Beyond the Tree House

by Gudrun Frerichs

  “Help,” I shout as loud as I can. To my disappointment, it’s only a croak and not loud at all.

  The man comes closer.

  “I restrained you because you were flailing about while you were unconscious. Let me help you.”

  “Unconscious? I was flying. I was having a good time until you messed it up for me.”

  The man smiles with a truckload of pity in his eyes. “You must have dreamed.” He unties the restraints from my feet and arms and helps me to sit up.

  “A dream? I’m not dreaming.” I catch sight of the bandages on my hands. “Could you also take the bandages off? Please?”

  “We better leave that one until the blisters heal.”

  “Blisters?” This gets crazier by the minute.

  “You burned your hands.”

  I fear for the sanity of this guy. Not only is he a busy body and spoiled my superb flying experience, but he might also be dangerous.

  “I wish you would make sense. I never burned my hands and I’ve never met you. If you don’t let me out of here, I’ll lodge a major complaint against this place.”

  “Elise, please.”

  I need to get through to this guy. He rakes his fingers through his brown hair as if he’s at his wit’s end. If there was any wit, to begin with.

  “Stop calling me that name. I’m not Elise.”

  “Who are you then?”

  I stare at him. I know who I am. I am… I am… I try not to show my rising panic.

  I don’t know who I am.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you know where you live?”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you understand why you are here?”

  “You stopped me from…” I almost said flying but I gather he’ll think I’m crazy. I feel that’s an impression I have to avoid at any cost. I see the young man clearly now. The fog has lifted. It wasn’t fog, was it? Am I in a hospital? No, the room lacks all the trappings of a hospital room; the bits and pieces above the headboard that go beep and light up, call buttons and all that other stuff.

  This room is small, lit only by an old-fashioned oil-lamp. Maybe I time-traveled? That would explain why it’s dark outside the window opposite the bed. Next to my bed is a wooden chair with this man who claims to know me. There are flowers in a vase on the windowsill. I love flowers. Why is he holding me here?

  “Why am I here? Tell me. I can’t remember. Did I knock my head?”

  “I’m your friend and lawyer Tom. Thomas Aldercroft. Don’t you remember? We drove to meet Scott at his cabin, but when we arrived it had gone up in flames. There was nothing we could do.”

  What did he say? Scott’s hut burned out? Who is Scott? Inside my head, it rumbles and shakes. Can brains have earthquakes? Apparently so. Suddenly, I smell smoke and burning wood and choke and cough to clear my lungs. I look at my bandaged hands.

  I remember. It’s like someone switched on the lights. Click, click, and click. With each click the room gets lighter, everything gets clearer.

  I tried to get inside, but it was too late, too hot, too hopeless.

  Scottie.

  The roof collapsed and all I could do was stare. There is no place to hide anymore; there is no flying away anymore. I’m back and I’m angry. What use is it to be a multiple, if you can’t fly away and stay in La-La-Land for good?

  “Lilly.”

  “Pardon me? What did you say?” Tom stares at me.

  “My name is Lilly. Where is Scottie?”

  A dark shadow falls over his eyes. He looks around as if he needs permission from someone to talk.

  “He didn’t make it out. I’m sorry. He’s gone.”

  I stare at him. I see his lips move. I hear his words, but who’s he kidding? A wave of nausea washes over me. It can’t be.

  “You’re lying.”

  A massive explosion is happening inside my head that sounds like the agonized howling of countless souls. And then there is silence.

  “I wish I were. I …, he was my best friend.”

  “Don’t talk about him like that. It makes me want to hit you.” I remember now and a lump in my throat makes breathing difficult. “I want to go back there and see for myself. How long have I been unconscious?”

  Tom looks at his wristwatch. “We came back here yesterday late afternoon. You disappeared and Ama made dinner for me. Then she went upstairs and that was it. I woke up hearing you shout and cry. So I came and stayed with you. It’s just after four in the morning.”

