The Dryad's Kiss

by Scott VanKirk

  My entire mystery-solving prowess came together in one fantastic word: “Huh?”

  “I didn’t know that you had let Jennifer hold the crystal, or maybe I’d have put it together earlier, but what you just described happened with Kathy and me.”

  I gaped at him, and so did my mom.

  “Mark and I had just come back from Australia. We had gone there on a four-week field trip. Kathy couldn’t come with us because of work. I returned a week before our third wedding anniversary and gave her the amethyst to celebrate our anniversary. Amethysts were her favorite stone and she'd never seen mine. Even though you aren't supposed to give amethysts until your sixth anniversary, I told her that I was planning for the future. We were out at dinner when I gave it to her.

  “I handed her the box over dessert.” He paused and then choked out, “When she opened it, she was so happy. Nobody’s eyes could dance the way hers could when she was happy…” He shook off the memory and continued. “Anyway, she picked up the crystal and the chain snagged on a wine glass. The glass started to tip over. I could see what was coming, so I jumped out of the chair, caught the glass, and almost pulled the crystal out of her hand. I reached to catch it and pushed it back into her hand.”

  At this point, he paused for a breath and then continued before we could urge him on.

  “That’s when I got hit with vertigo. I collapsed on the floor with the glass shattering in my hand. The next thing I knew, she was standing over me. She helped me up, but she was looking sick herself. As soon as I was up, she ran to the bathroom. When she came out, she looked scared and begged me to take her straight home. Her fear grew to the point that she was jumping at every shadow convinced something bad was coming.

  Later, we found out that she was pregnant. We had been trying for two years. We thought my dizziness was nothing but a head rush from too much wine and getting up so fast, and we never equated her growing delusions with the crystal.”

  “We should have been so happy,” he said. “But, when she started getting sick… Maybe if I had taken the crystal away from her she...”

  A cold chill poured over me. I swallowed hard. “Dad, it wasn’t your fault. I mean who would think an amethyst might drive someone insane?” I could hear the desperation in my voice; if my mom’s condition were my dad’s fault, then was Jen’s condition mine? I had ignored a lot of clues about the nature of the stone. I knew the answer, so I didn’t ask.

  My mom misunderstood everything I meant. “Jack, Finn is right. I think there must be a better explanation for what’s happening. We’ll just have to look harder to find it.”

  “Helen, I don’t think there is another explanation.”

  I didn’t, either.

  Gone With The Wind

  We arrived at the hospital in record time and rushed through the halls to Jen’s room. When we reached her floor, the first person we ran into was the last person I wanted to see.

  Dr. Anderson stood at the nurses’ station, going through some papers and talking to the nurse behind the desk.

  He turned, recognized me, and nailed me with his laser gaze. “Do you have any idea the amount of distress you put Jennifer through? Not to mention her parents and brother. What were you thinking? You may have caused her serious harm.”

  I stopped, pinned by his blue eyes and my guilt. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. We just talked.” Panicked, I babbled, “I had to see her. No one has let me see her or talk her. I couldn’t stand it.”

  My dad broke in. “She practically begged him to come. It was a boneheaded move on his part, but my son has an overinflated protective instinct. He didn’t mean any harm by it.”

  Dr. Anderson turned his Gaze of Death on my dad. Dad didn’t melt or even wince. He only put out his hand and Dr. Anderson grabbed it.

  I watched as the muscles in the two men’s forearms flexed. My dad wasn’t usually aggressive, but years in the field, digging and working under the hot sun, had given him a powerful grip. Neither of them conceded; they merely backed off to their respective corners.

  You go, Dad!

  The good doctor swept his arm to indicate a room across from the nurses’ station. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk more privately.”

  We entered the room, which turned out to be a waiting area. It was tastefully done up with lots of tan comfortable chairs, a nice view from the window—which took up the entire far wall—and a TV silently showing what looked to be another Spanish soap opera. The thought flitted through my mind that this was the kind of place to make you feel comfortable while someone you loved died.

