The Forest of Forever (The Soren Chase Series, Book One)

by Rob Blackwell

“Way to put in a hard day’s work, boss,” Glen replied.

  As he opened the door for Sara, Soren surreptitiously extended his middle finger toward Glen.

  They sat in a booth at La Villa Roma, and for just a moment Soren could believe it was old times. He had a sudden memory of his dream the night before, however, and the illusion was shattered. He watched Sara pick at her salad.

  “I know something’s wrong, Sara,” Soren said. “It’s okay. Just tell me what it is.”

  She looked up from her food and gave him a long stare. He wished he could read her mind, but she was impenetrable to him. He could understand nothing in her brown eyes.

  “Could you at least take off the damn glasses?” she asked finally. “I feel like I’m talking to a mirror.”

  Soren hesitated for a moment and then took the glasses off. The world seemed subtly brighter as a result, and he rubbed his eyes. He put the glasses carefully on the table.

  “That’s better,” she said. “You seem more like the old you.”

  He looked down at the table. He had never felt less like the old him. He wasn’t even sure he remembered that person very well.

  “Is Alex okay?” Soren asked.

  He looked up to see her smiling.

  “He’s great, actually,” she said. “He’s started playing soccer recently. You ought to come to one of his games. He’d love to see you again.”

  “He any good?” Soren asked.

  “God, no,” Sara said. “Alex is doing his level best to destroy the stereotype that all black people are good at sports.”

  Both Soren and Sara started laughing.

  “He must get his physical aptitude from his father,” Soren said. “John never could play any sport worth a damn, not even when we were kids.”

  As soon as he mentioned John, Soren knew it was a mistake. It was as if a dark storm cloud had suddenly appeared over their heads and their faces were obscured in shadow. The laughter stopped almost immediately, and Sara looked away.

  “I’m sorry,” Soren said.

  Sara turned back to him.

  “For what?” she asked. “For mentioning John? He’s why I’m here, actually.”

  If there really had been storm clouds above them, Soren thought that comment was the lightning—and it had hit him directly in the chest. He sat in stunned silence.

  “It’s stupid that we don’t talk about him,” Sara said. “He needs someone to keep his memory alive, but I find it too painful to even mention him. Most of my friends never even ask me about Alex’s father. Did you know that? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Arlington is so filled with yuppies, they probably just assume I’m another black girl that got knocked up by her no-good gang-banger boyfriend.”

  “No one who knows you would ever think that,” Soren said.

  “Maybe,” Sara said, sounding unconvinced. “I can’t even tell them I’m a widow. I never got the wedding ring. He had it picked out, but his mom kept it after he died. Even then I didn’t deserve him.”

  Soren just sat there, unsure what to say.

  “I saw him, Soren,” Sara said, looking right into his eyes. For a half second he didn’t know who they were talking about.

  “John?” he asked.

  “For years I used to wish I would dream about him,” she said. “I wanted to have some kind of closure. I can still see him waving back at me as you and he drove away together. And then it was like it wasn’t real when they told me. They wouldn’t even let me look inside the casket. I just wanted to see so I would believe it.”

  Soren looked down at his hands and saw they were shaking. This was why he didn’t see more of Sara: he couldn’t bear the guilt. It felt like a weight pressing down on him, slowly crushing him until he couldn’t breathe. When she wasn’t around, it was still there but less acute. But when she talked like this, he felt like he was taking his last few breaths.

  Sara seemed to see what kind of impact she was having and stopped.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant to tell you.”

  “You said you saw him,” Soren said.

  “After all this time I finally dream about him and . . .”

  “Tell me,” he said.

  He didn’t want to know. He wanted to sprint away, leave Sara sitting here alone. But he had done enough running from her—from John—already.

  Sara closed her eyes, and Soren had a sudden flash of memory. He had known Sara since he and John were both kids, could remember her as a gawky girl on a bicycle that was far too small for her. When she was riding it, her knees had almost hit the handlebars. He couldn’t recall when she had turned into the elegant woman in front of him. He had probably been too wrapped up in his own shit to notice.

  She opened her eyes and sighed. She seemed visibly calmer.

  “We were talking, like this,” she said. “We were at the coffee shop we used to go to in high school—Mary’s. You remember?”

  Soren gave her a blank look. When he didn’t respond, she shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “I forgot about . . .”

  She tapped a finger on the side of her head.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  “We used to go there all the time,” she said. “The three of us. You wrote whole papers sitting in the corner.”

  Soren looked down at the table but didn’t respond.

  “They tore it down a few years ago,” Sara said. “There’s a Starbucks there now. You would think they could have used the same building, at least.”

  “You’re stalling, Sara.”

  “I know,” she said. “I just hate feeling like I’m the only one who remembers the way things were. In the dream John and I talked for a long time, but I can’t remember what we said. I know I was happy at first. I forgot he was dead. It felt like the old days, except I was talking about recent things. I told him a lot about Alex, and he seemed to enjoy hearing about him. But then it was like a draft of cold air came through the place. Suddenly he started getting agitated, saying he had to leave soon. He told me things. I don’t remember most of it.”