  “You’re saying I have been down and out for twelve hours?”

  “Yes, you have. And before you ask, no, none of the other parts showed up either. You scared the hell out of me. I was determined to get the doctor in the morning.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. Enough chitchat. Can you please leave my room? I need to get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs in half an hour.”

  Tom closes the door behind him and I stagger to the wardrobe to get dressed. Tears are running down my face.

  Pull yourself together!

  I don’t want to hear the voice of reason pounding in my head or see the pity in the eyes of Tom.

  I want Scottie.

  But he is not here, is he? He’s not here. He promised never to leave my side. We had plans. He wanted to show me the world. He had no right to go back on his promise. But he did. He’s gone, without a word, without a goodbye. I couldn’t even tell him …

  On the inside, I’m crying a silent river of tears. And it’s not just me. Oh, God, have mercy, not just me. We all do. Like me, the Tribe is stirring, waking up from the numbness they’ve been in. I’m so proud of them. They … we always got up and moved on, no matter how dark the moment, no matter how painful the experience, no matter how shattered we were. We will do so again, I know because we are survivors.

  Perhaps he escaped and didn’t die in the flames? I love him. We all do. If he were dead, wouldn’t we feel it? Wouldn’t there be an empty, gaping void in our heart? He wouldn’t leave without giving me a sign. His hand would stroke my face in a last goodbye. If he had died, wouldn’t he come to me in my dreams and hold me one last time?

  My mind plays with images of Scott. I’m imagining the door opening, and he dragged himself in, injured but alive. Or perhaps he’s sitting at my dining table downstairs, waiting for me.

  I’m rushing.

  “We must accept he’s gone. By not accepting we prolong the agony.” Sky’s voice of reason has a hard time getting heard. I don’t want to listen to her, even if swinging from hope to despair is crippling me. The energy of hurt and pain is much stronger than the energy of reason. She has little chance of coming through.

  I grab a fresh pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a hoodie, and sink back onto the edge of the bed. Now would be a good moment for Scottie to come through the door and tell me all is well. But nothing happens. I let my tears drop onto the wooden floor and sling my arms around me, trying to hold myself together.

  Scottie. A thousand unspoken words of love lay shattered at the bottom of my mind, joined by a thousand fleeting gazes, and a thousand loving touches. How can I go on without you?

  My eyes burn from the many tears I shed. It becomes near impossible to breathe past the thing in my throat that has no name but has been with me since Tom pulled me away from the burning cabin. We were too late. If only I hadn’t agreed to stop for a coffee before we drove to you, we could have … You would still be alive. I feel so guilty and despondent. I know the fire wasn’t my fault. It’s not rational. But when was being rational one of my qualities?

  I gave my heart to Scottie and there is now a gaping hole where it used to be. Can people survive without a heart? I’m not convinced. It took forty years for us to find him. He taught me to trust again; he taught me that not every man is a monster. But most of all he taught me to trust myself.

  I’ll pack my few belongings and leave. How can I stay in a forest that took you from me? Being reminded of you at every turn? I
wouldn’t survive it.

  The door opens and Tom reappears. “We have to leave.” He touches my shoulder. “I don’t want to get caught at the cabin by the fire inspector.”

  “What do you mean, leave? I don’t understand. You want to go back? Why?”

  “I have to find something, anything, to make sense out of all this.”

  I look up at Tom. He’s hurting too. It’s hard to see the sadness in his face. I forgot all about him being Scottie’s best friend. They say sharing one’s grief makes bearing it easier.

  It’s a lie.

  Chapter Eight

  Elise: 4 March 2017, Early Morning, Port Somers

  I’m so pleased Sky noticed that Lilly wasn’t coping and called a crisis meeting so we could all block her.

  Way back when we left Auckland after Horace’s funeral, we’d decided we’ll never run away again, and we won’t run now. Luke and Mikey want to find the culprits, Amadeus wants to knock the life out of the people who set the fire, Maddie and Ama want to stay at Wright’s Homestead, and I don’t want to leave the few friends I made at the gallery.

