Untraceable

by Johannes, S. R.

  “Come on. You knew it was me.”

  “Doesn’t matter! Any time someone jumps out in the dark, it freaks you out.”

  “Sorry.” He squeezes my hand. “Come on, my place is over here.”

  I stumble behind him as his boots crunch through the dead leaves.

  He stops me with both hands and holds me still. “Stay here.” I stand solo for a few seconds, watching the shadows move around me until a lantern offers a reassuring light. “Time to relax.” Mo motions for me to sit down as he pokes a long stick into a heap of charred twigs.

  Minutes later, twirling flames illuminate the area. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust before I notice his man-made, lean-to shelter. A roof, made of leaves, nestled between two tall trees. Under the shelter, a piece of black tarp stretches along the ground. A rolled-up, army green sleeping bag and a wool blanket rest on the artificial floor.

  He catches me staring. “Fancy what I’ve done with the place?”

  “You have great taste. I’d say a little country mixed with a dash of rustic.”

  He nods. “Spot on. That’s exactly what I was going for.”

  I check out his sleeping quarters. “So no tent? This is where you stay—every night? Still seems a bit odd.”

  “That coming from a girl who talks to a cranky bike named Luci.”

  “Touché.” I can’t help but laugh, knowing he’s so right.

  “Besides, I told you. I’m on field study for school.” Mo pours some water from his canteen into an iron pot and hangs it over the fire. “Cuppa tea?”

  “Sure, but isn’t that a little formal for a fire pit?”

  “Nothing but the best for you, blossom.”

  A few minutes later, he pours the steaming liquid and hands me a stainless steel cup. I welcome the warmth between my hands. Even though it’s the end of summer, the nights are growing cooler and being damp doesn’t help. I shiver while sipping the hot liquid, the strong black tea trailing warmth through my body. Even though I’m more of hot cocoa kinda gal, the tea is surprisingly good.

  Mo reaches into his duffle bag and pulls out a dry t-shirt.

  I whine. “Hey, no fair! How come you get to be dry?”

  “Bloody hell. Have some patience, woman.” Mo strips off his wet shirt without any notice. A thin layer of moisture glistens on his ripped body. I ignore my urge to jump him and force my jaw to stay shut. Don’t care who you are, gaping mouths are never sexy. I keep my eyes on him. If I look away now, it’ll be obvious I’m uncomfortable. He slips both arms in the holes, before popping his head through the middle.

  Then he tosses me a different shirt.

  I don’t move quickly enough to catch it so the shirt lands over my face. I frown under the cotton. After today, “graceless” will be my new middle name. I pluck the draping shirt off my head. “You could’ve warned me.”

  “Sorry.” Mo pinches his lips together, stifling a laugh.

  I smile, wondering if my face is as red as it feels. “Okay, maybe I’m not the most coordinated person.” For some reason, around this guy, my brain won’t send the right messages to the right place in time.

  “Always? Or just with me.”

  Is this guy a mind reader or what? “Don’t flatter yourself, mister.” I smell his woodsy scent and fight the urge to bury my nose in the shirt like a bloodhound. Just as I go to change, I stop, realizing he’s watching me. “Privacy, please.”

  Mo snaps his fingers in jest and spins around. “Can’t blame a bloke for trying.”

  I peel off my damp t-shirt and slip into his dry, comfy one. A scent of smoked wood lingers in the cotton. I steal a quick sniff and hug myself, feeling protected by the thin layer of fabric. I tie a knot at the waist and rip the hairband out of my matted ponytail. I tousle my damp, stringy hair. “It’s safe.”

  When Mo sees me, his mouth drops open. My heart sinks. Nothing sexy about wearing dirty pants, an oversized shirt with a bulging knot, and wet, moppy hair. He exhales. “You look smashing.”

  I wave him off. “Please, good thing it’s dark. Must be the shirt.”

  He inches closer. “You look fabulous to me, shirt ...” He raises his eyebrows. “Or no shirt.” He grins at his remark and cups my face. I drop my head back, inviting him in for another kiss. I want so much to be close and connected to him again, even if it’s only for a few seconds.

