Eyes of the Forest

by April Henry

  He finally shifted to face her. “Bridget, I honestly like you. And I like you reading to me. These last few weeks have been great.”

  “You mean it was great until you figured out I’m just some mentally ill liar.”

  His phone buzzed, providing a welcome distraction, at least until he saw who it was. His mom. He bit his lip. He’d forgotten to tell her that he’d be home late. If he didn’t answer, his mom would call every five minutes until he responded. And if he still didn’t pick up, then she would probably demand the police put out an APB, as well as send his picture to Interpol and call the local news team.

  “Hi, Mama,” Ajay said brightly. He tapped his finger against his lips so that Bridget wouldn’t say anything to give away her presence.

  “Why are you not at home, son?”

  “Sorry, I was um, in a study group. I’m on my way home. I know I’m getting a late start on dinner, but don’t worry, I’ve got something fast in mind.”

  “Have you even packed?” She sounded tired.

  “Mostly,” he lied.

  They said their goodbyes, and Ajay put his phone away. The car was dead silent, and the silence had a weight to it. The darkness pressed up against the windows. It was starting to rain. When Bridget turned on the wipers. Ajay was glad for a sound other than the tires’ hum and the tapping of the rain. It felt like all the color had leached from the world. Everything was black or shades of gray.

  “So how do I get to your house?” Her voice was matter-of-fact.

  “You can just let me out on the corner of Thirtieth and Barbur. That would be the easiest.”

  Ajay waited for Bridget to argue, or to confront him about whom it would be “easiest” for and why. Instead, she just said, “Okay.”

  When she pulled up to the corner opposite the Chevron station, he said, “Look, Bridget, we’ll talk about this more when I get back from Seattle, okay?”

  Her voice was lifeless. “Sure.”

  After getting out, Ajay leaned in the open door. “I wish…,” he started, and then his words trailed off.

  “Thank you for going to Bob’s house with me,” she said. “I really appreciate it.” As she spoke, she let the car drift forward.

  Ajay had to step back as the passenger door nearly closed itself. Then Bridget reached over and closed it the rest of the way.

  In the streetlight, he saw a tear shining silver on her cheek.

  BOB

  Who’s the Fool Now?

  The room that was his prison cell had stopped existing for Bob. As he mechanically marched forward to nowhere, he no longer heard the treadmill’s low whine, the slap of his feet, or the clack of the typewriter keys.

  He no longer heard Derrick, out in the hall arguing on the phone with his mom.

  Instead, he was with Jade Tarnno and Ken Pipem in the small bedchamber they’d been given as part of the king’s entourage. They were accompanying King Orwen as he visited one of his dukes.

  Bob knew he was taking a risk, writing pages to the real Eyes of the Forest before the boy went to bed, but he couldn’t silence the story any longer. And maybe these pages could serve for both books, although he would have to retype them so he had two sets.

  Bob was no longer trying to write badly. He was no longer trying at all. He hadn’t felt like this for years, not since he wrote what became King of Swords. As if a narrator was whispering words in his ear as the scene played out in his mind’s eye. All Bob had to do was put those words on paper.

  Jade applied scent behind her ears and on her wrists. Lifting the hem of her skirt, she dabbed more perfume behind her knees.

  Ken’s voice was thin as parchment. “What are you doing?” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he fiddled with his black satin glove, trying to bend the horsehair-stuffed fingers into a more natural shape.

  She straightened up and shook back her waterfall of hair. “Preparing for my audience with the king.” She pinned a scrap of lace on top of her head. It was only a nod to propriety, as it did nothing to hide her hair.

  “You appear to think the audience is going to occur in Orwen’s bedchamber.” Ken pushed back his jester’s hood with its attached ears, leaving his mask in place. He even slept in it now. The story they put about was that Ken had been badly scarred by the pox. If the king knew what the mask hid, he would order him banished or even executed.

  “It might.” Jade’s dark eyes were amused. “And would that be so bad?”

