Leave No Trace: A Novel
By Mindy Mejia
4/5
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About this ebook
There is a place in Minnesota with hundreds of miles of glacial lakes and untouched forests called the Boundary Waters. Ten years ago, a man and his son trekked into this wilderness and never returned.
Search teams found their campsite ravaged by what looked like a bear. They were presumed dead until a decade later...the son reappears. Discovered while ransacking an outfitter store, he is violent and uncommunicative and is sent to a psychiatric facility. Maya Stark, the assistant language therapist, is charged with making a connection with the high-profile patient. No matter how hard she tries, he refuses to answer questions about his father or the last ten years of his life.
But Maya, who was abandoned by her own mother, has secrets, too. And as she’s drawn closer to this enigmatic boy who is no longer a boy, she’ll risk everything to reunite him with his father who has disappeared from the known world.
With breathless pacing and edge-of-your-seat twists and turns, “Leave No Trace is as thrilling as whitewater rapids and as dark as the Minnesotan wilderness itself” (Amy Gentry, internationally bestselling author of Good as Gone).
Mindy Mejia
Mindy Mejia is a CPA and a graduate of the Hamline University MFA program. Her debut novel, The Dragon Keeper, was published by Ashland Creek Press in 2012. She lives in the Twin Cities with her family, and is the author of Strike Me Down, Everything You Want Me to Be, and Leave No Trace.
Read more from Mindy Mejia
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Reviews for Leave No Trace
130 ratings19 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Good writing style, Good Twists and plot, and I really liked the setting. Video Review coming soon on my youtube channel.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I enjoyed Mindy Mejia's last book and happily picked up her latest, Leave No Trace.Lucas Blackthorne was nine when he and his father walked into the wilderness of Minnesota and never returned. Ten years later Lucas is found ransacking a store and is taken into custody. He doesn't or won't speak and refuses to communicate in any way, so he is admitted to a psychiatric facility. Where has he been? What has happened to him? Where is his father? Maya Stark is an assistant language therapist who begins to work with Lucas to find answers. Maya herself has a troubled past. (Which had me wondering how she could be working in a psychiatric facility.)Okay, let me mention again that Lucas is 19 and Maya is 23. Uh huh - you see what I'm pointing at? The attraction is there between the two and only grows as the book progresses. Mejia does a good job at ramping up the suspense. But, I have pragmatic tendencies......and I found some of the plot developments a bit far fetched and frankly unbelievable. (Seriously, an assistant speech therapist doing what she's doing? Sorry, trying not to provide spoilers.) Now, that being said, I did finish the book as I really wanted to know the final answers as to where Lucas has been.But, in the end, I felt like I had listened to a YA novel. Which I do really like. But that isn't what I was expecting when I started Leave No Trace. It was the billing of a "riveting and suspenseful thriller" that initially caught my attention.Much of that YA feeling was down to Maya. Leave No Trace is told in first person through her viewpoint. And unfortunately - I didn't like her or didn't feel a great deal of sympathy or empathy for her. For me she came across as unprofessional, irresponsible, impetuous and juvenile.I chose to listen to this latest book. I find listening to a book immerses me more fully in the story. The reader was Patricia Rodriguez and she was excellent. She had a voice that matched the age, demeanor and mental image I had imagined for the the lead character. Her voice is quite expressive and captures the tone of the plot and action very well. So, great narrator, but only a so-so listen for me.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/53. 5 A young man, now ninteen, missing with his father, since he was ten, comes out of the wild, and placed in a mental institution. Maya, a young speech therapist, once a patient herself after the loss of her mother, is assigned his case. He refused to speak, but seems to have a natural connection to Maya.The boundary Waters, this natural, wild, beautiful place was the draw here. A place wonderfully described and Ely, where my son and his family spend a few weeks every summer. The question here is where Lucas's father is and why they left to live within this largely untouched place. Maya, is natural, fresh, a young woman with intense feelings that she follows with little doubt. The suspense builds as the dtoty goes on, twistsare turns are expertly placed. It also shows the care and recovery in s mental health center, how being so different causes media to come out of the woodwork. I also sppreciated the inclusion of real people, who for various reasons, have lived their lives off the grid. ARC from Edelweiss and Atria.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Mindy Mejia’s newest book leaves the school grounds in favor of the Boundary waters of Minnesota, which is a fairly drastic change from her previous book, Everything you Want Me to Be.In Leave No Trace, readers meet Maya Stark, a speech and language therapist at a mental hospital where she was once a patient. Maya has a shocking past. She was abandoned by her mother and is unable to form meaningful friendships. But why was she a patient in a mental hospital? This is just one of the mysteries of the story that will keep readers hungry to find out more.Lucas, a new patient that has spent most of his life in the wilderness, has been assigned to Maya’s caseload. They end up forming a bond that brings her professional ethics into question and leads her to drastic measures in order to help him.For the most part, this was a fast and exciting read, even though it bogged down a bit while the characters were in the hospital setting. I like an intense and satisfying ending and this book delivered on that count.Any readers sensitive to depression and suicide need to be warned that it is a prominent subject throughout the book. There is also some violence.Many thanks to NetGalley and Atria books for allowing me to read and review and advance copy and give an honest review.