The Woodlander

by Kirk Watson

  Sharon rolled her eyes. “No, it’s not my birthday, either. Okay, nosy, I’ll tell you. But first, ask me your question.”

  “My question?”

  “You asked me, ‘Do I remember Samuel?’”

  “Oh, right, Samuel.” John looked down at the report in his paw. “Samuel Labbot.”

  Sharon sat back in her chair. Her lips pursed and her eyes turned to the ceiling, as they usually did when she was thinking. It was another trait of hers that John found adorable.

  “Samuel Labbot…” she repeated. “The name sounds familiar. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, this report says he was a law student at Langley University a few years back. I thought you might have known him.” He handed Sharon the photograph.

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh, Sam! Sure, I remember Sam. I always wondered what happened to him. Is he in some sort of trouble?”

  John looked down at the report. “I’m not sure. He appears to be missing.”

  “I was afraid you might say that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Sam was just starting school around the time I was leaving. We never had any classes together, but I would see him around campus and the law library. He seemed like a nice enough fellow, though a bit fidgety, like he could never sit still. And then… do you remember when I first took a job as a public defender?”

  John nodded as he took the photograph back from her. Sharon had accepted the job right after graduation. It was yet another decision of which her father had disapproved, perhaps only slightly less so than of her marriage to John. Public defenders did not make much money, especially straight out of law school.

  Sharon continued. “Then you remember the sorts of cases they assign first-year defenders.”

  “Mostly minor offenses, right?”

  “That’s right. Misdemeanors and non-violent cases, for the most part.”

  “And you defended Sam?”

  “Well, I was supposed to. But on the day of his trial, he never showed up for court.”

  “What was he on trial for?”

  “It’s been several years, but if I remember correctly, it was unpaid tickets. Nothing serious—just panhandling, vagrancy, and such. My job was to keep Sam out of jail. I mean, how could he be expected to pay his fines if he was in a debtor’s prison? At the time, I thought I was doing him a favor, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “How so?”

  “Back in school there were rumors that Sam had gotten involved in drugs. Supposedly that’s why he dropped out. I heard things had gotten so bad for him that he was living on the streets. Maybe the best outcome for Sam would have been to spend some time locked away from that life. And now you say he’s missing?” She looked away and sighed.

  “Yes, for a few years now, but you couldn’t have known that, Sharon. Besides, he never showed up for his trial, right? Whatever happened to Sam, it’s not your fault.”

  “Still… his poor parents. Can you imagine what they must have gone through?” Sharon shook her head. “Why are you asking about Sam after all this time, anyway?”

  “He’s one of the missing kids from Mr. Finn’s files. I told him I’d look into it.”

  “Do you think there’s a story there?”

  John looked down at the photograph again. “I’m not sure, but Mr. Finn seems convinced. The real question is: can I find it?”

  Sharon smiled at her husband. “Super-sleuth John Grey cracks another case?”

  He looked up at her with an embarrassed smile. “Well, I don’t know about all that. But I have a hunch there’s a great story here. If I can just figure out the connection… I’m telling you, Sharon, this could be really big for us.”

  “You mean for those missing kids?”

  “Huh? Oh, right. Maybe I can help them, too.”

  Sharon narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you can help them, too? John Grey, are you doing this for the kids or for yourself?”

  “Can’t I do both? After all, I’m doing this for us, Sharon.”

  “Well, that’s a nice sentiment. Who knows, maybe you’ll accidentally help someone else in the process, even if your heart’s in the wrong place.”

  John furrowed his brow. “My heart has nothing to do with it. I’m a journalist. I have to remain detached, objective.”

  “There you go again,” Sharon said, rolling her eyes, “hiding behind your journalistic code. Heaven forbid John Grey actually care about the subject of one of his stories.”

  “Oh, spare me the bleeding-heart routine, Sharon. These stories are what bought this tree we’re living in. God knows your charity work with the indigent isn’t going to pay the bills.” He immediately regretted saying it.

