“I just don’t believe in coincidence, that there were two different men doing these things, one a serial killer and the other a stalker, especially since they popped up at exactly the same time. It makes sense they’re the same person,” Sam said.
She tried to absorb that without flinching or taking on blame. What this man did was on him, not her. She wasn’t responsible for what her father had done. Her foster mother had given that gift to her through her love and counseling, refusing to allow Stella to take on that burden. She hadn’t allowed her to continue believing she had broken up her family and pushed her mother to suicide. She wouldn’t throw that wisdom away, not now when she had to hold tight to it in order to try to save a life and prevent a killer from murdering again when he seemed to be unstoppable. But it was hard not to think that the killer was ripping away the kinds of memories she cherished and wanted to hold to her.
“I don’t believe in that kind of coincidence either, Sam.” How could they possibly link him to the “accidents”?
OVER THE NEXT few nights, Stella carefully recorded the details from her nightmares. She sketched the early morning sunlight spilling across sparse grass growing over rocky ground. The grass was mostly yellow and brown and had fallen over rather than having been trampled. The rocks embedded in the dirt made the path uneven, the trail faint, as if few people walked it. Still, the trail was there, no more than a foot or so wide. Now that the lens had opened a bit, it was easier to see. Leaves and debris, such as twigs and even small branches, covered the ground, making the borders of the path harder to see, but with the wider view, Stella was able to discern the twists and turns as the trail seemed to lead endlessly to nowhere.
Clearly, this wasn’t a favorite climbing area for locals or tourists. October was getting late in the season for climbing, especially bouldering, but beautiful days weren’t wasted. Often, since Stella was so busy during the fishing and tourist seasons, after she closed the resort, she would try to get in as much bouldering as possible before the weather changed. It wasn’t surprising that these two climbers were enjoying the clear, although brisk, October weather.
Stella studied the third night’s sketches, laying them out across the bed for Sam to look at with her. He liked to climb as well. That was what had originally drawn him to the area, as it had so many others. Climbers came from all over the world to try their expertise on the various boulders. Fortunately, there were all kinds of climbs, for everyone from beginners to experts.
“This is the best I could get, Sam,” she said, chewing worriedly on her lower lip. “Three nights and mostly I’ve seen the trail going in. This is the bottom of the rock. Granite. Big surprise there. I sketched as much detail along the bottom part of the rock as I could see. There’s this gnarly overhang here. I swear I’ve seen it before. See how the colors go from a red to an almost deeper shade of purple? That isn’t just a shadow. I thought it was at first, but I don’t think it is. The lines in the granite swirl here.”
Sam nudged her over with his hip and settled next to her, picking up the drawing to study it. “This isn’t a place I’ve been climbing. It has to be remote. I’ve looked at the trail going in several times and no one has been on it other than perhaps one, maybe two people in months. You can tell by the grass and debris. If I were to make a guess, I’d have to say it was probably the same person making the trek back there. Maybe both of them.”
“I know I’ve been there at least once,” Stella said. “I rarely forget anything, especially somewhere I’ve bouldered.”
“It’s possible you weren’t bouldering,” Sam pointed out. “If there are two of them, they might be trad climbing. Or sports climbing. Look at the shadows. They’re carrying rope.”
Stella didn’t like climbing with rope. That was a well-known fact among her friends. She could do it, but she didn’t like it. She preferred to solve the problems bouldering presented. She was a solitary climber. The risks were her own. “This particular place is very remote, Sam. If someone is working it, my guess is it’s someone’s long-term project. He’s been working on it for weeks, maybe longer, but that’s just a guess.”
She pressed her hand to her forehead. “This is so frustrating.”
Sam caught her wrist and pulled her hand down, keeping possession of it. “You’re driving yourself crazy, Stella. You have to let this go for a little while. You’ve done everything you can do for now. Tomorrow night, you’ll get a bigger glimpse of the rock and that will hopefully jog your memory. If not, then when we show all these drawings to the others, one of them will recognize the place. Always, on the fifth night, you get a much clearer vision.”