The Dryad's Kiss

by Scott VanKirk

  I lifted the covers and peered down to my little soldier. Damn!

  Dave continued, unperturbed by my distressed visage. “Besides, Jim had never seen it, and you’re not dying any time soon, at least not so far as the doctors can tell.”

  I dropped the covers and glowered at him. “Well, that’s something at least.”

  His smile dropped from his face, and he asked, “So… how are you feeling?”

  “I feel like crap, and I could eat a dinosaur.”

  Everything that had happened to me seemed a bit distant and dull, as if it happened to me when I was someone else.

  I asked, “So, what happened? What time is it?”

  “It’s just about dinnertime, maybe five o’clock. As for what happened, we were hoping you would tell us,” snarked Dave. “Then, we can sell the story to the National Enquirer and get rich.”

  My mouth started watering as I considered dinner, and my stomach made a squelching noise.

  Oblivious to my gustatory emergency, Jim said, “No one actually knows what happened. Your dad, Jen, and Gregg are all in the hospital, too.”

  A memory bomb blew away my blissful selective amnesia. Connections started sparking from my forebrain to my limbic system, and a bolt of fear slid through me, displacing my hunger. “What happened to them? Are they all right?”

  Jim responded again, “I don’t know what’s happening with your dad, but Gregg has a concussion, cracked ribs, plus a fractured leg and arm. Jen has a concussion and a broken collarbone. Everybody got kind of beat up, but we’ve been told they’re going to heal up.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Dave with a gleam in his eye. “We can rebuild them, make them stronger, faster… So they can run away from you.”

  “Jesus, Dave!” started Jim.

  Unintentionally, I cut him short with my laugh. It was Dave’s way to reduce the tension. He loved kicking people’s sacred cows and took every opportunity to do so. This time around, I actually appreciated it. Laughter was better than dread, which had plopped down on my heart, heavy, cold, and too much to handle right now.

  “No, Jim, he’s right,” I said. “You guys should probably run while you can, too.”

  Dave hunkered down onto the bed rail and rested his chin on the metal. “So, coma boy, spill. What the hell happened? There’s nothing but rampant speculation on the news. We can’t get in to see Jen or Gregg, and neither your mom nor the police are talking.”

  I tilted my head back toward the ceiling with a sigh. “Where’s my mom? Is she all right?”

  Jim said, “She’s at home, sleeping. We offered to sit with you so she could get out for a while. Between you and your dad, she’d been here for over forty hours.”

  “She wanted us to help keep the paparazzi, Mr. Washington, and the other stalkers away,” said Dave.

  “They’ve been really persistent, and a couple got into your room,” added Jim.

  “What do they want?”

  Dave’s mouth hung open. “You’re kidding, right? This is more excitement than even high school basketball. I think some people have actually exploded with curiosity—nasty to clean up.”

  At my blank stare, he continued, “Look, the police get a nine-one-one call from your mom. She gets them to send four ambulances to your house. When they get there, it looks like a scene out of Call of Cthulhu with enough blood to fill a swimming pool.

  “You and your dad came in unconscious. Gregg and Jen looked like someone beat them with a really big stick. On top of that, someone has cut down the oak tree in your back yard and crushed your house. Your mom claims she just got there and found everyone like that. Says she doesn’t know what happened. The police opened up an investigation looking for the approximately one dozen people who must have been killed and drained in your backyard. First, they’re convinced Erik Parmely had something to do with it. Then, twelve hours later, the Chief of Police announces no one had been murdered, the blood came from a cow, and obviously, it was all a prank that got out of control.”

  “Oh,” I squeaked in a weak voice.

  “But wait! There’s more!” Dave laughed. “So, after they brought here, Jen’s dad storms into your room and starts shaking you around and yelling at you, even though you’re unconscious. Your mom clobbers him with a pitcher and screams bloody murder until the hospital orderlies come and drag Mr. Washington out. Now, there’s a restraining order against him from even coming into the same county as you, and he’s gotten one to stop you from coming into contact with Jen or Gregg.”

