Cry of the Wild

  It took an effort to put the uncomfortable meeting with Henderson into perspective. She had offered to commiser­ate with him; he had rejected her. No big deal. She had problems enough of her own. Trudging up onto the sauna steps, she flipped over the sign, then let herself in the door. Sam was right, a good steam bath was what she needed—a nice long one so she could forget her most recent dream and relax enough to once again fall asleep.

  Steam rose around Crysta in a thick cloud. She tipped her head back and poured water from the bucket over herself, rinsing off the soap. The heat soothed her aching body. She grabbed her towel off the hook and wrapped it around her­self, tucking a corner between her breasts. Giving in to ex­haustion, she sank to the steam bench and braced her back against the wall.

  A muffled thump came from the anteroom. She cocked her head, peering through the swirling steam. Before com­ing in, she hadn't looked at the sign to see what side was up. Had the previous sauna occupant forgotten to turn the sign back over when he left? If so, she might have put the Oc­cupied side toward the building, unintentionally inviting company.

  "Is someone there?" she called.

  No one answered, but Crysta sensed a presence. Why would someone ignore her?

  Before she could think of an answer to that unsettling question, a rumble vibrated through the planked flooring. Startled by a noise, Crysta shot up from the bench. It sounded as though the woodpile in the anteroom had col­lapsed.

  Unable to see clearly through the steam, she moved care­fully in the general direction of the door. She heard the echo of booted feet crossing the floor in the other room, then a creak of metal as the stove door opened. More thunks, which sounded like lengths of wood being shoved into the fire, brought a relieved smile to her mouth. Someone must be replenishing the wood supply. She remembered seeing Tip carrying wood in here earlier.

  "Tip, is that you?" Uncertain exactly where the door was, Crysta stepped closer to the wall, groping with flattened palms. "It's me, Crysta. I forgot to check the sign before I turned it over. I don't mind that you brought in wood, but could you come back in a few minutes to stack it? I'll hurry and get dressed."

  No answer. She thought she heard the stove door clank shut. Were the walls of the sauna so thick and airtight that she couldn't be heard? Possibly the ducts from the stove piped sound into the sauna, but not vice versa.

  She didn't consider herself overly modest, but she drew the line at communal baths. At any moment, an unsuspect­ing fisherman might stroll in. She found the door and pressed her palm against it, intending to shove it open a crack and peek out.

  It wouldn't budge. For an instant, Crysta thought per­haps the door opened inward, but when she ran her palm along its edge, squinting to see, she couldn't find a pull handle. Her heartbeat accelerated slightly.

  "Yoo-hoo? It's me, Crysta Meyers. What happened? Did the woodpile fall?" She pushed harder on the door. It still wouldn't move. Giving a little laugh, she leaned closer. "I think the door is blocked."

  No answer. Crysta shoved on the door again, putting all her weight against it this time.

  "Hello! Is anyone out there?"

  A panicked scream worked its way up her throat. She swallowed it down, moving back a step and lunging for­ward, hitting the door with her shoulder.

  "Tip! Somebody! Answer me!"

  The sound of her own voice, muted by the steam, bounced back at her off the moisture-soaked walls. She turned to peer through the roiling mist. Was it her imagi­nation, or was the temperature within the sauna rising? Re­membering the sound of wood being shoved into the stove, she turned back to the door, horror washing over her. Had someone deliberately blocked her only exit and built up the fire?

  "Oh, my God..."

  Crysta clutched her throat. There was no point in letting her imagination run away with her. It was probably a sim­ple case of someone coming in with a load of wood, acci­dentally knocking over the woodpile and not being able to hear her yelling.

  She knew from her occasional visits to the health club in Los Angeles that a healthy person could safely remain in an extremely hot steam bath for at least twenty minutes, and she had only been in here about fifteen. If the wood had toppled, which she felt certain it had, then the person she had heard in the other room had probably gone to get help to restack it.

  The thing to do was remain calm and— The thought fragmented. And do what? her mind mocked. Slowly par­boil? What if the person who had knocked over the wood didn't realize she was in here and took his time coming back? She could suffocate.

  Crysta stumbled along the wall, fanning her foot across the floor and patting the shelves with her palm. Surely there was something in here that she could use for leverage on the door. A crowbar would be nice, though she didn't imagine Sam would leave anything metal in here to rust.

