And from far away in the forest, I heard someone calling my name. I knew it was the Charred Man and he was looking for me.
But I couldn’t leave until I saw my father. From far away I could hear him shouting, and I followed the sound of his voice until I came to a small clearing. Inside a ring of trees, my father and his flock stood in white robes staring at a Negro, who was tied to a tree trunk.
“This world is a place of sin,” my father said, his voice echoing back in the night. “But I have been sent here to purge it of its wickedness. The Lord has given me a gift, to know the evil that men commit.”
I hid just outside the clearing, afraid my father or one of his followers would see me. The Negro was dressed in torn and ragged clothing. Blood ran down his arms.
“Yet I need none of the Lord’s gift to see the sin that this . . . man has committed,” my father said. “He has run away from his master. In so doing he has disobeyed the divine order.”
I know what I have been taught. The Negroes were ordained by God as inferior, punished for some sins in the forgotten past. It is their duty to serve the white man, whom God has set above all others. And yet I could not but help feel pity for this Negro in the forest. He watched in terror as my father condemned him.
“Please, sir, I’m not a slave,” he said. “I’m a free man, sir.”
“Liar!” my father said, and he slapped the Negro across the face. “Is there any worse beast on this earth than one who does not know his place? My brothers and sisters, we have been part of God’s judgment many times before. I bring you the fornicators, thieves, and murderers so that you might learn from their example. The world is full of sin, but we do not have to abide it. Our Lord Christ has told us to be merciful, to welcome the sinner with open arms and forgive him. But where did that get the Son of God? Shall we follow his example? Shall we let ourselves be corrupted by the influence of this pestilence?”
“No!” the congregation shouted.
I was supposed to join them. Am I not my father’s son? I know him to be a Man of God, and yet . . . I could not tear myself away from the eyes of that Negro. His fear was palpable, yet his sin was not. My father says he can see into the hearts of men, but I believe the Lord may have given me this gift as well. I saw regrets and mistakes in this man, but I also saw nobility and compassion. I did not see a sinner.
“And what, then, shall we do?” my father continued. “The Lord Jesus died on the cross to free the world from sin, but mankind has rejected this gift. Jesus was no sinner but he was sacrificed! What shall we do with an actual sinner?”
“Sacrifice him!” the crowd screamed.
I knew these people and yet in that moment I knew them not. How many men and women had suffered the fate that this Negro soon would? How many deaths had they cheered on? And what was my place in this passion play?
“Please, sir,” the Negro said, but I do not think he was talking to my father. Perhaps he was calling on God.
But God would not save him—and neither would I. I stood riveted in place, afraid to challenge my father and those who loved him. I knew with absolute certainty how he would judge me. The Negro may or may not have rebelled against the nature of the world—who was I to say?—but if I defied my father I would break one of the Eleven Commandments. “Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother,” the Holy Word said. And what punishment would be delivered to me if I disobeyed?
I watched as my father drew a knife from behind his back, and I did nothing.
“Sin does not die,” my father said. “It lives forever. This place—this forest—is a monument to sin.”
“Sin does not die,” the congregation intoned.
My father put the blade to the Negro’s throat, and I did nothing.
“But we can purge the flesh and set it free,” my father said. “The sin remains trapped here, but the flesh moves on.”
“Purge the flesh,” the congregation repeated. “Set it free.”
My father drew the knife across the Negro’s throat—and I did nothing.
The man screamed and bucked, trying to escape his bindings as a cascade of blood ran down his neck. The screams faded after a minute, and the Negro sagged, his head falling down almost as if he were bowing before the congregation that had killed him.
I did nothing but watch.
But in that moment I finally understood my role. I watched my father and his flock file silently back into the forest. My father had fought a war against sin and lost it. His enemy had consumed him. And I knew what I must do.
I understood why I would betray him.
My father had sinned—and he must be sacrificed.
—Edolphus Coakley
Chapter Twelve
Soren awoke in Annika’s car, water rushing in around him. It was pouring through the doors and windows. He tried to free himself but realized he was still held fast by his seat belt. He looked over at Annika, but she was unconscious.
“Annika!” he said. “Annika, wake up!”
