Photo by Andrés Canchón on Unsplash
The woman’s voice quivers as she stutters into the receiver. The static haunting the line masks most of her fear even if she doesn’t know it. “T-t-this is Marie,” she says. “Is this the trapper?” she asks. Chase’s voice breaks too as he assures her that he is the one she seeks even if he doesn’t call himself “the trapper.” They’ve been in touch for weeks now. He is slow to answer her remaining questions. He asks few of his own. His voice is low. And timid. His eyes close as he converses with her, listening for the voice of his father to find him. But the woman interrupts his concentration. She’s precise, giving Chase directions to her home. At first, he nods, careful not to be too eager, but when the woman repeats herself, he realizes he must speak. “Yes,” he says quietly. “I’ll be there soon.”
Chase holds his father’s hand. He knows what this man before him is. And, consequently, he knows what he is—and will always be. What he’s unsure of is if they are gifts or curses.
When Chase arrives at the house, candlelight highlights the silhouetted moving bodies inside. He watches briefly and is careful when he finally knocks. He remembers his training.
When the knob turns, he steps back. A woman with dark, fading hair answers. “Hello,” she whispers. Her eyes are swollen and damp. It’s the woman from the phone—he has no doubt. “Marie,” Chase says. “I’m here for the traveler.” He fumbles his bag so it rests in the crevice of his elbow, and he extends his hand. She nods and accepts his kindness. She doesn’t let go; instead, she pulls him inside. As she releases him, her fingers brush against his bag. He can tell her touch wasn’t unintentional.
A breeze sweeps against Chase’s ankles. He steps back and closes the door. He’d forgotten. So had Marie. But she’s already gone ahead, back among the others.
Chase crosses the narrow hallway and stands in the back of the cold room, where he observes the traveler’s visitors. They move to the traveler and take the man’s hands and squeeze them against their own bodies. They whisper into his ears and step away. Marie remains at the traveler’s bedside. She’s waiting; she isn’t living.
She glances at Chase to make sure he’s near. Her monitoring of the invited trapper increases as the night wears on.
Even the traveler knows—or at least he did—that Chase is here to trap. He’s the one who signed the form when Chase’s father was the one doing the trapping.
The traveler’s visitors look at Chase. The trapper knows what’s behind their eyes. He sees it himself in his own reflection. His hand twitches, but he clenches his fist. He listens for his father’s voice.
They want a trapper. He reminds himself of this.
When the first rattle begins, Chase shuffles and clutches his bag. First it’s one tear, and then there are more. A storm of them, splattering against the floor. Breaths collapse. The traveler shakes.
Chase approaches the bed. He whispers into Marie’s ear. “Two may stay,” he says. This number is the maximum his father implemented. He was firm on this stipulation.
Marie stands and kisses the traveler’s cheek. Then, she steps to the side of the bed and puts her arm around a young woman, whose eyes remind Chase of Marie’s. But also of the traveler’s. They are a part of her. Marie cups her hand around the woman’s ear and leans into her. The woman nods, and the two hopeful souls hold hands as they approach the traveler.
Chase puts his bag on the foot of the bed and unbuttons it. He slowly winds the zipper down to the end of the bag.
“Stay away from his exits,” Chase says. “Head. Toes. Chest.”
Marie and the young woman stand near the traveler’s waist. Huddled. They both cling to the man’s hand.
“It will be soon,” Chase adds.
The young woman clears her throat. Marie puts her hand to her forehead and nods. Then, they both turn, and they look pleadingly into Chase’s eyes. He’s careful not to look away too quickly.
He reaches into his bag and retrieves the dove-feathered net.
Once it’s in his arms, he unfolds it and holds it against the light. His eyes inspect each inch.
“It’s time to back away from him,” Chase says.
They obey. They say nothing to the traveler. They forget there is a present. Why even have it when the future is all that is desired?