  Sharon crossed her arms. “Oh, you didn’t just say that. So now you’re the big-shot reporter taking care of his well-intentioned-but-misguided wife? Is that it?”

  “That’s not what I meant, Sharon.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “I just meant that everything I do, I do for you, Sharon. For the both of us.”

  Sharon sat back in her chair and sighed. “I know you do, honey, but you know I don’t care about all that.” She waved her paws at the tree around them. “I don’t need all of this. I was just as happy in that tiny apartment off campus, sitting on milk crates with my future husband, talking about how he was going to change the world.”

  John’s shoulders slumped. He looked down at the photograph of Sam; the young graduate’s eyes stared back at him in black-and-white, gleaming with optimism. “Well, sometimes the world changes you.”

  Sharon smiled sympathetically and filled his glass with wine. “Relax, dear. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  “That makes one of us.”

  John took a sip of his wine. It had a crisp, fruity flavor, with just a touch of hickory. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and took a bigger gulp. “Honey, this wine is excellent, much better than our usual. Have you tried it?”

  Sharon shook her head. “No, I haven’t, but I’m glad you like it. It was rather expensive.”

  John nearly spit up at the word, but Sharon gave him a look that persuaded him to hold his tongue. “Well, I guess it’s already open, so no use crying about it now. But still, you’ve got to try it.” He stood to reach for her empty glass, but she placed a paw over it.

  “None for me, thank you,” she said.

  “But you said this was a special occasion, didn’t you?”

  Sharon nodded cryptically.

  John set the bottle back down and eyed his wife suspiciously. She maintained her impenetrable poker face and said nothing. While he pondered that perplexing smile of hers, the aroma of the casserole soon overwhelmed his deductive powers. His stomach growled, distracting him from the mystery before him.

  He couldn’t wait any longer. “It smells great, Sharon. Shall I do the honors?”

  She nodded again, and John spooned a heaping helping of casserole onto each of their plates. Steam rose from his fork as he raised it to his mouth, carrying the intoxicating scent to his nose. He took a bite. It practically melted in his mouth, a taste so delicious his tail curled. It was chock-full of cheese and nuts, and something fruity, perhaps bits of apple, and maybe just a hint of cinnamon. He quickly shoveled in another bite, and then another, until his cheeks were puffing out. Sharon watched him from across the table with a contented look on her face.

  “Honey, this is so good,” John said between gulps, “you really should cook more often.”

  He was so absorbed in the meal that he didn’t notice she hadn’t responded to his comment—one she’d normally take him to task over. When he finally looked up, he realized she still hadn’t touched her food. She just sat there quietly in the candlelight, gazing at him.

  John wiped his mouth with his napkin and reached nervously for a slice of garlic bread. With a raised eyebrow, he sniffed it. “You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”

  Sharon smirked and shook her head.

  John took a bit
e and chewed. “So, what exactly is it we’re celebrating again?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  John nearly choked on the crust.

  Chapter 17

  THE DARKEST HOUR

  fall·ing through the cracks

  /`fôl-iNG THrōō THē krakz/

  phrase

  To be disregarded, lost, or forgotten.

  John awoke to a searing pain in his shoulder, a throbbing reminder of just how sharp a haakönen’s beak could be. With a grimace, he pulled the tarp off his body and sat up, coughing at the dryness in his throat.

  “He’s awake!” Violet exclaimed. “Here, John, drink this.”

  She held a leaf of water to his lips, and he took a sip from the improvised canteen as the other squirrels gathered around him. He blinked at them with bleary eyes.

  “How long was I out?” he asked.

  “Two days,” Lisa said. “How’s your shoulder feel?”

  He held a paw to his shoulder, cringing as he felt the bandages. “Wonderful.”

  “We had to stitch you up,” Lisa said. “We were able to stop the bleeding, but you lost a lot of blood.”

  “Thanks to Lisa’s first aid kit,” Rollie said. “You would’ve bled out without it.”

