Minn's thoughts wandered through her childhood, running with Wolf through the meadow behind their family's small home. Everything was sunshine and kaleidoscopic flowers, waist-high grass full of adventure and hazard. A snake could be slithering there, for example, or briars could catch a bare foot. But Wolfie would fix any sting or bite; there was nothing too venomous for his expertise. No matter how far from home they wandered, to the fringes of the thicket or into the cornfields or all the way past the commune to the road, they were always together. He'd never leave her alone, not really, even if he pretended.

Wolfie! she'd call to him over her shoulder, for he was always chasing her, always trying to catch her. Wolfie! Wait for me!

I'm going to get you! he'd tease, running only faster, until Minn couldn't swim through the grass any longer, until she had to squat and crawl and disappear, and when her twin tried to find her, she'd get her revenge—he'd have to spend as much time looking for her as she wished because the grownups wouldn't be happy if he went home without her. And sometimes she'd wait a little too long, cause him to worry a little too much, and when he'd find her, he'd be red in the face and snappy. But Minn always knew her brother's anger came from love. He didn't want to lose her. He'd always determine to find her. Protective then, and protective now.

But maybe this time she'd sunk too far down. Perhaps even Wolfie wouldn't be able to see her in the vast expanse of meadow. Perhaps she'd have to figure this one out for herself.

Minn's wandering mind focused—the boy had stirred. He'd been sitting across from her for several hours, staring, quiet; she'd almost thought he'd gone to sleep with his eyes open once or twice, but even the most subtle movement she'd made had roused him. He was infuriatingly vigilant. And she had no understanding of his intentions. Were they just going to sit in this trailer indefinitely? On the one hand, she should've been relieved he hadn't tried to hurt her, that he hadn't done anything to imply he wanted something lewd or violent out of her. He'd threatened only himself to continue getting her to listen. But not knowing what he thought, what his purpose for all of this was—well, the limbo seemed almost less bearable than a horrible, straightforward explanation. The boy wasn't forthcoming in any way. He'd told her he wanted to talk to her, but since pulling out his gun, he hadn't done much more than give simple instructions and threaten self-harm.

When they'd arrived at the park, Isaac had told Minn to turn off the road and take the car all the way down to the small man-made lake (really something more of a large pond, nothing that invited swimming or fishing or pebble-throwing), and park it there. She'd done it, contemplating a means of escape the whole while but not knowing how to prevent him from hurting one of them. As they'd sat in silence in that parked car, minutes feeling like hours, Minn had even begun to consider calling his bluff. Maybe he wouldn't hurt himself, after all, and even if he did . . . well, she didn't want him to, but if it was a matter of her own safety versus his . . . maybe she should just bolt. Best if she could drive away and leave him. If he got out first—but no, he'd asked for the keys and her phone, and after a fruitless attempt at arguing, she'd reluctantly handed them over.

He'd told her to get out, and they'd walked back up the road toward the trailers, Minn attempting to maintain her equanimity the whole while. The park was abandoned, a complete eyesore just barely visible through the trees from the highway overhead. Bureaucracy had stagnated its cleanup, and it was a known place of rendezvous for drug sales and unsavory meet-ups. Whether or not Isaac had known the layout of the place was unclear; in any case, he'd selected one of the trailers based on criteria only he knew and told Minn to go into it. The only moment she'd lost her composure was right then, when realizing he wanted to essentially put her into a cage, and as they'd neared the doorway, she'd tried to run. He'd anticipated her, though, and for the second time since accosting her outside the school, he'd put his hands on her and shoved her up the short stairway and into the structure. Even then, though, forcing her like that, his actions hadn't felt as if he'd wanted to hurt her.

Now, here they were, the two of them, sitting in this rundown rectangle full of its decaying furniture and fabric, its cracked windows and dark piles of indiscernible debris. There was a thin striped mattress bent up against a wall, springs and stuffing poking through amidst its stains, and Isaac had sat on the edge of that. Minn, though, didn't want to touch more than she had to, so she'd slid down into the corner opposite Isaac, farther from the door than she'd have liked to be. Just enough moon and light from the overpass was let in through the large window at the front of the trailer, and the longer they'd sat in the dark, the more Minn's eyes adjusted to see as much of Isaac as was necessary to know he was awake and still held his weapon. She'd hoped he might fall asleep so she could get the gun (even if she wasn't sure what she'd do with it once she got it, as he didn't seem to fear getting hurt), but at least an hour had ticked by without any break to the inaction.

At first, she'd been loath to talk to him. Her anger and disquiet had been overwhelming, but her pride had been stronger, and she'd not wanted him to know how worried she actually was. She also refused to stoop to begging. As long as he posed no immediate threat, she wasn't going to demean herself.

Perhaps Minn was a fool to think he wasn't going to hurt her, but of all the stories she'd seen and heard about women being abducted and brutalized, the perpetrator was quick and violent or at least made his (because it was always invariably a male, wasn't it?) objectives clear. This boy, though . . . he was confusing her. What had Anne said about him? He was troubled. Maybe his trouble was the kind that didn't reveal itself right away. Maybe it festered in him and came out violently later. Or maybe his mood was disordered, erratic, unpredictable. Maybe she was experiencing the calm before the storm.