  Ken imagined twisting the necklace around her throat. Twisting it until her face turned purple and she could no longer say such terrible things.

  Instead, he took off his mask.

  When the door behind him slammed, Bob jumped. He raised his head, blinking as the room came into focus.

  “Everything’s falling apart!” Derrick said. His face was flushed, his hands fisted. “And it’s your fault.”

  “What?” Reluctantly, Bob hit the treadmill’s OFF button. The words describing Ken’s disfigured face were already building up inside him, demanding release.

  “Don’t give me that. You know exactly what’s wrong. That message you made me send Bridget must have been in code. Because she showed up at your house.”

  Bridget. Her name finally snapped him back to the here and now. “What happened?”

  “She got past the gate and triggered the silent alarm. When the cops came, she told them she’d gotten a weird message from you and that she was worried you were having a stroke or something.”

  Bob realized he’d been too clever by half, disguising his words both too much and too little. He’d aroused Bridget’s suspicions but not any useful action.

  “Really?” he said mildly. “And then what happened?”

  “The cops didn’t really care. They just wrote off her and this guy she was with as crazy fans. But my mom met them at your house, and she does care. She told them you’re traveling in Flanders looking at castles. She’s really mad at you, and at me for being tricked by you.”

  Bob walked a tightrope of words. “I didn’t trick you, Derrick. Those questions for Bridget are really things I need to know. Maybe I wasn’t as clear as I could be because I’m not sleeping well. Just email Bridget back and say I’m in Europe doing research. Blame it on jet lag. Say I took an Ambien. Maybe even that I had a drink or two on top of that. Apologize if it was confusing and say I’ll get back to her later. You can use any words you want. And that way you’ll know there’s no hidden messages.”

  “Right,” Derrick said sarcastically. “Like I can trust anything you say. You already fooled me once. You’re going to have to pay for that. So who’s the fool now?”

  Who’s the fool now? Could Ken say that to Jade, mocking her for believing King Orwen would give her anything without demanding a much higher price in return? Maybe he would even say it to her corpse. After all, it was rumored that some women summoned to visit the new king never made it out of his bedchamber alive.

  Belatedly, Bob ran through Derrick’s words again. “What do you mean, I’m going to have to pay?”

  “We’re not on video now,” Derrick said through gritted teeth. “I switched to the loop I use when you sleep. I can do whatever I want to you, and there won’t be any record. So you need to tell me what the message to Bridget really said. She hasn’t figured it out yet, but I’m guessing she will, because she’s smart. Like I know those names aren’t actually characters in the books, so they must be a code. What did it say?”

  “You’re wrong, Derrick. They’re real people.” Bob pointed at the page, forgetting for a moment that Derrick was correct. “I’m writing about Ken and Jade right now. Look.” He pulled the sheet of paper free, then handed it over. “And it’s good. I’m really getting in the groove.”

  With a smirk, Derrick looked down. But when he looked up a minute later, the anger was gone. “What happens next?”

  “I don’t actually know. I have to write it. I can’t figure out the book by talking about it. I have to think through my fingers.”

&n
bsp; After a moment, Derrick nodded, his earlier anger forgotten. “I’ll post this as a new sample. Once people see it, we’ll sell a bunch more.”

  A woman’s voice interrupted them. “What are you doing?”

  They both startled and turned to the doorway. Joanne was standing with her hands on her hips.

  “Mom? Why are you here?”

  “I started driving as soon as those kids left. I realized I can’t trust either one of you to do this right. In fact, before I came inside, I checked the Haldon Cam. So why did I just see a video of him walking on the treadmill, and even that’s not true? We’ve got more than two dozen requests.” Her grin was mercenary. “He might as well be making us some money.”

  “But he’s writing, Mom. And it’s really good.”

  “Like you’re any judge of what’s good or bad,” Joanne scoffed. “You’ve gotten too close to him, Derrick. You need to get out of this room and clear your head.” She bared her teeth at Bob in the nightmare version of a smile. “And I’ll put him to work.”

