The Woodlander

by Kirk Watson

  John waited as the frog just blinked his yellow eyes.

  “Not to be rude,” John said, “but I’m afraid I don’t have much time. Are you going to tell me or not?”

  “She said, ‘Live, John Grey.’”

  John felt like he had been punched in the stomach, remembering a promise he had made six months ago. “Who are you? Death?”

  “No,” the frog replied, “I’m merely a transporter.”

  “No offense, but the last transporter I met turned out to be a real tosser. Tell me, is it my time to go?”

  “Perhaps. But first, tell me this, John Grey, have you led a full life?”

  “It was a good life. No—a great life, but that was when I had Sharon.”

  “I see. And now that you no longer have her, you are ready to die?”

  “I was ready, but now…”

  “Perhaps you have found something else to live for?”

  “Well, I always wanted to write that novel.”

  The frog chuckled, tiny bubbles burbling from his lips. “Yes, I hear that one a lot. If we should ever meet again, I’d very much like to read that novel. But that’s not what you’re fighting for now, is it?”

  “No, I guess not,” John said. “Before, I was all alone; it didn’t seem to matter much what happened to me. But there are two little girls up there who need me. I can’t die now.”

  “Then listen to Sharon.” The frog began to swim away. “Live, John Grey.”

  “That’s it?” John called after him. “Live?”

  The frog turned for a moment. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Sharon says you need to remember to breathe.” The frog proceeded on his way.

  “Wait! I’m drowning! How am I supposed to breathe—”

  John was choked short by the water entering his lungs. The frog disappeared, and John’s vision began to blur.

  Breathe? Easy for you to say, you damn amphibian. Like I’d ever let you read my novel now, you green son-of-a…

  A pair of paws grasped his jumpsuit. He looked up to see Lisa pulling him to the surface.

  Lisa! Such a brave girl. Foolish, but brave. If I survive this, I must remember to scold her.

  He lost consciousness as the two broke through to the river’s surface. Lisa waved frantically at Violet and Rollie on the riverbank.

  “Help me get him to the shore!” she shouted.

  Violet and Rollie waded in and grabbed hold of John’s arms. Together, they dragged him onto the riverbank and laid him on his back.

  “Is he dead?” Rollie asked.

  “He will be soon,” Lisa said. “He’s not breathing.” She began pumping John’s legs to his chest, but still he did not breathe. “Come on, John,” she implored. “Don’t do this. Not now.”

  Violet began to cry. Rollie took a knee next to her and bowed his head.

  Lisa covered John’s nose and breathed into his mouth. “Come on, John,” she said between breaths. “We need you.”

  John remained still, his eyes closed.

  Lisa clenched her paws together and began pounding on his chest. “Breathe, damn you!”

  Still, John did not respond.

  Tears began to form in Lisa’s eyes. Exhausted, she collapsed with her head on his chest, sobbing. “Just breathe,” she whispered in his ear.

  Breathe…

  John’s eyes popped open with a gasp. He turned his head and coughed as the water rushed out of his lungs.

  “He’s alive!” Violet exclaimed.

  Lisa looked up in surprise. John smiled at her weakly, holding up a paw. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took it in her own. “I knew you wouldn’t leave us, you big faker…”

  “It’s not safe here,” John said, still coughing up water. “Must get to the trees…”

  “We have a few minutes,” Lisa said. “The haakönen always hunt alone, remember? You’re bleeding. Let me take a look at that cut.”

  She tore open John’s jumpsuit, revealing the map and a large gash in his shoulder. She tried to disguise her worry as she pressed the cheesecloth map against the wound. “Oh, it’s not so bad,” she lied. “Hold this in place, John. Rollie, we have to get him to cover. Help me get him to his feet.”

  They picked John up and carried him to the forest, then laid him down with his back against a tree.

  “How are you feeling, John?” Violet asked.

  “I’ve had worse,” John said with a forced smile.