  “What did he say?” Soren asked.

  “It was about you,” Sara replied.

  The hairs on the back of Soren’s neck stood up. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but not this.

  “He said to tell you it’s about time,” Sara said.

  “About time for what?” Soren asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “He said some other stuff, too, but it was weird. It was about a forest. Does that mean anything to you?”

  Soren thought of what Annika had said last night. He hadn’t had time to look at the materials but remembered her mentioning four graduate students had gone “into a forest” and that two of them were now dead. When he didn’t respond, Sara continued.

  “He said there were answers in the forest,” she said. “But . . . how did he put it? ‘They aren’t the answers he expects.’”

  Soren sat rooted to the spot. He wasn’t going to look into Annika’s case. He had already decided that.

  “Did he say anything else?” he asked.

  Sara gave him a plaintive look. Her calm demeanor of earlier appeared shattered, and water filled her eyes.

  “He started bleeding, Soren. As he spoke to me, blood started streaming down his face. He looked like he was in incredible pain.”

  Soren gripped the edges of the table. A memory came to him of John dying in front of him, lying on the ground and holding out his hand for Soren to take. He closed his eyes and tried to shove it away.

  “Did he hurt like that before he died, Soren? You told everyone you didn’t remember but you thought it was quick. Did you tell me the truth?”

  Soren kept his face impassive.

  “I’m sure it was quick,” Soren lied. “He didn’t feel any pain.”

  Sara looked down at the table for a moment, trying to get ahold of herself.

  “He said one more thing,” Sara said after a minute. �
�He said, ‘When he looks at it, he’ll know.’”

  “Looks at what?” Soren asked.

  Sara shook her head.

  “If he told me, I don’t remember,” she said. “I woke up after that. Alex was in the room; he said I was screaming in my sleep. I let him sleep in my bed after that.”

  “I’m sorry, Sara,” he said.

  “If this was a year ago, I would have dismissed it as a nightmare,” she said. “But after what happened on the playground, I can’t do that anymore. I can’t shake the feeling that it was really John talking to me. Was it?”

  Soren opened his mouth to reply and again saw the image of John in his mind.

  “I don’t know,” Soren said.

  “Do you know what forest he’s talking about?”

  Soren nodded his head slowly.

  “It’s a case someone is trying to hire me for,” Soren replied. “A couple people died there.”

  “What does that have to do with John or you?”

  Soren looked into her eyes again.

  “I have no idea,” he said. “I wasn’t even going to take the case.”

  “And now?”

  Soren’s answer was immediate.

  “If there’s even a chance John thinks there are answers in that forest, I need to find them.”

  Chapter Five

  Soren didn’t know how he survived the rest of the lunch. Talking with Sara was painful, a reminder of what they’d both lost. He wanted to tell her that it had been just a dream but couldn’t bring himself to lie to her twice.

  After Soren had ushered Sara to her car and he watched her drive away, he pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and called Annika. She answered on the first ring.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t interested,” she said. “A girl can only wait by her phone for so long.”

  “I’m in,” he said, still watching Sara’s car retreat into the distance. “Where do you want to start first?”

  “Huh,” she replied. “I’ve been worried all day you were going to say no. What changed your mind?”

  “I had a good long look at my bank account,” Soren replied.

  Annika laughed.

  “That’s a lie,” she said. “If you cared about money, you would have demanded more.”

  Soren inwardly cursed himself but let it go. She was right: the money wasn’t why he was doing this.

  “Then let’s just say I was intrigued by the materials you sent me,” he said.

  “Whatever,” Annika said, sounding skeptical. “All I care about is that you’re hired. I’m going to give you an extra incentive anyway. The pretender we encountered last night? He’s been rounded up and put in a secure location, where he can’t touch anybody and change forms. When the case is over, you can interview him and see if you can find a weakness.”

  Soren whistled.

  “I’m both impressed and alarmed at the Institute’s ability to do that,” Soren said. “Be careful with him. Pretenders are dangerous.”

  “This one doesn’t seem it anymore,” she said. “He’s still a sobbing mess. But we are taking precautions.”

  “Okay.”

  “Moving on, we have an appointment in Richmond tomorrow,” Annika said. “They’re going to let us see the suspect in the murders.”

  Soren conducted some mental gymnastics to clue in to who she was talking about. He realized she was now focused on the case she’d just hired him for. They were going to see the lone survivor, the one the police believed killed his friends.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let me know when and where to pick you up.”

  “Actually, I’m the client, you’re the hired help,” she responded. “And I like to drive.”

  “All right,” he said. “Pick me up at my apartment.”

  “I like how you assume I know where that is,” she said.

  “You seem to know everything else about me.”

  “Touché,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow bright and early at 7:00 a.m. Remember to study what I sent you. We’re likely to only get one chance to interview Evan, and I want you fully prepared.”

  Soren wondered if she somehow knew that he hadn’t really read anything about the case but dismissed the thought as too paranoid.

  He arrived back at the office to find Glen playing Minecraft on his computer.

