Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

His facial features are rigid as if cast in bronze. He glares at Kyle as if he wants to kill him.

"Oh, you must be Bren." Kyle, seemingly unimpressed, laughs, but it looks like he's baring his teeth. "Your girlfriend is writing her phone number down for me just in case…"

"In case what?" Bren's eyes flicker like fire between Kyle and me. "Lou? Fill me in."

"I had no intention of giving him my number," I defend myself indignantly, but the paper in my hand makes me seem unbelievable. How could he even think such a thing? This is completely absurd!

Bren juts out his chin. "You'd better get going," he says to Kyle in an unnervingly low voice. "Just in case you want to get out of here in one piece."

"Calm down, buddy! We were merely talking!"

"Talking? Tell that to the wind!"

Kyle fiddles with the pen in his hand and then looks at me. "Are you going to write it down or not?" Apparently, he's suicidal.

I don't quite grasp what's happening as Bren pushes through the gap between the two carts and shoves Kyle backward, sending the pen flying out of his hand. Kyle's surprised Hey! whizzes past me as, almost simultaneously, the silver pen flies by.

Bren grabs my wrist as if I can outrun him. "Of course she won't! Now, get lost, do you hear me?" His face is pale with anger, his eyes black as dark sockets. He holds me so tightly I'm afraid he'll break my bones.

"Let's go," I whisper to him. He doesn't even hear me. Gritting his teeth, he watches as Kyle picks up the pen from the floor. When he straightens up again, you can clearly see he is annoyed by Bren's behavior.

His face is tomato red. ‘What's your damn problem, man?"

"You're my problem, who else?" Without warning, Bren nudges him in the chest again, automatically pulling me with him.

Kyle stumbles hard against the bulletin board, tearing off the other half of Henry's missing person notice. He looks disturbed. "You are crazy! Can't you take a joke or what?" he snaps at Bren.

Bren takes another step toward him, his eyes so full of aggression that it scares me. "Since when is it fun to hit on someone else's girl? She's my girl, understand?" His fingers are still tightly clamped around my wrist, but I don't dare say anything that might make him more angry. There's no way I want a fight to break out here.

Kyle shakes his head and seemingly assesses his chances of getting past Bren unscathed. "You're not quite right in the head! You're sick!" He runs his fingers through his curls as if trying to rearrange them. Then he looks at me. "You had your chance, sunshine. But since you'd rather stay with that lunatic…"

He shoves a cart aside and walks proudly past the row of shops, but it seems more like an escape. For a few breaths, it appears Bren is considering chasing after him, but he stands there, immobile, staring at nothing. Hopefully, he won't have an attack now.

With my heart pounding, I look around—quite a few people have stopped and are staring at us. A robust woman in zebra leggings and pink lipstick even dares to approach, almost reaching the cart.

"Bren?" I jerk my wrist to get him to let go, but his fingers become like iron bars. I suppress a cry of pain.

"Did you like him?" he asks through clenched teeth without looking at me.

"Who? That guy?"

"Answer my question!"

He's serious. "Of course not!" I'm so stunned I almost laugh even though I feel like crying. "He approached me. I didn't immediately realize he was coming on to me." It certainly sounds like me!

Bren slowly turns to me and looks me in the eyes. His eyes are narrowed. "You had the paper in your hand, Lou!"

"I instinctively took the paper he tore off a missing person notice! I didn't want him to use it for that!"

"I'm supposed to believe that?" Only now do I feel how badly the hand he's holding me with is shaking. Out of excitement or desperation, I don't know.

"Of course you should believe me." I sound helpless and that makes me angry. "What do you think? That I'd run off with the first guy who hits on me?"

Bren raises his eyebrows, evil, bitter mockery sparkling in his eyes. "You did it before, didn't you?"

I wince like he slapped me in the face. It hurts more than his fingers around my wrist. Tears well up in my eyes—I can't help it. I tug wildly against his tight grip, but I can't break free. At some point, I stop because I realize we are still the center of attention. And because it's pointless to fight back.