  Crysta circled until her knees connected sharply with the end of the steam bench. So much for finding a tool of some kind. Pausing a moment to listen, she forced herself to breathe evenly. The last thing she should do was overreact and exert herself.

  Sweat streamed down her body. The air tasted hot and thick as it rolled across her tongue. Too thick to breathe. Had the mysterious wood bearer opened the damper on the stove? Stay calm. She couldn't hear any voices filtering in from outside. If she screamed, would anyone outside be able to hear her?

  Crysta moved toward the door. Her knees felt strangely weak and shaky. The extreme heat was already sapping her strength. This couldn't be happening. Someone would come. When she didn't return to the lodge, Sam would surely come down to check on her.

  Feeling somewhat reassured, Crysta walked face first into the door and staggered backward, cupping her hand over her nose. Stay calm. Sam would come. As nightmarish as this was, she would laugh about it later. Hot air rises. If worse came to worse, she could lie on the floor. Her head already felt light, her body leaden. How much longer did she have before she succumbed to the heat?

  "Help! Someone, help me! I'm in the sauna!"

  Crysta screamed again and again. She lost track of what she said or how many times she called out. She leaned against the door, trying to work her fingers into the cracks. If she could find purchase for a grip, perhaps she could open it against its hinges. Her fingernails tore. Her hands began to throb.

  She had no idea how much time passed. She only knew that her thoughts were growing disjointed and that every breath she drew seemed to go about halfway down her throat and stop there. She sank to her knees, giving way to panic, clawing frantically at the wood. She had to get out of here. Frightened now, really frightened, she began to pound futilely with her fists, screaming until her throat felt raw. No one responded. In the back of her mind, she realized her voice was growing weak.

  She sank onto her side, pressing her face to the seam of the threshold, praying that cool air might be seeping in. "Sam! Sam!" A sob caught in her chest. Dizziness rolled over her.

  Chapter Ten

  "Where's Crys?"

  At the question, Sam glanced up from his desk, focusing on Tip, who had just wandered into the office. A smear of paint angled across the boy's cheek, and his hair looked as if he had stuck his head in the blender.

  "She's taking a nap."

  Tip looked perplexed. "Uh-uh. I just knocked on the bedroom door, and she didn't answer. I, um, wanted to show her my painting of Derrick."

  Sam dragged his attention from the paper work again, fighting down irritation. He'd been neglecting Tip for days. Who could blame the boy for wanting some attention? "She's probably sound asleep, Tip. She's really tired."

  A flush crept up Tip's neck. "She isn't in bed. I peeked."

  "You what?"

  "I knocked first."

  "Tip, you know you shouldn't open a lady's bedroom door. She might have been asleep and out from under the covers. Some people don't wear pajamas. I've explained that to you."

  "She wasn't in there." Tip turned a deeper red. "I wouldn't look if she was undressed, Dad."

  Sam
grinned in spite of himself. "Tip, it's a little hard not to look if a naked lady pops up in front of you. Rules are rules. Don't intrude on Crysta's privacy again. She's prob­ably down at the sauna. When she comes back, I want your promise that you won't open her door again, unless she in­vites you in."

  Tip sighed and rolled his eyes. "I promise." He gave an exaggerated shrug. "I don't see the big deal. I see you, and you see me."

  "That's different."

  "How come?"

  Sam leaned back in his chair, studying his son. He sin­cerely hoped this wasn't a sign that it was time for a serious discussion about sex. As much as he hoped Tip might one day have a normal life and possibly even marry, Sam was too exhausted today to tackle such a weighty subject. "La­dies are different." Sam made a vague gesture at his body.

  Curiosity gleamed in Tip's eyes. "I know that, Dad."

  Sam sighed. "Anyway, they're extremely..." He paused, searching for a word Tip would understand. "Bashful. Like you are when you show your paintings? They don't like it when fellas barge in uninvited and see them without clothes."

  "How come they have their pictures taken naked, then?"

  Sam stiffened. "Pardon?"

  "You know, like in those magazines."

  "What magazines?"

  Tip blushed, shrugging. "Just magazines some of the guests bring. You know the kind."

