Cold Fear.

Rick Mofina.

To the memory of my mother.

For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world....

--Ephesians 6:12.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind....

--Third Part of King Henry VI, Act V, Scene VI, William Shakespeare.

How It Began.

The last thing Paige Baker saw before fleeing her family's campsite was the blood dripping from her father's ax.

Her parents had just had an argument, ending with her mom stomping off and Paige scrambling with her dog for the shelter of her tent while her father savagely chopped wood.

Inside the tent, Paige wept at the thud-thud-thud of his wrath, logs cleaving, splintering. She tried to calm herself, think of ways to make it better for her parents. But what was a ten-year-old kid supposed to do?

Find her mom, talk to her? Paige began jamming things in her backpack. Her family was falling apart. She was helpless. Maybe she should try talking to her dad.

Somehow she summoned the courage to approach her father, emerging from her tent, inching toward him with Kobee, her beagle, in her arms.

"Daddy?"

No answer. His muscles contracted as he chopped. Sweat dropped from his face, darkly blotching the neck and underarms of his gray U.S. Marines T-shirt.

Thud-thud-thud.

"Daddy. Please. I need to talk to you."

"Get the hell away from me and go find your damned mother!"

His fury terrified her. Kobee yelped. She hugged him tighter, standing before her father.

"Please...I need to talk...."

He steadied a log upright with his left hand, swinging the ax with his right hand.

"Daddy!"

Her pleading distracting him, the ax slipped, the blade struck his hand, blood spurted. He cursed, then without warning charged at her still gripping the ax, blood webbing down the handle.

"I told you to get the hell out of my face now, goddamn it! Go see your mother!"

Paige squealed, bolting with Kobee on his leash, items spilling from her backpack as she ran down the dark wooded trail, her heart breaking. She had never ever seen her dad like this before.

Later, Paige slowed down on the trail, halfway to where she figured her mother was. Her tears ceased when she was startled by a chipmunk. She gasped. It pinballed from a rock, to a log, to a rock, disappearing into the woods. Kobee spotted it. Before Paige could react, his leash slipped through her fingers, jingling a fading good-bye as he chased it, vanishing into the dark, eternal forest.

"Kobee! Come back here!" Paige took a few steps into the bush to follow him, but it was so dense she returned to the trail. "Kobee! Get back here this instant!"

Paige sat down, slapping her knees. Do something quick! But she was uneasy about leaving the serpentine trail that threaded along some of the most breathtaking terrain of Montana's backcountry, a remote region known as the Devil's Grasp, where the Rocky Mountains grace the northern reaches of Glacier National Park.

Minutes passed and still no sign of Kobee.

Taking a deep breath, Paige started into the woods after her dog. She found a branch for a walking stick. The skylight dimmed and the temperature dipped as she entered the dense stands of sweet-scented spruce and lodgepole pine. Tree limbs scraped at her face and arms, snagged and pulled at her jeans and backpack. Thick wild growth, practically impossible to walk through. But Paige kept moving, banging her walking stick against the trees and brush, feeling herself moving in a downward slope.

"Kobee! Here boy!"

Suddenly, Paige's feet slipped. She hit the ground, sliding on pine needles, knocking against trees, brush slicing into her hands. Her body rattling, bumping down, down, down, stopping in a shaded glade of soft moss. Paige held her breath. The distant tinkling of Kobee's leash. That way. Confident, she brushed dirt from her jeans, heading deeper into the forest.

"Kobee!"

Paige came to a small river. Now what? Wait! Kobee's leash jingling? Faintly? Yes, she heard it. From the other side of the river. Butterflies. Kobee would chase them. Wait. To get back, just go through the forest up the slope. She blinked. OK. She pushed on, finding a natural bridge of fallen trees, using it to carefully cross over the rushing water to the other side.

"Kobee!"

No sign of him. She was getting mad, worried. Which way?

Why did her parents take this stupid trip? Why didn't they just stay at home in San Francisco? Why come here? How was a ten-year-old kid supposed to figure out what was wrecking her family, or understand the terrible thing that made her mother so sad that sometimes she would not talk to anybody, just go off by herself for hours?

Was her mother a little crazy?

She heard the leash again, from deep inside the next dark forest.

"Kobee! Get back here, you stupid dog!" Paige considered returning to their camp to get her dad. No way. He was way too angry.

She decided to go a short distance into this next forest.

"This is it Kobee! Do you hear me? You are in huge trouble!"

She came to another little river. The fourth one? Not a trace of Kobee. Paige rested on a rock staring at the snow-topped mountains. It was getting late. Tired. Hungry. She should start back soon. Kobee would know the way back. Paige had stupidly counted on returning with him. Stupid. Sniffing, she searched her backpack. Some stuff in there. Nothing good though. She found an Oreo cookie and tapped it on her walking stick. This always worked. Why didn't she think of this sooner?