  Mo tilts his head to one side and kisses me. As his lips encircle mine, I hold the back of his neck tightly, forbidding even an inch of space to come between us. Don’t want to give him enough room to pull away. His warm tongue sweeps across mine, teasing me to play. Mo’s breathing quickens, and he wraps his fingers through my hair, tugging me closer. His heart pounds against my chest as our kiss intensifies.

  A few seconds later, he steps back and composes himself.

  I move closer. “What?”

  “You hungry?”

  Since he’s stolen my breath away, I can only nod.

  Mo begins cooking. He seems so comfortable in the woods. Not many people can be.

  Something dawns on me. Maybe I’ve finally found someone just like me.

  After enjoying a juicy dinner of fish cooked in foil and more tea, he shows me some of the rock samples he’s collected. The night air makes me tired, and I yawn as he explains that granite is North Carolina’s state rock.

  Mo chuckles. “There’s my clue to stop talking about rocks.”

  I shake my head. “I think it’s North Carolina’s cue to pick a more exciting rock. I mean, granite? Honestly. What about rubies or diamonds?”

  “If it makes you feel better, emerald is quite abundant here as well.” He massages my shoulders for a few seconds, causing me to yawn again. “Tired?”

  “Relaxed.”

  “Come here then.” He wraps a blanket around us. We cuddle as we stare up at the canopy of branches above us. Lightening bugs twinkle around us, like strands of blinking Christmas lights.

  I nudge him with my elbow. “Thanks for the dinner. It was delish. You sure know your way around a fire.”

  A crimson glow from the campfire illuminates the side of his face. “Anything for you.” Mo rolls onto his side, pulling me down with him, and gently plants little kisses all over my cheeks, throat, and nose, Little ripples swim along my arms. He teases my lips until I surrender. His tongue twirls through my mouth, searching for a dance partner.

  Somewhere inside my head, I want to be consumed. To crawl inside Mo’s body and hide from my life. Like a yolk tucked safely inside an eggshell. Surrounded, protected.

  Without warning, he moves back a fraction of an inch, hovering over my lips, tickling them with his breath. He searches my face for something. “I know this sounds strange, but I’m falling for you, Grace.”

  How does he just throw that out there? No holding back. My heart pounds with excitement, fear, and disbelief all mixed in one. “It doesn’t sound crazy at all. I feel the same way.”

  He traces one finger down my ribs, making me squirm. Then he puts a few inches of distance between us. “We should stop. Maybe it’s time to get you back.”

  Before I can think of a response, I blurt out, “No!”

  Mo’s eyes widen. “Let me know how you really feel. No to stopping or no to going back?”

  Could I be more obvious? Maybe I should back off too. “No. We probably should stop. But I don’t want to leave.” For the first time in a long time, I’m happy and don’t want it to end.

  Mo frowns, revealing deep creases in his forehead. “Is it a good idea for you to stay?”

  “Best one I’ve had in a long time.”

  He kisses my forehead as I nuzzle my face into his neck. “What about your mum? Won’t she worry about you being out all night without her permission?”

  I pull aside the edge of his t-shirt collar and trace the contour of his shoulder with my lips as I talk. “I’m sixteen and, in case you’ve forgotten, you’re only a year older than me. Besides, she’s working a double so she won’t be ho
me until tomorrow morning. I’ll get back before she does.” Before he can talk me out of it, I roll him on top of me and entwine my legs through his.

  A sharp pain shoots through my butt cheek.

  I struggle to ignore it as he pecks my face with kisses, refusing to ruin the sweet moment. His moist lips brush back and forth across mine. The pain digs deeper into my tailbone, causing me to wiggle and groan in discomfort.

  Mo lifts up into a push-up position. “Are you all right?”

  I open my eyes. “Yeah. Why?”

  “You appear to be in pain?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I pull him down closer. When he presses on top of me, I yelp. “Ouch.”

  This time he rolls off to one side. “I’d rather you be thinking of pleasurable thoughts than painful ones. What’s wrong?”