  BRIDGET

  Alphabet Soup

  Bridget woke up late. For a second, she only knew something was wrong, but not what it was. Then she remembered. She pulled the pillow over her face and hid from the world.

  The police and his assistant were convinced there was nothing wrong with Bob. They all thought she was just some obsessed fan.

  Even Ajay.

  She moved the pillow down, clutching it to her chest. She might be the only person in the world who knew Bob well enough to know something truly was wrong.

  If she was right, the fate of the most famous fantasy writer in the world now rested in the hands of a seventeen-year-old girl.

  Bridget picked up her laptop. The only thing she could think to do was to scour Bob’s email again for clues.

  She clicked on her inbox. Her heart sped up. There was a new email from Bob.

  Hey Bridget—

  Please ignore my previous message. I’m traveling in Europe for research and the eight-hour time difference has really messed me up. As a result, I’ve been awake when I should be asleep and vice versa. Before I sent you my last email, I took an Ambien. When that didn’t work, I was so desperate to sleep I took another one. And then I finally broke down and had a couple of those little vodka bottles from the hotel mini-fridge.

  And all those things together finally worked. A little too well, as you already know. I had no idea I had written you until I got your concerned reply. Sorry for confusing you. That email even confuses me!

  I’ll be back in touch soon with some clearer questions. But until then, you don’t need to worry.

  Have a great Christmas,

  Bob

  Bridget knew she should sigh with relief. Instead, she heard herself say, “Huh.”

  On the surface, Bob’s explanation made sense. He raised all the points Joanne and Ajay had.

  But to Bridget, the second email seemed as stilted as the earlier one. Both felt wrong, just in different ways. In the first, he’d called her parents by the wrong names. And in the second, after supposedly sobering up, Bob didn’t say one word about that. Didn’t apologize for speaking about her mother as if she were still alive. And while Bob was gruff, and lived in his own little world, Bridget thought even he would have known how much pain his mistake would cause her. But he didn’t mention it at all.

  Was Bob really even in Flanders? All he said in the email was Europe. Had Joanne lied to them? Or had Bob lied to Joanne? And how could Bridget figure out the truth?

  And then it came to her. Reddit. Even as someone who only visited the internet for research, she knew that one of the most popular subreddits was devoted to Swords and Shadows. But what she found on r/swordsandshadows left Bridget both more confused and more certain than ever.

  A user named Rickard claimed chapters of Eyes of the Forest were being posted on the dark web and encouraged people to check them out. Was that even legal? Wouldn’t Bob’s publisher mind? Although if it was the dark web, maybe they didn’t even know. And why would anyone pay a hundred dollars a chapter?

  Only it sounded like some superfans had. She kept scrolling. The upvoted replies all agreed they really were written by Bob.

  Bridget kept going deeper and deeper down Reddit holes. As she traced discussion threads that started at the level of trivia and then descended into minutiae, she was reminded why she normally avoided it. She was ready to stop when she stumbled over an obscure thread about something called the Haldon Cam. An icy finger traced her spine. Some people claimed that via the cam they had watched Bob type chapters.

  It couldn’t be real, could it? It didn’t sound like many other people believed it. She kept scrolling through the replies. Toward the bottom of the thread, she saw something that froze her blood. A screenshot.

  She squinted at the tiny image. Blurry, shot from overhead, it showed an older man in a half squat, his thumbs tucked in his armpits. His head was tilted down, so most of his face wasn’t visible, just his thinning shaggy hair and a scruffy beard.

  She enlarged the image. It did sort of look like him, if he’d stopped shaving and getting his hair cut. But the real Bob was rounder. And why would he ever squat like that? He certainly wasn’t writing.

  And if Bridget only half-believed it was Bob, the police never would. She went back to Bob’s original email and read it again. And again. And again.

