Beyond the Tree House

by Gudrun Frerichs

  “Wow. Where’s he off to? He must’ve found something.” Tom is racing after the dog.

  I veer around. “Tom. Stop. Not you too.”

  Someone must have put a hex on today. Perhaps not just today, perhaps on a long list of days. I bolt after them, churning inside. I almost run into a tree, I step sideways, and crash into Tom who has suddenly stopped in his tracks.

  My heart misses a couple of beats as I see the motionless body leaning against the large Kauri trunk, half sitting and half stumped over to the side. His hair is matted with dried, crimson blood, his clothes are burned and in tatters, revealing charred and bloodied skin.

  “Scott!” The mangled cry comes from deep inside me. I sink to the ground, next to the lifeless body. My cry doesn’t rouse him but stirs a flock of birds that take off from surrounding trees. I take his cold hand and hold it against my warm face.

  “Is he dead?”

  I bend over Scott looking for a pulse at his neck. His eyes are closed. He appears asleep, but his face is ghostly pale while Tom bites his knuckles.

  “I feel a pulse, but only very weak. He must’ve lost a vast amount of blood. I’m not sure how long he will hold on. How the hell do we get him out of here?”

  He’s alive. It’s like someone flipped a light switch on inside my mind. The news that we’ve found Scott and that he’s alive is spreading like a tidal wave through the tribe.

  “We need to carry him out of here.” Tom pulls his cell-phone out of his pocket and dials 111 for the Ambulance. After giving them the direction to Scott’s cabin, he hangs up and stares at me.

  All I can think of at the moment is that he’s alive. There’s hope.

  Hope.

  As long as there’s a single breath in him there’s hope. Fate can’t be so cruel as taking him from us and give him back only to take him away again. No! There’s more than a little hope in us.

  “The ambulance will be here in thirty minutes. You take his upper body and I’ll take his legs.”

  I fire off commands and stand ready to pick up Scottie’s legs. It took us less than five minutes to get to Scottie, but twenty minutes to return with him to my car. I don’t know how I managed. Luke is at my side and gives me his strength. Tears are streaming down my face as we finally lay Scott on Prince’s blanket by the car. I want to pick him up and hold him in my arms, but I’m too afraid I’ll make matters worse.

  Tom pulls a hanky out of his pocket and wipes my face.

  “That’s better.”

  Silly man. I don’t care how I look. I don’t care that my arms are hurting, the blisters on my hands chafed open, and my back muscles are burning from carrying the heavy load. All I care about is the hope that we reached Scott in time.

  The howling siren of the ambulance cuts through our anxious silence. Minutes later the green-yellow van slides around the corner on the gravel road and stops next to my car.

  Tom explains to the paramedics the condition we found Scott in. Wasting no time, they put him on a gurney and drive off. Time is of the essence.

  Before they took off, the paramedics said that he would have died if we hadn’t found him. They might have said it to comfort me, but all it did was send my fear through the roof.

  Our ride to the hospital is torturous, even though Tom races along the country road, making sure we don’t lose sight of the ambulance. By the time we arrive, I’m a wreck. My thoughts circle through a range of worst-case scenarios. I need to speak to a doctor. The uncertainty drives me mad. I need to know that Scottie will make it. A touch on my shoulder startles me.

  “Ms. Seagar, why don’t you go home? We’ll ring when we know more. We are taking him for a head scan, and after that, we must wait to hear what Dr. Wilmer says.” The head nurse looks at me with a truckload of pity in her eyes.

  If she thinks I’ll move before I’ve spoken to a doctor, she’s mistaken.

  “Someone tried to kill Scott Thompson. They set his house on fire and we still don’t know if he’ll pull through. If you think I’m leaving him and going home, hoping you’ll keep him safe, you are sorely mistaken. I’ll sit by his bed until he opens his eyes again or we carry him out of here in a coffin.”