  Huffing, I blow my bangs in frustration. Only I could ruin a special moment. I feel on the ground underneath me, expecting to find a stone or stick.

  Then I remember the shiny thing from the woods jammed down in my pocker. Totally slipped my mind. Mo does that to me.

  Slipping my hand into the tight pocket of my pants, I grip the cylindrical object and hold it in front of the firelight.

  I immediately jolt upright. “Holy crap!”

  Mo peeks over my shoulder. “What is it?”

  Survival Skill #29

  The silence and isolation of the wilderness can play tricks on the mind.

  I vault to my feet and hold my discovery up to the lantern for a better look. “It’s a bullet.”

  “What do you mean?” Mo appears next to me and grabs the tiny brass cylinder. “Where’d you find this?”

  I snatch it back and twirl the casing between my fingers. “In the woods on the way here. Whoever it belongs to must be close by.”

  Mo shakes his head. “Must be old. If some blokes were shooting around out here, I would have heard it.”

  “Do you know what kind it is?”

  Mo studies the find. “Not a clue.” He throws a rock into the fire.

  “What’s wrong? Did I say something to upset you?”

  He stares at the sky as if he’s collecting words from the heavens. “Blossom, I don’t want you getting involved in whatever it is you’re getting involved in.” He faces me with his face stern. “This sounds dangerous, and I think you should stay out of it.”

  I turn away from him and cross my arms in front of me. “No way. If this has something to do with my dad’s death…” My arms drop to my side, hanging like broken limbs. My breath jams in my throat, reminding me of the time when I was little and ate a whole jar of creamy peanut butter with nothing to wash it down.

  Mo comes behind me and rubs my shoulders. He whispers in my ear. “What is it?”

  His hand’s rhythmic motion relaxes my stiff muscles. The moon plays hide and seek behind the dark trees. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to hide too. My eyelids flicker open and shut. I clear my throat, trying to make room for words and air. My voice pours out in spurts. “That was … the first time … I said my dad was … is … dead.”

  Mo hugs me, erasing any space between us. “Grace, it’s all right to let go. You can’t be strong forever.”

  For the first time, I feel like someone actually understands me. An army of tears presses against the back of my eyes, determined to break the long-standing barrier. I spin around and lean into him. “I have to find out what happened to him. No matter what, I can’t—no, I won’t—stop until I do.”

  Mo twists my hair into little curls around his fingers. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  My lower lip quivers as I fiddle with my bracelet, wishing it would do as it says and help me fly out of here. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried everything and nothing seems to be working. What would you do?”

  He hugs me close. “Listen, blossom, it’s late. Why don’t you get some sleep? You’re not going to figure it out tonight.”

  Pressing into him, I stare at the forest’s green awning. An owl hoots above me. Oddly close. In the fire’s dying light, I scan the limbs fanning out above us, the bird’s eyes glow in the dimming light. Soon, he spreads his huge wings and glides away for his nightly mission. I think about Tommy’s owl carving.

  The owl gives us the power to extract secrets and know the truth.

  Haven’t I uncovered enough? How many more secrets can there be? I fight back a barrage of mixed emotions, curl into the crook of Mo’s arm, and blanket myself with the smoky aroma of his jacket. For a short period, we share the same small space of air.

  His face relaxes and his lips part slightly with every breath. Soon, our rhythms are the same. His exhale becomes my inhale and vice versa.

  Just as I am about to drift off, a crack echoes in the trees.

  I sit up.

  Someone hisses my name. “Grace. Help me.”

  I stand and walk the edge of the small campsite, tracking the sound. “Dad?” Further ahead, a figure moves through the fog. I take off after it. But the crowded underbrush roots my feet to the earth. I cry out after the shadow. “Dad? Joe? It’s me. Grace!”

  Behind me, footsteps pound the ground. They’re closing in fast, growing louder and louder. A deep voice calls out again, sounding desperate yet sad. “Grace!”

  “Dad!” I force my way through a drape of vines, but the sticky strands hold me back, pinning me like a fly in a web. Flailing around, I rip one hand from a leafy shackle and grip the knife Tommy gave me, slashing at the vines surrounding my wrists.