  Lisa held a paw to John’s head. “And you don’t have a fever. That’s a good sign. I was worried you would get an infection. You just might make it yet. You’re a lot tougher than you look, John.”

  “Thanks,” John said. “I think.”

  “You kept mumbling about a frog,” Rollie said. “You said it spoke to you?”

  “A talking frog? I must have been hallucinating.” But John did remember the frog and what he had said: Live, John Grey. He wasn’t sure he believed it himself.

  “Well, you did drink half the river,” Rollie said. “We thought you were a goner.”

  John touched his face. “My glasses?”

  “You lost them,” Lisa said. “In the river, remember?”

  “Right.” John patted his jumpsuit. The map! We’re lost without it. “Please tell me I didn’t lose the map as well.”

  “Got it right here,” Rollie said, handing the map over.

  John let out a sigh of relief. “So, where are we anyway?”

  Rollie pointed to a spot on the map. “We’re just off the river. I figure we must be somewhere around here.”

  Halfway to the X. Still another day’s journey, maybe two. It looks like a clear path to the southeast, but what are all these strange marks?

  “What is this red spot, Rollie?”

  “Either we’re sitting in a lava pit, or that’s just your blood.”

  “Gross, Rollie,” Violet said.

  “We had to use the map to stop the bleeding,” Lisa said. “Remember?”

  “Oh, right.” John closed his eyes and tried to recall what had happened. I remember being in the water, turning on my back, and seeing those two amber eyes coming straight for me.

  John’s eyes snapped open. “Have you seen any more haakönen?”

  “There was an awful lot of screeching to the south last night,” Lisa said, “but they haven’t found us yet. We figure they must have discovered their friend’s body somewhere downstream.”

  “Thank goodness for the current,” John said. “But we can’t stay here any longer. If the other haakönen have found the body, they’ll know we’re nearby. They’ll be searching for us all along the river. We best keep moving.”

  “I know,” Lisa said, “but do you think you can? I mean, you’ve lost a lot of blood, John.”

  “I’m not sure. Let me try.”

  They helped him to his feet and he steadied himself against the tree. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating. Though light-headed and wobbly, he could walk. He pulled out his compass and found southeast.

  “The X is this way,” he said, pointing into the forest. “Pack up your gear. We’re moving out.”

  The band of squirrels put their backs to the river and headed southeast, deeper into the forest and closer to the mysterious X. They continued for several hours, stopping at nightfall to make camp. The travel left John feeling woozy. He sat against a tree and studied the map. Their progress had been slower than he had anticipated.

  Still another day’s journey to the X, maybe longer. And once we arrive, what will we find there?

  “Just take it easy, John,” Lisa said. “Rollie and I will forage for food.”

  “I want to help,” Violet said. “Let me go with you.”

  “It’s too dangerous. You stay here and watch over John.”

  “Aw, nuts. No offense, John.”

  “None taken,” John said with a chuckle. “But Lisa’s right. I need you to stay here and take care of me.”

  Violet seemed satisfied with this and plopped down next to him. She held her paw to his forehead, imitating her sister.

  “You two sit tight,” Lisa said. “We’ll be right back.”

  As Lisa and Rollie disappeared into the forest, John leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. A few moments’ rest, then I’ll be all right…

  “You’re not going to die, are you?” Violet asked.

  “None of us are going to die, Violet. I just need a little rest. Don’t worry, Lisa and Rollie will be back soon.”

  “What should I do?”

  “Nothing. Just try to get some rest.”

  As John drifted off, Violet looked anxiously up at the dark sky. The branches overhead shook as the wind blew. She thought she heard a sound, a faint ringing in the distance.

  “Do you hear that, John?” she whispered. “I think I hear something.”

  “It’s just the wind, Violet,” John mumbled before falling to sleep.

  Minutes later, he was woken by a frantic Lisa: “Where’s Violet?”