Wordlessly, I stare at him. My fingers go numb. I sense a power from before looking down on us. It is like a third person, and for a moment, I feel even weaker, even smaller, even more helpless. The smell of earth and pine needles burns inside me, hot as fire.

Bren also seems to feel this other power from before. I can't say why I notice it, but not a second later, his mouth opens with an expression of recognition. His features soften and he finally lets go of me. But I still can't say anything. My wrist hurts and my vision blurs, but I see him shake his head.

"I'm sorry, Lou. Forgive me." His voice suddenly sounds rough and distressed. "I didn't mean to hurt you!"

The words are like an echo that repeats in the present from another time. I didn't mean to hurt you! It will not happen again. How many times did he say that—back then? The edges of my vision are fraying like worn fabric. Suddenly, the nausea that hit me earlier when I saw the notices is back. I blink frantically and stare at the floor to avoid looking at Brendan. To my feet lies the other half of Henry Cunningham's missing person report. I pick it up quickly and hold it tight; I can't just leave it this way.

"Lou?" Bren puts his hand on my arm.

"No!" I choke out, shaking off his fingers. Then I push my way through the two carts and, blinded by tears, storm toward the exit, past the woman in the snug zebra leggings and the other onlookers.

When I walk outside through the glass front door, the cool night air hits me and I almost knock over a toothless old man. The sky is pitch black, but the glaring parking lot lights outshine the night. I continue walking straight ahead and the smell of the humidity, the ocean, and greasy fries overpowers the pine forest and earth, the smell of the past. Cars honk on the highway heading toward the ocean. A dog is barking somewhere, maybe it's Grey.

Take a breath, calm down.

I wrap my arms around myself feeling dazed. By now I have reached the end of the parking lot and scan the area. To my right is a windowless warehouse, in front of me the highway, and to the left a cluster of green deciduous trees. That's the last place I want to go now. After a moment's hesitation, I walk toward the warehouse's parking lot. I want to get away from it all, away from Bren, his hurtful words and hard grip, away from the pine needles, the bad memories, and the missing kids.

I impatiently wipe away my tears with the back of my hand. There's no need to cry. I knew what I was getting myself into and that it wasn't going to be easy. Bren isn't healthy, he told me that yesterday. What did I expect? Sunset romance with an ocean view? A candlelight dinner in a luxury suite?

Definitely not! Not with the Bren I know and love. And luxury isn't important to me either, I don't need any of that. But I also didn't expect him to freak out as soon as someone spoke to me, for whatever reason. Or should I have expected exactly that? After all, we've only ever been alone before.

I sit down on a narrow shoulder with parched grass and draw my legs to my body. I think I hear Bren calling, but I can't be sure because the rumble of engine noise from the highway fills the night. Maybe he's too busy with the shopping carts and won't look for me until later. In any case, he won't spot me right away, sheltered by the bushes. Anyway, I don't even want to hide from him at all, I simply want to regain my composure in peace.

I clench my hands and realize I'm still holding Henry Cunningham's missing person notice. I sit cross-legged and smooth out the paper with the palms of my hands. If I had scotch tape, I could tape it back in place. Henry Cunningham doesn't deserve to be ripped by some brainless, self-absorbed guy like that.

I hesitantly look at his face again. When Bren was Henry's age, he must have already been in the hands of his psychopathic stepfather.

Is Henry also trapped by a sadistic psycho like Bren was? I have to think about what he told me. He was cooped up in that box for days, not just minutes or hours, which would be barbaric enough.

Who would do such a cruel thing to a child? Why? He beat him simply for misspelling words. Oklahoma, according to Jayden, where his stepfather originally came from. I set the paper beside me and reach for Bren's silver coin which I wear on my necklace. Can such abuse ever be forgotten? How can you manage to trust another person ever again?

If you want me, you'll also get the demons from my past, I hear him say.

I think of Ethan and Avery, who patiently taught me to read and write before I even started school. Dad hadn't died that long ago, and for some reason, my eldest brothers felt compelled to teach me. Maybe Ethan was afraid of losing custody, so he gave it three hundred percent.

They made me spell my name with alphabet cookies on our porch and laughed every time I forgot the O. Avy always added it where it belonged. "You can't even hear it!" I'd argue and put it in my mouth, quickly gobbling it up.

