.
“Jordan doesn’t appear to have any real physical injuries, but . . . ,” she said slowly, as if hesitant to speak the words, “he’s still uncommunicative.”
Ethan nearly pissed his pants with relief, but he tried to look unhappy, too.
M gave him her “sorry to disappoint you” look. “Maybe we should come back later. I’ll bring you—”
“No!” He jumped off the bed and faced her. “No! You said no bull!” He punched a finger in the air between them. “You said I could see him.”
Her eyes widened and she leaned back, away from him, as if he’d startled her.
He dropped his hands to his sides and added more quietly, “You promised.”
“Take it easy,” she said. “I did promise. And you
can
see him. I just thought it might be better for you to wait.”
“No.”
“All right. I picked up some sweats at the gift shop.” She handed him the bag. “Get dressed. I’ll go sign the papers to get you out. I’ll be right back and we’ll go see him.”
He gave a brusque nod and grabbed the bag. His hands were shaking so much he could hardly get the ties of his hospital gown undone.
Once he was dressed, he stepped outside the curtain.
M put her arm around his shoulders. “This way.”
Since his shoes were trashed, he was still wearing those dorky socks with grippers on the bottom that the hospital had given him. He felt stupid running around in the hallways without shoes. As they passed the open doors, he tried not to peek inside to see the people lying in the hospital beds, but his curiosity overcame his manners. It looked like everyone in here was old . . . and dying. Was Jordan dying, too?
This place had the same weird overly clean smell that doctors’ offices had. But here there was an unmistakable underlying odor of . . .
sickness
was the only way Ethan could think to describe it. He didn’t like it.
M stopped in front of a closed door. “Jordan has a private room. Do you want me to go in with you?”
Ethan stared at the closed door and shook his head. He was torn between wanting to slam it open and hurry inside and running in the other direction.
He pressed his lips together, took a breath, then put his hand on the door and pushed it open. The room seemed dim after the bright lights of the hallway. It was nearly dark outside. The fluorescent light over the bed was on, but not real bright, more like a night-light. Jordan looked like old sour cream; white and green at the same time. His eyes were open, staring, just like they’d been when Ethan last saw him.
He was halfway across the room when he realized that Jordan’s mom and dad were sitting in chairs shoved into the corner beside the door; a place where the light didn’t quite reach. Todd McPherson was standing next to Jordan’s mom, leaning against the wall.
“Oh, sorry . . . ,” he started to apologize.
“It’s okay, Ethan,” Jordan’s mom said softly. “Go on. Maybe he’ll talk to you.”
Ethan nodded, then walked up to the side of the bed. He was worried that Jordan’s parents would come up and stand there, too, but they stayed where they were. His back was to them, giving him just a little privacy.
He leaned over, so he’d be in Jordan’s stationary line of sight. “Hey. It’s me.”
Jordan didn’t move. He didn’t even blink.
Ethan said, “Everything’s going to be okay. You need to rest and get better.”
Jordan remained motionless.
“You still look cold.” Ethan leaned across and pulled the covers higher. When he did, he hovered close to Jordan’s ear and whispered, “Whatever you do, don’t say
anything.
I’ve taken care of it.”
As he straightened, he sent a cautious glance over his shoulder. Nobody was looking at him; nobody heard.
T
HE CUP OF COFFEE in Kate’s hand had gone cold. How long ago had Todd brought it to her? The black darkness of night had turned Jordan’s hospital room window into a mirror, a mirror in which her reflection showed a woman she barely recognized. Self-consciously, she smoothed her hair behind her ear. Hating what she saw in the glass, she looked down at her coffee where congealed swirls of cream had risen to the top. Her stomach rolled. She set the paper cup on the floor beneath her chair, back where it couldn’t be knocked over.
“Can I get you a fresh one, Kate?” Todd pushed himself away from the wall. He’d been standing there, strong and silent, while they waited for Jordan to “wake up”—while they waited for news of Steve’s condition.