  Chapter Nine

  Lilly: 5 March 2017, Midday, Port Somers

  There’s little hope we endeared ourselves to the nursing staff since we refused to leave Scottie’s bedside last night. They tried every trick in the book to make us leave. I get it. Relatives are in the way in intensive care units. They even called the police but that was an unexpected bonus. The officers took our statement and promised to take a closer look at Tom and my arson theory. The best thing, though, they talked about extra security with the hospital management.

  It also means we can’t stay another night. The hospital will ring us the moment Scottie gains consciousness. That could be days away. Induced coma is such a scary expression. I’m worried silly. Even the doctor’s reassurance that it was needed to keep Scottie comfortable and pain-free, and give his battered body the chance to heal, didn’t help.

  Tom is annoyed with me.

  “Don’t be so stubborn. There has been a serious attempt on Scott’s life. Your patchy home security gives me shivers. It needs upgrading and you need someone living with you. I’ll call my office and ask them to suggest a bodyguard for you.”

  Nobody ever accused me of shying away from a good fight. But here? Next to Scottie covered in bandages like Tutankhamun’s mummy and hooked up to a breathing machine? My eyes are sore and a lump is blocking my throat. I blink back tears that threaten to well up as I’m imagining him being caught in the fire.

  I told him to shut up.

  He sits now on the other side of Scottie’s hospital bed and sulks. He can be such a baby at times. I have more important things to worry about than his hurt feelings. The nurses have cleaned up Scottie and bandaged the burned parts on his arms and legs. His face was unharmed, but his head sustained the worst of his injuries. Someone tried their hardest to kill him. My question is who?

  I’m breathing deeply to push away the rising panic seeing him hooked up to all these apparatuses that blink and flicker and spring into action only to fall silent the next moment. Fluid is dripping out of several see-through bags hanging on a stand and numbers are beeping and lighting up. The constant beeping of the ECG tells me he’s alive. For now.

  I glance over at Tom and feel guilty for having been rough on him earlier. Grief, anger, fear, and depression are difficult emotions for us. We used to have specialists for each of those feelings because none of us could cope with them as a package deal.

  In the past, we had well-defined lines, but therapy, the healing power of time, and dare I say integration mucked it up for us big time. We are becoming a melting pot of less defined personalities and everyone feels a bit of everything. It’s bewildering because half of the time we are not sure how to handle feelings.

  I’m not a depressive person. I might feel down, but never for long. Fear, on the other hand, is a different story and I move in and out of being fearful for Scottie’s life. I can get angry, but not as good as Amadeus. Half of the time I’m overreacting or under-reacting. Just as I did with Tom a while ago when his safety nonsense was making me mad.

  “Why can’t you be sensible?”

  Tom gets one of my super lethal glares.

  “I refuse to argue at Scottie’s bedside.” I hate arguing but when it comes to a stranger living with us in our house, I draw a line. It’s a definite no. I’ll stick to my guns.

  “Then come outside with me. We’ll grab something to eat and discuss it there.”

  Food sounds good. Over the last twenty hours, I’ve not taken my eyes off Scottie, willing him to live. I forgot all about food. Now Tom mentions it, I realize there is a churning ache in my stomach. But I don’t want to leave. Tom tries his best to draw me away.

  “The nurses promised to ring us the moment Scottie gains consciousness.”

  I know they did. However, that could be days awa
y or happen at any moment. Induced coma is such a scary concept for me. I’m worried silly. Even the doctor’s reassurance that it was needed to keep Scottie comfortable and pain-free, and to give his battered body the chance to heal, didn’t help.

  Doctors always give a string of clever justifications for their treatment. It doesn’t mean I trust them any more than I trust that frogs turn into princes if I kiss them.

  “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Your distrust isn’t helping.”

  Tom’s right. I know but I rather he’d shut up.

  We have to go, even though I don’t know how I’ll cope leaving Scottie behind. That way I avoid alienating the nursing staff. After all, I want them on my side until I can leave the hospital with Scottie at my side. So Hogshead it is. We are talking Port Somer’s finest and only pub. Besides decent, down-to-earth food, people get free of charge a generous helping of political news, enough gossip to fill a paper, and doggy-bags for the left-overs.

