Just Let Me Die Here (A Serialized Novel) 22

I drive out of Banff and back into the national park. If the circumstances were any different, I would love this drive. The road is empty and the surroundings are beautiful. Stretches of forest, covered in snow, surrounded by frosted mountain peaks. But, I can’t think about any of that. All that I can think about is that somewhere, possibly in this snow-covered scenery, is my baby.

Maybe if you loved her more, this wouldn’t have happened.

Your fault.

Your fault.

As it’s winter, a lot of the park is closed. Many of the roads that stretch off the highway are completely blocked. Feet of snow pack down to make them impassable to cars and pedestrians alike. Tucker and Millie could be behind any one of these massive road blocks, lost beneath the mounds of snow. I pray to whatever deity happens to be looking down on my tiny speck of earth that they are not.

I pull off the highway into a small parking lot. I imagine, in the summer the lot is full and there are cars parked up the road for miles. Hikers loaded down with gear ready for their trek into the rocky landscape. But today, it’s just me. No other cars, no signs of anyone having been here since the snow began. There is a poster board at the far end of the lot with a map displaying the three different trails that branch off from this starting point. I use my gloved hand to scrape away the ice that has covered the board. It shows that I could walk all the way back to Canmore if I wanted. Instead, I head straight and follow the short trail to a lookout point over a small creek. If it had been any other time, any other situation, I would have loved this even more than the open road. Alone in this pristine paradise, enjoying the ultimate peace that comes when you are surrounded by nature. But the solitude of the space only reminds me of how truly alone I am right now and the silence is physically assaulting.

I don’t know what I was intending to find by coming into the park. Did I really think they would be here? That I would walk a few paces on a trail, it would open up into a clearing, and there would be Tucker and Millie, just waiting to be found? I know it’s ridiculous to have even entertained the thought but I can’t let myself think the other thoughts that are crowding at the edges of my mind. This search is hopeless but I am begging my doubting self not to give up. Not yet.

I drive on to two other rest stops in the park. Nothing. How far can I go in this chase? I could drive to Calgary and search the entire city. Look down all the streets. Check all the hotels. But then, where does it stop? I could go on like this forever, always just a mile or two behind them. Will I be securely locked forever on the other side of the world from my child, my moving forward pushing her even further away? This search would be so much easier if I had any clue as to where Tucker would go. But I have come to realize that I may not know anything about my husband. What if he’s actually following me? Or has someone else doing it. My mind rushes back to the accident on the mountain. Was it an accident? Or was the coincidence in timing not really a coincidence at all? I turn the car around and head back to Canmore.

As I drive back along the highway, my suspicions grow. My mind panics and the worries and fears tumble in. Something is off. There is someone in the car with me. I can feel it. My breath cuts short and I try to focus on the road in front of me. I glance at the rearview mirror. Once again, all I see is the empty car seat. But someone is definitely here.

I slowly move my right arm up and over the passenger seat to feel the space behind it. Nothing there. I quickly bend it back behind my seat and jump when I touch something before realizing that it is my own bag. Nothing else. Still, there is an uneasy feeling filling the space around me. The air is on edge as if something is about to happen. I feel it prick the back of my neck. I was away from the car for only a short time to walk along the trail, but it was enough time for someone else to get in without me seeing. I swerve off the highway and onto the shoulder, throwing the car into park, swinging my door open, and jumping out.

The cold air hits me, breaking through the cloud of heat that follows me out of the car. I stand just on the road, staring at the car and trying to catch my breath. Someone is in there. With the car keys, my only weapon, gripped in my hand, take a deep breath and prepare for an attack.

When I was ten, my dad took me to the local gym to teach me how to box. It wasn’t anything like the nice gyms we have back home now. Glistening facilities with top of the line equipment, in-house spas, and juice bars. No. This was a true gritty gym. It was a large, windowless concrete box that housed a few benches, lots of free weights, and, in the middle of it all, a boxing ring. It was freezing cold in the winters and stifling hot in the summers and always had a large fan set up just to the side of the front door to try and keep the air moving. The place was run by another buddy of Dad’s. A skinny, African-American guy who wore an old flat cap pulled down tight on his head, thick coke bottle glasses on his face, and bore such a striking resemblance to the beloved Rat Pack crooner that everyone just called him Sammy. “A poor man’s version,” he would joke about himself in the self-deprecating way that flowed through every aspect of his being. He sat on a metal folding chair in the corner of the room, keeping an eye on everything, and waved to us as we had walked in that morning.

