Page 123 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

“But I’m only staying a few feet away,” she adds. “So, when you need me, I’ll be there.”

I can’t answer her. I bend down to her, and at the same time, she turns her head in my direction, reaching out for me.

Our lips meet somewhere in the middle, and when I feel her tongue, a wild shiver races across my skin. Hot and cold, like fire and stars. Lou tastes like our night at the lake, like tears, peppermint, and raspberries. Everything merges together as if there are no boundaries between us.

I know I shouldn’t do this. I know what’s in store for me tomorrow and that the flashback isn’t over. But none of that matters in these seconds. For a moment, I want to allow the dream to expand inside me and push back the darkness. Longingly, I hug Lou tighter. I feel her heartbeat on my chest in time with mine, together like howling wolves, and the forest, the aurora borealis and northern sky, and the moon and stars. Again, I sink into the depths, but this time it is no longer dark.

Early in the morning, I sit at the RV’s table, feeding Grey a double helping of milk. The night and the flashes that followed the first have left me so exhausted, I can barely keep my eyes open. A crushing pain pierces the back of my head like a dowel, but I’m still not allowed to rest.

I bend over and peer down the aisle at Lou stretched out on the bed, fast asleep. She looks so incredibly peaceful. I almost convince myself she’s too happy to let her go, but that’s merely wishful thinking. Last night proved that it’s too dangerous to be around me, whether I found a part of myself or not.

All the new memories inside me, the boy’s memories—mine!—that have been repressed for so long, drift through my senses like ghosts. Images flash before me. Some are elusive as if they haven’t found the place they deserve yet.

I recall the words the psychologist told me, that there could be more to the blackouts than just flashbacks. I’m now willing to believe it, but I have no idea what to call the phenomenon.

I absentmindedly rub my sore eyes and set Grey back in his nest of fleece. I pace restlessly up and down the aisle. What am I to do? “Grey, what should I do?” I repeat the words over and over—ridiculous.

There is only one answer and I’ve known it for a long time.

Chapter

Thirty-Two

Iscrub the blood from my hands under an ice-cold shower and let the water run gently over the torn skin on my wrists. The left one looks especially bad. I dab iodine on it and wrap it in a bandage. Afterward, I look in the mirror of the hanging cupboard. There is a bump on my forehead with a deep gash running through the middle. I put a Band-Aid on it, surprised that I hardly feel any pain. I can only feel it as if through a thick layer of cotton.

As I ready the RV to leave, bitter nausea spreads through my stomach. Any further thought of what is to come is unbearable. I calm myself down, tell myself I could always go back, nothing is final, though I’ve never brazenly lied to myself. If I don’t let Lou go today, I’m afraid I’ll never be able to do it. Today, the memory of my fingers around her throat is fresh, my reasoning knows better than my instincts—perhaps for the first time since I kidnapped Lou.

I get up around six in the morning. The RV bumps over the gravel and I have to clench my teeth to keep from screaming. This time, after a short stretch on the forest road, I take a different route than on the way here. It is a shortcut that is only passable in one direction due to the slope. My destination is the nearest town with access to the Greyhound buses.

The spruces, rivers, and mountain lakes pass me like pale shadows, reminders of so much that I have experienced in the Yukon. Infinite loneliness, fear, but also deep love.

Eventually, I get on Highway 4 to Watson Lake. The sky is lead gray as if a higher power has swallowed the light—it is oppressive. I feel empty and hollow—like a receptacle from which the last drops of water have flowed. The only thing I feel is fear. The entire ride, it sits like a lump of ice in my chest and I can neither breathe it away nor deny it. And as if Grey were a mirror of my feelings, he repeatedly whimpers to himself. Shortly after Watson Lake, I set him in the passenger seat so his crying doesn’t wake Lou prematurely. Since then, as if in protest, he’s been throwing up every quarter of an hour and I can’t stop on the side of the road to wipe away the wolf’s puke.

Normally, I probably would have scolded him, half-serious, half-amused, but today I just silently wipe the mess up and pat him on the head. It’s not his fault he’s not the ideal travel companion.

In the afternoon, after many hours of driving, I arrive in Hudson’s Hope, a small town in British Columbia with a modest shopping center and a bus station. I certainly won’t find anything better for Lou today.

I park the RV in the back of the gray parking lot and draw the curtains. I don’t want Lou to see where we are right away, I want to surprise her. Of course, drawing the curtains is not fully altruistic, either. I would like to be alone with her again, to hug her again, without her knowing it is farewell.

My throat burns at the thought and I swallow the heat and congestion. I don’t know how Lou will take it. All these weeks she wanted nothing more than to get away from me. And when I told her yesterday that I had considered letting her go, she was overwhelmed. But she didn’t scream at the river. It’s possible that she doesn’t want to leave me anymore. Maybe she was overwhelmed because she felt it was the greatest proof of love she could ever get from me. Just like she did for me under the willow tree by the riverbank. But what should I do if she doesn’t want to break up with me? How do I make her understand that it’s best for her?

I wipe my forehead wearily as if that would clear all these thoughts out of my head. With cold fingers, I dig my cell phone out of the cupboard above the side door and turn it on. Then, I google the bus schedules from Hudson’s Hope to Calgary and from there on through the states of Montana and Idaho to Nevada—Ash Springs. It’s going to be a long journey. It reminds me of the time in Los Angeles in the Walmart parking lot, jotting down the things I needed for Lou. A spark of melancholy runs like an echo through my veins. At that time, I was full of hope for a better life. Those days, I actually thought I loved Lou. I figured a few pictures, a laugh, and all the information were enough to know someone.

In truth, however, I still don’t truly know Lou even if she’s closer to me than any human has ever been. Being close and knowing someone doesn’t necessarily go hand in hand.

I smooth the paper with one hand before folding the note and stuffing it into a yellow backpack. After that, I make mayo, ham, and cheese sandwiches, and sneak out the back to find Lou a change of clothes. As I do so, I discover the neatly folded newspaper articles I gave her so she would eat. So, this is where she kept them the whole time! Without thinking twice, I put them in the backpack along with the clothes, water, money, and provisions.

Finally, there is nothing left to do but wait for Lou to wake up.

I sit down at the table and stare straight ahead. I’ve never feared anything more than the moment Lou leaves me. I try not to think about anything, but I can’t get this scene out of my head: Lou crossing the parking lot and disappearing out of my life like she never existed. After a while, I realize I’m toying with the silver coin on my leather strap.

Memories try to surface, but I can’t think of that right now. Not yet—not while Lou’s still here. Instead, I untie the coin from the band. It was always my anchor, reminding me that I have a past beyond Thorson Ave. A memory of my mom. A sign that I exist. Today, I’m brimming with feelings, and even though they’re incredibly painful, I know who I am.

The coin would be a nice keepsake for Lou. Something I can give her so she won’t forget me. Or maybe she will put the coin down the day she realizes she never really loved me and her love was just a need for closeness. I tell myself that would be okay, but obviously it’s a lie.

I quietly go to the back, and at the risk of waking her up, I attach the silver coin to the pendant on the chain that also holds her brothers’ pendants. It fits seamlessly as if the space had always been reserved for it.

I trace Lou’s silhouette in the air with my fingertips. Her eyelids are dark, almost black, and her cheeks are narrow and hollow. Despite the contentment she exudes in her sleep, I can’t deny how sick and tired she looks. The marks on her neck have faded a bit, but they still seem like a dark reminder to me.

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