Oh, it was too difficult to figure out. Why wasn't he speaking to her? Why wouldn't he tell her what he wanted? The stagnancy and ambiguity were tearing her up. She shifted where she sat, pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them, hoping to keep the sleepiness at bay.

"You have kids?"

His sudden question was so unanticipated that Minn's breath caught, though she did her best not to show her shock and lifted her eyes toward him. Should she answer? "I already told you. A son. Peter."

"How old?"

He was quick with his words, now. "He—" she trembled and hoped he couldn't tell. "About your age."

"No daughters?"

"No." Why? Why was he asking about her kids?

"He live at home, your s—"

"I don't want to talk about my family with you."

Isaac drifted into silence again, as if he were a frog that'd briefly surfaced only to sink back into the water. His features were infuriatingly difficult to make out. He was pale enough that his skin appeared ghostly in its dim blue, but only the sliver of white from his open eyes and the dark holes of his nostrils were visible; his mouth peeked out from his face when he opened it.

Their short conversation had given Minn courage. Isaac had retreated the moment she'd shut him down; he hadn't seemed to grow angry or irrational. "What is your goal, here?" she asked at last, reassured that he was, for the moment, calm.

"I told you," he said, a quiet weariness edging his voice, "I just want to talk to you."

"You've been saying that the whole time, so all right, then. Talk. What do you need to say?"

Isaac gave a short laugh, the first real hint at any emotion beyond the stoicism with which he'd addressed her. "It isn't that easy."

The laugh had put her off. Maybe he was more unpredictable than she'd wanted to believe. She wasn't quite sure what to say, so it was a relief when he continued on his own.

"Nobody listens. Everyone just wants to talk, but nobody listens." With one of his shoes, he pushed at a small pile of what might've been leaves or trash, and the contents of it rustled. "I just thought—I thought you looked like someone who'd listen."

Minn closed her eyes and squeezed them tightly. "Isaac—it's your name, right? Isaac?"

He said nothing.

"You can talk to me in my classroom any time. I offered—"

"No! You just wanted me to leave. Don't lie."

The woman was caught off guard. He wasn't wrong, there. And when they did get out of all this and go back to normal (because that had to happen—it just had to), she certainly wouldn't want him in her classroom again. What he'd done was criminal. He'd abducted her! There was no going back from that. Minn would consider pressing charges, for sure. She needed to try another angle. "Help me understand," she offered. "I don't know why you wanted me. What is it I can do for you?" She knew the answer could be something she didn't want to hear, but it was time she found out. It was time she ask it.

But he didn't answer.

"I want to go home," she added, careful to avoid an imploring tone.

"Not yet," was all he said.

Minn played with her fingers. Not yet. Did that mean he planned on letting her go? "Can I at least make a call, so no one's worried—"

"No."

A slight hysteria rippled through Minn. She found herself suddenly intensely uncomfortable and adjusted her position, but there was really no getting comfortable on the floor of a dingy trailer. If she could only talk to Wolf . . .

Isaac had his legs out in front of him, feet splayed, one arm resting languidly over his knee. Minn could make out his basic posture, but she had difficulty discerning his body language. She'd been working with teenagers forever; she'd read a thousand messages in a thousand different kids. She could catch a teen with ulterior motives in asking for a bathroom pass, and she could identify a young person in need of a trip to a counselor, and she always knew when her students were dating one another or had broken up or fallen out. So if she could clearly see Isaac, maybe she'd have a better understanding of his state of mind, but the trailer was so dark, and it was cold. The temperature had dropped as the night deepened, and she was beginning to shiver, simultaneously attempting to hide the fact so Isaac didn't think he was the cause. She was exhausted, and she ached, and her frustration was growing faster than any sort of fear. So she didn't have much thought behind her words except to keep him talking when she blurted, "You asked about my family—what's yours like?" and then immediately recalled her conversation with Anne and regretted her question.

Too late.

"Fuck family."

Something hard and dark tinged Isaac's response. He'd seemed sad, overwrought, confused, insistent . . . but he hadn't seemed unhinged, not until that moment. Those two words alone offered more revelation than any other aspect of him.

Minn didn't speak again. She didn't know how to feel, anymore. Didn't know what to say or do. And she was tired—so, so tired. She'd never been so tired. She didn't want to fall asleep with him sitting there—she couldn't know what he might do!—and yet there was no sense in trying to talk to him anymore.

Soon enough, Minn found her mind returning to its safe place, to those meadows with her brother.

They'd spend all day outdoors, as neglectful of their appearance and safety as were the adults who were supposed to care for them. They'd return in the evenings looking as if they were being raised by coyotes, feral children, wild things, reveling in one another's companionship, and the grown people would be in their stupors, with one another or on their own, their various states of drug-or-alcohol-induced delirium rated by the two children, who were most adept at ascertaining the safety or engagement levels of their elders and interacting accordingly. The two of them would scrounge for snacks, procure petty cash or treats from the safe adults, and run out back to revel in the moonlit sky.

The moon was always a comfort. Always there. Always.