First Blood (43 page)

She couldn’t think about anything else. Her Father continued to stare at her through the falling snow.

He was joyful, thumbing his nose at her.

She tried to concentrate. Waves of alarm ran through her. Could it be possible that he had allowed himself to be cornered here, that, in fact, he was not cornered at all? What if he had led them here, to this exact spot because he had decided that this was where everything would end?
But why?

To end things like psychopaths always end things,
she realized.

With a bang.

She felt a violent wave of cold penetrate her. Louis Canaan’s stare sent shivers to her bones.

Yet she could not pull her gaze away from him and those unsavory red eyes that shone with joy.

She felt the surface of the lake vibrate ever so slightly.

Then suddenly, she perceived the thoughts her father was projecting to her in a final act of bravado. She did not know how he was doing it, but she heard the man’s voice distinctly in her head. It sounded like a whistle or maybe a lullaby or a sweet poison.

You will keep dreaming about me,
it said.
I am part of you.

“That’s not true,” she said, in a tight voice.

The snake bites its tail. The blood game never ends.

She had trouble breathing. Then she screamed, “Liar! A liar and a coward right to the end!”

“What’s happening?” Vauvert said.

He wanted to hold her tight, but she let go of his hand and stepped away. He reached out to stop her, but she waved him away. She started shaking.

“Eva, talk to me.”

“We have to keep him from falling into the lake. That’s what he wants.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Vauvert said.

But she was not listening anymore. She stepped onto the frozen surface. It sank a tiny bit and then stabilized.

“Good God, stop,” her companion said. “What if the ice breaks?”

“It holds him.”

She took several hesitant steps onto the blue ice.

“And it holds me.”

“No, Eva, it’s too dangerous!”

It most probably was, but for now, the frozen surface of the lake seemed to hold. She moved forward as quickly as she could. Her boots slipped with every step, and she had to concentrate to remain upright. But she was intent on getting to him. She was closer already.

“Come back,” Vauvert yelled from the shore.

She ignored his shouts. Her eyes, her thoughts, and her muscles were all focused on the man dressed in shiny stars who was waiting for her in the middle of the lake. Her father, her nightmare, the hungry abyss that had swallowed up her life. He was there, only a hundred or so yards away, and she would reach him. She would do it now. She
had
to reach him. She would kill him with her bare hands if she had to. She was ready to rip out his evil heart, anything rather than give him the final victory of knowing that he had gone of his own will, as he was preparing to.

One more step on the slippery surface. And another.

My daughter
, Louis’s shining eyes said as the ice started to crack and sink around him.

He stretched his arms out to her, as if he were welcoming her. The wound in his throat began to bleed again. And even then, the smile full of depraved joy did not leave his pale lips.

Eva did not realize that she, too, was holding out her hand to him. Part of her mind recorded the sensation of the lake cracking under her boots with each step. But nothing mattered anymore. All she had left to do was run to join him.

You will keep having dreams.

She heard another voice, Alexandre Vauvert’s voice.

“EVA, IT’S A TRAP,” he screamed.

She lost her balance for an instant. She saw a brighter sliver of light glimmer on the man’s jacket. The scales were projecting flickering constellations around him.

The monster was using his final illusion.

The ice broke.

Eva screamed.

Louis Canaan was sucked into the icy abyss. The last thing his daughter saw of him was his challenging, ecstatic smile and his glowing eyes that kept staring at her, even as he vanished.

The opening in the ice spread. A network of cracks shot across the lake.

Eva felt huge hands grab her and pull her back, nearly lifting her, and she had no choice but to follow Vauvert. She ran after him, pulled by his hand, holding on with all her strength to keep her footing as her boots skidded on the ice.

She knew they would never reach the shore in time. The cracking sound caught up with them in seconds. The ice moved under their feet.
It’s too late,
she thought when the surface gave out from under them.

A second later, they were sinking into black water, sucked under, engulfed. The intense cold paralyzed Eva. She could not fight back. She was blinded, terrified, and swallowing rivers of icy water. A stabbing pain ran through her chest. Reflexively, she breathed in, and more water entered her nose and
her lungs
. The sensation of death was searing. Overcome with fear, she beat her legs furiously.

Her boot hit the tip of a rock.

She struggled harder. Her boot found another hard surface. It was the bottom of the lake.

She could touch the bottom.

She pushed as hard as she could and broke through the surface of the water, still panicked, still unable to breathe. Then she felt Vauvert’s hand grab her, lift her up, and raise her above the frozen floes. Air finally found its way into her lungs. She coughed and spit up.

“You can do it! We’re almost there,” Vauvert said, carrying her the last few yards.

He set her down on the bank. She felt the snow against her skin. She was curled up, vomiting water, bile, and terror. She let out a muffled cry, a sigh of delivery. She realized he had come to save her, once again. She felt unstoppable tears flood her cheeks.

She needed several minutes to pull herself back together. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness again. She saw that Vauvert was not in any better shape than she was. He was on his knees. His face was gray, and his whole body was shaking.

Eva looked anxiously at the lake.

Motionless ice had reasserted itself.

Even the snow had stopped falling.

The surface of the lake shone in the silence. On the other side of the lake, the police officers were bustling, looking for a way to make it around the body of water to help them.

“It’s over,” Vauvert said when he saw how focused she was. “He’s dead now.”

She stood up and walked to the shoreline. Her arms were crossed. The panic had not entirely left her.

“We need to find his body for it to be really over.”

“We’ll find him,” Vauvert said.

He stood up and joined her.

He put his massive arms around her. They were both drenched and shivering, but Eva felt the warmth coming from the man’s chest. She let the heat fill her up.

