Page 128 of Trapper Road

The officer’s eyes narrow. “Is that your car, ma’am?”

“It is, but—”

He shifts into a defensive stance. “I’m going to need you to raise your hands real slow, and place them on top of your head.”

I sense movement out of the corner of my eye. So does the officer. He lifts his gun, ready to fire. I throw up an arm, stopping Connor as he comes barreling out of the ambulance. “My mom’s innocent,” he cries.

I pull him against me, turning to shield him in case the cop decides to pull the trigger without thinking. “Connor, hush, it’s okay,” I tell him.

But he’s struggling against me. “Willa and Mandy — they set this whole thing up. They tried to make it look like it was all my fault.”

Behind the officer Mandy wails even louder. “He’s lying! Don’t you know who he is? His father is Melvin Royal. He’s the son of a serial killer. He tied Willa up and told her he wanted to skin her alive. I was there! I saw her tied to the chair! Tell them, Connor. It’s the truth. Tell them!”

My son shakes his head. “I didn’t — she wasn’t— I mean she called me and said she needed help. She was already tied up when I found her.”

He starts to waver. “Hush, Connor,” I tell him. “Don’t say anything more.”

“But Mom.” He blinks several times, as if struggling to focus. “I didn’t hurt her.”

The desperation in his voice nearly breaks me. “I know, baby.”

“I’m not--” He shakes his head, blinks again. “I’m not—”

Something’s horribly wrong. “Connor? Connor!”

He starts to fall. He’s too heavy for me to hold up and all I can do is cushion him as we land together on the forest floor. “I’m not like him. Like Melvin. I’m not a monster.”

I realize I’m crying as I clutch his shoulders. “Connor! Can you hear me? I need help!” I scream.

The paramedics are back by our side in an instant. They pull Connor from my lap and lay him on the ground. I watch in a haze as they take his vitals, try to wake him. Their actions are calm and controlled, but I can see the urgency in their expressions. The fear.

“Is he going to be okay?” I shout.

They don’t answer. They’re too focused on my son. They shift him onto a gurney and start toward the ambulance. I follow, but feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s the police officer.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to come with me and answer questions.”

I turn to face him. “I’m not leaving my son.”

He reaches for his cuffs. “Ma’am—”

I bare my teeth and hold my arms wide. “The only way you’re keeping me from my son is if you shoot me.”

When he doesn’t raise his gun, I turn back toward the ambulance. The cop lets me go, but follows the ambulance to the hospital, lights and siren the entire way. The medics spend the drive tending to Connor, pushing fluids and meds as they shout out numbers and stats that mean nothing to me.

I try to stay out of their way, which means the only part of him I can reach to touch is his feet. They’re bare for some reason, and as I stare at them all I can think about are all the times I kissed those toes to make him giggle. It never failed. He could be throwing the worst tantrum, but the minute I pretended to gobble his feet, he couldn’t resist and broke into laughter.

I don’t know what I’ll do if I never get to hear that laughter again.

Gardenia is a small town in a rural county, which means the hospital isn’t very large or used to handling multiple high level traumas at the same time. Three ambulances arrive within ten minutes of each other, quickly overwhelming the place.

I grab the first staff member I can. “Vee, my daughter — she was brought in with an injury to her abdomen.”

The woman puts a hand on my shoulder. “She’s being taken care of.”

I realize I’m trembling, overwhelmed with terror. “And my son, he’s the one I came in with.”

“We’ll update you when we know more.”