blow to the back of his head sent him sprawling to the concrete below. Grit scoured skin from his hands and elbows as heavy boots thudded behind him. One of them slammed into his side. The sound of a rib cracking made bile rise in his throat. He curled into a tight ball, knowing what was coming as he heard the familiar sound of the belt being yanked from its loops.
He tried not to cry out, but it seemed like the blows would never stop. Already panting with pain he howled when a hand grabbed his arm and wrenched him to his feet, jolting the broken rib. The fist shoved him further into the cellar. He heard the scraping of the small door under the stairs. He started to plead.
“No. Please. Please, don’t lock me in there. No. Please. Don’t. Please.”
Another blow to his head knocked him to the floor again. The boot connected with his thigh as he tried to squirm away. There was nowhere to go but into the hole, into the darkness. The small door slammed and he heard the latch click. His head and body throbbing he pressed his face to the floor and tried to suck clean air through the crack at the bottom, tried to get away from the smell of whatever lay rotting in the darkness.
* * *
Alex lay on his back, watching the dawn light seep through the small east-facing window. The nightmares had wakened him halfway through the night, and now memories pressed in on him as he lay still. The touch of soft hair on his cheek, the light scent of peaches and dark eyes filled with laughter. They swam before him until he felt like he was floating. Then they changed, changed to small piercing dark eyes, eyes so full of confusion and longing they made him moan. He rolled over and put one hand on the rough floor. What was done can’t be changed. He passed his hand across the planks. That was then. Stay in today. Stay in today.
Forcing himself to focus on the present he listened to the sighing rush of the river, the soft sound of the wind in the spruce behind the cabin, the rattle of a chain as one of the dogs moved. Familiar sounds, sounds without any guilt or fear attached. He listened for a while longer, and decided maybe he’d let that lawyer fly back to Seattle alone. He couldn’t take the risk. He rolled over and stared at the roof.
The familiar surge of apprehension and then anger filled him. How did they find me? If the lawyers had, the cops might be right behind. Wish it would snow. With snow on the ground I could head out to the trapping cabin. They’d never find me there. He turned his head toward the table. The papers still lay there. Should’ve known better than to feel safe. Should’ve taken more precautions. Should’ve changed my name. But it was the only identity he had. The only thing that was really his, even if it wasn’t.
He sighed and stared again at the weathered boards in the roof. Would the cops in Vancouver have contacted the cops in Seattle? Not likely. They’d have no reason to. Maybe going back would be worth the risk. Images floated through his mind again—those dark eyes pleading, the sound of sirens. He rolled out of bed and scrubbed at his face. No. Don’t let your mind go there. And don’t go to Seattle.
He scratched his beard and thought briefly about shaving. If I’m going to…no. I’m not going anywhere. He didn’t bother digging out the razor. He had to get ready for winter. No time for chasing ghosts. A sudden urgency hit him as though if he rushed to prepare, winter would come more quickly. And when winter came he’d be harder to find.
By the time he lit the fire and made coffee he’d repeated that No to himself several times, but kept coming back to the questions he wanted answered. He stared out the front window and watched the flood of silt-laden water stream by. Eddies and undertows, swirls of gray in the early light. Will there be answers in Seattle?
Pulled by the energy of sudden decision, he tugged his pack out from under his bed and tossed in a change of clothes and a few other things. He fed his dogs an extra large portion and made sure their water bowls were full. Tacking the standard “Use what you need, replace what you use” note to the front door he shouldered the light pack, pulled on a battered floppy-brimmed felt hat, and headed for his boat.
* * *
Alex was sweating by the time he reached the small round-ended trailer sagging into the side of the hill. Sal’s huskies let out enough howling to wake the dead, but no one came to the door so he knew she wasn’t home. He pulled out a scrap of paper from his pack and wrote a quick note, asking her to check on his dogs. Then he trudged back down the long hill toward the center of town.
The thud of his boots echoed along the boardwalk. The streets were quiet, the sharp gusts of wind stirring up dust devils as they whipped around the false fronts of clapboard buildings, sighing as grit scrubbed at wood and window. He nodded at a girl sweeping the entrance to one of the tourist traps. They’d be closing for the season in a few days. The town was reverting to its previous ownership. The tourists were gone. A pickup truck rumbled slowly by as Alex stepped into the street. He gave the driver a short salute, though he didn’t know his name. Everyone was a local now. He stopped in front of the Downtown Hotel, stared at the front entrance and sighed. He glanced down the street. The streets of Seattle will be nothing like this.
* * *
The flight out of Dawson was noisy so neither man made much attempt to talk at first. Alex peered out the window, catching glimpses of the spectacular Yukon scenery through flat-topped clouds. He’d flown over it a few times in small planes and helicopters, canoed its rivers and tramped over some of its mountains, but it never ceased to make him catch his breath. The most beautiful place on earth. A good place to get lost in. A good place to hide.
But now I’ve been found. His stomach flipped and twisted into sudden panic. This was a mistake. It’s too risky. I’ll get off in Whitehorse and tell Bronsky I’ve changed my mind. But then the what-ifs filled his head again, and he wondered if at least some facts and figures might be found—facts and figures that might answer the questions he’d asked all his life. Are my parents really dead? Or did they abandon me? What were they like? Where were they from? Where am I from? Where do I belong? He let out a sigh that was almost a groan. Letting his mind wander in that direction made him feel adrift with no way to anchor himself. But now, maybe…. Alex felt his pulse quicken. Do I really want to know? What if the answers only give me more nightmares? More questions?
He thought about the money. One million dollars. What would it be like to go out and buy anything I wanted? Anything at all? Alex sighed. There wasn’t really anything he wanted that badly. A new boat and motor, maybe.
A tap on his arm made him jerk. He turned to see George holding out a package of gum. Alex popped one out and nodded his thanks.
“Beautiful country!” the lawyer yelled.
Alex nodded again.
“Good fishing, I bet!”
“The best.” Alex started to turn away.
“I’d like to come back some time!”
Yeah, with an R.V. and all the conveniences of home. The territory flooded with tourists each summer. Alex avoided them as much as possible.
But Bronsky surprised him. He pointed to the rugged landscape below, the wide ribbon of the Yukon River snaking through it. “Any whitewater on that river?”
Alex shook his head. “Not much, but there are others.”
“Ever done any whitewater rafting?” Bronsky asked.
Alex shook his head again. “Too much money!” he shouted.
Bronsky
