Page 11 of Trapped: Between Sky And Wind

“Lou. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you fidgeting in your seat.” He doesn’t sound impatient or angry, just 100 percent factual like when he realizes an animal isn’t eating enough.

“Okay.” I glance over at him. Jayden once said that as humans we need to understand the things that scare us because if we understand them, maybe we can relate to them and that reduces the fear. And I don’t want to be afraid anymore, I want to understand Bren. Everything he did.

“I’m wondering…” No, a stupid start, “I…how did you feel when you abducted me? How did you feel then?” I blurt out.

Now he looks over at me longer, then back at the street. His brows are drawn together. “Do you truly want to know?”

“Maybe I can sort it out better that way.”

“I was happy to have you with me, but at the same time, I thought I was a monster for putting you in the box. By the way, I changed the RV’s license plates in Fresno and checked if you were still getting enough air. Satisfied?”

I nod with mixed feelings, not knowing what this information is doing for me. I look outside. We head to Merced down a narrow overland road and then on to Modesto. Dwarf fruit orchards alternate with green fields and withered fields; the sagging cables on the utility poles next to us are the only constant. The last glow of dawn still hangs over the plain, bathing everything in a warm glow, but little by little, it melts like watercolor paint in the steel-blue sky. Other than the Yukon and the return trip from Hudson’s Hope to Ash Springs, I haven’t seen anything of the world, although this trip will definitely be the longest and most intense one of my life. The land here is flat and wide, the horizon is dark-green scrubland, and small settlements of farms and shanty towns litter the landscape.

Behind Modesto, we stop at a Flying J and Bren tops off the fuel tank. I put Grey on his leash and pace the parking lot, explaining to him that I don’t know what’s wrong with me, either, as if he can understand me.

Bren joins us in the parking lot and lights a cigarette. “This is where I stopped the first time,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the parking lot. “A lonely, rugged region where no one cares about their neighbor. I opened the box and lay down on the floor next to you. That’s how we slept. You and me, close together. It was crazy.”

I try to visualize it but can’t. I have no memories because of the many narcotics.

“You’re pale again.” Bren frowns. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you all this. What difference does it make?”

“I don’t know, honestly.” On the one hand, it scares me because it is and will always be madness, the act of a sick person. Just remembering how he forcefully drugged me makes me shiver despite the temperature. On the other hand, he has changed and nothing shows that more clearly than the present.

Bren looks at me. “Even I don’t believe what I’m about to say, but we should probably take a break from the past. What do you think? We’ll just pretend for a day that we are only what we are today. Bren and Lou, that’s it.” In the blazing sunlight, I notice for the first time that his irises are two-toned. In the dark brown are tiny rays of light brown like spokes on a wheel. For a moment, I have the silly notion that his eye color is lighter because he’s changed.

“I thought we couldn’t run from the past,” I reply, repeating his concerns from yesterday.

“We’re not running away. We’ll just stop time today and close our eyes. We won’t mention anything that reminds us of it, we won’t talk about it, and it’s best if we don’t even think about it.”

“What if I have another weird fit?”

“You won’t. It’s daylight and we’ve left Sequoia National Park behind us. There are a lot fewer triggers now and we’ll do everything differently. So, what do you think?”

I feel a grateful smile spread across my face. “That would be great!”

It’s going to be a hot day and temperatures are nearing the ninety-five-degree mark. We roll down the windows and I turn up the radio as loud as Grey’s ears will allow. The top of the charts are blaring and I feel like a ton of weight has fallen from my shoulders. It’s strange because nothing has changed, although Bren seems more carefree and I even catch him humming along to a song’s chorus. When he’s that relaxed, it’s easier for me to be me again: the girl who likes to laugh and wants to see the best in everyone and everything—despite everything.

Maybe it’s only because he acts differently that I can be carefree; maybe he’s just acting like this for my sake, to make me happy.

Eventually, I decide that even that doesn’t matter to me today. I put my feet on the dashboard and let the sun shine on my face through the open window. Maybe I’ll even get a little tan, at least then I won’t be so pasty anymore. With all of the studying, I’ve really turned into a couch potato.

An hour after leaving Sacramento, my cell phone beeps and I turn off the volume because even messages remind us of the past. I still have a guilty conscience. I’m sure it’s Jay who’s anxious to hear from me, but a deal is a deal.

We stop at a McDonald’s in the late afternoon and Bren buys us Big Macs, fries, and Coke which we eat in the RV because it’s too hot outside.

To tease him, I stuff the crumpled-up burger paper down the neckline of his shirt in passing after dinner.

He stares at me wide-eyed—he is completely perplexed. “Why did you do that?” Irritated, he fishes out the paper and places it on the table.

For a few seconds, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. “That’s called having fun!” I tell him. “You do things to annoy others, but you don’t really have bad intentions.”

“Lou, I’m not stupid.” Slowly, he gets up and suddenly he’s face to face with me in the aisle.

“You must return the favor now. But you can’t do the same thing,” I say jokingly, stepping back, a signal for him to catch me. He comes toward me and I flee backward laughing, but he catches me and wraps his arms around my waist.

Looking like he’s trying hard to be funny, he drags me to the bed, throws me onto the pillows, and climbs on top of me. In a matter of seconds, he pins my wrists to the mattress with his hands.

“Gotcha!” His tone is a mixture of mockery, seduction, and a whisper.

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