“Every girl should know how to protect herself,” Dad had said, leading me over to a large punching bag hanging just next to a rack of large weights. “I’m not going to be around forever and you need to be able to take care of yourself.” I was still of an age where I thought my dad was invincible, where I assumed he would always be there whenever I needed him. This realization that he might be gone someday was almost as shocking as the hit I took moments later from the punching bag that swung back at me, knocking me off my feet.

“Get up,” my dad had said. “Never stay down. Always get up.” I was small, but I was tough. I swung again and missed the bag completely, but I stayed on my feet. “Again,” Dad said. “Hit ‘em again.” All morning, we worked on the bag and then, when Dad was sure I had reached a decent level of ability, we stepped into the ring.

“Now, I’m not going to go easy on you kid,” he said.

“I know.” I was certain my dad wouldn’t actually hit a child with his full force, but I knew he wanted to toughen me up. We danced around and he let me get in a couple punches at his middle.

“Good, now try and get me again.” When I swung through with my fullest force, Dad stepped aside and I went flying by. I stayed on my feet, but when I turned around, I was off balance, and a small tap from him on the side of my boxing helmet sent me to the floor.

“You gotta always be ready,” he said. “Hands up. Be ready.”

Be ready.

I grip my keys tightly, the teeth of one cutting into my fingers. I take a deep breath and fling open the back door. No one. I slowly make my way to the back of the car and pull the handle to open the trunk, jumping back to distance myself from my assailant as the door swings up. Again, there is no one there.

I slowly let out the breath I’ve been holding, trying to calm my racing heart. But on my next inhale, a scent catches me. Tucker’s scent. The cologne that he would wear on special occasions. The one I always told him made him smell so yummy. It’s here. Filling the air around me. And this time, the smell makes my stomach lurch. Where is he?

I spin around, looking all at once in every direction. Nothing. No one. I am alone, on a frozen highway, car doors thrown open and my life spiraling out of control. I hurry over to a pile of dirty snow that has been scraped to the side of the road and I vomit.

On my way back into town, I stop by the police headquarters again to check on things, hopeful that maybe they were able to find more than I was. Detective Singh is at her desk, scanning through something on her computer screen.

“Mrs. Logan, hello,” she says, smiling up at me. “What can I do for you?”

“I was just passing by and hoping that maybe you had some news for me. Any changes in my case?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Her eyes drop to a pile of papers on her desk and then back to me.

“And, have you looked any further into my accident? Were you able to talk to the man who ran into me? Maybe there is something there.”

“We had considered that,” she says. “But at the moment, that’s a dead end.”

“How so?”

“Well, we were able to get the accident report from the ski patrol, and it told us basically everything you did. Unfortunately, the man who was involved is still unconscious.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He was transferred to the hospital, and he’s staying there under observation. But until he regains consciousness, there is nothing we can do with regards to interviewing him.”

“Well, that’s understandable. But when he does wake up?”

“If he does, then yes. We will definitely be looking into his involvement in your situation.” I must look absolutely defeated because she stands and guides me into her seat. “I know this must be hard,” she says, squatting down in front of me. “Hard probably doesn’t begin to describe it, but you have to believe me that we’re doing everything we can.”

“I know. I know. It’s just, I really don’t understand how this happened. Or why this happened. Or what has even happened. I just want an answer, any answer, that will help me wrap my head around all of this.”

“And I’m working to figure out some of those answers for you.”

“Thank you. I’ve just never been one to let others do the work for me. I even went out looking today to see if I could find something, anything, that would help solve this.”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

“August, listen to me,” Detective Singh says. “There’s a rule in police work. Don’t get emotionally involved. It messes with your perspective. That’s not possible for you. You are completely and totally and rightfully emotionally involved. It’s barely possible for me in this case. But it’s my job, not yours. Try and let go of the investigating. Let me do my job so I can help get your family back.”

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