Page 27 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

I chain smoke two cigarettes, then get back in and sit on the bench with my face in my hands. Ethan seemed agitated. He may be searching for Lou for another half hour, or he may just as well alert the rangers right away. If he has even the slightest suspicion that something terrible has happened to Lou, all vehicles may be checked at the exit. It definitely takes me more than half an hour to drive down the hairpin bends to the park exit.

I know what that means. I’m getting sick as I walk to the back to Lou.

I should put her in the box under the bed. With a lot of luck, it would pass for a storage box if it was discovered at all. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I pull up the covers of the bed and undo the dark paneling on the footboard. I set them aside quickly, then unlock the side wall of the wooden box.

I have to do it. It is necessary.

I carefully take Lou in my arms, get on my knees with her, and transport her into the wooden construction with her upper body bent. Seeing her lying there, so tiny and fragile, I feel like breaking in two.

Lou looks so helpless. So small in the dark.

So dark, Mom…

“Lou…I’m sorry…” My voice breaks.

I can do many things, but locking Lou in there is like turning myself into the monster I fear. Instinctively, I reach for the silver coin on my leather bracelet.

Breathe, Bren. Breathe. You are not him!

I focus on the cool coin between my fingers, it’s all that I have left from my childhood. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember and it fills me with a vague memory of security. It is proof that there was a life before Thorson Ave. and that I had a mom at one point. In my dark prison, the coin was all I had. It reminded me of who I was and that I hadn’t ceased to exist.

I press my lips together as I look back at Lou and shake my head defensively.

My mom left me, but Lou is here with me.

I have to do it. It won’t be forever. I’ll get her out as soon as I can. I let go of the coin and caress Lou’s cheek as if that would make things better.

As so often before, I feel like I’m being split in two, like there’s a wall inside me that I can pull up to block out all feelings. The insensitive me grabs the lid with numb hands and carefully closes it. Then, I attach the panel and hang the coverlet over it.

Monster, the other me that was petting Lou whispers deep inside me. Monster!

As I drive past the visitor center, I see neither rangers nor Lou’s brothers. After about a mile, I believe I see light in the forest coming from large spotlights because the beam of light is larger than that of flashlights. Possibly the first search party. I crawl along for the next half hour at the permitted twenty miles per hour, constantly afraid of suddenly being confronted by a large presence of policemen or park rangers. But nothing happens.

I drive up to the ranger station at the exit/entrance of the park. Luckily it’s unmanned. The barrier is open, but that’s not unusual at this time.

Not giving it another thought, I drive through the unmanned checkpoint, but I don’t feel any relief yet. I tensely calculate how far I have to drive to escape undetected. Definitely to Fresno. In some curves, I can see the foothills of the mountains and make out the bright lights of the valley towns: Tulare, Visalia, and Reedley. They shine from below, above them a round, deathly pale moon. Spooky, but maybe it’s only me. There’s probably nothing worse out here than me. I’ve put the girl I love in a wooden box like a head of cattle.

An hour and a half later, I pass the Fresno town sign and most of the tension leaves me. In the industrial area, I search for a parking space in a half-torn-down warehouse and change license plates. I throw the fake California license plate on a pile of discarded electronic devices behind the no-trespassing sign and dispose of the lanterns in a glass container a few miles away. Then I check Lou’s breathing and continue the journey along CA 41 N.

When I arrive in Merced, I can only vaguely remember driving there. The clock shows a quarter to twelve. About another hour and a half later, I stop at a Flying J behind Modesto. I properly park the RV in a designated parking space, then walk back to Lou, undo the panel, and open the box. I lean a little under the bed. Lou lies still as if she were dead. With a shudder, I put my hand on her stomach—that touch is allowed. In general, all touches that serve her well-being are allowed. When I feel her breathing deep and regular under my fingers, the shivering in me subsides.

I leave the box open and the paneling off and climb out the side to get an idea of the situation.

The warm night air wafts over me along with the smell of exhaust fumes and gasoline.

The truck stop area is easy to survey. A yellow-and-red Denny’s occupies a large part of the area and next to it is a gas station with a simple shop. Everything is flat all around, only a handful of widely spaced tin houses stand out against the dark horizon. It seems like nobody in the area cares about their neighbors. Perfect, actually.

A chrome-colored semitruck is parked next to me—a blonde pinup girl sticker is placed on the passenger door of the cab.

Tired, I lean against the front of the motorhome. I feel weird. The flat country and the leaning power poles with their sagging cables seem to me as if they belong in another, upside-down world. Everything is wrong. There are no snowy mountain peaks, no coniferous trees, and no green rivers. No Canada geese or wild sheep. No wolves.

The past two months in Los Angeles, the feeling of something not being right was less intense than it is right here in the Central Valley.

It must be Lou’s fault.

Lou and I belong in the Yukon. Lou belongs in the Yukon. I never imagined her on the road, in Merced, Modesto, or anywhere else. In my fantasies, she was never in the box either. I never allowed myself to think about it even though I knew it would be necessary. Now I wish I had prepared better for this.

I smoke a cigarette and walk around the truck seemingly absent-minded. The curtains of the sleeping alcove are drawn. If I’m lucky, the driver is sound asleep and will remain unaware of my presence.

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