  We settled into one of the little conversation areas demarcated by couches and chairs. Dr. Anderson sat across from me, and his gaze centered on me the moment we sat down.

  “You say Jennifer asked you to come by last night,” stated the doctor.

  “Yes, she did.”

  “That’s difficult to believe given the level of confusion she’s been showing.”

  “She did!”

  His freaky blue gaze pinned me like a bug to a board. I pulled out my phone, brought up our conversation from last night, and showed it to him. “She texted me.”

  He took my phone. I had a few moments of relief from the Gaze while he read through the texts. When he finished, he shook his head and caught my eyes again.

  “What have you been doing with her, Finn? Why is she so fixated on you?”

  “Uh, I don’t know.” I squirmed in the seat. His eyes attempted to bore into my brain and sift through my thoughts. “Really! I don’t know! I don’t know what happened to her! I don’t!”

  “It’s okay, Finn, honey,” Mom cooed. “We know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt her intentionally.”

  “Do we?” asked the doctor.

  “Okay, that’s enough!” growled my dad. “Finn has nothing to do with this other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s incapable of doing anything to harm that girl.”

  “Mr. Morgenstern, your son is hiding something. I can see it behind his eyes. I’m close friends with the Washingtons, and I’ve known Jennifer all her life. She never displayed any warning signs of mental problems. If she’d had any of the signs, I would have seen them. I’ve been a psychiatrist for over twenty years, and I’m extremely good at what I do. Jen was a bright, precocious child, and now she’s a mental ruin. Something happened, and it had to do with your son. I don’t believe it could be mere coincidence that she had her breakdown when she was alone with him in his room.”

  “You had better be careful with your accusations about my son,” growled my dad. “He’s one of the most honest, moral, and gentle young men I have ever had the pleasure to know. If he knew something that would help, he’d tell us.”

  Wow! I thrilled with pleasure. It surprised me how good it felt to hear that from my dad. After his accusations and suspicions over the last few days, I feared he had lost all faith in me. Of course, after that, the thrill drowned in a lake of guilt; I still wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

  The good doctor proved himself a stronger man than I. I would have backed off at the tone of my dad’s voice, but Dark Lord Anderson seemed unimpressed.

  “I have no idea what your son is or isn’t capable of, but I know that he’s somehow involved. I will find out what’s going on. I’ll find out how that child got hurt, and I will make sure it cannot happen again.”

  He swung the Gaze back to me, and I shriveled under his attention.

  “What did you talk about last night?”

  I glanced at my dad sitting catty-corner from me on a loveseat next to my mom. He nodded, his round eyes earnest and hopeful, so I turned back to the doctor and told him what I could remember about the conversation. For some reason, I left out the part about giving her the amethyst. He could tell; doubt rolled out of those eyes, and I was certain the doctor didn’t believe I’d told him everything, or perhaps he didn’t believe anything I said.

  When I finished, he asked, “What is this dreamstone she asked you to bring
? Did you bring it? Why is it so important to her?”

  Crap! I had forgotten she put that in her text.

  My dad replied, “It is an amethyst crystal I gave to my wife before she died. It was very important to her, and I gave it to Finn to help him remember her and remember that she loved him.”

  “So, why is it so important to Jennifer?”

  “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. Anger started to build in me, and I grasped the strength the emotion promised. I used that strength to lie. “It’s just a crystal that she has confused with a crystal in my game. It’s nothing important.”

  “There has to be some meaning to it. What aren’t you telling me, young man?”

  “I think we’re done here,” interjected my dad. “We’d like to collect the crystal and leave.”

  “He left it with her?” asked the doctor.

  “Yes, she seemed to really want it,” I replied, though he had addressed my dad.

  The doctor sat back, thinking, and then stood up. We followed his example. “I’ll go retrieve this crystal from her. You’re not going to go into her room. She was further into her delusions this morning than before, and it may upset her to have visitors.” He narrowed his Gaze to me and added, “Especially you. I don’t want anything else to upset her.”

