Chapter 8

Chapter 8

T he third day with Lou is as calm and uneventful as the second. After leaving Spokane, I turn off the highway onto one of the nameless roads and cross the border into British Columbia, Canada. There are no manned border crossings in these lonely stretches of land, but I know there are hidden sensors and cameras on some interurban roads, even in dense forests or trails. To be on the safe side, I wear a baseball cap pulled low over my forehead and exchange license plates again after crossing the border.

I'm driving around the greater Vancouver area on a provincial highway. Nobody stops me, there are no controls, not even later on the interstates. It's almost too easy. I stop and check on Lou as often as I can. Most of the time I leave the flap open.

When I have to fill up shortly before Hazelton, the Canadian edition of the Daily News grabs my attention as I am ready to pay. I get hot and cold. A picture of Lou is emblazoned on the front page. I recognize it immediately: it's the photo that Avery took of Lou. She posted this snapshot way before my time, but I still recall what she wrote underneath it: Thanks, Avy, for this great photo *beam*! You are the best!

She was so proud of it, received over two hundred comments and even more likes. Seeing it on the front page now makes my stomach ache.

WHERE IS LOUISA? —the letters run along like a memorial under the picture. Next to it is written accusingly: She only wanted to buy lanterns… Read the full report on page 3.

I can't help it—I have to have this item, just to find out whether someone remembers me. So far I haven't dared search the Internet for reports of Lou's disappearance. Maybe a special task force is monitoring all the network connections that log on to these articles. It's highly unlikely, but not unheard of—and that's how they could locate me.

My voice sounds unnaturally loud when I ask for the Daily News . Luckily, there is a lot of activity and I have pulled my cap down over my face again.

Back in the camper, I lock the side door, check on Lou, and unfold the newspaper while still sitting on the bed. It too has a photo of her on the front page:

MISSING LOUISA STILL UNACCOUNTED FOR

I skim through the article with a pounding heart. Everything is described in such detail that for a moment, I think she's actually gone. In addition to the usual information, her brothers are mentioned. Jayden doesn't believe she's lost. The police think an accident is possible but cannot rule out a crime, nor that she ran away mainly because other campers overheard the argument about the lanterns. Summer and Rain and their hippie dad . There is no mention of a young, dark-haired man with a Travel America motorhome.

I lower the newspaper, relieved. Nobody remembers me, and if they do, they don't suspect me. Not even Ethan.

The thought of Lou's oldest brother triggers a queasy feeling in my chest. Pretty … quite pretty … How is he faring right now? The spark of a guilty conscience gnaws at my core, but I immediately push it away. He should have been more careful!

I take the liberty of leaving the lid of the box open and the bed paneling off and only hang the coverlet over the hole. Lou gets a lot more oxygen that way and I can check on her faster. I think of the adrenaline shot I have with me for emergencies and pray I don't have to use it.

In the evening, I again lie down next to her in front of the box.

Eyes closed, she mumbles what may have been my name.

"What is it, Lou?" I ask softly.

She blinks a few times as if she can see better that way. "Whyisit-sotight?"

I look at her and repeat what I've been telling her over and over for the past few days: "Everything's fine, Lou. This is only for a short time. You'll be able to get out of there soon. You don't have to be afraid."

Noticing her shaking, I stroke her hair to calm her. "Everything's fine. You are with me now. I won't hurt you." I pull my hand back so it doesn't become too much.

"Oh." Her expression relaxes and her eyes, which have been blinking so frantically, close.

"Sleep well, sun girl," I whisper, my throat raw.

She looks so peaceful. She still doesn't know what I've done. I dread the moment when she finds out.

After Hazelton, I drive a bit along the green Skeena River, which meanders like an eel through the towering mountain ranges.

In Iskut, I stop at a tiny Western-theme gas station. A harsh wind bends the flat shrubs, rustles the leaves on the birches, and blows my hair in my face. I can already smell the typical smell of the north: strong pine needles, heavy wood, and damp earth. Here it's still mixed with sand and dust.

When I pay, I buy the latest issue of the Daily News . The cover photo features a gigantic aerial photograph of Sequoia National Park and Lou's photo no longer takes up the whole page but rather a quarter of it.

LANTERN GIRL STILL MISSING. RANGERS EXTEND SEARCH AREA IN NATIONAL PARK. DID SHE SUCCOMB TO AN ACCIDENT AT MORO ROCK?

The article is shorter and comes with a few photos of the granite colossus Moro Rock. Again, no evidence of a young man. I rip out the report and put it with the other one in the lockable compartment above the side door.

When I get Lou out of the crate that evening on a forest road, she is sweaty. Her hair is plastered to her head and her blouse is so wet I can wring it out.

"Oh, no, dammit, Lou!" I lay her on the bed and take her pulse, but I can barely find it, it's so weak. I quickly stuff some pillows under her feet to stabilize her circulation and fetch a small water bottle from the kitchen. She needs to drink more. I'll just double the amount of dimenhydrinate so she doesn't throw up.

Later, I give her a homeopathic dose of knockout drops, relieved when she dozes off without a second sleeping pill. Time to think of something new. There's no way I can give her any more sleeping pills when she is in this state or she might not wake up. I go outside and look through the sparse birch forest toward the highway. It's a lonely country road with little traffic.

Can I risk not giving her anything? Nobody suspects me and the police are not looking for a young man driving an RV.

In the morning, I could put an air-permeable cloth with a few drops of chloroform over her mouth and nose. By noon, I'll probably be at Dease Lake or Cassiar. The area is desolate and deserted. I could chain Lou in the back without giving her any more narcotics.

I nod like I have to reassure myself that it's a good idea, but my gut tells me otherwise.

Tomorrow, Lou will understand what I did. From tomorrow on, she will hate me.