  I glanced from Dave to Jim. He glared at Dave’s complete lack of empathy, class, or style.

  I found myself starting to agree with him. A little of Dave goes a long way. “Oh, god,” slipped out of my mouth as everything Dave said sank in. A stirring of something in the depths of my mind responded to my horror.

  Dave took a deep breath to continue when Jim silenced him by saying, “Okay, Dave, enough. I think you’ve done plenty of damage here.”

  To my utter shock, Dave took Jim’s advice and shut up. They both focused on me, waiting for me to speak, waiting to discover what had happened.

  “I really wish the police’s story were true. It’s certainly more believable than what really happened.” I raised my palms to my forehead and tried to take a breath. “Everything is so fucked up.”

  Instinctively, my hand dropped to my throat and closed around the necklace. Its presence brought a measure of comfort, yet I still felt helpless and alone, even with two of my best friends in the room.

  In answer, a gentle thought evoking wind-rustling leaves whispered into my mind. I am here with you. The smell of hyacinth and lilies swirled around me as it passed.

  My heart sped up as the message rolled through my brain. At first, I figured I had thought those words, but I realized who it must be—Spring. She had somehow survived.

  I didn’t know how to express my joy at seeing her. Spring!

  Yes This One, you cradle me and hold me and nurture me.

  Dread flood through me. If she was a part of me, that meant the rest of it was all true.

  Ignorant to my inner drama, Dave said, “Try us.”

  How could I possibly explain any of this without sounding completely mental? I didn't want to sit through their incredulous stares, but what choice did I have? I could just shut up and go through this alone, or I could tell them and risk their ridicule and disbelief. At worst, they would leave me alone, anyway, but maybe I wouldn’t be alone in this new Bizzaro World that I had stumbled upon.

  Dave produced a piece of once-folded printer paper. “This guy seems to be the only one who knows what happened.”

  He handed it to me, and on it, a message was scrawled in red marker.

  I saw everything. I know what you are. As God is my witness, I will stop you.

  There was no indication who had written it, but I didn’t need one.

  Inquiring Minds Want To Know

  I looked up from the letter and searched my friends faces. “Who wrote this? Where did you find it?”

  Jim shrugged. “We found it on your tray next to your bed when we came in. Of course, Dave, having no class, unfolded it and read it. We don’t know who it’s from.”

  The memory of locking eyes with Erik while holding Jen’s still form hit me with the wet slap of a dead fish and came out of my mouth as, “Aw, crap.”

  Eager and interested, Dave leaned forward and stared at me. “Do you know who wrote this? More importantly, why did they write this? What did you do?”

  I dropped my head back on my pillow and moaned as I pressed my palms to my eyes. “Erik-fucking-Parmely. It has to be him.”

  Even this sidecar couldn’t derail Dave. “Oh, fine. You invite him to your party, but not your friends. What did he see, Finn?”

  Isn’t there some sort of rule about how much shit the universe could dump on you at one time? I swore, “God damn it! He’s been stalking me, Dave.” Jim frowned and rubbed his chin. “You should call the police; get a restraini
ng order or something before he takes this to them.”

  “In the meantime, you can tell us what happened.”

  Spring was thinking the same thing I was. This One, your body has nothing for me to work with. You need sustenance.

  I figured we’d have to work on her language skills, but it got to the important point. “You have to feed me first.”

  “What?”

  “No food, no story.”

  Dave looked at Jim, “You heard the man! Feed him!”

  Jim looked at Dave sourly. “You feed him.”

  “I’m not the one with the half a foot long in my pack. I already ate mine!”

  Jim finally acquiesced and produced the remains of his turkey sub. He presented it to me with both hands and bowed. “Your Majesty.”

  I had a tough time answering through the saliva that filled my mouth at the first smell. “Thank you loyal servant, you may sit in my presence.”

