Page 47 of Trapped: Between Sky And Wind

Neither of us voices the other alternative we might have: we could turn ourselves in. That, however, is unthinkable. Bren would probably go to jail for years because of last summer. I don’t even know how many years you get for kidnapping. I only know one thing: locked in a small, dark room—without trees and sky above—would break him forever. I wouldn’t be able to help him if he loses himself in the depths of his cruel memories, I wouldn’t be able to hold him and bring him back with words. He would be trapped in the horrors of his childhood where he was in danger just for misspelling words. No. We cannot give back that invisible power to Everett Harlow Nolan.

After an endless walk through the woods, we find a sheltered spot in a valley next to a fast-moving stream in the early evening. Dense fog has settled over the forest, which is good for us because, according to Bren, it messes up thermal imaging, so we don’t have to worry about helicopters for now. We kept walking toward Vancouver because Bren remembered a freight depot that’ll give us a good chance at escaping.

If he even intends to continue on from there with me!

With my injured ankle, I’m deadweight. Without me, he would certainly have made better time, but as it was, he had to wait repeatedly for me and sometimes he even carried me.

Exhausted, I spread Bren’s raincoat over the bank, fall onto it, and rip off my hiking boots and socks, and, last but not least, the bandage. Bren ties Grey to a tree with a long leash that allows him to trot to the stream and drink while I cool my ankle in the wonderfully cold water.

“Better not make a fire tonight.” Bren looks around warily. “We can eat the noodles straight out of the can.”

“Sure,” I say, still woozy. Events have outpaced my thinking and I can’t keep up. Bren’s credit cards will be monitored or even blocked and withdrawing money from a bank teller is too dangerous. Not only are we homeless, we are destitute.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bren crouch next to me and look me over. “Hey.”

I hang my head. “It’s all my fault. If only I hadn’t written those letters.” I could slap myself. The letters were a vote of confidence in my brothers, but now I’m learning what that confidence is worth to Ethan. Namely nothing.

“If anything, it’s my fault. I kidnapped you. It is a crime and now I’m wanted. That’s the way it is.”

The simplicity with which he says it almost makes me laugh. “No, it’s Ethan’s fault!” I object, feeling strangely empty. “If Ethan hadn’t gone to the police, we could have started a new life in Faro.”

“We can start a new life somewhere else too, Louisa.”

Louisa. Rarely does Bren use my full name, and for that reason, I look at him. “Earlier, you were trying to get rid of me,” I say, unable to hide the bitterness. It hurts me more than I care to admit.

“I simply don’t want to put you in harm’s way. I would never forgive myself for that.” He looks at me. “I couldn’t think straight before. Of course, it’s your life. Of course, you can decide.”

“Is that so?”

He laughs his HA laugh, which awakens infinitely deep longings in me.

I smile shyly at him. “I don’t want to go to Europe,” I say quietly. “I don’t want to be so far away from my brothers. I mean, from Jay, Avy, and Liam. Besides, who knows if we’re safe in Europe?”

Bren gets up, leans against a birch tree, and pulls out his cigarettes. “Anyway, we can’t go back to my leased land and the log cabin. Jay must have passed the property details on to the police…” He inhales the smoke deeply, his gaze resting on me, soft and black as velvet. “If you don’t want to go to Europe, I’ll think of something. I have contacts in Los Angeles. It’s too risky to go there now. But the people and the press will soon be on to something else. In nine months, hardly anyone will remember our faces, besides, we could alter our appearances.” He winks at me. “Ramon could get us fake passports and then we could always start over somewhere else in Canada.”

I take a deep breath. “Sounds good.” I don’t care if it’s Faro or another town. The main thing is that there is at least a bit of civilization around. “Is this Ramon a friend of yours?”

Bren nods. “You could say he’s done a lot for me. Especially after escaping from my stepfather.”

“Like?”

“He broke into Everett’s house. Back then, I was part of his gang, the Bones. Ramon stole my ID from the house on Thorson Ave because…”

“Because?” I can’t help but ask.

“Ramon used to call me Hoover,” he continues without context, looking at me again. “After I managed to run away from Everett…” He shakes his head as if trying to get rid of an emotion deep inside. “I ran mindlessly around Los Angeles. Eventually, Ramon found me starving behind a dumpster on Hoover Avenue. That’s how it can be when you’re on the run.”

I ignore his last statement. “He named you after the street?”

“I had forgotten my name.”

I look at him, perplexed.

“Everett…never called me Brendan. I don’t want to repeat what he called me. I was a worthless creature with no name. Ramon gave me back my name when he broke into Everett’s house and retrieved my ID.”

I remember last year how important it was to him that I chose a name for Grey. Names mean something—he said. If you don’t give him a name, it means he’s worthless.

“I didn’t even remember after reading the name on the ID. I had repressed too much. I know now that my mom called me Brendan. I have some memories of her.” He looks straight at me and smiles briefly. “She’s blonde—like you. Maybe that’s why I like blonde hair so much.”

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