  Again, the doctor’s ability to switch gears so quickly surprised me. I had been convinced he would continue beating on me. Mom and Dad both agreed with him with a nod, and we trailed after him out to the corridor and waited by the nurses’ station while he went down the hall to Jen’s room.

  After a few moments, he came back along the hall, sporting a disconcerted frown. He addressed the nurse, “Janice, where is Jennifer Washington—the patient in room eight-oh-six?”

  “She’s not in her room?” asked the surprised nurse. “Is she—?”

  “No, not in her bathroom either.”

  Much to everyone’s growing alarm, a quick conference of nurses, orderlies, and janitors didn’t turn up anyone willing to say they had seen her. We hurried to Jen’s room and searched it, but there was no sign of her. We went around the floor, peering in other patient rooms and every other room we could find.

  In the following general confusion, I ended up back in her room, leaning out the open window, gazing out over the parking lot. A shout behind me nearly caused me to jump out the window.

  “You! What are you doing here?” demanded Mr. Washington as he walked through the door from the hall.

  I spun around. “I—”

  “Where is my daughter? What have you done with her this time?”

  I shied back to the windowsill. Mr. Washington was built like a linebacker, tall, wide around the shoulders, huge arms, and terrifying. It was ironic he was a pediatrician. That thought abandoned me when he grabbed my shirt, pushed me back further through the open window, and shook me.

  “What have you done?” he shouted in my face.

  Before I could, answer, someone spoke behind him. I couldn’t see the person, because a half-ton of angry muscle eclipsed my entire view.

  “I said let him go, Allen!” It was Dr. Anderson. My jaw would have dropped to the floor, but the floor was about one hundred feet below me. Surprise! Dr. Anderson to the rescue, but that did not diminish my gratitude.

  Jen’s dad turned to scowl at my savior and said, “I’m not letting him go until he tells me where she is.”

  “He doesn’t know where she is, Allen. Put him down and let him go,” replied the doctor, staring at Mr. Washington. The icy Gaze must have penetrated even that mountain of a man, because after a moment, he dropped me.

  I landed in an awkward, bent position on the metal edge of the open window, with my bottom sticking out over the abyss, and felt myself falling back. I reached out to grab something, got one hand on the window frame, and then held on for life as I swung backward. Fortunately, Mr. Washington noticed, and even more fortunately, he didn’t decide to help me out the rest of the way. He grabbed my arm and pulled me in, almost dislocating my shoulder.

  After I landed back inside had my feet on the ground and far away from the window, I noticed Dr. Anderson leaning out where I had almost fallen.

  He demanded to the air, “How did this get open?”

  My mind snapped back to the present, and I recalled that he had repeated himself a couple times.

  It occurred to me how stupid and oblivious I had been. These windows were supposed to be locked. It just wouldn’t look good for the hospital to have patients plummeting to their deaths on a regular basis. I ran back to the window next to Anderson in a panic and plastered my face against the glass.

  I tried to look down, but I was spared further anguish when Anderson told us, “She hasn’t fallen from here.”

  Thank God!

  Mrs. Washington was standing just inside the hallway. Her beautiful almond eyes were filled with quiet anxiety. I dropped my gaze before I could meet hers. I hated the idea that I had hurt such a gentle and kind person.

  My parents showed up in a matter of moments and a brief, intense testosterone-filled moment passed between Mr. Washington and my dad. Again, I was ironically grateful for Dr. Anderson’s presence. He stepped between the two and stopped the incipient floor mopping.

  I breathed a sigh of relief; there was no question who the mop would have been in that match. Strong hands or no, compared to Mr. Washington, my dad was a stick-bug.

  Standing the hall, I asked, “Dad, what could have happened to her?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. It looked like she just got up and walked out when no one was watching.”

  “You don’t think she was kidnapped or anything, do you?”

  Mom chimed in. “No, she definitely walked out.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “She took her shoes and her street clothes. They weren’t in the room.”