  About two breaths later, I was licking my fingers, and I felt strength flowing back through me. Immediately, I started feeling less tired and lousy. “Damn, that was a good sub.”

  Jim raised an eyebrow skeptically, “How could you tell? I’m pretty sure none of it had time to touch your tongue.”

  Dave waived his hand at us. “Yeah, yeah, okay Finn. You’ve been fed, now spill. What happened?”

  For the first time, I gave some real thought about how I would tell anyone about this. “I don’t know how to explain it Dave.”

  “Oh, come on! That’s a cop-out! Give monkey boy.”

  I eyed Dave and shook my head. “I’m serious; you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Okay. So what?”

  That was a good question. Did it really matter if anyone believed me? Yes, but I couldn’t tell you why. “Look, give me some time. I’ll tell you when I get out of here. That way if you want to have me committed, you’ll have to drag me back kicking and clawing.”

  Dave frowned at me in disgust. A knotted cold, wet dishcloth formed in my stomach. “What about Jen and Gregg? What did they tell you?”

  “They won’t let anyone in to see them,” said Jim. “Mr. Washington is keeping everyone else out.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Not to us.” Dave shook his head.

  “I suppose anyone would freak out seeing their children brought into the hospital unconscious and covered in blood,” said Jim.

  The logic in that was hard to deny, especially after the evil neighborhood demon boy—a.k.a. Finn Morgenstern—did something to drive your daughter insane.

  My mom bustling into the room broke the uncomfortable silence that grew after Jim’s comment. Her face lit up when she saw me sitting up in bed chatting with my friends. She came over and gave me a big hug, which I returned enthusiastically. Then, before I knew it, a dam that I hadn’t noticed, or had tried to ignore, burst within me. My mother was here. She would make everything all right. I cried like a little kid. Grief and guilt burst through the dam I had constructed to hold them back.

  Sometime during my breakdown, Jim and Dave excused themselves to go get some dinner. They didn’t want to watch me go through this any more than I wanted to go through it. When my outpouring of pent up fears and sorrows slowed to a trickle, leaving a temporary, but precious, emptiness, the hiccups moved into the void. Damn that’s annoying. I held my breath, drank a glass of water, and managed to drown them.

  “Mom? How’s dad?”

  “Your father is in a coma. A lot like the one you were in, but he’s been in it a lot longer than you were.”

  The tears threatened again. “Mom,” I began, and then paused. I dreaded telling her this. “I think I’m the one who hurt Dad.”

  “Oh, honey.” She grabbed my hand and said, “It was an accident. When he pulled you away from the tree, you both fell, and he hit his head. It’s nobody’s fault.”

  “No, Mom, I don’t think that’s it.” No way could I stop there, so I tried to explain everything to her. I tried just talking about what happened in the backyard, but kept finding myself having to backtrack. Before long, I gave up and started from the beginning.

  Mom sat and listened to my story with concerned attention. We paused when the orderly came in with my dinner. I don’t remember anything about him, since he was a guy and I was preoccupied. I do remember being a little surprised when I found the platter empty with no memory of eating, though.

  Everything except for my last sighting of Erik and his note came spilling out of me. Images of what I had done to Dad repeated through my mind like a broken film and pushed the jerk from my mind.

  I ended with, “I remember vaguely being worried that I gave too much of whatever I had given to Dad. After that, I passed out.”

  When I finished, she sat back in the chair she had dragged to the side of my bed. Her hair was straggly and uncombed and the lines in her face suggested that her cheeks were too heavy to lift. This was my fault.

  What will I do if she doesn’t believe me?

  “Finn,” she said after rubbing the palms of her hands over her face and through her hair. “I saw the tree eating Jennifer. You pulled her out whole. I saw that creature toss Jen across the yard after she came out of the trunk. That tree start to bleed the moment it grabbed you. I saw that thing, the girl—the dryad—disappear while you cradled Jennifer in your arms! I can’t believe what I saw that day, but I can’t deny that I saw it without lying to myself. I still can’t seem to integrate it into my world. I keep thinking that it was all a nightmare, a bad dream.

