Page 32 of Line of Sight (Second Sight #4)
Acadia National Park
Before dawn
HE HAD to be a climber. He couldn’t have been interested in… oh, I don’t know… some hobby that he could do from the warmth of his fucking bed ? What the hell was wrong with these people? Running? Walks through freaking nature ? What was wrong with burying your nose in a good book?
Yeah, I was cranky as hell. I tended to get that way when I’d spent a rough night in what had to be the most uncomfortable bed ever .
I’d gotten up while it was still dark to drive from Camden to Mount Desert island, and now I was in my rental car in a tiny parking lot at the foot of Mount Champlain, hoping Mark Wilson was going to be as big a creature of habit as my previous victims. I’d already taken my flashlight and found the perfect spot to execute my plan—and Mark, of course.
Now all I had to do was wait for him to show.
I wasn’t stressed about it—I didn’t do stress—but the thought of having to organize this shindig all over again really pissed me off.
The previous day I’d carried out a recon mission, and what had surprised me was how few people were around.
I’d expected to find lots of health freaks hurling themselves over boulders and up rock faces, but while I’d seen tons of walkers heading out on roads and paths all over the island, there’d been no one attempting the Precipice Trail, Mark Wilson’s favorite hike if Jennifer had gotten her facts straight.
When I got back to my hotel room, I solved the mystery. The Precipice Trail was closed from the beginning of March until the middle of August, due to peregrine falcon nesting.
You’d better believe I was kicking myself for missing that little gem.
August seventeenth is past the halfway mark, right?
Mark’ll want to get back to his favorite climb after being unable to do that for more than five and a half months, won’t he?
I was also kicking myself for how fucking whiny I sounded.
Come on, you’re better than this. You know he’s going to show, right? What does your gut tell you?
Yeah, my gut said everything would work out just fine, because it always did.
Why?
Because I planned for every eventuality, and I was one lucky son of a bitch.
Headlights came into view as a car pulled into the lot. I waited for my first glimpse of the driver, Mark’s college photo on my phone on the passenger seat. When the interior light came on, I smiled.
Bingo.
I grabbed my day pack and got out of the car, ignoring him and heading for the start of the trail. Dawn would make an appearance soon, so I had to be quick. There was always the possibility that some other hiking idiots would get the same idea.
I paused at the sign for the Precipice Trail, gazing up at the mountain before me.
“You done this before?”
Thank God. Mark was a talker.
“Nope. Some friends have been telling me about this one for a while now. Thought I’d better see what all the fuss was about.”
“Hey, wait a second. Don’t I know you?”
I feigned ignorance. “I don’t think so.” I’d worn a baseball cap that I normally wouldn’t have been caught dead in, something that hid my face. But there had always been the chance he’d remember me. I turned to look at him.
Yeah, that was Mark. Brown eyes, dirty blond hair, and permanent five o’clock shadow. He wore a tee, shorts, and sturdy boots from which protruded thick socks.
He frowned. “I’m sure I know you from somewhere.” Then his eyes widened. “Weren’t you at UMass? Class of ’95?”
My mouth fell open. “Oh my God. Now I remember. You were a science major, weren’t you? Biochemistry or something like that.”
He beamed. “Yeah, that’s right.”
“I take it you’ve done this before?”
Another beaming smile. “So many times, I’ve lost count.”
“Is it true we go up more than a thousand feet?”
Mark nodded. “Most of it on vertical iron-rung ladders. Plus there are razor-thin rock ledges with drop-offs so steep they’ll get your heart clapping, the adrenaline pumping, the butterflies bouncing…. But man, the views from the top. You can see right over to Frenchman Bay and the Gulf of Maine.”
“Seeing as this is my first climb, I came prepared.” I gestured to my day pack.
“What have you got in there?”
“Crampons, ice screws, rope, ice hammer, carabiners….” A total lie. Okay, so there were two carabiners, but there were also cuffs, a scalpel, a hunting knife, gloves, and my raincoat.
I didn’t say what I was prepared for, now, did I?
He laughed. “You won’t need any of that. This is a nontechnical hike. But you’ll find lots of iron ladders built into the granite, and you’ll need your hands for that part.” He cocked his head. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”
“No,” I assured him.
I wasn’t afraid of anything.
“That’s good.” He gazed up at the mountain.
“One thing I love about this hike? The ladder sections. They’re uneven, they’re frequent, and they keep me on my toes.
Oh, and before we get going? Closer to the top, you need to be careful, so no getting distracted by the view.
Just focus on grabbing those iron rails. ”
I smiled to myself. I won’t be getting distracted.
And Mark wouldn’t be reaching the summit of Mount Champlain either.
He’d be dead.
“Okay, the first section is the boulder field. This can be tricky, but follow me and you’ll be fine.”
I glanced at my watch. Five thirty-eight. Sunrise in about a minute.
Time to get my ass in gear.
We clambered over the first uneven boulders. I was ready for them. I’d done it the previous day, looking for the perfect spot.
And there it was, a wall of rock, the horizontal iron bars set into it, not in the form of a ladder but some distance apart. The first rays of the sun broke through the trees around us, the beginnings of a beautiful day.
Mark Wilson’s last day would be glorious—and he was going to miss it.
He paused before the next vertical assault course, and I took advantage of the lull to grab the syringe from my day pack, the needle wedged in a cork.
“Oh my God.” I forced as much panic as I could into my voice. “Stay really still. I mean it. Don’t move a muscle.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s some kind of giant hornet on your neck. That’s one mean-looking stinger it has.”
“Fuck! Get it off me!”
Mark’s panic was for real. Thanks to Jennifer, I’d discovered he had a pathological fear of insects like bees, wasps, basically anything with wings that could sting him.
“Hold still,” I told him. “Don’t move, don’t turn around, just make like a statue.” I removed the cork from the tip of the needle and plunged it into his neck, injecting its contents in one fluid motion. “Oh God. It stung you.” I shoved the syringe into my pack.
“I’m allergic to bee stings,” he gasped, clutching his neck.
“Maybe this is different,” I suggested, watching for the first signs of the ketamine in his system.
“I… I don’t feel so good. There… there’s an EpiPen in my bag.”
And it was going to stay there.
I kept an ear out for any approaching vehicles or the sounds of people, but so far it seemed to be just us.
“What are your symptoms?” I grabbed his shoulders and turned him around so his back was to the rock face.
“I feel… weird.” His speech had already begun to slur, his eyelids to droop.
It wouldn’t be long now.
I made sure he could see my face.
“Did you think she wouldn’t find out? You think she’s that stupid?”
Mark gave several slow blinks. “What… what’re you talkin’ about?”
I snorted. “Nice try, but we both know what you’re about to do, don’t we? Except now you’re not.”
He was dropping into unconsciousness.
Time for me to go to work.
I reached into the day pack and removed the two sets of handcuffs I needed to secure his wrists to the iron bars.
It only required me to lift him up onto the flat boulder that served as a stepping stone, hook a carabiner through the bar, lock one of the cuffs through that, then snap the other end shut around Mark’s left wrist. By now he was a lead weight in my arms, so I needed to make this fast.
I hooked a second carabiner into position.
Rinse and repeat.
Finally he hung there, suspended from the cuffs, feet slipped from the boulder, head bowed, chin on his chest. I used the scalpel to slit his tee from neckline to hem so it flapped open, revealing his bare flesh.
As I hurriedly put on my raincoat, I smiled.
“You know, I should thank you. I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I saw that movie. Of course, Hannibal Lecter managed it with just a pocketknife, but I see no reason to repeat his version when I have the proper tools.” I held up the hunting knife.
“It’s okay. You won’t feel a thing.”