“Oh, thank you, no. I’m too jittery inside already. How much longer do you think it can be before we hear . . . ?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.
Steve’s brawny build and rugged manliness had captured her attention the moment they met. He’d seemed larger than life, and she’d felt small and pale in his shadow. But, oh, how she’d wanted to be in that shadow. He’d made her feel safe.
There had been times during their two-year marriage when she’d paced the floor with worry. Back when he’d climbed Mt. Hood and the weather had abruptly changed, trapping his climbing team in a freak snowstorm. And the time he’d been a day late checking back into the lodge after hiking in Yosemite. For a man who lived the life Steve did, an overnight camping trip in what amounted to his own backyard shouldn’t have caused even a moment’s pause.
Todd knelt in front of her. “We’ll hear soon. But he’s going to be
fine.
”
She straightened in her chair and looked into her stepson’s eyes. “Do you really think so?” She wanted to believe. She had to believe. Todd had said Steve was going to be all right those other times, and he had. It was just like Mt. Hood. He was going to be okay.
“I do,” Todd said, holding her gaze. “Dad knows what he’s doing. And he’s strong. He’ll get through this.”
She managed a smile of faith. “Maybe I will take that coffee.”
Todd patted her hand and stood up. He seemed so much more than five years older than Jordan. So strong and confident—like his dad. It seemed he’d been a man from the time she’d first met him.
Bobby’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I never liked the idea of Steve taking Jordan up there. A boy like Jordan had no place in the wilderness. Just look at him—” He stood up and shoved his hands on his hips. “Steve shouldn’t—”
“Hey!” Todd spun back around from the door and grabbed Bobby’s arm.
Fear rippled through Kate. She and Bobby had had this disagreement a hundred times but Todd had never known of it. She didn’t think she could take it if Todd and Bobby got into it right now. She held her breath, but could not make herself stand up and put herself between them.
Todd leaned close to Bobby’s face. “My dad was just trying to do something nice for Jordan and that freaky friend of his! He doesn’t have to spend his time—” Todd clamped down on his words. After a deep breath he continued, his voice sounding slightly more in control. “Dad’s the one who’s up on that mountain hurt.” He released his grip on Bobby’s arm and walked out of the room.
She watched Bobby’s shoulders rise and fall. She knew him well enough to see he was barely controlling his anger. After a moment, she stood and touched his elbow. “Todd’s upset. . . . ”
“I know.”
“He’s right, too. Steve is always trying to help Jordan fit in better, helping him with sports and things. He’s—”
“Being a father?” Bobby’s sharp gaze turned her way. “Is that what you’re saying? Steve is being a better father to Jordan than I am? Don’t you see, Kate? He’s trying to make Jordan into something he’s not. And in the process, he’s making him feel like a failure. Steve needs to understand that playing baseball and climbing mountains and”—his face contorted with anger—“wrestling freakin’ grizzlies is not the mark of a man.”
He pulled his elbow out of her grasp and stalked out of the room.
Kate felt one more piece of solid ground crumble beneath her feet.
TODD HANDED KATE
a fresh cup of coffee. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to run him off.” He nodded toward Bobby’s empty chair.
“It’s okay. Everyone’s upset.” She took a tentative sip of coffee. Todd had added cream, just like she liked it. “He’ll be back.”
For Jordan,
she thought,
not for me. I’m alone. So alone. Dear Lord, please let Steve be all right.
She didn’t think she could stand being alone again.
Todd sat in the chair next to her. He leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs and looked deep into his own cup of coffee. “I’ll apologize when he comes back.”
She managed a nod and a weak smile. Todd was a good boy, a good example for Jordan. Todd had had his share of disappointment lately. The collegiate baseball scholarship he’d been counting on hadn’t materialized. She’d been so proud of the way he’d kept his chin up and focused on his future. He was going to junior college and working; saving his money and planning on transferring to the University of Tennessee next year. If only Jordan could have that kind of resiliency and optimism.