  “Then I come here, and see you and your dad, and it all comes crashing in around me again. Dryads? Bleeding trees? Magic?” she balked. “It sounds more like one of your games than the real world.” She paused looking off to some old memory and not focusing on anything in the room. “I’m a scientist, Finn. I believe in the laws of physics. I believe in what I can see, hold, and measure. This is beyond me, and I don’t know what to do.” A few tears leaked out when she squeezed her eyes shut.

  I waited, trying to give her the same courtesy she had given me—listening without judgment or interruption.

  After a time, she opened her eyes again. “Now you tell me that you’re possessed by the tree spirit that’s been killing you; that you can somehow see into people and help them? How am I supposed to handle that? How can I protect my family when all the things I’ve believed have been thrown aside?” The lost and forlorn expression on her face mirrored her words.

  “Mom…,” I choked. Tears dripped from my eyes again, and my throat constricted painfully. “I’m so sorry…I should have told you. I should have…”

  “Should have what, Finn? Should have said a tree was molesting you?”

  I didn’t “molest” you! We mated in joyful creation of life!

  Please, Spring, let her speak!

  My mom continued. “Should you have told me that everything we know about everything is wrong?” She shook her head. “Maybe, Finn, but if I have trouble accepting this now, I doubt I would have accepted your explanation before.”

  “But, Mom, if I’d—”

  “No, Finn. There was nothing you could have done. How could you? You’re a child. You’ve been living through things that would’ve broken some grown men. I understand that you try to take on responsibility for everything that happens around you, but you can’t do that here. The fact that you did all you did trying to save everyone is testament to your strength and courage. None of this is your fault.”

  So many emotions flowed through me at that moment that I thought I would shatter from nothing more than a sharp blow. Love and gratitude to my mom swelled within me. Hearing her say that it wasn’t my fault came as a huge relief, even though another part of me knew she was wrong. That part of me grieved that I hadn’t handled everything differently. My guilt was sealed, but my mom’s love was still unbreakable. It made everything more bearable—even being called a child.

  When I didn’t say anything, she demanded, “It’s not your fault! Understan
d?”

  Keeping my reservations to myself, I nodded, and then the two of us hugged and cried again.

  Of course, Jim and David chose that moment to walk back into the room. David’s exclamation announced them. “A whole hour? You can cry for a whole hour? Show some dignity, man!”

  I pulled back from my mom and glared at him through puffy red eyes. Jim shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable, and took a step away from him. Dave grinned his unrepentant grin as I tried to stare him into shame. I lost the battle when my mom laughed and said, “David Drew Canning, you’re terrible!”

  Jim cast him a sour glower and said, “Yeah, we think it was because he was dropped on his head too many times as a baby.”

  It mystified me how Dave or anyone could have such brass balls. Some of the things he said were unbelievable. Whenever I tried quips like that, I caught major trouble. He somehow was immune to most social limits and continued not to disappoint.

  “So, has your son given you his theory about what happened?”

  My mom turned back to me. “You told them?”

  “No, not yet.”

  Dave said, “He's testing us to see how far he can push our curiosity before our heads explode.”

  “Dave, I promise I'll tell you what I can after I get out of here, okay?”

  To my relief, he relented. “Okay, I guess another couple of days won't kill me.”

  Jim had been holding back and listening to the conversation. Now he stepped up with a small smile playing on his lips. “Come on, Dave. I promised your mom I'd get you home before seven. You know how you get if you’re not in bed on time.”

  “Ha! You funny guy.”

  “Come on, let’s go. Give Finn and Mrs. M. some privacy.”

  Grudgingly, Dave allowed himself to be herded out of the room.

  “Detective Hunter has been by several times to see you,” said my mom. She smirked with self-satisfaction. “I told her that if she woke you up, I’d sue her for child molesting.”

  Graciously, I laughed at that while ignoring yet another slight about my age. I thought it quite mature of me.