  A man walks out of the shadows as I try to break free. I can tell by the way the silouette walks, it’s not Dad. The figure grabs me just I thrust the knife into his chest. A deep scream travels through the forest. Everything goes quiet and then, suddenly, my hands drop free. I scramble to get up and trip over a body crumbled in the center of the path. Blood flows out of a deep wound and pools along the dusty ground. The man doesn’t move.

  My adrenaline surges as I inch around to see who it is.

  It’s Mo.

  Survival Skill #30

  If you are hiking or camping alone, be sure someone knows the plan in case you do not return.

  I jerk upright, still shrieking.

  Mo crouches next to me, knife in hand. “Cor Blimey! What happened?”

  For a minute, I remain completely still, too stunned to move. Then I squeeze his face and turn his head toward me. He has no choice, but to look me in the eyes. “I killed you.”

  He speaks through squished-up cheeks. “It was a dream.”

  “A dream?” I rub my forehead. “But it seemed so real.”

  He returns his weapon to its sheath and sits next to me as I hug my knees close. “They always do.” He strokes my head. “By the way. Who’s Joe?”

  I sift through the details of my dream, trying to remember if I said his name. “My dad.” Mo doesn’t move. As if my words have paralyzed him. I lay my head on his chest and listen to his heart thumping. “I thought he was here. That’s all.” He strokes my hair. The steady rhythm calms me. “Mo?”

  He buzzes in my hear. “Hm mm?”

  I pause before asking the question I’ve been wanting to ask since we met. “How long are you staying here?”

  He stops combing my hair with his fingers. “As long as I need to. Why do you ask?”

  My voice blurts out in a squeaky whisper. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  Mo kisses my forehead. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then don’t.”

  He spoons me from behind. “Go to sleep. We’ll head out at first light so you can get home.”

  A few minutes later, Mo’s breath finds a consistent rhythm. I focus on his soft breaths, in and out, wondering how he sleeps so soundly when I can never seem to catch a wink.

  In my dream, his breath was nonexistent, and his death was my fault. What would I do if I was responsible for Mo’s death? Or Dad’s for that matter? I promise myself I won’t let that happen.

  Eventually, my mind
settles in for the night, and my eyelids close from the weight of the day.

  I drift off to sleep with Mo’s arms encircling me in a ring of safety.

  ~~~~

  Early the next morning, after making plans to meet up again, I reluctantly leave Mo. As Luci and I approach the house, I see Dad’s truck parked in the driveway. Great. The one time I stay out all night, Mom decides to come home early.

  I creep inside, praying she’s asleep. Maybe she doesn’t even know I’m gone. It wouldn’t be the first time she didn’t notice me. After leaning my backpack against the wall, I tiptoe into the kitchen and listen at the doorway.

  The house is quiet. No movement.

  As soon as I round the corner, the light flips on. I jump out of my skin. “Geez! You scared me.”

  Mom stands in the middle of the room with her fists planted on her hips. “Where the hell have you been?” Her voice quivers. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

  I mumble. “Sorry. I went camping.”

  Her face pinches into a scowl as worry lines travel in parallel lines across her forehead. Dark black patches hide under red, puffy eyes, informing me she’s been crying. “Camping? Then, why—in God’s name—didn’t you tell someone?”

  “Sorry.”

  Mom goes from being quiet to sounding as if she’s in TMX stereo and screams at the top of her lungs. “Is that all you can say? It’s 6 a.m.! I’ve been calling you on your cell all night!”

  “You know I don’t get reception on the river.”

  She rubs her temples and lowers her voice about half a decibel. “I called Tommy and Les. Even Wyn. No one has seen you since yesterday!”

  I raise my voice a bit. “I said I was sorry. You don’t need to lecture me about it.”

  She yells again. “Don’t talk to me that way. I’m your mother!”

  “Could have fooled me … Mary.” I bound up the stairs and into my bedroom.

  Mom storms after me. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you. What’s gotten into you lately? Skipping appointments, staying out all night. You are not yourself.”