Page 86 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

Because of the overwhelming stench, I have no choice but to drive the camper forward several feet and only then do we empty the gray water tank and wash the laundry at the same time.

Then, Lou disappears into the shower while I carry the camp chairs to the new RV site and build a second bed for the campfire.

Later, as she descends the stairs, a cloud of citrus blossom body wash wafts over to me. Now comes the awkward part: I have to chain her up. Ever since she began wearing the bells, I’ve always showered at night, but today, I am too dirty to wait that long.

Without saying a word, I click two chains together and attach one end to the steel eyelet on the frame, which I also used the night of the storm.

“Come here, Lou.” I try to sound casual like I’m calling her to dinner.

She turns to me, obviously too busy with Grey to notice my movements.

She looks at me confused. “What about Grey?” is all she asks.

“I don’t think he’ll run off seeing how glued he is to you.”

A shadow crosses her pretty features, but she doesn’t reply and comes toward me, arm outstretched.

“Take off these bell bracelets, at least,” she demands as if trying to negotiate a deal with me.

“Too complicated.” I shake my head. “Besides, I won’t take long.”

She picks Grey up and hugs him, lips pressed together. For a moment, the true face of the situation reveals itself again. We are perpetrator and victim, nothing more. That is the ugly truth.

“Did you lather Grey with citrus blossom gel, too?” I try to soften the harshness of the situation when I smell lemons coming from Grey.

Lou nods, then smiles sheepishly. “Of course, what do you think? Do you want him to smell like you and your shower gel when he sleeps in my bed?”

Good counter. I get angry and jealous of Grey for a moment.

After the shower, I dab iodine on my wrist injuries. Some areas heal poorly because the skin has simply been chafed too often. The tissue festers at a gaping wound. Luckily, the redness around Lou’s wrists has subsided since she started wearing the wristbands.

I join her outside and undo the cuff without a comment. Lou acts indifferent, although that’s just an act. She’s a bit too preoccupied with Grey to look at me.

In the meantime, the weather has grown cooler and a sharp wind whistles through the treetops. The old scar under my leather bracelet throbs. Changing weather. Maybe we’re in for a storm, I’m not sure. This morning’s fog was also a good indicator.

After glancing at the blue-gray sky, I open a family-sized can of chili con carne and pour the minced meat and beans into a tin pot. It’s attached to the tripod I cobbled together yesterday in case I ever run out of propane.

Using a chain borrowed from Lou’s shackles, I pull the pot up and hook it. All that’s missing is the fire.

Instinctively, I reach into my pocket, but my lighter isn’t there. Of course not. It was in the cargo pants I was wearing when I jumped into the lake after the black water incident.

I turn to Lou. She’s hanging our laundry, hidden by the tree around which one end of the line is tied. I only see part of her arm, but she’s holding something black. “Hey, Lou! Are those my pants?” I walk around the tripod. “Toss me the lighter! Let’s see if that thing survived the bath.”

She doesn’t react, just like she didn’t earlier at the lake.

What’s going through her head in those moments? Home? Me? Escape?

“Hey, Lou! Are you daydreaming?”

Her bells jingle in quick succession.

What is she doing?

I take a few long strides toward the group of trees in which she hangs the clothes.

Before I reach her, her hand holding my pants snaps in my direction and covers her face in the process.

“I… I couldn’t find it.” Her voice is shrill. “You…you must have lost it in the lake. Or while washing.”

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