“And what if we don’t find it?” she said with a tremor in her voice. “What if he found some way to run away once again?”

“We will find him,” he said, trying to sound convincing. He almost was.

She pressed her head against his muscular chest. And she held him as hard as she could.

You alone...

In early spring, Alexandre Vauvert returned to the lake in the high mountains. The sky was crystal blue and fresh. Clean air flowed through the open windows of his brand-new SUV.

The inspector had taken the route that skirted the peak and led to the body of water. There were more hairpin turns on this slope, and the road got narrower as he drove. He crossed areas filled with green pine trees before coming to slopes covered with scree and juniper bushes. On the horizon, the imposing shape of the Pic du Midi was still covered in snow, but on the mountainside, the white covering had nearly disappeared.

He reached the rocky basin and parked near the shore.

Being here brought back emotions that he thought he had overcome by exhausting himself with reports and paperwork and by making up responses to the questions he could not answer.

Two months.

He thought enough time had gone by.

Now he was not so sure.

The gravel on the lake bank crunched under his shoes.

The water was motionless, reflecting the sky with incredible accuracy. He realized the lake was smaller than he had remembered it.

He stopped at the edge.

He was surrounded by mountains, as if he were in the middle of a postcard.

This is where Louis Canaan vanished.

Literally
vanished.

He thought back to what Eva had said to him that night about the anxiety that did not let go until they were taken away in an ambulance. She never mentioned it again, but he was no fool. He knew that the nightmares still woke her up in the middle of the night. He heard her breathing accelerate. He felt her tense under the sheets. She got up sometimes, returning to his side much later. He pretended to be asleep. He did not know if she knew it. That was not important.

Living and
rebuilding
were what mattered.

He looked at his reflection in the clear water. His threadbare jacket formed a paler spot in the blue sky.

Two months already.

He repeated to himself that Louis Canaan was dead. He had to be.

They had never found his body. There were many places at the bottom of this lake where a body could be stuck, hidden.

They had dredged the lake—twice. They had found nothing. They abandoned the search. Specialists explained that the lake was connected via an underground passageway to a larger body of water two miles down the mountain. A number of rivers, streams, and underground waterways originated there. One of these could have carried away the body, and it could have gotten caught in some inaccessible place under the mountain. That was the only possible explanation.

It was enough for Vauvert.

He crouched next to the water and dipped his hand in.

The surface rippled. It was as though he recognized an older version of himself in the turbid mirror. His gaze looked wiser. His hair was speckled with gray.

At that moment, his phone vibrated in his pocket. The strange sensation disappeared as quickly as it had overcome him. The face reflected in the water was once again the one he knew. Scarred and chiseled. A mop of shaggy brown hair. A smile.

He stood up and answered the call.

“Hello, beauty,” he said.

“Good God, Alex, I hate it when you call me that,”
Eva said, sounding annoyed at the other end of the line.

“Just one more reason to do it. I love it when you’re angry.”

“Tell me when I see you. I thought you were supposed to finish early today.”

He took a breath of pure mountain air and stretched.

“I just had a little something to see, but it’s done now. I’ve finished my week. I have three whole days to spend with you. If I manage to catch the seven-thirty flight, I’ll be in Paris at nine.”

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up.”

“It was a long week,” he said. “I missed you terribly.”

He could tell she was smiling.

“Don’t be late then,”
was all that she said.

He ended the call. He felt a strange mix of deep calm and teenage euphoria.

A shadow ran briefly across the surface of the lake.

Vauvert stiffened.

For a moment, he thought he saw a form reflected in the water.

He searched for it and then saw a ripple spreading a dozen yards away. It was followed by another a little farther along.

It was just a fish moving under the water.

The inspector sighed. He really needed a break.

He turned around and returned quickly to the car.

What bothered Madeleine Reich’s attorney the most every time he came here was, without a doubt, the odor that prevailed in the hallways. He imagined it to be a mixture of ether, blood, and excrement.

That summarized just about everything he thought about this psychiatric ward.

But he had no choice.

At least his client had a real room. She was at the end of the hall, where there were no neighboring rooms. The room even had a small window that looked out on the mountains. This was a real privilege here, even though he doubted that Mrs. Reich was aware of that.

She did not seem to be aware of much, to be honest. But the attorney did not have a choice about that, either. He was paid well just to do his job and not make a fuss.

So he came to see her, and, as he did every other week, he read her a detailed report of the situation. He told her about new developments in the case. He also explained that the judge had agreed to delay the hearing as long as she was not in any state to attend it in person, which was a very good thing. That would support dropping the charges for medical reasons. A team would come to examine her for that. She did not have to worry.

He talked for a long time in a measured voice and did not look directly at her.

He did not wait for his client to answer. She would not. She could not. She had not spoken a single word since the night they had arrested her two months earlier. The doctors had suggested a paralysis of the throat muscles linked to hysteria, although they had never been able to fully prove their theory.

It was clear that the events on the mountain had changed this woman. She had been broken irreparably, like a shattered block of marble.

Throughout her entire life, she had always seemed younger than she was, but now she looked older. Her bald skull accentuated the look. Her hair had been so damaged by the fire, it needed to be shaved it off. Now her scarred and bumpy skull was covered with a short layer of new growth that was just millimeters long. She looked like a terrorist or a martyr. Maybe a saint.

The attorney chased away those thoughts.

He continued to talk while his client sat with him, her dull metallic eyes staring at him.

Her face showed no expression that would tell him if she understood anything that he was telling her.

There was a knock on the door. It was mealtime.

“Fine. That will be enough for today,” the attorney said. He felt extremely relieved and hoped it did not show.