Page 60 of Trapped: Until The Darkest Of Night

Lou hunches her shoulders, which makes her appear small again. “I really do feel sick.” She looks at me, this time openly and a little pleadingly.

I glance from her to the waffles and back to her face. I can’t suppress a sigh. “You’ll eat tonight, promise?” I say sternly.

Lou’s stiffened posture relaxes. “Okay,” she says, visibly relieved. “But no rabbit.”

I want to imitate a laugh, squeeze the dark sound out of my chest, but it comes out of its own accord. Still, it sounds awkward like a badly spoken foreign language.

I let Lou watch Hero of the Week while I wash the dishes, but the reception is poor. Probably due to the weather. The picture is grainy, but Lou seems to be elsewhere. A few times, I catch her watching me, and each time, she quickly looks back at the TV.

Something is different. This morning, she doesn’t look at me as if I might strangle her at any moment, but more like someone she’s trying to size up.

Maybe there is also a Who are you really? in her eyes. But maybe it’s none of that and her gaze is merely the mirror of my wishes.

Later, I connect her to me with the iron chain and pull Lou across the gravel to the RV storage space. The sky is a bright blue and the smell of old spruce wood, young needles, and fresh earth fills the air. The penetrating hammering of a golden woodpecker resounds from the forest.

“Going to be a warm one today,” I say to Lou. A typical early summer day in the Yukon, great for setting traps in the cool morning hours and bathing in the green lake by the waterfall in the hot midday. I hope Lou is having at least a little fun.

I gesture for her to step back a little and open the wide hatch. “Put on some hiking boots so you can walk in the forest more easily.” I pull out the shoes I ordered online weeks ago—checkered, ankle-high, lace-up boots. “I hope you like them, I made sure to get yellow and pink.”

Lou doesn’t say anything, but pulls the sunny yellow socks out of the shoes without resistance and puts them on before slipping on the boots.

As I toss her star flip-flops into the compartment, she makes a strange noise. Almost like a startled gasp.

“What’s in there?” she wants to know, nodding at the RV storage space.

Surprised at her interest, I hook the hatch flap up so I have both hands free to look at Lou in peace.

“Supplies. Tons of extra food,” I tell her.

Lou stares, her mouth hanging open.

I point to some tin cans. “Peaches, pineapple, potatoes, peas, beans, corn, sausage, tuna, Mexican food—sorry… I’ve always loved that stuff…” Lou is so quiet that I turn mid-sentence. She looks at me like two horns have grown out of my forehead. Maybe she doesn’t enjoy Mexican food. For me, burritos, enchiladas, green and red salsa, and poblano mole evoke a sense of well-being that dates back to when I was sixteen. I was celebrating my first successful fights and, for the first time in my life, had my own money. Ramon, me, and a bunch of Bones toured the best Mexican restaurants in Los Angeles for weeks. Lou can’t imagine what it feels like to have your fill for the first time.

Stunned, she turns back to the storage area and stares in like I’m marinating corpses in brine. “Don’t worry, I bought a bunch of dried pasta too since I know you like spaghetti,” I say hastily. “Plus red and white sauces and a jar of chopped garlic. The fresh basil may be tricky, but I’ve got pine nuts…there in the back on the left.” I point vaguely to the corner where I think they are, then turn back to Lou.

I don’t know if she realizes that she’s shaking her head. She shifts from one foot to the other, the gravel crunching under the sturdy soles of her boots. Her gaze flies over the labeled boxes and lingers on the two gas bottles.

“Propane. We cook with it.” I use the back of my hand to shoo away an annoying group of black flies buzzing around the front boxes. “And the fridge runs on propane. The two canisters should last us through the winter.”

Lou opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “You want to spend the entire winter here?”

Here or somewhere else—I don’t know what her problem is. She’s trapped anyway. “Sure,” I answer casually. “I plan to stay forever.”

“Won’t it be too cold?” she asks in a thin voice, giving me that odd look again.

I smile now. “I’ve thought of everything, Lou. Don’t worry.” She’s simply afraid we’ll freeze to death in winter. But the way she’s staring at the supplies, I’d better not tell her about the cabin yet. She should get used to this place first. “Nothing bad is going to happen to you out here. And besides,” I add, “civilization is far away but not completely unreachable.”

“So why do you want to catch rabbits if you’ve got this whole thing packed with food?”

I shrug in a vague gesture. “Fresh meat is important. Plus, we can save food this way.”

She swallows like she’s struggling to hold something indigestible in her stomach. “But I don’t want to eat rabbit.” She says it softly and her eyes are filled with unshed tears.

I sigh and unhook the hatch. “I could catch squirrels instead. Or chipmunks,” I say jokingly, locking the closet. Okay, wrong again. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Lou,” I say, giving a fake laugh. “I might even bag a deer here and there. Anyway, you don’t have to eat it. I brought plenty of multivitamins and iron supplements.”

She turns away, wipes her eyes unobtrusively, and I make a mental note to stop joking about cute rodents in the future. I spontaneously decide not to set the traps right away. “C’mon,” I say cheerfully and playfully tug on the chain that connects us. “I’ll show you around.”

I direct Lou to the lake with the waterfall hidden behind the black fir and spruce tree line. Framed by the dark trees and rocks, the body of water looks like the bright heart of the forest. Its surface reflects the sky, firs, and birches.

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