  "You never mentioned that some of our guests had pic­tures of naked ladies, Tip."

  "There were only a couple, and I figured you knew."

  Sam cleared his throat, fighting down a surge of irrita­tion toward the unnamed men who had shown so little dis­cretion in exposing a young innocent boy to graphic sexual photos. He didn't want Tip's attitudes toward women molded by such trash. "I'd really rather you didn't look at that kind of picture again, Tip."

  "Is it bad to look?"

  "No, not bad exactly. But those types of magazines ex­ploit women, and I disapprove." Sam could see that was over Tip's head. With a sigh, he braced his elbows on the desk and smiled. "I think we need to talk. This afternoon

  I'm very busy, and I'm worried about Derrick. But by next week, things should calm down. We'll take a lunch up Ant­ler Slough. How's that sound?"

  "Fun." Tip scratched his cheek, frowning when he felt the paint. Wiping his fingers on his shirt, he added, "I won't look at any naked lady pictures again."

  "Good." Sam started to scold about the paint smear but decided Jangles would probably scold enough for both of them when she found the shirt in the laundry. Heaving an­other sigh, Sam waved his hand.' 'Get out of here, you rap­scallion. We'll talk later, okay?"

  After the door closed, Sam gave a weary chuckle and cupped his hand over his eyes. Did the complications of parenthood never cease?

  Five minutes later, the door to Sam's office crashed open again. Tip stood in the doorway, his face washed of color, his mouth working. Sam could see something was wrong. The last time Tip had made an entrance like this, an ex­tremely hefty guest had fallen out of a boat, and the three men on board couldn't haul her back in.

  "Calm down, Tip. Take a deep breath."

  Tip gasped for air, his eyes bulging. "Crys—Crys— wood—the door. I—I tried to m-move it, but I was t-taking too long. You g-gotta c-ome. Qu—quick!"

  Sam leaped up from his chair. "Crysta? Where is she?"

  Tip fought to speak, waving wildly behind him. "The s-sau-sauna."

  "Oh, Lord!"

  Sam raced from the lodge, Tip riding his heels. It seemed as if it took forever to reach the sauna. Sam lunged up the steps and threw the door wide. The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold. The pile of firewood had toppled, blocking the interior door. Crysta's clothes hung on the wall hook.

  She was inside.

  Sam began tossing wood out of his path. Tip dived in to help. The fire in the stove was roaring, throwing off so much heat that Sam could scarcely breathe. Due to the amount of wood in his way, it took at least two minutes to clear a swath, every second of which resounded inside Sam's head like the ticking of a time bomb. Hurry, hurry. He kicked aside the last piece of wood, grabbed the door and threw it wide. A wall of steam spilled over him. He stumbled for­ward, fear clawing at his guts.

  "Crysta!" His boot bumped into something soft. Sam dropped to his knees, groping, afraid of what he might find. His hands connected with feverish flesh. "Crysta!"

  Lifting her limp body into his arms, Sam stood and shouldered his way past Tip to get outdoors. Tip came run­ning out behind him, holding Crysta's towel. Sam wasn't sure covering her was a good idea. He laid her gently on the ground and pressed his fingertips to her throat, feeling for a pulse. At first he detected nothing. Then he felt a weak flutter.

  "Tip, run and soak that towel in the cool water tub. Wet down several and bring them back here. Hurry, son!"

  Uncertain if Crysta was breathing, Sam quickly shifted her to a position that would give him access for resuscita­tion. Relief filled him when he felt her chest rise and fall on its own beneath his hands. Tip returned with the towels. Sam wrung them out over Crysta's body. Steve Henderson came running up.

  "Is she-alive?"

  "Yes, thank God." Sam scooped Crysta into his arms, grabbing a towel from Tip to cover her. "Steve, go tell Jan­gles. Hurry. She'll know what to do."

  Crysta surfaced to consciousness slowly, aware of the light touch of a man's hand on her hair and the ceaseless timbre of a deep voice. Slitting her eyelids, she peered up­ward. Sam Barrister's dark face came into focus. Behind him, she saw Tip, worrying his pale bottom lip between his teeth.

  Then she remembered.

  "Sam!" she cried in a hoarse voice, trying to sit up. Her body felt strangely heavy.

