"Thank you, gentlemen," she replied. "Whatever the truth, we may never know, not completely. All the same, I'm just glad that we've been able to put an end to this madness."
"But did we?" asked Repasi. "Or did Dorphmann end it?"
"Either way, it's over," Jessica countered. "Thank God."
"Whose god, yours or Dorphmann's?"
"Goddamn you, Repasi," said J. T. "I mean, it! Shut up!"
Around them, the park was coming awake, into the light of a new dawn. There was a softness to the light as it filtered in among the steam pools here, like a scene filmed through a filter, Jessica thought.
"Dorphmann was a raving lunatic, a madman," muttered Santiva. "No doubt his god was also a lunatic."
"A lunatic god," muttered Repasi. "Very good, Agent Santiva."
Eriq ignored Repasi and spoke directly to Jessica. "We'll have the pool dredged now that light is coming on. We'll recover the body."
"Maybe the skeletal remains, the bone and teeth," she replied, "but nothing else."
J. T. quickly added, "We have the bastard's dental records. We'll ID him."
"Problem is, sometimes these pools don't give back anything of a person who's fallen victim to 'em," said Rideout. "We might get lucky, maybe in a few days, what little remains of the man might rise to the surface, maybe not."
''Just hafta wait and see's all,'' added one of the rangers standing by.
"How's Sam Fronval?" asked Jess.
"Hold still, Jess," complained J. T. as he continued bandaging her hands. "Both your hands are badly scalded. It's going to be a while before you wield a scalpel again."
"How bad, J. T.? How bad is Fronval?"
The ranger in charge replied, "Sam's a tough ol' bird. From what everyone could tell, he's going to be all right. The medics took him on down to Mammoth, to the hospital there. He was sittin' up and cursin' when they hauled his ornery ass off."
This made for an eruption of laughter from all those who knew Sam.
"I'm more worried about your burns, Jess," J. T. told her.
Jessica considered her injuries. "I don't feel any pain. How bad off can I be?"
"You will," he replied.
Her eyes implored him for the truth.
"Don't worry. Like I said, it'll take some time, but you'll heal. Your ankles and feet aren't quite so badly burned. You must have had quite a struggle with that maniac. I can't believe you got so close!" He was angry with her. "Can't believe you let him get his hands on you. Damn you, Jess." J. T. was near to tears, and to combat them, he finished off the bandages about her feet and ankles, shouting orders to the rangers to get a stretcher out to them and to have an ambulance waiting, that he wanted Dr. Coran transported to the nearest burn facility.
"That'd be Mammoth hospital, over to Mammoth," said Rideout. "We don't need to wait for assistance. I'll take her in my bird."
Jessica felt herself being lifted in the hands of her pallbearers, but these pallbearers were carrying her away from the death that Dorphmann and his Devil had planned for her, Gallagher, Repasi, J. T., Santiva, and Rideout, all fussing for the privilege to help her away from the grave. She closed her eyes, exhaustion settling in over her, and she blacked out.
EPILOGUE
Fire is an event, not an element.
Later, at Old Faithful Lodge, the team recuperated, sitting out on the massive deck, drinks in hand, watching from comfortable knotty pine chairs the eruption of Old Faithful every half hour or so. Everyone was pleased that the Phantom had finally been put down, and a twenty-four-hour watch had been placed on Hellsmouth in the hope that something of Feydor Dorphmann might return to the cauldron's surface.
Jessica remained in Mammoth for now, her injuries being attended to by people who knew a great deal more about rehabilitating burned tissue than J. T. or Repasi or anyone else on the deck here. The bus that Feydor Dorphmann had been using for the greater part of his trek to his wished-for freedom from his demon had arrived, bus 67, carrying its cargo of sight-seeing passengers and Doris, the tour guide. J. T. recognized the VisionQuest bus as soon as it pulled up at midday. Had Dorphmann not been interfered with in Salt Lake City, if J. T. hadn't run down the bus and tour group that one Chris Dunlap had attached himself to, if Dorphmann hadn't had the run-in with Warren Bishop, the fiend might well have remained on this schedule, today's schedule. Feydor Dorphmann would be arriving this moment at Old Faithful Lodge, awaiting Jessica's arrival in a less agitated state of mind, far more prepared to face her and put an end to his fevered brain one way or another.
J. T. considered this possibility. What might Dorphmann have done differently had he the luxury of time? The night Dorphmann had arrived here, he believed he must kill two more sinners for his crusade or puzzle before facing down Jessica Coran. Dorphmann had hastily done just that, killing two more innocent bystanders, hurrying his showdown with Jessica.
Again J. T. wondered how differently things might have worked out if Feydor Dorphmann were just now getting down from bus 67, which J. T. stood staring down at now from the deck overlooking the front entry to Old Faithful Lodge. He imagined the monster among the meek travelers now searching impatiently for their bags.
J. T. found himself vacating his position above the bus to stand at the side of the bus tour director. She didn't know who or what he was until he flashed his FBI credentials and asked if he might have a word with her.
"I could use a drink," the heavily made-up lady with the name tag of Doris replied.
J. T. waltzed her into the lounge, which was, at this hour, nearly empty.
"How can I help you?"
"I thought you'd like to know that Dorphmann, the man you knew as Dunlap, was killed here by an FBI agent early this morning out at one of the hot springs."
Doris's mouth hung open for a moment, and after a deep breath, she said, "That's good news."
"You don't sound convinced of that."
She was understandably shaken. She told J. T., "I knew from day one he was a sad man. Lonely, I figured, like… well, like so many. But he wanned a bit the last few days he was with us. Ask anyone on the bus. I mean, he seemed such a… a nice man…"
"Really?"
"I mean after we got the ice to break with him. I mean he was always helping others on and off the bus with a smile, bought little presents in the gift shops not for himself or his family-guess he had no family-but for people on board the bus, strangers to him. Couldn't get him to join in on the sing-alongs, but Chris, Mr. Dunlap
… Dorphmann, always offered a kind word to me about my voice. Said I was a fine entertainer, that I could play Caesar's Palace in Vegas if given a chance."
"I see."
"I just can't believe it-that he'd kill anyone, and in so brutal a fashion as they say. Are you writing a book, too?" she asked.
"Ma'am?"
"In Jackson Hole I met another medical man, an M.E. like yourself. Said he was writing a book in which this case would figure prominently."
"Oh, yeah… That'd be Dr. Repasi."
"Yes, that's him. So, are you?"
"Writing a book on the case? No, not me."
J. T. thanked the woman, paid for their drinks, and said good-bye. He momentarily wondered how Karl Repasi intended to portray him in the book, if he'd be mentioned at all; then he wondered how Karl meant to portray Jessica, and he wondered if anything remained of the teeth in libel laws. Then he promptly forgot about Repasi and his damned book.
Several days had passed and Jessica had returned to the lodge, where she was the guest of the FBI. Santiva had told Jessica to take off as many days as she felt necessary, while he, J. T., Gallagher, Repasi, Rideout, and everyone else returned to their normal lives. Jessica was left to wonder what exactly "normal life" meant. She feared she would never know the feeling of a steady existence. She feared for her friend Warren Bishop, whose wounds had thankfully healed to the point where he was talking of leaving the hospital in Salt Lake City but the moment he did so, the FBI brass wanted to see him. He was up on charges of selling his position and influence, his connection with Frank Lorentian in this affair now public information. She worried for Warren, knowing that if he had any future with the bureau at all, it would be a dim one, three steps back.