  Hello Bridget—

  You’ll be glad to know I’ve turned my attention back to the manuscript and am making good progress. Have you had a chance to ask your parents about working for me full-time over the summer? Please tell Anna and Graham how much I’ll need your help if I’m to finish.

  As we discussed earlier, I’m adding a new character. So please look for all instances of:

  “Jade Tarnno.”

  And then flag each spot with:

  “Add Ken Pipem.”

  Suddenly it clicked.

  Her parents weren’t named Anna and Graham, but Bob hadn’t made a mistake. He’d made a clue.

  Anna and Graham. Anna Graham. Anagram.

  Bob had been trying to tell her his email was really an anagram.

  That still didn’t solve the puzzle. His email had almost two hundred words. There must be thousands of potential combinations of words from those original dozens. It was like handing someone a tureen of alphabet soup and telling them Romeo and Juliet was in there if they just put all the letters in the right order.

  On her next read through, Bridget zeroed in on the colons and the quotes. Bob never used colons like that. It seemed clunky. And the quotes were extraneous. Even though she hadn’t previously articulated it to herself, the odd punctuation was part of the reason something had felt wrong. Could Jade Tarnno and add Ken Pipem be anagrams?

  She started to write down the letters, then thought of an easier way. From the hall closet, she retrieved the worn Scrabble box.

  After turning the tiles faceup on the dining room table, she plucked out the letters that spelled out Jade Tarnno. For an hour, she rearranged them, writing down possible combinations in her notebook.

  Ajar Tendon

  Ad Jan Toner

  Dean Jar Ton

  Dear Jan Not

  Trade Jan On

  And Roan Jet

  It all looked like nonsense. Maybe she was on the wrong track. Maybe Bob had truly forgotten her parents’ names.

  She pushed the letters back into the center, and picked out the ones that spelled add Ken Pipem. Once again, she created a long list, mostly a random series of short words.

  But there was at least one possible long word. She sucked in a breath.

  Kidnap.

  That still left a d, a p, two e’s, and an m. She swapped the remaining tiles back and forth until finally she had a phrase.

  Kidnapped me.

  She again selected the letters that made up Jade Tarnno. The J in Jade made her think of something. Someone. Already guessing the answer, she pulled out the letters that spelled o
ut Joanne. That left her with d-t-a-r. Which could be rearranged to spell Dart. Joanne Dart.

  And wasn’t that what Officer Rubio had called her? Ms. Dart?

  So together the two phrases read Joanne Dart kidnapped me.

  Bridget’s breath went shallow. Should she go to the police? But she could already imagine their skepticism. Besides, she’d only solved part of his email. There had to be more information hidden in the rest. She kept reading it over until finally she saw it. The clue was hiding in plain sight. It started with the next sentence: The rest of this letter details what I’m trying to get right on my third attempt, at least initially.

  There was no way Bob was working on a third draft. If he was, his queries would have become more frequent, but instead they had dwindled to nothing.

  She focused on the sentence’s last clause … at least initially. Was she supposed to look at the first letter of each word?

  Bridget picked up her pen.

  c y h w r e c y l u w d c b i o t n c t m w i t l t h a p o w n o f a d b a c b o a s w b t m i w p n s m h w a e c t l j k p

  She could see words like wit, own, fad and boas, but they seemed random, coincidences in a string of nonsense.

  Third attempt. Maybe she was supposed to look at the first letter of every third word? Within a few seconds, it was clear that was the solution.

  And finally Bridget had the whole thing. The second reassuring email must have been false, written under duress. Or perhaps written by someone else entirely. Horror washed over her as she reread Bob’s last true message.

  Joanne Dart kidnapped me. Held in Mt. Hood cabin. Help.

  Then Bridget had all but told Joanne that Bob was trying to fool her.

  So what had Joanne done next?

  BRIDGET

  Safety Depends on You

  Bridget tried to slow down her breathing. Bob was being held in a cabin on Mount Hood. There must be dozens, if not hundreds, of such cabins. On her own, there was no way she could figure out where he was. Even if she could, what could she do?