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I am still a huge fan of Mindy Mejia. I adored her first book, and maybe it's not fair to the author that I set my expectations a little high for any subsequent books. But, for whatever reason, Leave No Trace just left me a bit cold. The author has an exceptional talent for writing characters, especially of the flawed nature, but I just wasn't able to feel a personal connection to the characters in this particular story. I am still eager to read anything Ms. Mejia writes, but this one just OK for me. Some of the story moved more slowly than I would have liked, and I kept losing interest (again, because of my lack of connection to the characters). Once I picked it up again it seemed like an easy and enjoyable enough read, but it wasn't unputdownable like her first novel.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I've read this author before and enjoyed her books. I liked this story, but it wasn't very memorable for me. Maya, the main character is a speech psychologist with a questionable past. When she meets Lucas, a patient at the mental hospital, she is quickly drawn to him. Lucas is in there for murder. Maya is the only one he will communicate with. Maya also makes decisions that could ruin her. I enjoyed reading the book, but it was more difficult to believe with characters that I didn't really like. I received an e-book from Netgalley.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I received a free advance e-copy of this book from the author and have chosen to write an honest and unbiased review. I have no personal affiliation with the author. Wow! A great story set in the beautiful, rugged, and wild Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota. This is a well-written book with a great plot and excellent character development. A story of broken families, abandonment, and damaged psyches and how they deal with psychological trauma and their pasts. The author writes in a manner that makes the reader have care and concern about what happens to these flawed characters. Full of secrets, suspense, twists, and turns. I couldn’t put it down. I like Maya, the speech therapist, as she operates out of the box at times. She really cares about the residents of Congdon psych facility. Her patient’s lives and wellbeing are both first and foremost within her mind. This book is well worth the read and I look forward to reading more from Mindy Mejia in the future.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Leave No Trace is intense, atmospheric, and fully absorbing. I lived the story along with the characters.I came across this book on the Bookish First website, which I love because I'm often introduced to books and authors I might have otherwise passed over. The description didn't grab me, but it intrigued me enough to go on and read the offered excerpt. From there, Mindy Mejia's writing style hooked me, the characters fascinated me, and I wanted more.Atmosphere and setting take on a life of its own in this story. I knew nothing about this area called Boundary Waters, but Mindy Mejia put me right there. I felt the biting cold, saw the vast wilderness, and heard the rushing water. The characters are fully developed, with all the strengths and flaws that come with being human. Maya is a young adult - 23 - and she's also haunted by a dark past, and so she sometimes behaves impulsively. Occasionally she pushes the boundaries a little further than might seem possible in a particular setting, but the reasoning is sound and the story, as a whole, feels plausible.The content explores some difficult topics with a unique and honest approach. We have a couple of twists that jump out like a sucker punch. The pace continues to pick up, pulling us along until we have no choice but to hold on tight for an unforgettable ride.*I received an advance copy from the publisher, via Bookish First, in exchange for my honest review.*
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I thought I was reading a good book until about halfway through I realized I was reading something much more, something that gripped me inside, tearing my heart out and not letting go. Two damaged people searching for something that only the other can help provide. Their location is Duluth and the Boundary Waters of Minnesota. I'm still reeling from the ending but allI I can say is READ IT!
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5LOVED this book!!! I couldn't wait to read it because I loved "Everything You Want Me to Me." The book was fast paced and I couldn't put it down. I read it in a day and was then sad when it was over. I felt like I was part of the book. I loved the characters, story and writing style. I was immediately pulled into the story and wanted to know why Lucas was missing for all those years.Maya works at a psychiatric facility as an assistant speech therapist. She previously worked there as an orderly and was once a patient. Maya is asked to work with Lucas Blackthorn. Lucas is a nineteen and disappeared ten years ago after going camping with is dad. He was presumed dead until he was found breaking and entering into an outfitter's store. Maya connects with Lucas and makes it her mission to get him out of the psychiatric hospital. Maya eventually finds out what happened to her mother after she abandoned the family many years ago. She reveals to Lucas what caused her to be admitted into the psychiatric hospital.The book is full of twists and turns. I loved it and definitely recommend it and can't wait to read more books by the author. Thanks to NetGalley, Atria Books and the author, Mindy Mejia, for a free electronic ARC of this novel.
- Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5It was was boring and quite implausible. I didn’t feel connected to any of the characters
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Nice easy read. I needed something that moved fast, and this book definitely did. I did think the end wrapped up a little too quickly.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Started off slow, but the second half of the book was better - I enjoyed the portions that took place in the Boundary Waters. I often judge books by the way the author wraps everything up, and this one was not too bad. I did think the dialogue in places was kind of off-base. Not as good as her last book.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5After reading “Everything You Want Me to Be” last year, I knew this was an author I would follow. In this outing she gives us a very different book but with equally compelling characters.The blurb gives a great snapshot of the story so I won’t get into the plot too much. The MC’s are 2 damaged people who have more in common than you initially think. Maya Stark is a speech therapist at Congdon Psychiatric Facility. Her youth, innovative style & maroon hair set her apart. She lives with her dad Brian who really wishes she worked somewhere else. Especially after her…em…spot of trouble a few years back. Lucas Blackthorne is Congdon’s infamous new resident. After vanishing with his father 10 years ago, his sudden reappearance has caused quite a stir. The media & groupies are camped out at the gates waiting to hear his story but Lucas isn’t talking. Then he meets Maya. And one struggling outsider recognizes another. Don’t go into this expecting a thrill-a-minute ride. There are moments of action but that’s not what this is about. Like the previous book, it’s about the characters & the effect of the ripples they cause as they pass through each other’s lives. On one hand, it’s a compelling mystery as we slowly learn the MC’s histories. On the other, it touches on deeper themes such as family, loss, memories & the grey area around right vs. wrong. Strong secondary characters flesh out the story as we follow Maya & Lucas on their deeply personal search to understand the past. The last quarter has some reveals that may make you rethink what you thought you knew. And while a couple of them may stretch disbelief a teensy bit, it’s all part of the journey in this strong, well written tale.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Maya, 23, is a speech therapist in a psychiatric hospital where she was a patient eight years earlier. She is presented with the interesting case of a 19-year old man, Lucas, who had been living in the woods for many years with his father, Justin. Lucas doesn't speak until Maya forms a connection with him. He is anxious to find his father, who is under investigation for the murder of a woman. Their back stories are slowly revealed as the search for Lucas' father escalates. Although the pace is slow at times throughout the novel, the ending brings a satisfactory conclusion.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5On the surface, when I selected this audiobook, Leave No Trace by Mindy Mejia, from my massive TBR, I thought it was going to be this suspenseful story about a teenager who emerged from the wilderness 10 years after he and his father had gone missing. I finished this book stunned in deep thought with a lot to process. Yes, it is a story about a father, Josiah, and son, Lucas, who went camping in the wilderness, like they did frequently. The two went missing and were presumed dead until Lucas appeared 10 years later ransacking an outfitter store. Due to his erratic behavior and lack of communication, he was placed in a psychiatric facility. Maya, a young speech therapist, is assigned to work with Lucas to find out what happened to his father. And that just scratches the surface of this story. There is a lot of suspense as the unknown fate of the father is of prevalent concern. There is depth to the story as the family history unfolds. I am fond of how the story switched to the past from time to time. It allowed me to understand the characters and their life choices. There’s a lot of things I really hold dear about this book. As a nature lover, I enjoyed the setting of Minnesota with the rural forests and glacial lakes. I’ve never been to Minnesota, so it was a pleasure to learn about The Boundary Waters. Mindy’s talent for writing also helped create a vivid mental picture of what must be beautiful land. And, what a perfect time for me to select this book as it takes place in fall with winter quickly approaching. The way mental health professionals treat people with mental health disorders, or even perceived disorders, is striking in this story. When I refer to perceived mental health disorders, I am referring to people with unusual lifestyles. It remains prevalent that those of us in helping professionals try to treat those different from the societal norm, rather than gain an understanding of why they chose a unique way of life and how it works for them. Another layer of this story lies with Maya, whose mother disappeared long ago. While genuinely trying to help Lucas, Maya is forced to examine her own past and trauma related to loss. I became aware while listening to this audiobook that I genuinely rooted for the father and son and became highly annoyed with the psychiatric staff. The ending was not a fairytale ending. There were some shocking events with hope for a peaceful future. I believe this story will stick with me for a long time. I purchased this audiobook through my Audible membership. It was a pleasure listening to the narration by Patricia Rodriguez.I have photos and additional information that I'm unable to include here. It can all be found on my blog, in the link below.A Book And A Dog
