by Emma Castle
“By who? The police?”
Eden bit her lip. “By . . . You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Honey, please. I have to know. What happened? Who rescued you?”
She took a deep breath. “By a man who lives in the jungle, like a hermit.”
“A hermit?” her mother echoed, unconvinced.
“Yeah. He’s a conservationist. He stays away from the villages, preferring to be close to the animals. He saved me and helped me get to a village.” She had to admit, describing him this way sounded almost plausible.
“I need to find your father. He’ll want to hear this.”
“Just tell him that I’m okay. I’ll call you back as soon as I know when they’ll let me leave for home.”
“But, honey—”
“Please, Mom. I need to shower and get some food. I’ve been through a lot.”
“Okay. But call me tomorrow, no matter what,” her mother ordered.
“Fine. I will.” Eden sighed. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too.”
Eden hung up and tossed the phone on the bed, then dragged herself back to her feet and into the shower.
Drenching herself in the hot spray, all she could think about was the cold water from the waterfall and how she missed standing in the rippling pool as Thorne held her in his arms. She missed him so much already. She wiped away tears as she chastised herself for being so foolish as to fall for Thorne in just a few days. Despite Bwanbale’s romantic take, this wasn’t some romance novel, and she wasn’t some barely out of high school girl who let her hormones control her. Yet everything that had to do with Thorne made her emotional.
Focusing on the shower took some effort, but Eden cleaned herself off, wincing each time she discovered a new cut or scrape. She hadn’t been aware of her injuries while in the jungle, but she’d apparently gotten quite bruised and busted up. Now her body seemed fully depleted of adrenaline, and her legs shook as she tried to use the cheap plastic razor in the shower kit that had been left in the bathroom.
By the time she was done, she had only enough energy to braid her hair, crawl into the clothes someone had left on her bed, and fall asleep.
Her sleep was dreamless and dark. When she finally awoke a short while later, a note had been slipped under her door stating that Cara’s boss wanted to speak to her. She checked the digital clock and groaned. She had half an hour. Not enough time to go back to sleep, but she could get another phone call out of the way. She sat up and dialed her editor at National Park magazine.
“Paul Lester speaking,” her boss answered.
“Hey, Paul. It’s me, Eden.”
“Eden! Hey, how’s the gorilla piece coming?”
Eden drew in a breath. “You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you.” She reached for her bag and pulled out Thorne’s ring. “But first, I need a huge favor.”
Thorne raced along the thick branches of the hagenia trees and dropped to the ground with barely a sound. Before him lay the white tomb that held the bones of his parents. The airplane that had once carried him in the sky.
All night and much of the day he had debated coming back here. But something compelled him to return. Perhaps it was how much he missed Eden, or how much he longed for the company of another human. But this quiet tomb was all he could manage. Whatever it was that drove him, he walked slowly toward the plane, his heart fracturing inside his chest.
The dark cabin was unchanged from his visit a few days ago. The two skeletons sat in their chairs. These silent watchers filled him with a bittersweet longing to remember more about them.
Amelia and Jacob. The names were now known to him, carved into his heart forever, and yet they were strangers. He knelt first by the bones of his mother and bowed his head. Then he moved to kneel before his father.
“I wish to honor you, as I have done my best to honor Keza. But I am full of fear. What if I cannot live in Eden’s world?” He spoke his questions knowing they would not answer him, but it felt good to at least voice his worries aloud. He’d been debating whether to stay in the jungle or to try to embrace Eden’s world so he could be with her.
He gazed upon the bones of his parents. They still felt like gods to him, silently resting, their lives and memories out of his reach, yet their presence was soothing in a way he couldn’t fully explain.
Thorne lowered his head, bowing in respect as he listened to the distant jungle symphony outside. The parrots in the trees, the throaty calls of leopards, the distant trumpet of Tembo and his herd. All the sounds seemed in that infinite moment to blend together to form one word.
Eden.
He knew what he was meant to do. The jungle was speaking the name of his mate. He had to obey. It was time, whether he succeeded or failed, to find Eden and try to fit into her world.
Thorne rose, and with one final goodbye to his parents’ resting place, he returned to the jungle. Within minutes he was swinging on the thick vines and landing on crisscrossing branches until he reached the path that would lead him to Bwanbale’s village.
As he reached the forest’s edge, he stood in the same spot where he had let Eden go. His heart hammered at the memory that had once hurt him, yet now held hope. He saw the small brightly colored shamba houses, their grounds, according to Bwanbale, thick with fruit and vegetables, many of which Thorne had never seen before.
At the time, Thorne could not fathom what else he would ever wish to eat besides nuts and mangoes, other than the occasional deer he hunted. But now he wondered—wondered about all the things Bwanbale had spoken of.
The sun was cresting the tops of the trees as Thorne stepped out of the jungle. He would show no fear, even if his heart felt it. A few humans nearby noticed him and froze. One human child was brave enough to approach him. She stopped a few feet away, her beautiful brown eyes warm with innocence and curiosity.
“I am Dembe Apio. You are the jungle man?” she asked in Swahili.