Todd had lost his mother when he’d only been ten. He and his dad were so close; who could blame him for being short-tempered at the moment? He’d be absolutely devastated if something happened to Steve.
Fate couldn’t be so cruel as to take his father from him, too. She clung to that thought. Steve would be okay and come back to her . . . to Todd. It seemed impossible to think otherwise.
After a few minutes, Todd got up and switched on the TV. “Maybe Jordan would like to watch
Sunday Night Football.
” He leaned down and put his face in front of Jordan’s. “It’s me, buddy. I’m here. I won’t leave. Remember how we like to watch football? Sorry, it’s NFL, not UT.” He pulled a chair right up to Jordan’s bedside. “It’s the Ravens and the Colts. Lots of bad blood there. Should be a real killer.”
Kate smiled her appreciation. At least Todd was trying to pull Jordan back, not off sulking like Bobby. Jordan was what was important now, not some macho pissing match between Bobby and Steve. Todd, bless his heart, knew that.
For the next hour Kate half-listened to the TV. The penalty whistles seemed unnaturally shrill and the drone of the commentators ground at her nerves. She stared intently at Jordan, looking for the slightest response: the light of recognition in his eyes, the flicker of an eyelash, the quiver of a lip. So far nothing. How could he hold his eyes open for so long without blinking?
She heard a man’s footfall behind her. Relief rushed through her.
Bobby—
But it wasn’t Bobby. It was Gabe Wyatt.
One look at his face confirmed what she’d been trying so hard to deny.
Her insides turned to liquid. She tried to push herself to her feet, but her hand slipped off the armrest. Her throat was suddenly too dry to make more than a choked whisper. “No . . . ”
She heard Todd’s chair scrape across the floor as he stood.
“I’m sorry.” Gabe stepped closer.
She recoiled away from him, as if he was responsible for the news he carried. Bowing her head, she covered her ears, shutting out what he had to say.
“He’s dead?” Todd asked, his voice sounding very far away.
Gabe’s answer came as if filtered through a thick blanket. “He had a severe head wound. There wasn’t anything anyone could do.”
Suddenly, Todd’s arms were around her, pulling her out of her chair, gathering her close. The smell of her favorite fabric softener filled her nose as she buried her face against his chest.
As he held her tight, Todd asked, “Was he conscious at all?”
“No. It appears he died last evening.”
Todd’s hands soothed her back. She felt him nod, his chin hitting the top of her head. “Where is he?”
“There will be an autopsy. You have plenty of time to make arrangements with the mortuary.”
“I thought you said he had a head wound. We’d rather they not”—he lowered his voice, as if that might take the pain out of the words—“have him cut open.”
Kate jerked her head upright. “No! No autopsy.”
“I understand your feelings. Unfortunately, it’s required by law for an unattended accidental death like this. I’m sorry.” Gabe left the room.
Through her tears, Todd’s face was blurred enough that she could almost imagine it was Steve standing there with her. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.
“Shhh.” Todd squeezed her hand. “It’ll be all right.”
How could it be all right? She was alone.
GABE SAT IN HIS JEEP
in the hospital parking lot, his hands on the steering wheel, staring at the dark sky. Minutes ticked by, but he made no move to start the car. The last vapors of the adrenaline he’d been running on slipped slowly and silently from his system. His legs began to cramp from this afternoon’s rapid ascent to Black Rock Falls. His neck and shoulder muscles felt like they had been twisted like a wrung-out towel. But the worst discomfort came from the cold dull ache in the center of his chest.
He wasn’t often called upon to deliver the devastating news of a death to a family; the low population and peaceful nature of Forrest County ensured that. But this was the second time in the space of a single week that he’d had to tell someone a loved one had died. Last Thursday it had fallen to him—since the football field sat just outside the city limits—to inform the parents of seventeen-year-old Zach Gilbert that their son had collapsed during football practice. The paramedics had had no luck restarting his heart. Kid had no prior history of health problems; looked healthy as an ox. It was a mystery that could only be answered by the autopsy report, which wouldn’t be back before next week. The age of the victim and the lingering unknown had made that message particularly difficult to deliver.
