Mommy, Daddy’s doing the bad thing again.
Stella was prepared this time for the couple on the trail. It was light. Early morning, grayish light. Almost foggy. The couple moved at the same steady speed, dictated by the female. Was there snow, or just the promise of it?
No more trees. Just rock. The rock towered above the couple as they hiked along the narrow trail that would widen in spots and then suddenly narrow again. What kind of rock? Granite. Definitely granite. The fog seemed to move around the couple like steam— or breath. To Stella, it seemed alive.
The fog gave her a creepy feeling but then she realized it was because she was feeling him— the killer. They weren’t alone on the trail. The killer was right there. She could almost smell him. He was definitely stalking them. She tried to figure out where he was just by holding very still and turning her head this way and that like a divining rod to see if any direction produced a stronger chill.
Stella had hiked the John Muir Trail alone, had spent nearly a month in the wilderness. She wasn’t someone who spooked that easily, but everything about this morning on the trail felt ominous to her. She heard muffled footfalls. Muffled voices. Wait. What? Were there others close? Could she hear people? The murmur of other voices? Was someone coming down the trail toward the couple? Others walking up it? There were others on the trail. Maybe Stella could see and sketch the other people and identify them. Surely the killer couldn’t murder two people with witnesses so close, could he? Was he one of those people?
Heart pounding, Stella tried to widen the lens just a little. Cooperate, you piece-of-junk camera. Why was she so inept that she couldn’t make it move? She could gladly go hike the trail and confront the killer but she couldn’t move a knob? She kept watching each new detail any light revealed, recording it in her mind to sketch later, but it was the killer she was trying to get impressions of as well as the trail.
What had Harlow said? In her dream, maybe Harlow was photographing the trail, and Stella was just watching. If Harlow was behind the camera, could she widen the lens? Stella put Harlow behind the lens in her dream. That was easy enough to do. If Harlow was around, she was always taking pictures of something. It would be odd to see Harlow without her taking pictures, mostly with her cell phone when she was with them on their camping trips.
To her astonishment, Stella began to see a slightly wider picture. Granted, it wasn’t much, but triumph swept through her. It was a little bit of a victory. She could record so much more of the trail and it was definitely recognizable to her. She would sketch it and show it to Raine first thing. Now, if she could just get an image of anyone else as well. Even a shadow. In the early morning fog, she doubted that would happen. Abruptly the lens snapped closed and her dream ended.
STELLA’S EYES OPENED and her mind was instantly clear. “Sam. Sam, are you awake?” She turned, realizing he wasn’t there. Wasn’t in bed with her. She should have known. Sam didn’t sleep long.
“Waiting on you, Satine. I can see you’ve got something.”
“They’re on the main trail of Mount Whitney. I’ve hiked that twice with Raine. She’s been on it more than I have. It has ninety-nine switchbacks and they’re on the switchbacks heading for the summit. People are lost up there quite often, more than you think. Raine might be able to pinpoint more precisely where the killer plans to hit them.”
“I’m part of Search and Rescue in Mono County, sweetheart. I’m well aware. Most of them really are just lost and thankfully aren’t dead.”
More and more inexperienced hikers were attempting the climb without knowing what they were doing, and hiking without the proper gear. The death toll was rising.
“Only so many permits are issued,” Stella said. “It’s possible we can find them that way and stop them before they even start the climb, although they’ll think we’re nuts telling them a serial killer intends to murder them.”
“We could offer them an insane amount of money for their permit,” Sam suggested, “and I could take his place.”
“You mean we could take their places.”
He was already shaking his head. “Not happening, Stella. You’re not putting yourself in danger.”
“He’s stalking them. He would know the moment you changed places,” she pointed out. “It wouldn’t work. We need to find them and get them to leave.”
“He’d choose someone else. We have to offer someone in their place.”
She hated that he was right. “Let’s find them, Sam. While we’re looking, we can decide what we’re going to do.”