She exhaled slowly, gratefully. A huge feeling of relief built up inside her. The initial shock over, she looked down at the figure on the bed and felt a brief surge of pity.
No more sheep for this Little Bo Peep, she murmured to herself.
Gillian got out of there. Fast. Checking first, making sure she’d left no trace of her presence behind. Nothing that could involve her with Bo Peep’s death. She touched her Minolta, briefly, and grimaced. Yuk. No. No photographs for her files this time.
Anyway. Cases like these, you can’t be too sure. Film could get lost, or stolen. Unless the finder was either a weirdo or somebody seriously interested in nursery rhymes, the film could easily end up in the wrong hands.
For a full three months after that, intrusions were out. Gillian had to admit, though, there were days back there when she’d been sorely tempted. She’d resisted, but it hadn’t been easy. When she’d felt like giving in, she had only to remember that strange shrunken figure lying dead in its cot.
Yeah. The memory of that house on Silverston still haunted her like some terrible dream.
Would’ve made a spooky movie, though.
One day, she reckoned, she was gonna meet up with real trouble. Find herself doing time, no sweat. So she quit. No more house-sitting, she promised herself. That last time at Creepy Hollow had scared the shit clean out of her.
Then the old urge, that all-consuming desire, need, came flooding back. As inviting, as seductive as ever.
Yeah, Mr.-Fat’n’sassy Shrink. I’m hooked on other people’s private places. I coulda told you that ...’n saved myself a whole heap o’ money in the process.
If she’d been into visiting shrinks, that is.
Which she wasn’t.
She rolled onto her shoulder and looked around. The sheer face of the mountain continued for some distance, maybe a few hundred yards. Then it dissolved like a more gradual slope.
A slope that Holden could descend.
He could go down that way, Gillian thought, approach from below, and get to me by climbing up.
She didn’t see him, but the area along the base of the slope was heavily wooded. Holden could be down there, out of sight, making his way through the trees along the edge of the valley.
She spotted a trail among the trees. On the far side of the trail was a stream. It rushed along, shining in the afternoon sunlight. In places, it was white with froth. Gillian could hear the distant sound of it tumbling through the rocks.
She rolled flat again. The trail and stream followed the side of the gulley. Directly below her, the trees opened up. That was good. If Holden descended all the way to the bottom and came through the woods, he’d be in plain sight for a while before reaching the heaped boulders.
Turning her head, Gillian scanned the area to her left. The trail and stream were visible for only a short distance before the clearing. They vanished around the foot of a bluff that was nearly as high as Gillian’s perch. She looked back. A glance at the mountainside was enough to convince her that Holden wouldn’t try to descend on that side. It was steep, and it stayed steep.
So now we know, she thought, which way he’ll come.
If he comes.
If he’s not dead in the rocks down there.
I’ve got two choices, she thought. I can either stay here or climb down.
I’ll have to climb down sooner or later.
But he’d have a hard time getting to me here. He can’t sneak up on me.
Gillian wiped sweat out of her eyes, looked around, and saw plenty of good-sized rocks within reach.
I can bash his brains in before he ever gets near me.
But he’s too smart to make himself a target. As long as I’m here, I’m trapped and he knows where I am. What if he waits for night? What if I fall asleep or pass out, and he makes it up here while I’m zonked?
I can’t last forever up here.
She felt the sun beating down on her, broiling her back. She felt sweat sliding down her skin. Her tongue was a dry slab.
She hadn’t taken a drink since last night. She’d spent hours sweating inside the trunk of Holden’s car.
If I wait too long, she thought, I won’t be able to climb down.
She found herself staring at the stream. She listened to it rushing over the rocks. She could almost taste it.
Through the trees to the left of the clearing, she saw it cascading, white as snow. Straight in front of her, it formed a clear, glinting pool. She pictured herself sliding into the chill water, sucking it into her mouth.
If I start down now, she thought, I’ll be there in half an hour. Maybe less.
If Holden doesn’t get me.
If he shows up, I’ll stone him. Plenty of ammunition.
Gillian squirmed backward away from the edge, then got to her hands and knees. The movement made her head pound. A wave of dizziness washed by. It left her frightened.
If that happens while I’m trying to climb down ...
Get going.
She sat down, then scooted herself toward the right-hand side of the shelf. Her feet went out over the edge. Her calves scraped. Then her feet dropped out of sight and the pain reminded her to be careful of her right knee.
What if it’s too weak to hold me up?
She kept inching forward. Her legs dangled. She clutched the edge of the shelf with both hands and leaned out.
Her toes were nearly touching the next rock down.
She lay backward and rolled over. Then she squirmed on her belly, easing herself off the ledge until her feet found the rock. Carefully, she pushed herself away from the shelf.
She stood on the foothold, still holding the upper ledge with both hands.
So far, she thought, not bad.
She looked down at her destination. The sparkling pool of the stream.
And she saw Holden pass between two trees as he walked along the trail far below. For moments, he was hidden by the woods. Then he appeared against the edge of the clearing. He still carried the broken stick in one hand, his knife in the other. He turned and gazed up at the slope.
His head suddenly snapped to the side.
He shoved the knife blade down a rear pocket of his pants. Gillian looked to the left.
“Oh my Christ,” she muttered.
Just this side of the place where the trail vanished behind the outcropping were two women with backpacks. The one in the lead raised a hand in greeting. Holden waved to her.
He walked toward the women.
“RUN!” Gillian shouted. “GET OUT OF HERE!”
Neither hiker turned a head.
Gillian yelled and yelled as the gap narrowed between the two women and Holden.
It’s the damn stream! she thought.
They were so close to it, the noise of the rushing water was masking her shouts.
She let go of the ledge. Balancing on the rock, she squatted, then she sat down and straddled it. She clawed the slope behind her and pulled loose a chip of stone. She hurled it at the women. It flew out in a high arch, dropped beyond the clustered boulders below, and vanished in undergrowth at the edge of the clearing.
The second hiker glanced toward the place where the stone had landed. But she kept walking. She stopped beside her friend, took off her ballcap, and rubbed a forearm across her brow.
They both faced Holden. He was no more than three feet in front of them. From the gestures, Gillian guessed that they were talking. Holden pointed to the trail behind him. He shrugged. Then his stick whipped through the air. It struck the stout woman across the side of the head. Her straw hat flew off. Her legs folded. Her knees hit the ground and she dropped forward flat on her face.