  More than anything, though, Sky is convinced the arson is linked to our past. After all the trouble we’ve been through with the Gateway community, we owe it to Scott to help find out what happened.

  I smile at Tom. “I’m coming.”

  He reaches for my hand. “Hurry, work is calling.”

  Work? What is he talking about? He caught my attention. I take his hand and allow him to pull me up. A comfortable silence spreads between us as we take Prince and get into the car.

  “What work?”

  “Would you mind waiting until we are at Scott’s place?”

  Would I mind? I don’t care. I left a big part of me behind in that fire yesterday. Everything else is just a mindless passing of time and waiting for the moment when what’s left of my heart stops beating.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake. I just about had enough of your whining.”

  The angry force of the voice makes me jump. Who said that? I glance at Tom as he starts the engine. No, it wasn’t him.

  “Sort this bloody mess out or I will and you might not like the result.”

  Okay, this is definitely coming from the inside. What bloody mess are you referring to, Amadeus?

  I whisper, but that is ridiculous. The tribe can talk as loud as they choose and nobody on the outside would be the wiser. I feel bad for not showing up when Tom and Lilly arrived at the burning cabin. I should have coped. We had come along so well. Even knowing that everyone dissociates when disaster strikes doesn’t make me feel better.

  “Don’t give yourself a hard time. It’s not important how often you fall as long as you pick yourself up again. Even if it takes time and a lot of effort.”

  As so often, Sky is finding the right words to lift me up.

  “Lilly!”

  I startle and look up. “It’s Elise, actually. Don’t shout at me. You frightened me.”

  “You were far away with your thoughts. We arrived a few minutes ago at Scott’s place and you wouldn’t respond to my questions.”

  The harsh lines in his face tell me he’s stressed too and running on a short fuse.

  “Sorry. I meant no disrespect, I… it’s just hard.”

  “I know.” Dear, dear Tom. I know only too well.

  He opens his side of the car. “Come.”

  I follow him up to the charred remains of the cabin. It’s a hard place to be with all the memories of the wonderful moments Scottie and I had in this house. Now it’s nothing but ash.

  “You said we have work to do? What do you mean?” Prince, sitting at my side, begins quietly howling and whining in a heart-wrenching outpouring of grief. I bend down to him and put my arms around his neck.

  “It’s just us left, baby.” I swear he understands because he lets his head hang and looks at me with his sad eyes.

  “You can’t kill yourself. I need your help to find out what happened to Scott. I can’t watch over you day and night, so I need you to promise me. You owe it to Scott.”

  Tom towers over me, his lined forehead pulled into a deep frown. Wow. I did not expect that kind of speech. Am I suicidal? Not at the moment. I’m devastated but I would never kill myself. It’s not just me anymore; there is the Tribe to think of too.

  I’m not sure whether I like the bossy side of Tom. He always used to blend in with the wallpaper so to speak, unassuming and undemanding. I’ll have to get used to this new version.

  “As it happens, I don’t want to kill myself. But if you don’t tell me why we are here, I might look favorably at killing you.”

  “Listen! There is something not right about this fire. We have to get to the bottom of it. I know Scott always had spare petrol in his shed in case his truck runs empty. But three cans?”

  It’s as if someone pulled back a curtain, that’s how clear my head is. “Why didn’t you say so at the beginning? You are right. I’m convinced he wouldn’t have three full cans of petrol in the shed.”

  “What are we looking for?” I step into the ruins.

  “Anything unusual that feels out of place.”

  I turn to make sure Prince stays away from the ruins but he’s gone.

  “Prince! Where are you, boy?”

  “Oh, he’s probably found the track of a rabbit or some other creature.” Tom kicks a charred piece of wood aside. “Leave the dog, we’ll get him when we’re done searching the place.”