Liam, who was only eleven at the time, grabbed the A and ate it. "Your name will be Luis from now on!" he'd say jokingly. Jayden called me Luis for weeks until I cried and Ethan told him to stop it—threatening a ban on reading aloud.

"Lou!"

Startled, I turn and spot Brendan standing just a few feet behind the narrow strip of grass. His gaze is impenetrable. Knowing him, he's probably been there for a long time, watching me.

"As soon as I don't restrain you, you run away." He sounds dejected. "I told you I'd make mistakes with you." Step by step, he approaches like I'm a wild animal he's shot. "Lou…don't cry. That makes me feel horrible…"

He kneels next to me and picks up Henry's missing person report. He looks at the boy briefly, but if he thinks he bears any resemblance to himself, he says nothing about it. Then he neatly folds the two halves together and puts them in his pocket. "You care about the notice, so we're going to put it up again."

"Maybe I ran away because you were gripping me so tightly," I say without looking at him. "I might have stayed if you hadn't restrained me. Maybe your behavior is making me feel horrible, too," I add defiantly.

Bren sits next to me on the grass without touching me. "I'm afraid I can't undo it. Neither my words nor the restraint. I can't undo any of it."

Shaking my head, I wipe the corners of my eyes. Pungent exhaust fumes waft our way, but I don't care as long as I don't smell the Yukon forests again. "It was only a stupid come-on. Nothing about it mattered. We've only been on the road for two days and you're already jealous of some guy? How is this going to work? Will you want to lock me up in the future?"

Bren looks at me darkly, refusing to answer. "He called you sunshine, Lou."

"So what?"

"I told you once, you're like a…like a sun to me." He looks away, embarrassed. "Apparently others see you the same way." He seems frightened. Maybe he thinks everyone sees me as the panacea to happiness and that he has to take on every man on the planet.

"Bren, sunshine is not an uncommon nickname! It was pure coincidence! He could just as well have said darling, honey, or sweetheart."

"Sounds creepy!"

"Your reaction was scary!"

"You were scared," he says monotonously, getting up and kicking the curb, clearly angry at himself.

"I was at the bulletin board, checking the missing person notices. He approached me and asked for a pen. That was all it was! I didn't even think he was particularly great. On the contrary." I won't even mention my own notice.

Bren shoves his hands into his pockets and stands motionless, eyeing me from above. Eventually, he sighs deeply, tilts his head back, and stares up into the sky. Once again, I realize how all alone he seems. Even here in the parking lot, he still looks like an outcast, a hermit. It hurts me to see the walls he builds around himself and how little of his true feelings he allows to come out. My stomach turns into a brick.

"I thought I'd changed. I truly believed it, Lou. But when I saw you with that guy there, I couldn't think straight anymore."

"But you didn't have an episode," I say softly.

He laughs—a sad, short chortle. "I bit off a piece of the chili pepper just before!" He pulls a plastic bag from his pocket containing half a pepper.

"That was good. If you know what helps, use it. That is good."

We remain silent for a while and I pluck at a few blades of grass, lost in thought.

Bren sits next to me. "I want to do it right this time, Lou. Everything. Tell me what I can do to make you forgive me." The despondency in his voice hits me hard.

"Bren, there is nothing to forgive. You told me I couldn't have you without your past. Did you believe I'd run away at the first sign of trouble?"

"You did!"

"No, I merely wanted to be alone for a moment…there's a difference. Bren, you have to understand. I know next to nothing about you. Even your last name, I only know it from Hero of the Week. It is truly…depressing. And sometimes scary."

For a while, it seems like he's considering my words. "All right," he says, "ask me anything." The smile he dons seems like a disguise, as if a sad clown wanted to play jester. It almost breaks my heart to see him like this, and for a moment, I fear that despite our love, we don't stand a chance. Maybe what we share can't exist in the real world, maybe real life will gobble it up. But what is real? In the Yukon, it seemed to me nature was the only reality. The wide sky, the crackling of the campfire, the howling of the wolves, and Bren and I. The stronger rule over the weaker, just the way nature has always been. The world that existed outside of the wilderness seemed surreal to me at the time. My role as well as Bren's was clearly defined. Here, in the jungle of people, bright lights, and supermarkets, it's hard to find our place. Maybe other men also overreact when they're jealous—I'm sure they do. But with Bren, I'm immediately brought back to the time when I was at his mercy. It may not be fair, but I can't help it.