And now Steve McPherson . . . Damn. He hoped his grandmother’s rule of three wouldn’t apply, or Gabe would be playing the messenger of death again soon. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his arms burned. He tried to close his eyes, but the devastated faces he saw behind his lids made him snap them back open. God knew he didn’t want to lock gazes with one more woman who looked as if he’d just knifed her in the heart.
Poor Kate reminded him of a stray in a storm; so small and forlorn, eyes shining with loss. He wished he’d waited until he’d rounded up Bobby before he’d broken the news. It appeared that Todd was doing an admirable job of holding her together. But the boy had grief of his own to deal with.
At least in McPherson’s instance there wouldn’t be a boatload of extended family hounding Gabe with questions he couldn’t answer. Unlike Forrest County’s previous victims of abrupt and unexpected deaths, McPherson wasn’t a native. He and Todd had moved from Michigan six years ago. Once, as they’d sat next to one another at a high school football game, McPherson had told Gabe that he’d come here because of the mountains and the wilderness. His wife had died and he and his son needed a place to heal, and to Steve McPherson, healing meant spending lots of time with nature.
Some things were just too ironic to contemplate.
Gabe exhaled deeply, then started the Jeep. At times like these, he wished he didn’t live alone. How comforting it would be to return to a home full of life and light and love, instead of dark windows and desolate silence.
And for the first time, the person he imagined there waiting for him wasn’t a nameless, faceless woman. It was Maddie Wade.
He thought of her and her little cedar-sided house up on Turnbull Road. It wasn’t on his way, but after he’d basically abandoned her at the hospital, he owed it to her to make sure she was safely home. It was the least he could do.
It was nearly ten p.m. when he approached her house. He hadn’t realized how desperately he wanted to see her until he felt the rush of relief when he saw the downstairs still blazed with lights. He pulled into the little unpaved driveway that ran alongside the house.
Even before he shut off the engine and opened the door, Maddie appeared on the front porch. She crossed her arms over an oversized, orange University of Tennessee sweatshirt whose hem hit her jeans at mid-thigh.
He got out, rested his left elbow on the top of the open driver’s door, and looked at her over the top of the Jeep. As he did, he realized he was feeling every single heartbeat. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. She was backlit by the windows behind her; he couldn’t read her expression.
Just as he was about to present his excuse for his unannounced appearance, she said, “I was hoping you’d come.” It was a quiet, reserved statement; not laced with yearning or any other emotion. He couldn’t read it any better than he could her expression. She turned and walked back toward the front door. “I’ve made coffee.”
By the time he crossed the threshold, she had disappeared into the kitchen at the rear of the house. He took his time following, surveying the living room as he went. The furnishings fit Maddie’s no-nonsense personality far better than they did this country house: spare and contemporary, leather, glass, and metal. An Xbox with two controllers sat beneath an expensive flat-panel television. A black-lacquered bookshelf filled one wall. Gabe delayed his curiosity to see what titles were housed there—from what he’d seen of her, probably lots of literary works, and maybe a few political exposés.
When he entered the kitchen, she had her back to him, pouring coffee. This room was much like the living room, personal items a sharp contrast to the architecture of the house. The Cuisinart espresso machine and sleek stainless-steel toaster stood out against the knotty pine and wrought iron of the cabinets. One wall housed a glass-paned triple door that would have a killer view in the daylight.
His gaze settled back on the woman. The deep walnut waves of her hair contrasted with the orange of her sweatshirt. “I see you’ve come over to the dark side,” he said.
She shot him a look over her shoulder. As she turned her hair caught on her shoulder, creating a soft frame around her face. “Pardon me?”