Attempting to memorise the exact site of Jack’s disappearance had turned out to be futile, my mind soon fogged over, so I pulled over and marked out my best guess on a map. Everything seemed to have lost its significance, blurred into one muddled memory. All I knew was that I was heading north. That was enough for now and I didn’t feel like I needed or wanted to know much more than that. I wasn’t yet ready for complete lucidity.
I checked myself in for two nights in a motel somewhere along the Alaska Highway. I hadn’t properly washed myself for days. As I rummaged through the van and pulled out the things I’d need for my stay, I came across the shopping bag with the packet of blonde hair dye. Never used. There was something sinister about it. It was a grotesque reminder of the fact we’d never had to run away.
The middle-aged lady at the desk was friendly, despite the fact I looked a mess and must have smelled terrible. She didn’t ask questions, just smiled and told me to enjoy my stay. She even bent down to stroke Oak before showing me to my room.
It was small and simple, but comfortable. A single bed, a small wooden bedside table, a lamp and a guidebook to British Columbia and the Yukon. A chest of drawers, a television, and a small window. I sat down on the bed. It was too springy and soft for my liking; I had grown used to sleeping in the van. I got up, undressed myself and took a shower. The warm water felt incredible. I stayed in the shower for far longer than I needed, allowing myself to indulge in the simple pleasure of feeling warm water stream over my skin. I scrubbed every pore on my body. I washed my hair and spent a whole three minutes brushing my teeth. And then I sat down and let the water pour all over me while I closed my eyes and drifted in and out of what felt like a dreamlike state. Finally, I turned the shower off and dried myself with the towel provided by the motel. It smelled like fresh laundry. I hadn’t smelled that scent in a while. I rubbed and rubbed my skin repeatedly, as though I was trying to get rid of some kind of dirt. I hand-washed all of my clothes and hung them up to dry on the pegs on the door and handles on the chest of drawers. I lay naked on the bed and fell immediately into a long, deep sleep.
I woke up feeling healthier than I had in weeks. I used the extra clarity I had gained from the long sleep to formulate the letter to Adam. It took me six hours of frustration, tears and endless revisions. The letter turned out to be a fourteen-page essay in which I told him everything as best I could, asked questions and demanded answers.
I had predicted that writing that letter would be like opening up every wound of my psyche and pouring salt all over each one of them. I wasn’t wrong. After everything, all my epiphanies and revelations, after gaining and losing so much, I found myself back on the knife-edge. Darkness eclipsed me. I was lost again.