Page 15 of Trapped: Between Sky And Wind

“I’m here, Bren. With you.” Not everyone who likes me will take me away with them. It’s not a sarcastic thought, merely the truth. I put my hand on his upper arm and feel the warmth of his body. “Let’s keep shopping so we can eat sometime today.”

He presses his lips together so tightly that they’re pencil-thin.

“Bren!” We look at each other, and for several heartbeats, I fear he’s going to have a fit, but then his features relax and the dark shadows lighten. He gives a brief wink.

“All right,” he finally drawls.

We work through the rest of the list together and pack everything into the plastic bags from the dispenser at the checkout.

When we’re done, I notice the men in baseball caps from earlier hurrying toward the exit. Luckily, Bren remembered that he forgot the chili peppers. Of course, he doesn’t have to explain to me how important chili peppers are.

“Wait here with the carts. Don’t leave, okay!” he says and disappears through the entrance between the colorful fruit aisles.

To pass the time, I examine the bulletin board between a gift shop and a hairdresser.

Still Missing is the header. My heart suddenly beats faster. It’s definitely not a good idea to look at it, but suddenly, it’s like a compulsion; I can’t look away anymore. I nervously skim the notices the state or desperate relatives have posted. The big, questioning eyes of various girls look down at me. Most of them are white—and blonde.

Liv Sullivan, missing since October 27th, last seen at Wellington Campground in Redding.

She is wearing a blue ruffled dress and a red bow in her shoulder-length hair. My stomach contracts. She’s been missing for five years. I can’t even fathom what happened to her. She’s four at most. If she were still alive, she would be nine by now. My gaze moves on.

Annie Fowler, missing since March 24th, last seen in the Pacific Place Shopping Center, Seattle, in front of the restrooms.

Her date of birth is next to it. Below the photo of the ten-year-old are tear-off tabs with telephone numbers. Missing for three years.

A dark, nameless feeling spreads through me and I blink rapidly a few times. I should stop looking at the photos.

Who does something like that? That is the question that pops into my mind. But can I answer it?

The next picture is a dark-haired boy. My heart skips a beat. He looks like Brendan—how I imagine him when he was younger. But it’s not Bren, right? But then his stepfather would have had to have changed his name. It’s not possible.

Henry Cunningham—I read the name and move closer to the bulletin board. Like Bren, he has a serious, oval face. Missing since December 23rd of last year. It’s not just the date that tells me it can’t possibly be Bren, it’s also the eyes. They are dark blue, large, and seem a bit frightened of the world. As if he knew of the terrible things that were to come. He disappeared exactly one day before Christmas Eve. How awful that must have been for the parents.

How did I spend that day? I went to our mini-supermarket with Avery and bought the ingredients for our Christmas menu. Marshmallows, chestnuts, and stuffing, and Mr. Moore had to order the turkey especially for us. Avy and I fooled around while little Henry may have been terrified.

I feel sick. He wears a necklace with a crescent-shaped pendant engraved with his first name and a tiny star next to it.

I study his date of birth. He’s only five. Funny, I didn’t even notice the missing person alert in the media and yet it’s always on all channels. Maybe because since December 25th, I only concerned myself with Bren and his appearance on Hero of the Week.

It’s crazy but the little boy truly does look like him, he even has the same thin lips. Like a clone. Did Bren’s mother hang up signs everywhere at the time? Did she have the courage to do that after her ex threatened to kill Bren if she called the police? What would I have done in her place? Wouldn’t it have been better to get help despite the threat? Could the police have spared Bren his ordeal? Would they have found him? Probably not. They weren’t able to save me either, nor any of the other children displayed here.

I realize I’ll have to tell Bren about his mom soon, about everything I found out from Jayden. Brendan probably still believes she left him but it’s not true. I stare at the picture of Henry. Disappeared from private property in Rapid City, South Dakota. A cold fear creeps up inside me. Straight from his home, the place he believed he was safe!

I take a deep inhale and decide that I’ve looked at enough photos of missing children when, rather accidentally, my gaze falls on a sheet of paper partially covered by another. Something urges me to read the number on the tabs: (775) 428-2945.

Our phone number in Ash Springs. Suddenly, reality recedes into the distance. The numbers dance before my eyes, and in a series of choppy images, I watch myself lift the notice that’s covering it.

My own missing person photo smiles at me. My big blue eyes shine like they did in the mirror in the clothing department—bright as the sky, cheeks flushed. Happy. Lively.

Louisa Scriver, missing since 06/25, last seen at the Lodgepole Visitor Center, Sequoia National Park. Please contact E. Scriver or the local police with information. The last sentence is handwritten as if quickly added. I recognize Ethan’s neat lettering: the neatly curved S, the spot-on P he taught me before I started school.

With a jerk, I rip the note off the bulletin board and crumple it up in my hand. A thousand thoughts swirl through my mind.

Which of my brothers had come here? When? Shortly after my disappearance or weeks later when there was so little hope of finding me alive? What was he thinking at that moment as he hung the photo next to all those notices?

We talked so little about it. Almost not at all because everyone was so happy to have me back. Maybe my brothers didn’t want to burden me with their desperation. With Bren in the Yukon, I always imagined how much they suffered at first, but afterward, I didn’t ask them about it, maybe because I was so caught up in my cover-up story about running away and my world was an emotional mess anyway. Ethan was also angry at first because he couldn’t forgive me for running away—supposedly. Jayden got everything off his chest with his story about the girl who ran away and disregarded reality. Liam had enough to do with his conversion, speaking more to God than to us; and Avy…yes, he was the only one who occasionally told me how things were when I was gone. How quiet it was in the house, so much so that he sometimes thought he was suffocating. How Jay once laughed at a joke and then burst into tears. How much they had forgotten how to talk to each other and became strangers to one another.

Suddenly, I feel like I’m doing everything wrong again.

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