Chase is slow as he tucks the edges of the net around the traveler. Quietly, he unrolls the tape and secures the traveler’s encasing. Then, he waits. So does the family. They’ve had enough practice in this regard that it’s almost welcome.
Although the father’s never really been a man of extravagances, he saves his breaths for when the time comes. And it’s near. They both know as much. “I know I can do it. I had the best teacher, Dad,” Chase says as he reaches for the satchel his father keeps under his bed.
It’s with this movement that Chase’s father opens his eyes.
“Leave it be,” the man says. “I told you. I want to go where they used to go.”
The net stirs as the exit begins. Chase tells the family to relax, but he is ready to leap if a corner comes undone. He stands on the tips of his toes and watches the corners of the net. One end jumps, and soon another joins it. Then, the traveler becomes frantic. Corners fly. Feathers stretch. It looks as if the traveler might take flight.
Chase assures the family what is happening is normal. This isn’t entirely true because there is no normal.
He thinks of offering them something else. But this is their peace. This is their choice.
Rest suddenly finds the traveler.
Chase asks Marie and the young woman to leave the room so he can collect the traveler’s spirit for them.
Their faces tell him they want to object, but he explains that it’s necessary for a successful trapping.
“Fine,” Marie says. She grabs the other woman’s hand again, and they leave the room, not looking back as they go.
“I’m scared,” Chase admits.
“We all are. Of something,” his father says.
“But I’ll miss you.”
“And I will you.”
“Can’t I keep you?”
“Close your eyes, Chase.”
“Okay.”
“Close them tight.”
“I am.”
“Now, listen.”
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Listen harder.”
“There’s nothing, Dad.”
“Chase, you have to want to hear it.”
“What am I listening for?”
“For me. It’s how you’ll keep me.”
“But I can trap you.”
“I don’t want to be trapped.”
“But we are trappers, Dad.”
“We don’t always choose what we become.”
“But I want you with me for always.”
“I will be.”
“Where will you be then?”
“Close your eyes.”
“Okay.”
“Do you hear anything?”
Chase retrieves a slim, glass vase from his bag and sets it down on the foot of the traveler’s bed. Although it’s empty, it glows in the candlelight as if it possesses a golden flame. A simple blanket holds the jar of blue housing liquid for the traveler. Chase uncaps the mouth and pours it into the vase. Smoke clouds the glass and expels into the room’s stale air.
He takes this new vessel to the head of the traveler, where he guides the opening to the edge of the net and begins to loosen the tape.
The first taste of warmth hits Chase’s fingers, and he angles the opening and waits for the splash. It comes in only a second.
When he seals the jar, he calls her. “Marie,” he says. But he realizes he’s behind a door. “Marie!” he calls louder. He goes to the door and opens it.
The same eyes who’d watched the trapper from the back of the room stand in front of him, and they are changed, looking now at the boy.
“Marie,” he says softly. “I trapped him.”
The woman’s mouth opens and she cries. “Are you sure?” the young woman who’d remained by the traveler’s bedside asks.
“I am,” Chase replies.
He unveils the shimmering vase and hands it to Marie.
She takes the vase and collapses to her knees.
The others gather around her and admire the burning glass vessel.
Chase turns around and goes back into the room to collect his bag. When he returns, Marie and the others are on the floor.
“Griff,” Marie says. “Tell us you are okay.”
A man’s voice begins to mumble.
Chase wants to ask Marie if the traveler sounds like she remembers. He wants to know if he’s the same. If he’s happy again. If he wishes he could’ve gone where the others go. But Chase doesn’t say a word. Instead, the trapper walks out into the darkness and begins his journey back home. He doesn’t have a glowing vessel to light his path. He has something else. He has his father’s voice. In his memories. In his heart. In his world.
Bradley Sides is a writer and English instructor. His work appears at Chicago Review of Books, Electric Literature, Los Angeles Review of Books, The Millions, The Rumpus, and elsewhere. He lives in Florence, Alabama, with his wife, and he is at work on his debut collection of short stories. For more, visit bradley-sides.com.