  "Whoa..." He caught her shoulders, pressing her back down. "It's over now. You're safe in bed."

  "The door—it wouldn't open!" Crysta swallowed, winc­ing at the fiery rawness of her throat. "I screamed and screamed."

  "Tip found you." He cupped his hand over her cheek. "You're one lucky lady. A few more minutes and it would've—" He trailed his thumb along her cheekbone. "Want some water? The doctor says we have to pump flu­ids down you."

  "Doctor?"

  "We called the hospital in Anchorage. Luckily, Jangles is a fair nurse. A little unorthodox, but she gets the job done." Sliding an arm under her shoulders, Sam helped her sit partway up and held a glass of cool water to her lips. "Not too fast."

  Crysta gulped greedily, sucking air when he withdrew the tumbler, it took all her concentration to lift her arm and swipe the sleeve of the lightweight cotton shirt she wore across her mouth. Judging by the shirt's large proportions, she guessed it to be her host's. Exhausted from the supreme effort it had taken to move, she managed a weak smile. "I feel like I've been run over by a train."

  He eased her back onto the pillows. "I can't believe it happened. The wood has been stacked along that wall for years, and it's never fallen like that before."

  Crysta closed her eyes for a moment. If she lived to be a hundred, she'd never forget how frightened she had been. She tried to reposition her hips, then abandoned the idea. Her muscles felt as if they were made of cold rubber. She shivered and made a feeble tug at the crisp bed sheet, won­dering who had changed the linen. "I'm freezing, Sam. May I have a blanket?"

  "Not for a while. The reason you're so cold is that we've been rubbing you down with water, trying to lower your body temperature. If I pile blankets on you, it'll defeat our purpose."

  A fleeting image of Sam running wet cloths over her naked body hit Crysta, but for the moment she was far too exhausted to expend energy worrying about it. She shivered again, hugging the sheet closer with arms that felt strangely disconnected from her body. "I'm freezing."

  "Your temperature is probably still a little high, and your skin is chilled from the ice water. It's like getting chills with a fever. It'll pass."

  "My head hurts. Can you draw the blind?"

  He quickly accommodated her, then sat back down on the b
ed.

  Crysta licked her lips, longing for more water but too weak to reach for it. She thought of asking Sam for some, but since she'd just had him draw the blind, she hesitated.

  "Someone came in there—with wood, I think," she whispered. "Then the woodpile toppled. I called out, but I guess my voice didn't carry to the anteroom. Whoever it was stoked the fire and left without answering. When I tried to open the door, it was blocked."

  Sam took one of her hands in his, examining her torn nails. Glancing over his shoulder at Tip, he said, "Didn't you do your chores this morning, son?"

  Tip's eyes widened. "I d-did them."

  "Did you forget to restock the sauna's wood supply?"

  "N-no. I took two loads in. And I stacked it real nice, j-just like you sh-showed me."

  Crysta angled an arm across her forehead, squinting through the gloom at Tip. He looked worried about being blamed for her mishap. The throbbing ache in her temples grew worse. "I saw Tip carrying wood in that direction ear­lier today. There was plenty when I went in, and the pile was neat as a pin."

  Sam's gaze rested solemnly on hers. "There's something you're not saying."

  Tension knotted Crysta's stomach. "It's so silly that I hate to bring it up."

  "Humor me."

  "Well..." She drew her arm down from her forehead. "I sort of panicked, I guess, and while I was trying to get out, the thought occurred to me that someone might have—" She broke off and toyed with the sheet.

  Sam glanced over his shoulder at Tip. "Son, go and ask Jangles if she'd mind making Crysta a cup of tea. It might take her chills away."

  Tip's brown eyes sharpened. He gave Crysta a curious study. Sam reached out and gave the boy a playful punch on the arm. "Go on, Tip. Now."

  After Tip left, Crysta waited for Sam to speak. He raked his fingers through his hair, heaving a tired sigh. "You think someone did it on purpose, don't you?"

  "The thought crossed my mind." Crysta pushed up on her elbow to take another drink of water. Wooziness hit her. She blinked, trying to bring the spinning room into focus. With a trembling hand, she reached toward the nightstand. "It was probably silly, but one tends to think all kinds of weird things when something like that happens."