"Kobee...I've got a cookie for you...." Tap-tap-tap.

Nothing. Paige kept tapping. For nearly half an hour. Still nothing but a high country wind fingering its way through the mountains, carrying the echo of a crow's caw. Soon, Paige ate the cookie. Gazed skyward. Only a few days ago, she was peering down from her window seat of the jet, marveling at the Rockies rising up to her from the earth below. About nine million snowcapped peaks stretching to the horizon, like the top of a big cream pie. It was pretty, but scary too. No cities, no buildings, no roads. Nothing down there but mountains, rivers, lakes and never-ending forests.

If you ever got lost down there, how could they ever find you?

Paige did not have a clue about the woods. She had never been camping before. She was from San Francisco. Her world was malls, clothes, music, cell phones, soccer and e-mail. She could click her way around the Net, no problem. But the woods? It's like going back in time or something, she had thought from the plane, watching one range blend into another.

Now she was down here. Fear gnawing at her.

She did not know the way back.

How did this happen?

It hit her like an avalanche.

She was lost.

On the brink of tears. Unaware she had been gone for hours, had wandered from the new Grizzly Tooth Trail, in the Devil's Grasp, one of the most remote regions in the nation. Parts of it curled into Canada.

Anxious, Paige began hiking in different directions, hoping, praying to spot something familiar. Other hikers? Maybe her mom decided to come this way. Maybe her dad lit the campfire and she could see it. It was getting colder by the minute. Her cuts, her bug bites, her scrapes began hurting. Her legs ached. Her feet were sore. She was exhausted. Afraid.

She stood at the edge of a ridge, overlooking a forest so vast it seemed to encompass the entire planet.

"Dad!--Dad!--Dad!--Dad!--Dad!--Dad!"

Her voice echoed in vain.

"Mom!--Mom!--Mom!--Mom!--Mom!--Mom!"

Paige collapsed to the ground, gripping her walking stick.

Why was this happening to her? The sun sank lower. These mountains got so dark and cold at night. She did not know how to build a fire. Far off, she heard the rumble of thunder.

"Mommy!"

This was the place where Mommy said her monster dwelled!

Shut up, Paige!

The sun dropped behind the mountains, turning part of the horizon a heavenly pink, orange and blue.

A twig snapped crisply in the darkened woods behind her.

She stood. Held her breath.

Nothing.

A bird, maybe? A chipmunk?

Then another twig; no, a branch broke. Something larger out there. Rustling. Closer. Something approaching her. Something coming from the darkness. Something bigger than Paige.

"Mommy?"

Nothing.

Her heart pounding faster.

"D-Dad? Is that you?"

Silence.

ONE.

An eagle flew so near to Emily Baker she heard the swishing of its wings from the cliffside where she had sought sanctuary after her blowout with Doug. Maybe this trip was a mistake. Was returning to Montana the only way to end her torment? She searched the peaks for answers.

Her monster was out there.

Emily had to confront it. Had to tell Doug and Paige everything. Everything. She was so sorry for the arguments. For all she had put them through. And what she was going to put them through. She would never blame them for not understanding. Emily was bracing herself, after so many painful years, to reveal the terrible secret to her family.

I am responsible for the death of a child.

"Guess what I'm going to do."

The monster.

That's what Emily and her counselor had agreed to call Emily's issue, because they knew it was the key that got Emily talking, to the point that she was able to set foot in Montana for the first time since her childhood.

Your monster dwells back at the ranch, kid. Come on, Em, we talked about this. You must go back for that cliche called closure. You've let the monster call the shots in your life for too long. If you fail to do this, the monster wins. Everything. Are you willing to let it win everything?

No.

Emily had returned to battle her past.

To endure one more death.

Her monster had exacted such a toll--on her, on Doug, on Paige. It was gaining momentum. Emily had to stop it. The arguing, erecting walls, fracturing trusts, withdrawing from the people who needed her: it had to end. As horrible as it was going to be, it had to be done. This was the right place. The right time. Her counselor was right. A few more days was all Emily needed.

Then the whole world would know.

The sun slipped closer to the western horizon. Mountain shadows pulled over the valleys like a blanket. Hours had passed since her argument with Doug. Emily hoped he had cooled off.

Returning along the twisting trail, Emily felt a pang of worry. Something's wrong. She stopped. Nothing looked awry. But something felt wrong. Emily shrugged, continuing to the camp.

Her heart warmed when she saw a calmer version of her husband reading near their blue tent. The ex-marine sergeant who taught English Lit to high school students when not coaching the football team. Doug Baker was a looker. An inch over six feet with a muscular frame beneath the faded Levis and blue U.S. Marines T-shirt, which set off his tan, gray-flecked hair and gray eyes.

"Where's Paige?" she asked.

"She went to join you." He was still cool to her.