by Chris Cooper
Obvious questions had arisen about how such a big town could have gone unnoticed, and several theories emerged, speculating that those in Christchurch had been involved somehow. The townsfolk had been brought in for questioning one by one, but all told the same consistent story, for the people of Christchurch knew the truth behind the secret town beyond the edge of the woods. They told the police of the existence of something—not magic, but not mundane either. But their stories didn’t make it into the papers, and as with most extraordinary events that challenge the human understanding of the world, conspiracy theories and whispered rumors obscured the truth.
Oliver heard nothing more of the burned-out warehouse on the train tracks although he assumed the police had investigated it too.
The question remained of what to do since the Collector had burned Izzy’s house to the ground. Anna’s tiny cottage being packed with four humans and two animals was an unsustainable solution for the long term.
A few days later, Oliver crossed the square past the market and headed down the dirt road to where Izzy’s house had been. He found her in the spot where the Briarwood Witch had flipped the police cruiser more than a year before, staring at the pile of charred wood.
Oliver approached and sat next to her on the grass. She didn’t acknowledge him, so he sat with her for a moment in contemplative silence.
“We’re getting ready to make dinner,” he said. “Want to come back to the cottage with me?”
Her eyes snapped to him as she came back from her daydream. “Yeah, just sit here with me for another minute.”
Oliver nodded. “Are you doing okay?”
She looked at him. “Okay? Not quite, but I’ll get there. I’m just trying to figure out how I’ll say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?”
“I talked to the insurance people today. They’re sending the check in the mail. Told me how much it would be for, and I practically lost it right there on the phone with… Larry was his name, I think.”
“Is it enough to rebuild the place?” Oliver asked.
Izzy hesitated. “It’s enough,” she said. “But I had other ideas in mind.”
“Really?”
“The house had gotten too big for me, anyway. I can barely climb up the stairs, and it’s so much to clean, even with your help.”
“You really are a glass-half-full kind of person, aren’t you?” he asked. “Your house burns down, and you’re listing off all the reasons you’re happy about it.” He grinned.
“I can’t help it. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, though. And now that I have the money, we could have the rest of this plowed over, pay off the bakery, then I…”
“You what?” he asked.
“Could find a smaller place in the city. Maybe an apartment with an elevator. We could even open up another shop there. Anna’s been working so hard at the bakery, and I’ve thought about making her co-owner. I’ve always dreamt of living in Amberley, and with this kind of money—”
“What about the bees?”
“If we clean up the house, we can use all this extra space for more hives. You’ve been getting better at taking care of the little buggers. There are plenty of wildflowers down in the field for them. We’d be swimming in honey and beeswax!”
Oliver shook his head to clear his mind of the mental image.
“I’m serious. Maybe you could run the hives or help me set up a new bakery in Amberley.”
Oliver sat back and looked at the rubble in front of them. When he laid his eyes on Izzy’s house for the first time in a decade, the cheery yellow siding had lifted his spirits, and the place soon felt like home. But after a while, he realized home was more than a place—home was a feeling that came with family and friendships. Clearly, Izzy had realized this a long time before.
“I guess it was only a matter of time before I’d have to find a place of my own.”
“You ought to give Amberley a shot. We can look together.”
“What about Asher?”
“We’ll figure something out,” Izzy replied.
Although Oliver felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of finding his own apartment, he thought back to the ticking clock that had sent him to Christchurch. If he hadn’t shattered that clock, he might not have even made it to Christchurch. When Izzy’s place burned, another clock had overturned, and he would take advantage of all the opportunities for change and growth that would come along with the new challenge.
“Shall we get back, kiddo?” she asked.
Oliver nodded.
She looked at the crushed station wagon underneath the collapsed porte cochere. “I’m having a run of bad luck with station wagons,” she said. “Maybe I should go with a more conventional car this time around. Perhaps a delivery van would be the best thing after all.”
Oliver grimaced. “I can’t let you do that. If we need a delivery van, too, that’s fine, but a painted station wagon is a tradition now.”
Izzy looked at him. “And you know how much I value tradition,” she replied.
“Good point.”
They took the road back toward the town square. As Izzy and Oliver walked past the buildings of Christchurch, Oliver thought back to his first day in town, stumbling through the square with Nekko in a duffel bag on his shoulder, wondering what life had in store for him. Little did he know then that the town held his future and the closest family he would ever know. Now, he would have to move on to the next adventure, but this time, he wouldn’t have to do it alone.
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About the Author
Chris Cooper is a writer, college professor, novice coffee roaster, and recovering engineer. He lived and worked in Japan, where he developed an obscure obsession for fancy fountain pens and currently lives in Ohio with his partner and Australian Cattle Terrier. Both enjoy going for walks. Chris writes supernatural thrillers full of colorful three-dimensional characters, macabre adventures, and twisty turny plots.