  It was a lie; the pain was excruciating. He felt dizzy and disoriented, as if the forest were spinning around him. But if it hadn’t been for the agony, he thought, it wouldn’t have been all that different from a hard night of drinking.

  He placed his paws over his eyes to stop the spinning. “I’ve lost my glasses. And my dagger. I’ve lost the dagger!”

  “We know,” Rollie said, still wet and shivering. “It’s buried in that haakönen’s neck. Absolutely brilliant, Johnny-boy!”

  John started to laugh, but winced at the pain.

  “Not now, Rollie,” Lisa said. “Don’t worry about the dagger, John. We still have the map. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Violet, bring me that tarp.” She pulled out her first aid kit.

  “Thank you, Lisa,” John said. His eyes were growing heavy and his speech slurred. “For saving my life. But you shouldn’t have. It was far too dangerous. The most important thing is… to protect… your sister… To live… The frog said… to live… He sent me back… to help you…”

  “The frog?” Rollie asked. “What’s he talking about?”

  “He’s delirious,” Lisa said. “I think he’s going into shock.”

  “Don’t die, John!” Violet cried.

  “Don’t worry,” John said, extending a paw to her. “The frog… he told me… to live.”

  “Did he hit his head?” Rollie asked.

  John laughed weakly. “It’s okay. At first… I didn’t believe the frog, either… But he told me things… things only Sharon could know… You know what else? His name was Charon… which rhymes with Sharon… Charon, Sharon, Charon, Sharon…” John sighed as his eyes rolled back into his head. “She’s the most… beautiful girl… in Woodland… you know?”

  “I know,” Lisa said as she rushed to stop the bleeding in his shoulder. “Shut up and save your strength, you old fart.”

  “You sound… just like her, Lisa,” John mumbled. “She always said… the nicest things…”

  John smiled and promptly passed out.

  Chapter 16

  NUPTIALS

  Newlywed John Grey sat in the upstairs office of his newly purchased three-bedroom tree. Located in a good neighborhood, the old oak was rather modest, but healthy and strong. After graduating from Langley University, he had saved nearly every cent he had earned working for the Langley Post until he was able to purchase the tree. He had paid the price in full, refusing to take on a mortgage. His parsimonious ways often irritated his fiancée (she said cheap; he said frugal), but she had to admit the sacrifices had been worthwhile when they finally moved into the spacious three-bedroom tree. John had converted one of the bedrooms into the office he was sitting in now. He picked up the picture frame from his desk and smiled at the grainy black-and-white photograph.

  Sharon.

  Sharon’s wealthy father could have easily afforded to buy them a nicer tree in a more exclusive neighborhood, but John had refused to ask him for a cent, and for Mr. Payne’s part, he had refused to offer any assistance anyway. He had been enraged to learn his daughter was marrying a lowly reporter, and though John could never be sure, he suspected Mr. Payne still harbored a grudge against the grubby paperboy who had knocked on his door so many years ago, asking if little Sharon was home. Mr. Payne had forbidden Sharon from seeing John, and when she refused to acquiesce, he had cut her off completely—gone were the fancy apartment, the generous allowance, and even the expensive tuition payments.

  That was the time John had been most afraid he’d lose her, but to Sharon’s credit, she never once complained ab
out the drastic change to her lifestyle. While still struggling to make ends meet as college students, she and John had found a little apartment over a restaurant just outside of campus. John had to sell his beloved bicycle to come up with the two months’ deposit, and Sharon helped out by not only charming the elderly raccoon proprietor into cutting the apartment’s rent in half, but also convincing him to give her a job as a waitress. It was a good arrangement for both parties, as Sharon soon had the restaurant operating at peak efficiency, organizing the kitchen staff and taking over the restaurant’s marketing. It also didn’t hurt that she developed a steady stream of regular customers, mostly male students and faculty, who all tipped generously to be served equal helpings of spicy food and sassy rejections from the beautiful law-school waitress. John wasn’t as thrilled with her love-struck clientele, but he bit his tongue—he had to admit the free food she brought upstairs every night after her shifts was quite the benefit. They spent many a quiet evening in that tiny, cramped apartment, sitting on crates and eating takeout by candlelight.