  We spend just short of an hour combing through the ashes without finding anything of interest. There’s nothing here. Still, I refuse to believe Scott was careless with fire. That’s just not him. He wouldn’t light a fire in the house for starters. Not at this time of the year. It’s not cold enough yet.

  “I’m sure it was arson. My question is, who’d set fire to the hut and why? How come Scott didn’t notice it? Did people try to kill him, or were they just giving him a warning by burning down his house?”

  “That’s what we have to find out.” He brushes the dirt from his jeans. “I think we’re done. I had hoped we find something.”

  Numbness spreads throughout my body as we return to the car. I’m not sure what I expected, but a giant heap of charcoal wasn’t it. How silly of me to expect to find anything of significance.

  “What do you suggest we do?”

  Tom shrugs and looks around as if he’s searching for something in particular.

  “Do you know anybody who would hold a grudge against Scott?”

  “Except the Gateway people you mean? They could take revenge for putting their leaders behind bars.”

  They must hate us. We not only cost them their leaders but also millions of dollars in cash and assets the government had confiscated. Tom doesn’t appear convinced.

  “Maybe. But why wait? Why not do it during the court case and intimidate you both? What is their gain doing it now?”

  His argument makes sense. They could have pressured us to withdraw our witness statements. They didn’t. No matter how much I rack my brain, I can’t think of another person who would hold a grudge against Scott. Everywhere he went people liked him.

  “Revenge. Another gain is that I’m now moving away.”

  Tom shakes his head and scrunches up his forehead. “Hm, honey, I don’t think you are any longer important to their organization. The rotten apples are all in jail.”

  It should feel good, helping to get the rotten Gateway bosses behind bars. I should be elated, but I’m not. Standing amid the charred remains of Scott’s place all I feel is desolation and fury. There is no middle ground. The fury inside me is not mine, I know that, but I don’t give a hoot. Whoever of the Tribe brings fury to the table, be my guest. I want someone to suffer if that’s the last thing I do.

  Tom must sense that I am reluctant to leave. He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me to him.

  “Let’s go. Nothing here for us to do but wait for the report of the fire inspector.”

  He intensifies his
pressure when I don’t move.

  “We could drive to the petrol station and ask who has bought petrol in cans in the last few days. Would you like that?”

  He found the right bait to get me going. Before we step into the car, I realize Prince hasn’t returned yet.

  “Prince! Come, boy.”

  Tom stops and looks around. “I haven’t seen him for a while.”

  “Prince! Boy, where are you.” I wait for a few seconds but nothing stirs in the surrounding bush. This is so annoying. I want to leave and not chase after the dog. I’m about to walk off into the bush when Tom grabs my arm.

  “Listen. Don’t you hear?”

  No. I don’t hear anything other than…

  “There it’s again.”

  I strain to listen. There are so many sounds …

  “Prince. We’re going home.” I reach into the glove compartment and bring out the dog whistle. He’ll show up at any moment now.

  “Hear it?”

  Now I’m hearing something. It could be the whining of a dog. If it is, it’s pretty far away.

  “Maybe Prince is injured or caught in a trap?”

  My annoyance from a second ago turns into concern and we’re jogging after the sound. There’s only an uneven path to follow, which is halfway reclaimed by nature. Our progress is slow, stumbling over knotted roots, trying to avoid rocky outcrops, and stepping on twigs, branches, and slippery decomposing leaves.

  Scott’s cabin is only a hundred and fifty yards away when Prince appears from behind a bush and jumps at me.

  “Silly dog, what are you doing? I was worried about you.”

  I put him on the leash and turn back. But Prince digs his paws into the ground and tries to pull me deeper into the bush.

  “No, boy, we’re going home. No more chasing rabbits.”

  He barks at me and refuses to follow. I’ve just about had enough of the dog’s antics. Is nothing going right today? I’m tempted to leave him behind. If he thinks we’re having a tug-o-war game about who’s the boss, he’s mistaken. I let him off the leash and turn back to the car.