  “Glad to see you’re making yourself busy,” Soren said.

  “Well, after my boss went out for a nooner I decided I wasn’t going to indulge my work ethic,” Glen replied with a sullen look.

  “First of all, you don’t have a work ethic,” Soren said. “Second of all, she’s a friend. This wasn’t a ‘nooner,’ as you so charmingly put it.”

  “I saw the way you looked when you realized she was in your office. You don’t look that way for just a ‘friend.’”

  Soren opened his mouth to give him a retort but decided to let it drop. Explaining who Sara was would take too much time and only lead to more questions. Instead, he decided to try a different approach.

  “I need your help,” Soren said.

  Surprisingly, the tactic worked. Glen shut off his game immediately and looked at him.

  “You’re taking the case?” he said, his tone hopeful.

  “Yep, and I’m headed to Richmond tomorrow to meet with our first lead. I need to get up to speed by then. I’d like some help in sorting through everything she sent.”

  Glen clicked on something at the bottom of his screen, and a picture of a newspaper clipping came up. “Two Dead, One Missing in Incident Near Jamestown,” read the headline.

  “That’s awesome,” Glen said. “Because I was reading that file while you were gone, and this is some fascinating shit.”

  Soren looked at him in astonishment.

  “I thought you were playing Minecraft,” he said.

  “I started that when I saw you pull in across the street,” Glen replied. “I do have a work ethic after all, boss.”

  Soren pointed at his office.

  “Start printing what you have and meet me back there,” Soren said. “Looks like we have a busy afternoon in front of us.”

  It was like pulling a small piece of thread only to find that an entire sweater was suddenly unraveling.

  The case was supposed to be about four graduate students, but once Soren scratched the surface, he discovered the enormity of what he was tackling. Annika hadn’t just sent him a file about the murders, she’d sent a complete history of everything that had happened near the place the students had been killed.

  It was far more than Soren expected. On paper it was just an obscure piece of land, forgotten by history. Yet the various happenings looked like a microcosm of Virginia’s sordid past, including everything from the Civil War to religious fundamentalism.

  The students’ bodies had been found in an area near the Chickahominy River, and Annika had sent over a satellite map of the region. Near the river’s mouth, where the Chickahominy emptied into the James River, was a huge expanse of forest. Most of it was marked as the Chickahominy Wildlife Management Area. But there was a red circle drawn upon a section of it. It looked small on the map, but the area represented hundreds of acres of land that were undeveloped and apparently untouched.

  There was nothing immediately ominous about it. As far as Soren could tell, what Annika had circled was the same as the surrounding area—a thick expanse of forest filled with cypress and beech trees that stretched down a length of the Chickahominy River. Yet the collection of stories she’d compiled was nothing short of horrifying.

  The first incident listed was in 1615, when a man named James Bennett had left nearby Jamestown and settled with his family on the banks of the Chickahominy River. He had picked a spot very close to the center of the red circle on Annika’s map. Little was known about Bennett except that the records described him as tall with red hair. He was apparently on good terms with the Chickahominy tribe of Native Americans, though less so with the nearby Powhatan.

  In 1622 there
was a massive Indian uprising in which settlements all along the James River and beyond were attacked. Bennett was among the victims, along with his wife and family of twelve. All fourteen died brutally at the hands of the Powhatan.

  Another settler, Edward Marshall, bought what remained of the homestead a year later but abandoned it not long afterward. It was recorded that he told the bursar in Jamestown that “the lande be cursed.” That was the first record of the forest being described that way but not the last.

  The land traded hands many times after that, so quickly that exactly who owned it was unclear for stretches of time. The next firm date was 1715, when a school for colonial settlers was founded, fed by many nearby settlements. The school apparently thrived briefly before several children went missing. Annika had somehow obtained a copy of a handwritten document from a local judge who claimed the children had heard voices. Witchcraft was suspected, and the school was abandoned by 1722.

  From there, little was known about it until 1805, when the land was bought by Jeremiah Coakley, a preacher. Coakley’s history was bizarre and unsettling. Apparently thrown out of the Church of England for unspecified reasons, Coakley founded his own town, which he dubbed Bethlehem, a place that he advertised as a village “without sin.” Annika’s report didn’t say much about Coakley’s version of religion other than it was deemed heretical by most other authorities nearby. Coakley himself was described as a “fiery-eyed messianic figure” who whipped or beat his followers in order to “drive the sin from their flesh.” One contemporaneous account accused Coakley of going so far as to kidnap locals rumored to be guilty of crimes, a charge he hotly denied. Yet the records also showed a number of mysterious disappearances in the area.

  Soren found a charcoal sketch of a man with a long beard buried in the stack of papers. It was unlabeled, but the intense look in the man’s eyes suggested it might be the preacher. It certainly fit Soren’s definition of “fiery-eyed.” The man looked old and weathered yet defiant. There were no visible scars, but he had a nose so broad it seemed like it had been smashed against his face. Soren wondered briefly who had drawn the sketch and how it had ended up in Annika’s possession.