  It was during one such meal that John had proposed to Sharon. He had offered her his mother’s engagement ring, a gift from his father, and Sharon had readily accepted. Despite their poverty, they had never been happier.

  John and Sharon married shortly after graduating. The small ceremony took place in the church next to the cemetery where John’s mother was buried. Sharon’s father had refused to attend, so John’s stood in his place, happily walking her down the aisle. She wore a simple white dress, and John wore the only suit he owned: a navy-blue business suit he had also worn to graduation. Mr. Finn sat in attendance as one of the few guests to witness the short recitation of vows. John and Sharon exchanged wedding bands, and the pastor pronounced them husband and wife. Afterwards, William had cried, proudly embracing his son and new daughter-in-law in a show of affection that moved Sharon to tears. John had never seen his father so happy.

  Unfortunately, William’s happiness was to be short-lived. Just a few weeks after the wedding, he fell ill, overcome by coughing spasms. The doctor diagnosed it as a rare lung condition, and the prognosis was not good. Soon, William was completely bedridden. John took a leave of absence from the Post so he could watch over his ailing father. Sharon brought them meals every day, and together they would sit by William’s bedside and do what they could to ease his suffering.

  William put on a brave face, telling them not to cry for him. He attempted to raise everyone’s spirits by telling funny stories from John’s youth, most of them ending with little John declaring, “I’ll be back tomorrow!” These tales would leave Sharon in stitches and John blushing, but he did not mind. He was glad his father seemed so happy despite his ailing condition, laughing heartily with Sharon between fits of coughing.

  Just before William died, he said he was glad to be surrounded by the two people he loved most in this world, but it was time for him to be reunited with his wife. He told them they were lucky to have found each other, and they should cherish every moment they had together, for you never knew when those moments would come to an end. He left the world that night with a smile on his face, holding John and Sharon’s paws in his own.

  His funeral was held the next day in the same church where John and Sharon had married. The pastor gave a short eulogy, and several of William’s co-workers, including Mr. Finn, stood up to speak on his behalf. They all agreed that William had been one of the kindest, most honest, and most generous squirrels they’d ever met, and Woodland was a poorer place without him. After the service, Mr. Finn sang a hymn as the pallbearers lowered William’s coffin into the ground, laying him to rest next to his wife in the church cemetery. At William’s request, his headstone simply read, “William Grey, Husband and Father.”

  Afterwards, Sharon did her best to console John, who was racked with grief. He fell into a deep depression, losing his usual zest for life. He spent most of his days lying in bed, though he slept very little. When he did manage to get up, he would just sit in his office and stare out the window for hours.

  Sharon was gravely concerned about her husband’s sudden change in demeanor, but she never gave up on him. Only through her constant soothing did John finally pull out of his funk. He wasn’t sure how he would have made it through that dark time without her, though he still missed his father terribly. But his father had been right: he was lucky to have found her.

  Sharon.

  John set the picture frame back on his desk. He had work to do: a new assignment from Mr. Finn. He picked up one of the police reports and thumbed through it:

  Missing Persons Report

  Samuel Labbot

  Mouse, white

  Age: 22

  The report went on to say that young Mr. Labbot had been a promising law student at Langley University before dropping out. Afterwards, news of his activities had grown spotty. He had been evicted from his apartment (his last known address) and had accumulated a few arrests (all for minor offenses), then disappeared completely. By the time the report had reached John’s desk, Samuel had already been missing for several years.

  John picked up the black-and-white photograph paper-clipped to the report. It depicted a white mouse in a graduate’s cap and gown accompanied by two older mice John assumed were Samuel’s parents. Samuel was holding his high school diploma across his chest while his parents beamed proudly for the camera. He seemed happy and healthy enough, John thought, if rather plump in the middle.