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I rarely read anything billed as a thriller. Occasionally I end up with one though and I hate to let a book go without reading it (hence my ridiculous backlog of unread books). So when my daughter asked to read this one, I knew I’d have to read it myself before sending it off to her. Luckily for me, this wasn’t the most thriller-y thriller ever.Maya Stark is an assistant speech therapist who works at the Congdon Psychiatric Facility when a mute young man is brought in. Lucas Blackthorn is that young man. He and his father disappeared into the Boundary Waters a decade prior and were presumed dead. He is apprehended robbing a local convenience store and he turns violent, leading to his admission to Congdon. Maya is asked to work with Lucas to try and get a response from him. In working with Lucas, she not only has to help him but she has to face her own troubled past.Maya narrates the story, uncovering the trauma in both Lucas and herself, examining society’s idea and definition of mental illness and the terrible legacy of abandonment. The premise of the novel is an interesting one but the book certainly asks the reader to suspend disbelief a lot and to ignore some pretty big ethical issues with Maya and Lucas’ burgeoning relationship. Their bond is very definitely an uncomfortable one. There are some surprising twists to the story, even if they are too coincidental. The depictions of the wilds of the Boundary Waters are beautifully done and Mejia does make the story suspenseful and sometimes shocking as well. However, the ending is tied up very neatly in ways that don’t quite feel earned. Readers who enjoy survivalist stories where someone has to interact with society after being off the grid for so long might appreciate this one.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5I have to admit... what originally drew me to the novel Leave No Trace by Mindy Mejia was the cover... and the typography. The layout, look and feel of the outside of the book was extremely intriguing. I had to know what lay inside the pages. Well, I was pleasantly surprised. Although not the best book I've ever read, Leave No Trace did not disappoint and really kept me flipping the pages. The story started off strong with a great setup and a cast of likable and relatable characters. The main character Maya Stark is young and witty. The middle of the book kinda went a little over the top and I had a few moments where I thought "Would somebody really do that?" or "Would that actually happen?" and Maya just kept making bad decisions. But I kept going... I had to find out the ending.And what an ending it was! The book wrapped up in a very satisfying way that made up for the hesitations I had during the middle. Overall I very much enjoyed this book and would recommended it to anybody looking for a fun and quick thriller!
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Leave No Trace is quite different than Mindy Mejia's first novel, Everything You Want Me to Be! Both are good novels. In this book, a troubled young woman, Maya, is assigned as a speech therapist for a very troubled, and sometimes violent young man. As the story unfolds, I found myself rooting for both of these characters. The story helped to expose the truth that everything is not as it may seem at first glance. I felt that Mejia did a great job of developing these characters, providing their back stories, and didn't tie everything up in a neat little bow at the end, but rather an ending that was messy, yet fitting to the story. The chill of the Minnesota winter and the beauty of the area surrounding the boundary waters came through in the novel, and let me imagine the sights clearly in my mind.
I will continue to follow Mejia and read her books. Very different and thought provoking.
#LeaveNoTrace #MindyMejia
Book preview
Leave No Trace - Mindy Mejia
1
BY THE TIME the boy in ward four attacked me, I’d already nicknamed him The Lost One in my head. He’d been admitted a week ago, transferred from police to orderlies while dozens of reporters swarmed the entrance, overwhelming security in their struggle to get a clear shot of our newest, involuntary patient. Inside, he’d put up such a fight that three men had to hold him down while they administered sedatives and brought him straight into isolation. The boy who came back from the dead, the newscasters called him. The picture they flashed, the only one they’d gotten before he’d become a violent blur, showed a sunburned, lean face and dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. His eyes were a ghostly blue, the kind of eyes songs get written about.
Ward four wasn’t on my rotation so I didn’t see him after that, but I heard about him everywhere. Cashiers at the gas station chewed on their theories. Newspaper editorialists speculated on worst case scenarios, calling him a savage and a murderer. The fascination bled into the Internet, where social media accounts popped up overnight. A fake Twitter handle had already gotten ten thousand followers, someone on Snapchat made him a Bitmoji avatar, and countless people on Facebook filled his timeline with unanswered questions. The entire city of Duluth was obsessed with him; I could practically feel thousands of eyes gazing up the hill toward Congdon Psychiatric Facility, trying to peer inside these old, brick walls.
A few days after his admission Dr. Mehta called me into her office. I was the assistant speech therapist on staff, my shiny, new title after earning my graduate degree from the University of Minnesota and getting promoted from orderly. It still hadn’t sunk in, even five months later. Every time I put a note on a patient’s record, my signature line popped up, startling me, like I was impersonating someone whose comments mattered. Me, Maya Stark, the recalcitrant kid who was suspended from high school, a professional therapist? I looked like I belonged on the opposite side of the couch. I was the maroon-haired punk girl who ran her German shepherd along the lake walk, making all the tourists snatch their kids out of harm’s way. Yet here I was. Twenty-three years old and called in by the head psychiatrist to work with the most famous patient we’d ever had.
