Page 41 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

“And now you’re going to pay Henry Clark’s rent for the rest of his life?”

“Absolutely, David. I mean, it’s a matter of honor, isn’t it? He and my father were both in the Marines.”

“That is truly heroic.”

I sneer, “Hah!” Lou flinches and half-turns to me. I point the dishcloth at the TV. “That Henry Clark guy is probably dying of lung cancer and only has two months to live. That Andrew guy is doing it just for attention.” In the slums, we hated slick guys like that!

“Do you know him as well as you do me?” Lou asks, turning back to Andrew.

I ignore her comment. “You seriously think he gives a shit about the old man?” I stroll over to her, trying to be extra casual. She is totally trusting, no mistaking that. “He wants people to think he’s important. He’s probably a mediocre student and thinks this will help him land a better job.”

“Maybe he simply wants to help.” Lou looks at me as if she doesn’t know how far she can go before she starts to piss me off. That really pisses me off since I’ve already told her a hundred times that I wouldn’t hurt her. And her way of defending that self-important asshole is driving me mad as hell.

“If he truly wants to help, he should let that lonely old man live with him, if he was actually his father’s best friend.” I give her a scathing look, then pick up the remote from the counter and turn off the television. Enough of this Hero of the Week!

“Go on, go to the back room! We’re leaving in a minute,” I instruct her.

She obeys immediately, which I’m thankful for. I follow her, still feeling the anger creating a lump in my throat. Lou can’t possibly like a guy like Andrew! I realize I have no idea what guys she’s into since there has never been one on Facebook.

“Sit on the bed…now scoot to the left.” I grab her wrist and snap the loosely dangling handcuff onto the iron chain still attached to the clasp. A bit like a leash, but it has to be this way.

Once I’m done, I notice Lou watching me.

“Where are we headed?” she asks in a weak voice.

“Onward and upward.”

“Onward where? You must have a destination.”

“You won’t like it, so why do you want to know?” I snap at her. In any case, we’re not heading to see Andrew, I’d like to add sarcastically and feel like a little shit again.

She slides a little away from me. “Where are you taking me?”

She merely wants to know what you’re up to, Brendan. That’s only natural.

I go to the window and set the slats of the blind horizontally so that she can look out later. As my eyes fall on the unpaved country road, I feel a pressure on my chest that I can’t explain.

I drugged and kidnapped her; she’s scared, she’s homesick, not to mention she doesn’t know me. And I get upset simply because she showed sympathy for a Harvard student.

“Away,” is all I say. I’m at a loss for words and hate myself for it.

Chapter

Eleven

I’m driving down the Alaska Highway toward Johnsons Crossing. The sky is still a bright blue with only a few small white ice crystal clouds weaving like threads across the sky. They often herald thunderstorms for that evening.

I don’t hear a peep from Lou. As a precaution, I closed the folding door and wonder what would happen if the cops stopped me, but that thought is basically a joke. I’ve never been checked here and I’ve only seen a police vehicle once in all these years.

When I spot the ramshackle paddle steamer on the shores of Teslin Lake, I know I’m about to pass Johnsons Crossing. I need a newspaper, but I can’t allow Lou to call out for help. On the other hand, Johnsons Crossing consists of only a few houses, so I drive over the bridge into town, right past the tiny grocery store where I bought a carton of Marlboro on the way to Los Angeles. About two hundred yards after the town sign, I park the RV on the side of the road.

“I have to fix something,” I call back. “You’ll get something to eat afterward.”

Lou doesn’t answer. Maybe she’s still sleeping.

I lock everything up and jog back to humble Mike’s, grab two sandwiches from the refrigerated counter, one with ham and cheese for Lou, of course, and head to the magazine rack. The selection is poor—there is only the Yukon Quest. I can’t find anything about a kidnapped girl on the front page, but I buy the issue anyway and hurry back.

As I climb the steps, it’s still dead quiet inside the RV.

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