  We both ordered fish and chips and waited in silence until the waiter brought us the food. Tom sits opposite me, still looking annoyed because I’m not rushing to hire a bodyguard.

  “So what’s your response? Shall I send for a bodyguard?”

  He’s like a Jack Russell who’s not letting go of a bone and about to launch another argument. I hold up my hand and stop him. By now he should see that we go by a different set of rules than the average person. Me living with a stranger who is present when we switch and the children come out to play? Not in a million years.

  Tom rakes his hands through his hair. I’m sure he’d like to shake me if he could get away with it and if there wasn’t a table between us.

  “Scott lies half-dead in hospital. And it’s not because his cabin was valuable. You are in real danger; don’t you get it? Real danger. I can’t stay and look after you. It’s time for me to return home. My work is waiting for me.”

  “Let it go. It will not happen. I have Prince, that’s enough.”

  Tom does have a strong, protective streak. Bless him. Since Scottie’s cabin burned down, he holds himself responsible for my safety. Nevertheless, he will not push me into doing something I hate.

  “Don’t you see, Scottie’s example demonstrates it doesn’t matter who is in the house. If someone puts their mind to harm, they will do so.”

  I lean back and take a deep breath.

  “It’s sweet, Tom, that you worry about me. Please stop. I will not change my mind. Scottie installed a sophisticated alarm system and thanks to you I now own a gun. That’s all I need.”

  “You have a burglar alarm you don’t use. It’s never switched on.”

  “I will use it from now on. I promise. Anyhow, I’ll probably put the house on the market. As soon as Scottie is back on his feet, we’ll move. That should be the end of our problems.”

  He’s taking a breath to say some more when I kick him under the table.

  “We have an audience!”

  People at neighboring tables are showing great interest in our conversation. I close my eyes and try to stay calm. The last thing I want is to feed the local gossip mill.

  “We’re done here. I get up and walk out of the pub.

  “Lilly, stop. Don’t you walk out, I’m not finished talking.”

  Amadeus must be close because anger is building up inside me. I swing around.

  “But I am.”

  The air outside is crisp and I take a few minutes to collect myself. I hate being at odds with Tom but the times when someone could pressure me into doing something that doesn’t feel right are over. He probably doesn’t understand how important being in control is for my recovery. But he can read up on it in every handbook about the recovery from abuse.

  I’m relieved when the car door opens and he slips into the passenger seat. Are we still friends? I’m tired of fighting and the last person I want to fall out with is Tom. My head sinks onto the steering wheel. It’s all too hard.

  “Sorry for bullying you.” He puts his hand on my back. “I wonder how Scott copes with your situation. I’m worried sick that something might happen to you.”

  How can I stay angry with him? He only means well.

  “Yeah, yeah… and the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” I wish Amadeus would stay out of my head. It’s hard enough to keep an outside conversation going with my emotions all over the place without him chiming in. I lift my head and smile at Tom.

  “Trust. It is trust. Just because I cry sometimes or lose hope, or want to give up, or have little kids taking over the body doesn’t mean I’m weak. I might feel weak at times, but it would be a mistake to assume I am. I am strong. We are strong. We survived a lot of hard times and we did so at a very young age. If I can’t manage without people’s constant help, the abusers will have won.”

  I start the engine and give Tom time to think about our conversation. He has to accept my independence, or he’ll be a nervous wreck when he leaves the day after tomorrow.

  “Sorry.” He looks at me with his sheepish, boyish grin.

  “One more ‘sorry’ and you walk home.”

  He makes a zip-gesture with his fingers across his lips but his eyes harbor a friendly smile. It’s a good start. In my mind, I cross my fingers and hope it’ll last.