I can’t tell if he understands us or not,
Dr. Mehta said, pacing behind her desk in a swirl of sari fabric. For a shrink, she rarely sat down. She also lint-rolled herself a lot because her wife fostered cats, like an illegal amount of them. Understands the diction, that is. He knows perfectly well we’re trying to communicate with him and he wants nothing to do with us.
Dr. Mehta was young, at least for being the senior psychiatrist in charge of an entire mental health facility. She’d made a name for herself authoring papers and conducting studies on the harmful effects of physical restraints and isolation on patients. The key to recovery, she proposed, was enabling the patient’s sense of autonomy within a group dynamic. Treating them like humans. Imagine that.
Are flashcards okay?
I figured I’d start slow.
Dr. Mehta nodded and sighed, pausing to stare at the blanks in the record on her computer. We’re looking for any response at this point. Anything at all.
I waited until after the dinner rounds were finished, when stomachs were full and the wind murmured invitations against the dark windows. This was the loneliest time of day, when you let yourself wish there was someone to talk to.
A veteran orderly named Stan admitted me into the locked outer doors of ward four and walked me down the linoleum hallway lined with isolation rooms on either side. A few patients stared at us through the windows. One was banging his fist dully on the glass, but the rest sat on their beds or paced. I counted eight in total, eight patients who weighed more than they knew. All of them pressed on Dr. Mehta’s conscience until she could get them safely reintegrated into the common wards.
I don’t think you’re gonna have any luck with him,
Stan said, keys jingling at his hip. He’s completely ignored everyone who’s gone in there except Carol.
Carol Kelley was the seventy-year-old kitchen attendant who brought meals to all the isolation patients. She clipped herbs from her own garden to garnish the mush and served it like she was having Sunday dinner with friends around her kitchen table. Everybody loved Carol, even the sociopaths.
What does he do?
Examines things—his clothes, the mattress. Feels the walls. Likes to drag the bed over to the window so he can see out. Stands there pressing the glass. Sometimes it looks like he’s trying to break the whole damn thing.
Does he eat?
Some.
Any response to his name?
Huh. Like a wall, that one. You could call him Tarzan and he wouldn’t care.
Lucas was his name. Lucas Blackthorn. He’d been arrested for breaking and entering at an outfitter’s store, attempted robbery of the store, and two counts of aggravated assault on the owners who’d caught him in the act.
Stan paused outside the room. I’ll be right here at the window.
I can take care of myself.
That’s why I’m standing outside the door, and not between you and Tarzan.
Some of the orderlies resented my promotion, my leap from a blue-collar hourly wage into the hallowed ranks of the salaried, but not Stan. He gave me a grin, unlocked the door with a metal creak, and waved me inside. I stepped in and waited for it to shut behind me before looking up.
The patient faced the back of the room with his hands on the cement block wall in a push-up position. From the way he stood with his shoulders tensed and legs braced it looked like he was trying to move the entire wall. I took a step closer and noticed his hospital shirt was torn at the bottom and he’d used the missing strip to tie his hair back.
Hello, Lucas.
He remained still for a second, but then surprised me by turning his head. I saw his face in person for the first time.
He wasn’t a boy.
My brain stuttered on that one thought for what felt like a stupidly long time as our eyes met and held. Why did all the media keep calling him a boy? Lucas Blackthorn looked at least as old as me and stood a foot taller. His cheeks were hollow and shaded with the beginning of a beard. His skin was a deep reddish tan, not the pasty white of most of our long-term patients, and his eyes conveyed things that no first session speech therapy could have drawn out: intelligence and caution mixed with undisguised curiosity.
Moving slowly and deliberately, I walked to the bare mattress between us. There was no table, so we’d have to start the flashcards on the bed. He watched my progress, studying my hair. The short, pixie-cut combined with its dyed color grabbed a lot of patients’ attention. One of the men in ward two, a lifer named Big George with a traumatic brain injury, even liked to touch the ends of it that swished in front of my ears. I made sure he stuck to the left side so he didn’t get distracted by the tiny silver hoop earrings along my right ear. Lucas noticed those, too. I watched him catalog every part of me, absorbing the appearance of this outsider to his room, like someone would analyze a newly discovered insect. His gaze paused on the blue fabric bag I carried, his expression unreadable now.
I put a hand on my chest and waited until his attention snapped back to my face.
I’m Maya.
Three syllables. Slow rate, distinct pronunciation. I didn’t smile. I’d never trusted strangers who smiled at me—they always wanted something.
Patting the place where my pulse beat too fast, I nodded and said it again. Maya.
