The Cypress Trap

Chapter 2

15 years later...

With her bare feet propped-up on the dashboard, Rayanne glanced at her husband sitting behind the steering wheel. She smiled at him, but his eyes, hidden behind mirrored sunglasses and beneath a camouflaged ball cap, remained focused on the road. 

Owen Meeks barely said two words since they left Tampa three hours ago. Now they were several miles past the Georgia state line where the Interstate veered north and local traffic had to exit onto a two-lane country road. Rayanne paid no attention and continued her story.

“So we confirm that there’s a family of raccoons living in these homeowner’s attic, and guess who he picks to climb up there and go get them. Just guess.” She raised her voice to compete with the rattle of the boat trailer in tow behind them. She’d been struggling to talk over its clank and clatter for the better part of the trip.

When Owen didn’t respond, she glanced ahead to see a swarm of brake lights. A solid line of cars, RVs, and semi-trucks came to an abrupt stop. Rayanne leaned forward in her seat to get a better view out the windshield.

“You think there’s an accident?” She turned her head toward him, but he still didn’t acknowledge her. Seemingly focused on the road, Owen inched the truck forward, creeping closer to the supervision of four local deputies standing along the shoulder. He pulled-up alongside a Sheriff directing traffic. Rolling down his window, he stretched his head out as far as he could and waved his hand. “Hey officer, there an accident?” 

Rayanne leaned against her husband’s right shoulder to get a better look at the Sheriff. The man said nothing and waved his right arm to keep the cars moving. Probably in fifties and carrying a full, round belly, he still looked commanding – more so than the thin, young deputies around him. She flashed him a prying grin.

The Sheriff stared back with tired, disinterested eyes. He looked bored and slightly hostile, though most of the features of his face were lost in the shadow beneath his stiff, wide-brim hat. “Keep it movin’,” he said.

Owen nodded and, rolling up the window, his foot tapped the accelerator. It made the truck jolt forward then abruptly stop. He muttered something that Rayanne couldn’t fully understand as his fist landed on the horn. It blared, loud and long. Finally, he maneuvered the truck to the right, cutting-off a station wagon, and bullied into the far right lane. 

Rayanne craned her head backwards to see what if sheriff behind noticed. A gun rack holding a refinished Winchester blocked most of her view. Beyond that, what little she could see out the back window, was taken up by the maroon and white bass boat trailered behind them. Giving up, she flipped forwards again. “Just calm down, okay?” she said. “We’ll get there.” 

If he heard her, Owen didn’t show it as he mashed the brakes again and they both lunged forward. He let out another rage of expletives. Rayanne propped her bare feet back up on the dashboard and continued the story she’d started some thirty minutes and 40 miles ago. 

“So did I tell you who had to climb into the attic to go get this family of raccoons?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I did. And I find a mama coon with three little babies all nestled up in the insulation. You’d think it would itch or something.”

Rayanne paused and glanced out the window. She gazed up at the massive wall of pine trees skirting either side of the Interstate. She wondered how deep the woods went, and how far away from civilization had they traveled. The thought made her forget what she was saying, but only for a moment. “Oh, and this one baby raccoon just walks right across the rafters and climbs into my arms,” she said. “Like, you know, I was some long, lost friend it hadn’t seen in fifteen years or something …”