  Thinking back on it, those sounded like the obvious things to check for, but then, as now, Obvious and I were not on a first-name basis.

  “Where would she go?” I asked aloud. As soon as it got out of my mouth, I whipped out my phone and called Gregg. He didn't answer. Something was wrong.

  I led my parents back out to the hallway past Mrs. Washington. She and my mother exchanged hugs and my dad and I continued out.

  When we got there, I held up my finger. “Just a sec.” I tried texting Gregg. As I watched for the reply, my feeling that something was wrong grew stronger. “Jen's in trouble.”

  My parents didn't understand. They just looked a little puzzled that I would be stating the obvious. “No, I mean really in trouble!”

  “What do you mean?” asked my mom.

  “I don't know, but there is something wrong.” When I saw their looks I said, “I don't know what, but—we have to go home! Jen is there.”

  I didn't wait for my parents; I rushed down the hall, and pushed the elevator button. When it didn't immediately open, I ran to the stairs.

  My parents caught up and stopped me. “Finn, why do you think she’s there?” asked my Dad.

  The elevator dinged so I reversed course and hopped in, followed by my parents. As we waited while the slowest elevator ever made crawled down four stories, I wracked my brain, looking for a reason for my growing unease.

  In the silence and forced inaction of the elevator, my dad repeated, “Finn? Why do you think she's there?”

  “She's been trying to get me to cut down our tree in the back yard. She thinks it's going to destroy the world or something. I think she’s gone there to do it.”

  “Our house is a good hour walk from the hospital, Finn. Do you think she could make it?”

  “Dad, she’s insane, not crippled.”

  My mom said, “We should drive home along the most likely route she would walk.”

  We agreed and when the elevator finally arrived at the first floor, we all rushed out to the car, leaving a wake of confused and annoyed people. As we pulled out of the parking lot, all I could think about was what I would d
o if I lost Spring—or Jen.

  If A Tree Falls…

  “Can't you go any faster?”

  My dad didn't answer, but the tires squealed as we rounded a corner. My anxiety kept growing.

  When we finally pulled into the garage, I bolted out of the car. The quickest way to the backyard was through the house, so I headed inside. The faint sound of a chainsaw bit the air and the image of what might be happening nearly shattered me. I couldn’t let anything happen to my oak.

  I sprinted through the kitchen, bouncing off walls and cabinets to the sliding glass door. Though it, Gregg flew in from stage left with a chainsaw in his hand, screaming obscenities. He bounced and rolled off stage right followed by the saw. I ran to the door, attempted to throw it open, and nearly ripped my fingers off as the door fought back. Cursing, I fumbled with the lock and yanked the door open one more time. It moved far enough to run into the stop-stick.

  Argh! Why we would use a stick and leave the windows open was beyond me. I grabbed the stick, threw it away, and yelled, “Leave the fucking door open!”

  As I finally made it through the door, I saw a beaten and bloodied Gregg reach my tree with the chainsaw.

  The late afternoon sunlight reflecting from the clouds gave a golden and surreal glow to the world. In that glow, embedded within the scream and stink of the chainsaw, Jen was being eaten by my tree.

  Her head, one arm, and one shoulder were sticking out of the tree; her torso disappeared into the trunk. She looked like a grisly hunting trophy hung on the tree—a still live and struggling trophy. The panic and pain on her reddened face and silently gaping mouth ripped me open to get to my heart.

  I shouted and flew to help Jen. I had to duck a wildly flaying branch to get to her. The bark puckered around her torso like a pair of huge cracked and craggy lips around a straw. In places, the bark flowed and rippled like a liquid, drawing her into the trunk. My panic matched hers. I cried to her as I grasped her arm and tried to pull her back, but I was afraid I would rip her slender arm out of it socket, so I reached under her shoulder to pull. As I did, my hand scraped against the rough bark under her armpit. Where I touched the bark, it melted and oozed away. I immediately plunged my other hand into the tree, pushed through its warm tar-like consistency and finally got grip under both of Jen's armpits.