He swiveled back toward the wall, dismissing the insect. I glanced behind me where Stan was shaking his head through the lead glass. Shrugging, I started to pull out the flashcards when suddenly Stan’s face changed. His eyes widened and his mouth opened in a warning I couldn’t hear.
I hesitated and before I could turn around, a giant force threw me into the wall and something was being looped around my neck. The metal door shrieked as Stan wrenched it open and I was pulled back, my body turned into a human shield. The thing around my neck tightened and I panicked, unable to breathe. Lucas had my arms locked behind me in an impossibly strong grip. I fought against it, desperate to free myself.
Keys,
he said in a hoarse voice. I bowed my body against his, trying to find some slack in the cord around my throat, but met only a column of unyielding muscle. If anything, the cord grew tighter.
My vision started to contract, black creeping in at the edges. I kicked viciously, striking his shins so hard they should have snapped in half, and used the rest of my oxygen in the process. The last thing I saw before everything went dark was Stan’s hand, holding out his ring of keys.
I came to on the floor in a gasping, head-pounding mess. Stan lay next to the door, unconscious, and Lucas Blackthorn was gone.
Agghhh.
I grabbed my head and waited for the air to work its way back through my body. When I could get up, I crawled over to check Stan’s pulse and saw blood trickling down from his hairline. He was alive.
A noise came from the hallway. Lots of noises, as my ears started registering them.
I peeked out and saw patients at their isolation windows, banging and shouting. Farther down the hall, it became obvious what they were excited about: Lucas Blackthorn, trying to find the right key to get through the second set of doors.
Without any conscious thought, I slipped Stan’s baton from his belt and darted down the hallway with Lucas’s back the only thing in focus, my progress muffled by the noise from the other patients. At Stan’s station I tripped the emergency security button and lifted the baton. Lucas was only a few feet away now, punching key after key into the old locks, oblivious to the electronic security square mounted above.
I waited, willing myself to breathe quietly while eyeing his upper arms, his thighs, the major muscle groups I could aim for without causing unnecessary injury. He couldn’t have more than twenty pounds on me. Thirty, tops. My fingers flexed over the baton while I mentally traced the route from the front desk to this ward, counting the seconds until backup arrived. Then he flipped the keys over and found the badge, Stan’s security badge, which he stared at for a split second before pressing it to the door, making it beep and flash green. I didn’t hesitate this time. As soon as I heard the locks disengage, I swung the baton into his leg.
He stumbled into the outer hallway, still on his feet, and started to run for the exit at the end of the corridor. I launched myself at him, jumping on his back and sending us both crashing into the wall and rolling to the floor.
He scrambled to get up and I didn’t care how famous he was, I didn’t care if he was lost; there was no way this guy was escaping on my watch. I hooked my legs around his and locked the baton across his chest, trying to pin his arms. Shaking my hold, he flipped us both to our backs, crushing me underneath him, and grabbed for the baton.
Voices and footfalls thundered toward us.
A little help,
I yelled and immediately regretted it. The words were like fire racing through my bruised throat, and I couldn’t help the moan that followed them. At my sound of pain, he released his grip on the baton and fell inexplicably still. We both paused in that crazy position—like a piggy-back ride tipped on its back—before his weight disappeared, lifted off me by the cavalry of orderlies and security staff.
Stan!
I waved some of them toward the ward entrance, before being seized by a fit of coughing.
Automatically I covered my throat with my hands, trying to stop the convulsions while the team clamored around, practically tripping over me to secure our wayward patient. Their boots braced and stomped inches from my head, sending vibrations through the linoleum and into my skull, which felt as fragile as an egg on concrete. No one offered to help me up. Their voices sounded far away, eclipsed by the pull and drag of air in my throat, the unsteady rise and fall of my chest. Only the tremor in the floor, the possibility of being trampled, made me turn my head to the side and that’s when I saw him watching me.
They’d flipped him on his stomach and pulled his arms behind him. He was putting up no resistance and barely seemed aware of their efforts to subdue him. For a strange, endless moment, our stillness separated us from the rush of legs flooding the corridor, from the shouts and determination swarming above. We stared at each other, our faces both resting on the cold, flecked tiles less than three feet apart.
Then a needle flashed in the fluorescent lights, the men picked him up, and Lucas Blackthorn was gone.
2
I SHOULD HAVE stayed on site to write up the incident report, but I figured a full body assault earned me a little sick time and the idea of writing it at my kitchen table sounded infinitely more appealing than the desk I shared with the exercise therapist. I almost made it out of the building before Nurse Valerie caught me and dragged me back to the medical ward. As soon as my butt hit the bed, two more nurses appeared, raptor style, and they started tearing into me about the boy who came back from the dead.
He’s not a boy,
was all I could say as they rubbed ointment on my neck. It was hard to swallow.