“I am.” He crouched to put himself level with the child. He had never seen a human child up close before. He saw Dembe and thought she was beautiful.
She held out a tiny hand. “Come this way.” He took her small fingers gently as she led him through the village. He didn’t shy away from the stares of the others, but he was very conscious of them. He wore nothing but his loincloth, while those around him wore far more coverings, like Eden. He now regretted not asking Bwanbale to explain more about this world to him. He had much to learn if he was to find his mate and win her back.
Dembe brought him to a dwelling and called out in Swahili, “Mother, come! Look what I found!”
A beautiful woman in a blue sundress emerged from the home and gasped when she saw Thorne.
“Dembe! Who is this?” The woman gestured for Dembe to release his hand and come toward her.
“Father’s jungle man!” Dembe announced proudly and shot Thorne a grin.
“This is Bwanbale’s friend?” The woman met Thorne’s steady gaze. “You are the man from the forest?”
Thorne bowed his head respectfully as he realized he was in the presence of Bwanbale’s mate and offspring.
“Would you like to come in?” the woman asked him. Thorne nodded and followed her into the dwelling. It was so solid, so smooth, so colorful.
“Bwanbale is not here, but he will be soon. He took Eden to Kampala this morning.”
The mention of his mate diverted Thorne’s focus from examining this human dwelling.
“Eden is safe?”
“Yes, she’s safe.” The woman smiled a little nervously. “My name is Afiya, and this is Dembe.” She placed protective hands on the child’s shoulders.
“I am Thorne . . . Haywood.” It was the first time he’d claimed that name, but it felt right to do so now. He did not wish to deny the parents who had died protecting him. Even though he could not fully remember them or their world, he was feeling more and more bound to it.
“Would you care to sit?” Afiya gestured to the two funny lo
oking objects. Dembe rushed toward one of them and sat down.
“This is a chair!” Dembe said.
Chair. Yes, he knew that word, and others that came to him as he looked around the room: table, kitchen, stove, and so many others.
“Where are your clothes?” Dembe asked him with an innocent seriousness that made Thorne want to smile.
“Clothes?”
Dembe flared her small hands over her animal skin. “Clothes.” It was dark blue and green. “This is my dress.”
Dress. The word brought back flashes of his mother in a long gold dress, twirling around in a room. His father had held her close, whispering and smiling before his mother had noticed him watching. She’d held out a hand, and he’d run to them. The memory faded.
“I have only this.” He waved to the deerskin loincloth.
“Thorne, would you like to try some of Bwanbale’s clothes?” Afiya asked. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”
Thorne hesitated, but agreed. The people in the village had stared at him strangely, and he didn’t want to be dressed improperly.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Come. Dembe, stay there.” She waved for Thorne to follow her, and she led him into another space within the dwelling. This one had a large piece of carved wood. A dresser. Yes, he recognized that too. She opened a drawer and pulled out some clothes.
“Let’s see if some of these fit. You are bigger than my husband, but these might work.”
Thorne held up the strange clothes, and Afiya chuckled. “I guess I’ll have to demonstrate.” She showed him all the clothes and how to put them on while she told him their various names: boxers, cargo shorts, T-shirt, socks, boots. When he was done putting them on, Afiya turned to look at him and smiled.
“Yes, they fit. Barely.”
Thorne stared down at his body, now covered in the strange clothes. He wasn’t sure he liked the restrictive feel of these clothes, but if it was what he must do to be with his mate, he would do it.
“Father’s home!” Dembe’s voice came from the other room.
“Bwanbale is here?” Thorne said with breathless excitement, or perhaps that was the shirt constricting him like a great snake. He and Afiya rushed into the other room in time to see his old friend step inside. Bwanbale’s jaw dropped.
“Thorne!” He laughed as he crossed the room to embrace Thorne. He clapped his back and squeezed him hard in friendship. “But how did this happen? You would never come home with me before, and now I find you dressed in my clothes! Look at you, my friend, you look almost normal.”
Almost? Thorne wondered what was wrong with him. His friend touched his hair and the gold crown on his head. He had forgotten to leave the crown in his tree house.
“But most of us do not wear crowns, you might have noticed.”
Thorne nodded his understanding.
“So why have you left the jungle after all these years?”
“For Eden.”
Bwanbale’s eyes softened with understanding. “As I expected. A man will do a great many things for a woman he loves. But I’m afraid she’s not here. I took her to Kampala to the US Embassy.”
Thorne hadn’t a clue what those words meant. “What is the US Embassy?”
“It’s where her people are. She is not from Uganda. She lives very far away.”
“Little Rock,” Thorne added, hoping he understood. “How many villages away?”
“Far more than you can run.” Bwanbale patted Dembe’s back. “Go fetch your geography book.” He pushed the child toward her room. She returned with something that looked like his father’s journal, only much larger, and Bwanbale opened it up. It was filled with colorful pictures, but there were shapes he didn’t recognize.
“Come, let me show you. This shows all of the land around the entire world. Great oceans, bigger than any lake or river you’ve seen—these colorful shapes here are separate lands called continents.”