  Where have you gone, Samuel Labbot?

  John placed the report back on the pile. There were dozens of them: missing mice, squirrels, ferrets. Mostly young, they all seemed to have fallen on hard times of one sort or another. The reports were filled with eviction notices, letters from creditors, and criminal records (drunken disorderliness, prostitution, illicit drug use, and such). All of them had disappeared from Langley without a trace, never to be seen again.

  The reports had been a pet project of Mr. Finn’s that had over the years turned into a private obsession. He was sure there was a pattern buried somewhere in that mountain of data, but he couldn’t find it. John had been skeptical he would fare any better, but Mr. Finn insisted a fresh set of eyes was just what the case needed, so John had reluctantly agreed to take a look. Mr. Finn had had the files delivered to the Grey residence that night, and after some perusal, John had to admit there might be some connection between the reports. There were just so many of them, all from Langley, all down-and-out (if not completely destitute), and not a single one of them had ever been found.

  Then again, as John had pointed out to Mr. Finn, just how much effort had the authorities put into finding these missing persons? None of them came from wealthy or influential families. They all seemed to have just slipped through the cracks. Were they even missed at all?

  John picked up the photograph of Samuel and his proud parents, who were standing on either side of him. He tried to imagine what they must have gone through after the disappearance of their son, the desperation they must have felt.

  Yes, surely you were missed, Samuel. But where have you gone?

  John rubbed his chin.

  Wherever you’re hiding, Samuel, I bet you have a great story to tell—and I’m going to be the one to tell it!

  A call from downstairs broke his concentration:

  “John, dinner’s ready!”

  John stood to leave his office, still carrying the missing persons report in his paw. As he passed by his awards shelf, he paused to clear a little space right in the middle.

  You’ll be my greatest story yet, Samuel, he thought, smiling as he thumped the missing persons report with a finger. He carried it with him down to the kitchen. “Say, Sharon, do you remember a Samuel—”

  He stopped short at the sight of the ornate spread on the candlelit table. His favorite dish, a cheese-and-acorn casserole, steamed in its ceramic container (a wedding gift from Mr. Finn that had gone heretofore unused). The lightly-browned cheese bubbled as the heat rose up from the laye
rs below. Next to the casserole was a loaf of garlic bread neatly sectioned into generous, well-buttered slices. There was also a side salad topped with cheese and walnuts, and a bottle of red wine—the good stuff, John noticed, with a cork and everything.

  Sharon sat waiting at the opposite end of the table, her face positively glowing in the candlelight. She had never looked more beautiful to John. A sudden panic struck him.

  “It’s not our anniversary, is it?” he asked.

  “No,” Sharon laughed. “Have a seat.”

  John sat across from her, eyeing the food and his wife suspiciously. “Okay, Sharon, I give up. What’s going on?”

  Sharon held up her paws in mock exasperation. “What? Can’t I make a nice dinner for my dear husband?”

  “Clearly you can, but you never have before. We’ve been eating takeout every night since we moved in to this tree. I don’t know what you’re up to, Sharon, but something’s going on.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said coyly.

  John studied his wife, who put on her best poker face. He drummed his fingers on the table as he stared into her eyes, looking for a tell. “Did you buy something?” he asked. “Something expensive?”

  Sharon laughed again. She reached across the table and placed her paw on his. “No, honey, I didn’t buy anything. Everything I need is already in this room.”

  Over the years of living with Sharon, John had become well-versed in her lawyer tricks and legal semantics, losing more than his fair share of arguments in the process. He squinted his eyes. “Everything in this room before or after I came in?”

  Sharon snorted. “Honey, can you stop playing investigative reporter for just one minute?”

  “Playing? It’s what I do, professionally!”

  “I know, dear,” she said with a sigh, “and you’re very good at it, but do you have to do it right now? This is a special occasion.”

  “It is? Well, I know it’s not my birthday…”

  Sharon shook her head. “No…”

  “And it’s not your birthday… is it?”