I put my hand on Bren's arm and he takes a deep breath. "What are you thinking? Right now?"

"That you and your whole being ignite an unbearable tenderness in me. I want to protect you, hug you, caress you…love you, but at the same time, you awaken an almost brutal desire within me to keep you all to myself."

"Oh! That is…"

"Simply the truth," he says seriously. "No idea why. As soon as I see you again, I forget everything I have worked on in therapy. My psychologist said I shouldn't see you again. You are a trigger."

"She said that? So? Am I a trigger?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you could ask me something simpler first." Now his smile is genuine and his eyes sparkle with that soft glow I so desperately need. It makes it easier for me to forget and not dwell on his behavior.

"Okay. What is your favorite color?"

"What?"

"You said I could ask you anything."

"Blonde." He winks at me.

I elbow him in the ribs and he sighs. "Very well: black. Your favorite colors are yellow and pink."

"The reason you know this isn't something to boast about!" I glare at him accusingly and a smile that's both guilty and sexy crosses his face. I don't know how much we're allowed to joke about it, if it's okay at all, but in the end it's up to me to decide.

I think for a moment: "Favorite food—no, wait, something Mexican for sure. Something so spicy, it burns your mouth! Chili con carne probably, at least you have twenty cans on the shopping list. Bren, no normal person eats that much chili!"

He gives me a piercing look—well, he's not normal, either. "Enchiladas," he surprises me now. "With a lot of salsa. Unfortunately, they don't come in cans."

"I've never tried enchiladas."

"Then we have to rectify that. Tonight!"

I smile. "Gladly. Favorite band or singer?"

Bren shrugs. "Green Day and Nickelback, in the past Linkin Park, nothing else."

I should have known because those bands' songs were on the radio last year and reminded me of my brothers.

"Favorite animal?"

"Wolf."

"Favorite month?"

"Lou, what's up with these questions?"

"Favorite month?" I repeat, poking his upper arm with my index finger.

"August, when your birthday is, the twenty-first."

"Any month except August!" I say sternly.

"November—that's when the lakes in the Yukon freeze over and sing."

I nod contentedly. "Birth date?"

"January nineteen."

"Capricorn."

Bren looks at me, completely taken aback.

"That's your zodiac sign. Ambitious, determined, serious." He's certainly not used to so much mundane information. "Bren?"

"What?"

"Where have you been living the last few months? If you've seen a therapist, you couldn't have been on your property in the middle of nowhere." I've been wondering that for the past two days, but I wanted to wait for him to tell me.

Bren folds his hands and places them on his knees. "I was in Faro, in a rental house."

I look at him, stunned. "You rented a house in a town and lived there? Normally, among other humans? That's progress!" I brush off a few blades of grass that I've carelessly scattered on my clothes.

"It's a small place and I hardly ever went outside. Just a few times to shovel snow and to go into the woods with Grey. And obviously to see Dr. India Lee."

"Can't we go there?" I ask, hopeful.

Bren's gaze narrows a tad. "Don't you want to go to the Yukon with me anymore? What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid. I just think…it's a good solution, isn't it?"

"For who? You? So you can be in civilization and run away if you don't like something?"

Just like you believe your mom did! I could tell him now, but I'm too chicken. Who knows what it will trigger within him after his reaction in the supermarket. For seconds, fragments of his flashes blaze through my mind. How he roared and raged while shackled with chains, his face contorted by something only he could see. His bestial screams, followed by terrified whispers: So dark…so deep underground. Where are you, Mom? The smell of needles and dirt rises in me, but I push it back by concentrating on the exhaust fumes. I take a few deep breaths, but it sickens me.

"Is it so hard for you to imagine that I'd rather live in a town with you?" I finally ask softly. "Does my fear seem so unfounded to you?"