Bwanbale explained geography to him, and Thorne stared in open wonder at the maps. Bits and pieces of old memories of his mother teaching him came back to him.
“You are from England, here.” Bwanbale pointed to a small piece of land that was completely separated from other land by oceans. Well, it was small compared to the land next to it. He then pointed to a large mass across the ocean.
“And this is America. Inside America is Arkansas, and the city of Little Rock is inside that. America is far away from Africa, but they have a building in Kampala where people from her country can find help if they need it. It’s called an embassy. That is where I took her.”
Thorne’s thoughts drifted to the things Eden had told him about her home. He wished he could see it, but now he had some understanding of how far away her home was. These distances were too great to truly grasp, let alone travel to by foot. Thorne’s stomach pitched as he realized that he could never get to Eden, not on his own.
“Will you take me to this embassy?” he asked his friend.
“Yes, but you are not from America. They may not let you inside.”
Thorne had to try. He had to show Eden that he wanted to be with her.
“First, we need to cut your hair.”
Afiya came in from the kitchen, wielding two small knives that were somehow cinched together. The woman smiled deviously at Bwanbale and Thorne. Little Dembe giggled.
“Did someone say haircut?”
Thorne removed the gold leaves from his head and passed the circlet to Dembe. “Will you keep this safe for me?”
The child nodded and accepted the crown. “I will hide it in my memory box, under my bed.” She rushed away to her room.
Thorne then faced Afiya and the two small knives. “I am ready.”
Eden walked out of her second interview with embassy officials and met Cara in the hall.
“Hey, how’d it go?” Cara asked.
“We all agree that my story sounds crazy, but I think they believe me. They’re sending people now to look for the bodies.” She had told the officials about how Thorne had killed the poachers, and how she’d discovered his true identity. One of the officials had immediately left the room to put in a call to the UK Embassy to see if they could contact the Haywoods in London.
“I’ve heard that a few of the older officials here remember when the Haywoods went missing. It was such a tragedy. Are you certain it’s their son?” Cara asked.
Eden nodded. “I have Jacob Haywood’s journal in my room, plus a family photo that I found on the wrecked plane.” She didn’t mention the signet ring or the necklace she wore. Those belonged to Thorne’s family by right, and she didn’t want them getting confiscated, not when she could deliver them to Cameron Haywood herself, assuming he believed her.
“Cara, can I get access to a computer for an hour?”
“Of course, we have a few laptops for guest use. I could sign one of those out for you. They’re fairly basic, though.”
“That’s fine.” All she needed was access to her email and a way to upload the photos from her camera to her Dropbox.
Cara left to get the laptop, and Eden settled in to wait. She hadn’t texted Bwanbale yet, so she grabbed her loaner phone and texted him an update. She’d decided to move into a hotel once everything was settled here. Kampala was a safe city, and her boss had already booked her a suite and covered her expenses, including a new laptop and smartphone to be delivered there.
Eden texted Bwanbale the address of the hotel where she’d be for the next few days. Paul had offered her a first-class flight to come straight home, but the thought of leaving, of never seeing Thorne again, felt wrong—worse than wrong. So for the time being, she would stay in Uganda until she could sort things out.
Besides, the more she thought about it, the more the story of the treasure thieves and the murder of the tourists could be a powerful call to action. She was not the sort of journalist to sensationalize stories like these for the sake of shock value or publicity. But she was the sort of person to use this tragedy as a way to
get people to wake up to the problems the world was facing when it came to deforestation, the theft of a country’s natural resources, and the murder of innocent animals and humans. If she could write an article about that and expose whoever had hired those men in the jungle, maybe she could change the world too, as Bwanbale was doing.
Be the change in the world that you want to see. It was something her mother had always said to her, and now she truly felt she had a chance of doing that.
Cara knocked ten minutes later and handed Eden a laptop. She sat down on the bed and plugged in the camera memory card. She uploaded the pictures to her cloud storage while she checked her emails, and she soon found the one she was looking for. Her boss had called in every favor he had, but he had done it. He’d gotten Cameron Haywood’s private cell phone number.
She dialed the international number and waited. Her body vibrated with nerves and excitement as he she counted the rings.
After five rings she feared he wouldn’t answer, but suddenly he picked up, and she heard a cultured British baritone.
“Hello?”
“Lord Somerset?”
“Yes, who is this? The caller ID says the number is from Uganda.” Cameron sounded irritated.
“Yes, it is. Lord Somerset, my name is Eden Matthews. I have to speak with you about something very important.”
“Ms. Matthews, I do not know how you came by my number, but—”
“I found the plane,” she cut in quickly. “Your brother’s plane.”
There was a long moment of silence, and then he replied coldly, “Is this about the reward? That ended a long time ago.”
“Reward? What? No, I didn’t know about that. I don’t want money. You must listen to me, Lord Somerset.”
“Ms. Matthews, I have faced almost a decade of charlatans and con artists who’ve tried to convince me they found the plane and the bodies. None of it was true.”
Eden’s heart was racing as she struggled for the right words to make this man believe her.