  John sat bolt upright, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder. Rollie and Lisa had returned with a collection of nuts and berries, but Violet was nowhere to be found.

  “I don’t know,” John said. “She was right here. I must have dozed off. How long were you gone?”

  “Ten, maybe fifteen minutes,” Rollie said.

  “Then she can’t have gone far.”

  Lisa yelled for her sister. “Violet, where are you?”

  “Shh,” Rollie said, pointing to the sky. “The haakönen could be nearby.”

  John remembered his last conversation with the little squirrel. “Violet said she heard something, just before I fell asleep. Listen…”

  “I think I hear it,” Lisa said. “It sounds like… bells?”

  “I can’t hear it,” John said. “Which direction?”

  “This way,” Lisa said, pointing to the north.

  “Let’s go!”

  They hadn’t gone fifty yards when they heard a cry from the woods:

  “Help! Lisa! Help me!”

  “Violet!” Lisa yelled. They took off running towards the cries. Violet’s pleas grew louder, and John knew they had to be near. He could now hear the bells ringing as well.

  They came upon a small clearing in the forest with a single tree in its center. At the base of the tree sat three wooden crates, strangely incongruent with their natural surroundings.

  “Lisa! Up here!” Violet shouted.

  From a branch high above, Violet dangled in a net. As the wind blew, the net swayed, and bells attached to the branches rang.

  “Violet!” Lisa called up. “Are you all right?”

  “Not really. I’m stuck!”

  “How did you get up there?” Rollie asked.

  “I heard bells and went to find them. And when I saw those crates on the ground, I thought there might be food inside. But when I got close, whoosh! Up I went. And now I can’t get down!”

  “I told you to stay put!” Lisa said.

  “I wanted to help.”

  Lisa placed her paws on her hips. “This isn’t helping anybody.”

  John placed a paw on Lisa’s shoulder. “No time for that now. We have to get her down as soon as pos
sible, before whoever set this trap returns.”

  “You’re hurt, John,” Lisa said. “I’ll go get her.”

  She scurried up the tree, quick even by squirrel standards, leaping from branch to branch.

  She’s quite nimble, John thought as he watched from the ground below. I doubt even Billy could have climbed a tree so fast.

  Lisa reached the limb from which Violet was suspended. A thick rope secured the net to the branch.

  “Hang on, Violet,” Lisa said. “I’ll climb over and pull you up.”

  “Hurry, Lisa!” Violet said.

  Just then, a high-pitched chuckle of a screech pierced the sky.

  “Oh no,” Violet whispered, looking at her sister with eyes full of fear.

  The black haakönen, Geirleif, glided down from the sky, backlit by the pale moon. He didn’t seem to be in a particular hurry, circling the tree twice before landing directly above Violet. He placed a single talon on the rope securing her to the branch.

  “Well, well. What have we got here?” Geirleif said, looking down at the squirrels. “A veritable squirrel buffet. Pity I can only take one plate per trip. But thems the rules. Of course, rules were made to be broken…”

  Lisa growled from the base of the branch. “You stay away from her, you monster!”

  “Or what?” Geirleif sneered. “It seems to me you’re in no position to be giving orders, little girl. And ‘monster’? Really? That’s what’s wrong with kids today—no respect for your elders.” He looked down at the squirrel suspended in the net below him. “Nor any respect for other people’s property, I see. Isn’t that right, you little morsel?” He gave the rope a tug, causing Violet to shriek as she spun. “I don’t know what it is I love most about take-out. Maybe it’s the little string they wrap around your order.”

  “Stop it!” John yelled up. “Leave her alone!”

  The haakönen looked down at him. “Ah, if it isn’t the ever-indignant John Grey. Leave her alone? Well, since you put it that way—no. What are you going to do about it?”

  John balled his paws into fists.

  Geirleif smirked, shuddering with mock fear. “Oh, such an angry little squirrel, just like before in the dining hall. Only this time it looks like you’re all out of apples, fruit-tosser.”