Bren looks down at the pavement, staring intently at a piece of trampled chewing gum. "So, you're scared after all. Then why are you lying to me?" He gets up and paces in front of me, hands shoved deep into his pockets. For a moment, it seems as if he would like to run away so as not to hear my answer. "And why are you silent now?"

Because you take everything I say out of context!

He stops abruptly. "Lou, I'm scared too. At least as much as you. Every minute, I fear I am going to mess up so bad, you will leave me! Sometimes, I even think this is all one giant flash and I'm about to come to and you'll be gone."

I smile at him tensely. "I'm not going to leave you. I promised you."

An old Chevy drives through the parking lot with a rattling muffler and another dog barks in the distance, but it's not Grey.

Bren looks at me in silence, his eyes dark like dug graves. "I remember so much now," he says, his voice cracking, and I know he's talking about his past. "I simply repressed most of it. Dr. India Lee says I split off a part of myself because I couldn't live with all the memories at the time. The little boy is what I called that part. I knew he was there. Always. He lived inside me and was stuck in the Thorson Avenue dungeon. My stepfather and I used to live there. Everett Harlow Nolan." His voice trembles with those last words and he takes a deep breath. "That's his name."

I get up. "Bren, you don't have to…"

"But I want to." He pulls his hands out of his pockets. He's pacing again and I can see him fighting a tidal wave of terror. "He treated me worse than a dog. Sometimes, he made me eat out of a plastic bowl on the floor with my hands bound—if I got anything at all. I was locked in a tiny closet with no windows all day and he would only let me out when he needed help in the workshop. I was always attached to chains." He pauses, then slides back the braided leather bracelet the silver coin used to hang from. "I have him to thank for that." He holds out his hand.

A bulging scar extends around Brendan's wrist; it looks like a severe burn. Trying not to show my horror, I gently touch the destroyed tissue with my index and middle finger. I don't know what to say, but Bren doesn't seem to expect me to say anything because he keeps talking.

"There was a steel ring around it. He never took it off except when he made me dip my wound in salt as punishment."

Misery creeps into my stomach. "Bren…"

He withdraws his hand. "I didn't see anyone but him for years, Lou. He was the only one I could love, with whom I could build a relationship. I hungered for his tenderness and hated him at the same time. And when he smiled, I loved him."

I cover my mouth with my fingers because it's so horrific and because I also long for Brendan's smile so badly—but that's something else entirely.

"He broke my dog's bones, tied his paws together, and stuffed him into a box alive. That was after my first attempted escape. He beat me half to death. I had to dig Blacky's grave or he would have tormented him even more and God knows he would have! He always made good on his threats."

I swallow and fight back the tears gathering in my throat. I picture little Brendan using the last of his strength with a grief-stricken heart, shoveling earth into the grave he dug to bury the dog he loved dearly.

How do you survive that? How do you live with all that torment? How do you keep on breathing? How hard does a soul have to become to endure that?

I look cautiously at Bren. His stern mouth is pursed and his dark hair hangs over his eyes as if he's trying to hide. I want to hug him, but I know he doesn't want that, not now. He's like a survivor in a war crimes museum, giving visitors a glimpse of the past while keeping them at bay. Everything is behind glass in inaccessible showcases.

"He homeschooled me. I was never allowed out, just the one time in the garden to bury my dog." He laughs dryly, but it sounds hollow and depressed. "If I made a mistake on the assignments, he would punish me, I told you that…he would hit me with a belt, a dog whip, or his bare fists. Sometimes, he starved me for days…" He falters. "He laughed when I was down, but the worst part was that I truly wanted to love him. And I was ashamed of that. But I didn't have anything else to love, only Blacky…but when he was gone…" He bites his lip. "There's nothing good about those years. I lost myself. When I kidnapped you last year, it was the best time of my life—I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," I whisper, my eyes burning. "I'm sorry for you."