  The familiar pressure of Sky’s hand on my shoulder lets me exhale. “You’ve done well. I don’t think anybody could have said that better.” A load slips off my shoulders. Sky agrees with my decision. For normal people, thoughts of self-encouragement might be nothing special. Not for me. I had years of being enraged or frightened by the voices in my head. Nowadays I’m lost and bereft when my mind is quiet. The voices tell me I am not alone. I take great comfort in that.

  “Did I do the right thing? We are strong enough to look out for ourselves, aren’t we?” I’m asking the Tribe more out of habit than necessity. In the early days, we thought integration meant parts of us would die. That’s not how it panned out. It’s more the differences between us are less pronounced. We sound more alike. More than anything, we think more alike. There is a certain amount of loss about that … and yes, it does make life easier.

  “Don’t worry, you are right on track. The little ones would be uncomfortable with a stranger living in the house. Tom staying with us is already a challenge.”

  I appreciate Sky’s reassurance and am relieved she’s still with me. It must be difficult to be a singleton and have to do all the thinking and decision-making on your own. How do they know they are making the right decision?

  “I can ring a taxi tomorrow afternoon to pick me up. You don’t have to drive me into town.”

  I slow down and turn into Flatbush Creek Road. Tom is chewing on his lower lip and I’m not sure what to make of his statement.

  “I love taking you to the bus. I’m going to the hospital anyhow. Why did you say that?”

  “I just thought … it must a relief to have the house to yourself again.” He rolls down his window and lets the breeze blow his hair out of his face. He looks so young. I often forget how young he is. Scottie must have been a father figure for him. In among all the drama, Tom ended up caring for me and his needs fell through the cracks.

  “It was good to have you staying with me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. Thank you for that. I’m afraid I took advantage of you.”

  “Oh no, you haven’t. Never say that.”

  I stop the car in front of my house and turn toward him. I want him to know that I’m serious about what I’m going to say. “Our friendship is important to me. You’re always welcome in my home.”

  “Still friends?”

  “Of course! Let’s see whether Prince missed us.”

  I open the car door and step out. Half an hour later I watch Tom and Prince taking off into the bush. With a glass of water in my hand, I slump onto Auntie Mandy’s sofa. I’ll miss him when he leaves tomorrow. But I also look forward to having time by myself. I haven’t been alone since the arson attack.


  I need to fall apart, to howl at the world, the moon, and the monsters that don’t think twice at snuffing out someone’s life.

  “Thinking of howling at the moon, are you?” Sky’s voice chimes as clear to me as if she’s sitting on the sofa with me. I’m glad she’s back to her usual strength. We can’t do without her. I don’t like to have to do without her.

  Yep, howling at the moon sounds like a brilliant idea to tackle the backlog of held-in emotions.

  Chapter Ten

  Mikey: 6 March 2017, Evening, Wright’s Homestead

  I’m not sure if we are still writing in the black book. There haven’t been entries for a long time. Sky told us to write everything down, but the last entry is from ages ago. The Tribe is so slack.

  At the moment there is hardly anybody around. I don’t even remember the last time Ama told us a bedtime story. I wish there were a few of the others, but no, they are all scaredy cats hiding somewhere. That’s so boring. Lilly and Luke are cool, but they are like know-it-all adults. You know, like don’t touch this, and be careful with that.

  I know I’m not an adult yet, but hello, you don’t have to treat me like a stupid kid. After all, it was me who told them where the treasure was. It was me who found the photos. It was because of me they could lock up the nasty guys. Did they thank me for it? No. All they did was scold me for not having said something earlier.

  Earlier? Earlier when? Nobody ever seems to bother with me. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just the way I like it. But don’t blame it on me. The others are always caught up in their little dramas and schemes. Even Scott didn’t pay much attention to me.

  I mean, it’s sad he’s in the hospital and his hut burned down. It must be scary finding you’re surrounded by flames. That thought gives me chills to no end. I guess that makes him a hero. But I’m not devastated like the little ones. We never really became good friends, Scott and I. He was always just googly-eyed with Elise and Lilly. You know, all that lovey-dovey business. Not my thing.