He doesn’t look like a teenager, that’s for sure,
Valerie replied, trying to give me a pill that I repeatedly rejected. Painkillers and I didn’t mix. He must have had to grow up fast out there in the woods, but they only show pictures of him as an adorable kid on the news.
How do you think he survived all those years?
another asked and they started tossing out theories from the media. Reporters were falling all over themselves to cover every known moment of Lucas Blackthorn’s life and mysterious reappearance. Hikers gave interviews about stories that had only been campfire yarns before, tales of strange sightings in the wilderness, noises and shadows that had sparked Bigfoot rumors, and every conversation ended with the same question: Where was his father?
Josiah Blackthorn had taken his son camping in the Boundary Waters ten years earlier and neither had been seen since, not until now, when Lucas had emerged from the wild—violent, uncommunicative, and alone. I’d wondered about the Blackthorns, too. Right now, though, the only thing that interested me was the distance between my head and my pillow. As they traded tidbits various journalists had dug up, I slipped my backpack over my shoulder and slunk away.
It was dark as I coasted down the hill from Congdon toward the giant shadow of Lake Superior. The entire city of Duluth, Minnesota, clung to the side of an ancient basalt ridge, fighting the slope toward the water, and you knew you were getting close to my neighborhood when the pavement started buckling like waves on a high wind. Paint peeled off crooked porches where old couches and lawn chairs faced the giant warehouses lining the docks. Lincoln Park was a hop, skip, and a world away from Canal Park, where tourists snapped pictures of the lift bridge, took their sightseeing cruises, and ate their fennel and watermelon salads. We didn’t get a lot of fennel south of Piedmont.
When I pulled up in front of the house, I was surprised to see the lights on and Jasper out in the yard.
How’s my boy?
I opened the gate and a battering ram of slobbery muscle knocked into my legs.
Jasper barked and nosed into me, demanding attention.
I could’ve used you today, Jazz.
I bent down and he immediately flipped over to present his belly. For a German shepherd who prided himself on guarding our house from the dangers of everything from thieves to seagulls, belly scratches turned him into a grateful pile of ooze.
I obliged him for a while and let my bag slide to the ground. Even though the nights were still warm—practically mid-October and I couldn’t even see my breath—I wasn’t up for our usual evening walk today. Extra petting would have to suffice.
Dr. Mehta—you remember her? She smelled like cats? Anyway, she asked me to go see a new patient.
Lucas Blackthorn’s face swam in front of my gaze with that enigmatic expression that seemed oblivious to being pressed to the floor by a half dozen guards and orderlies. He’d been focused only on me and he seemed . . . stunned. Maybe he’d been upset that a girl had thwarted his escape. Maybe he’d been slapped by a moment of lucidity. It was hard to see an expression like that and avoid judgment or assigning meaning where there might be none, or at least none that readily translated outside the labyrinth of a patient’s mind. I shook my head, forcing the image away.
Look.
I tugged down the collar of my hoodie. Look at my neck.
Jasper obediently smelled my throat, licked the skin, and then snorted abruptly. Apparently the nurse’s ointment wasn’t tasty.
Laughing, I let us inside the house. As soon as the door opened, Jasper flattened me against the jamb, raced through the entryway, and sent up a torrent of barks from the kitchen. I followed in time to see him prancing in front of the table, tail wagging, as a man jumped up and backed around the wall, half behind my father. They could’ve been brothers, the two men both wide-jawed, sun baked, and too big to fit comfortably on the kitchen chairs, but even with one look you knew who was in charge.
For Christ sake, Butch. He can’t lick you to death,
Dad said, picking up his beer for another swig.
Come here, Jasper.
I called the dog to me and patted his neck before telling him to go lie down.
How many times do I have to come here before he leaves me alone?
Butch Nelson crossed his menacing, tattoo covered arms, the tough guy pose at odds with the boyish rose of his perpetually wind-burned cheeks. As the first mate on my dad’s salvage tug, he wasn’t easily disturbed, but he’d been attacked by a stray when he was a kid and refused to see the point of any canine life since. He sat back down, careful to face the kitchen door where the dog waited with hopeful eyes.
Jasper became anxiously-attached as a puppy. He has confidence issues.
Dropping my backpack near the table, I glanced at the depth map covering the spot where I’d planned to write up my incident report with a ramen noodle and Oreo cookie dinner and the house to myself. Today was obviously not the day for plans. What are you guys up to? I thought you were heading to Thunder Bay.
Grant money came through.
Butch grinned.
You got it?
Dad glanced up from the table, nodding, and I adjusted the hoodie to make sure it covered my neck. A hint of a smile passed over his face, but the logistics of the trip were already crowding it out. He was planning, navigating, submerged in the details.