He just nods and then shakes his head. "The day I found you online, I was walking across the frozen lake, hoping the ice beneath me would break. I didn't know if I was still alive or dead. I felt nothing but emptiness. I discovered you that evening. You looked at me with your blue eyes like you could heal something deep inside me. Suddenly, there was a glimmer of light in my loneliness—it was completely crazy! I called you Little Miss Sunshine and sometimes Alaskan girl. Because of your northern-sky-blue eyes." Now he's actually smiling and my heart burns and aches with sorrow and love for him.

I smile back, but my lower lip is trembling. "Alaskan girl," I repeat in a whisper. "That sounds mysterious and beautiful." How could I just leave him in the supermarket with the burden of his past? Maybe I'm a bad person.

Bren briefly clears his throat. "Last summer, I rediscovered the little boy inside me. Thanks to you. With the help of my therapist, I've brought most of what I've been repressing back into my life. Before, I only allowed it in the flashes. Well, apparently, they were not real flashbacks but rather they triggered states like psychoses. You hallucinate, see and hear things that are not there. For me, it was old memories. It's quite complicated, but the important thing is that I interrupt the flashbacks so that I don't slip into such phases."

"Okay," I say softly. "And how can I help you with that?"

"I have to do it alone. I have my resources. India Lee says that the more old memories I integrate, the weaker the episodes become. I've only had one in the last few weeks and it only lasted a few minutes. And I didn't break anything." He grins crookedly—but also a little proudly.

I approach him because I can no longer stand the distance between us. "I'm so sorry, Bren."

"You can't help my past. It happened; nobody can change it."

"No…well, that too, but I should have stayed with you earlier. At that moment." Risking that I might do something wrong, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his chest.

"You were afraid. There's nothing to apologize for." Bren hugs me and we stand there forever. I know how difficult it must have been for him to tell me. It seems to me that he jumped the ditch that used to stand between us. Suddenly, it's like the weight of the past is actually lighter. When I hear what he went through, all that horror, I want to make him happy. He deserves joy. He deserves love. He deserves to smile. How can I accuse him of being jealous when he still believes his mom turned her back on him? What am I upset about considering what he's been through?

Bren pulls me even closer and I swear to myself to hold on to the moment. That one moment where he's as close to me as he's ever been, no matter what. The moon shines overhead as we are enveloped in the coolness of the June night, warming each other. The air is laden with city noise, diesel and gas, and the smell of fries from somewhere. It's different than it was then, but it still works.

"This is what happens," Bren whispers at one point.

"What?" I hug him tighter, breathing into the shirt that smells so wonderfully of Bren.

"If we try to ignore the past, it grabs us even more."

Now I have to laugh, if only briefly. Then my stomach growls loud and clear.

Bren pulls his head back to look at me. "So…shall we go for enchiladas now?"

The rest of the evening passes like in my best fantasies. And even though Bren has told me so many horrible things, we're lighter than before. Maybe that's why, I don't know, but it's simply one more crazy thing I don't understand.

Hand in hand, we search for our shopping carts and finally find them behind the supermarket in the care of a homeless man. Since he more or less believably assures us he was simply keeping an eye on them…even though he's already eaten the only can of chili and downed a six-pack, much to Bren's dismay… Bren gives him enough cash to last at least a month on the street.

After that, we stow the goods. Bren is laughing more than usual and Grey is howling and barking madly as if he too can sense the change between us. Later, we let him run around a bit behind the Walmart on the run-down lots in the industrial district.

We decide not to cook and drive to Perlita's Authentic Mexican Food, a simple family-owned restaurant with handwritten chalkboards as the only menu, less than three minutes from the supermarket. We order a double batch of enchiladas with salsa, guacamole, and extra cheese and feed each other. I sneak Bren some hot jalape?os and he retaliates with mean, hot kisses until I get hiccups from laughing with my mouth on fire and he generously hands me his Coke.

Afterward, we walk to the beach with Grey. I stand at the ocean for the first time in my life. Despite the darkness, I feel the vastness of the ocean in my lungs, breathe in the scent of salt and spray, and run through the foaming surf with Grey as high-spirited as a child.

Bren sits in the sand next to a stack of driftwood and watches me with a serious, calm gaze. When I approach him, my heart is beating wildly in my chest. At this moment, I'm just happy. And all my fear is gone.