"So which ship is it? The Madeira? The Vienna? The Fitzgerald?"
"The Bannockburn."
Our eyes met before he turned back to the map, leaving a sudden silence in his wake.
The Bannockburn. The ghost ship. I moved to the kitchen on autopilot and started looking through the cupboards, not sure at all if I had the stomach to eat.
My dad had spent most of his life on the water. His boat provided tugging and towing services in the summer and icebreaking in the winter, plowing the way for the thousand-foot lakers that lumbered in and out of the Duluth and Superior harbors, which—contrary to Minnesota’s seemingly landlocked geography—was the largest freshwater port in the world. No matter how many ships he guided to safety, though, it was what lay underneath the surface that called to him. No one knew exactly how many ships Superior had taken. Most of the official crashes had been documented in the last hundred years, but add in the unregistered boats, the rum-runners during Prohibition, and all the countless vessels sailing before modern navigation or lighthouses and you might as well be looking at something the size of a mass grave and guessing how many bodies it could hold. Dad was just a kid when his father explained to him about the cold temperature of Superior, how the icy water pulled bodies down and kept them there, and he’d been fascinated by the cemetery at the bottom of the lake ever since. Salvage work came rarely because there wasn’t any money in it, so Dad and Butch recently started applying for grants based on the historical and cultural value of the lost ships. Someone must have agreed, giving them a chance to steal back what Superior had swallowed.
They began murmuring, drawing routes and pointing out hazards while I found a brick of ramen noodles and popped it in the microwave. I watched the bowl spin until Dad’s voice cut through my reverie. He’d gotten up for another beer and caught a glimpse of my neck.
What the hell happened to you?
I tugged the zipper on the hoodie higher, trying to cover as much skin as possible. If it looked half as bad as it felt, my neck must have been one solid bruise. It’s nothing.
Maya.
A two-syllable warning that wasn’t going to tolerate any bullshit.
I sighed. A patient tried to escape tonight. I was in his way.
He strangled you?
Butch craned his head to try to see the evidence.
Refusing to make eye contact with either of them, I relayed the fight briefly in the most generic terms possible.
Butch started to ask another question, but I waved him off, telling him I couldn’t discuss a patient’s case. Dad’s eyes shifted from my neck to the depth map, and he took a long drink.
We’re not going anywhere. We’ll shelve the trip until spring.
He cut off Butch’s objections. It’ll give us more time to plan.
Dad, no.
Ignoring the beep of the microwave, I followed him and planted my hands on the table when he would have folded up the map. You’re going.
Look at your neck, Maya. That’s unacceptable. I’m going to talk to Dr. Mehta—
No, you’re not. I’m twenty-three years old and this is what I do. I got the job done tonight, and I’m going back to work tomorrow, and the day after that. Dr. Mehta knows what I’m capable of.
She’s—
We talked about this when I agreed to stay here,
I reminded him.
My fingers spread over the shoals and dug into the dark basins. All their notes and arcs of possible routes had turned the lake into a biology class dissection of something still alive. "Dad, it’s the Bannockburn. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for the Bannockburn."
He drew back. We hadn’t talked about her in years and even then it had been about endings, not beginnings. His hand dropped to the western edge of the lake and brushed over the cliffs and towering pine forests where he’d met my mother.
She’d told me the story, one of the few she shared. A geology student at UMD, she’d been studying how ice formed in the cracks of the North Shore’s basalt face and caused rock slides over time. It was why the world’s largest lake was getting even larger; it ate the land around it. She needed to document the cliffs from the water and hired Brian Stark, a young salvage tug captain, to pilot her along the shore. He asked her out every time they sailed, as determined as the lake breaking against the rocks, but she didn’t agree until he told her the story of the Bannockburn.
In 1902, a young crew set out on Lake Superior in the S.S. Bannockburn with 85,000 bushels of wheat in her hold. They didn’t know the gales were coming, or maybe they did, but they didn’t know enough to be afraid. Every November the lake turned gray, the water churned and raged against the coming winter, and hurricane-force winds whipped the waves into forty-foot crests. The lake became hungry.
The Bannockburn was downbound that day and spotted by two other ships also fighting their way through the storm. Then she vanished. A single life jacket printed with the boat’s name washed up onshore three weeks later. A few other clues surfaced, fragments here and there, but the lake didn’t give up any secrets. Countless ships had disappeared on Superior, but the Bannockburn was the only one sighted after she was lost. Tales of glimpsing the Bannockburn’s profile on the horizon of the water spread through the Great Lakes. It sailed as a ghost ship on the waves, warning other boats of impending danger before disappearing into the wind.
Something about that had appealed to my mother, something my dad couldn’t have