She didn’t move. Her head lolled in a disturbing way, and Soren could see a streak of blood running down her face. She wasn’t going to be waking up anytime soon.
Soren struggled to unclip his seat belt and punched at the inflated airbag in front of him. He looked outside to see the car almost entirely submerged in the river. The water was already up to his waist. It was filling up faster than he would have imagined. He didn’t have much time before both Annika and he would be underwater. He pushed on his door but it didn’t budge.
He pulled on the door handle and rammed his shoulder against the door with all his might, but it still wouldn’t move. It was like pushing against a wall. There was no give.
He looked over at the driver’s-side door and wondered if it would be easier over there. A lot depended on whether the doors were just hard to open because of the pressure from the water, in which case he should wait until the car was entirely filled. But it was also possible they had been damaged by the accident. They might be impossible to open even if the car was on dry land.
The water reached his shoulders just as the car sunk below the surface. He wondered how deep the river was. Not that it would matter if he couldn’t get out of the car.
Soren hit the window with his arm, but it didn’t crack. He took a breath and went underwater, bracing himself and twisting his body so that both of his legs were against his window. He kicked against the glass with all of his might.
He was rewarded with a hairline crack. He kicked again, making the crack a little wider. But he was running out of oxygen and the car was now almost entirely filled with water. He repositioned himself, moving up toward the roof of the car. When he surfaced, there was just a small pocket of air. He looked at Annika, who was now completely submerged. She still hadn’t woken up. If he didn’t do something soon, she would drown.
He took a large breath, squeezing his face against the roof, and dove under the water again. He was out of time. Whatever he did next would have to work, or he and Annika would die. Kicking the window wasn’t going to cut it. He’d need at least several more kicks and he doubted he had the air for that. He focused again on the door.
He pulled the handle and rammed his shoulder against it, but he felt no give. He repeated the maneuver and still felt nothing.
Soren looked around in desperation. He saw Annika and knew her lungs were already filled with water. She was going to die.
The thought made him angry. He could accept his own death, understanding that some part of him longed for it. It was why he took dangerous cases. Either he would solve the mystery and defeat the monster, or he wouldn’t and he would perish. Either ending was acceptable. But Annika didn’t deserve to die.
Besides, no monster had defeated him. He had faced some truly terrifying creatures and somehow managed to survive, and yet now he was going to fall at the hands of a pissed-off goon in an SUV. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right.
As he looked around the sunken vehicle, he realized something else: it
wasn’t going to fucking happen. He wouldn’t let it.
He yanked on the handle again and then shoved into the door, using all his anger as he tried to force it open. He strained against it and this time felt a slight give. He fought off the panic of drowning and kept pressing, feeling the door inch out a little more until finally it opened.
It swung outward, and Soren pushed on it until it was open far enough that he could escape.
He felt his lungs screaming for air but turned toward Annika in the driver’s seat. He tried to pull her free but belatedly realized she was still trapped by her seat belt.
The logical part of his mind said he should swim to the surface, get a mouthful of air, and then return to free Annika. But he knew if he did that, she would likely be dead. If trying to save her resulted in his death, that was at least a better way to go than some alternatives he had encountered. Besides, he wasn’t prepared to be the sole survivor of another tragedy.
His hands fumbled around in the cold, wet dark until he found the seat belt release. He pressed the button and yanked the belt off her, making sure it didn’t entangle any other part of her. He grabbed Annika by the waist and pulled her through the car.
Soren swam out through the open door, pushing it away with his right arm as he clung to Annika with his left. The car settled at the bottom of the river. As he watched, a huge catfish swam in front of him.
He hoped the river wasn’t deep. He could see sparkling light above him but he knew it might be deceptive. He swam with one arm, kicking with all of his might but moving frustratingly slowly. He should be out of breath. He didn’t know how long he could retain air in his system before he needed more, but it felt like he had taken his last gasp of oxygen several minutes ago. There were strange floating black dots in his vision. He couldn’t tell if they were in the water or in his mind. All he could think about was opening his mouth and trying to breathe. He knew that would kill them both, but he had to work hard to fight off the instinct. The light above was bigger but so were the dark shapes in front of them. They seemed like they were everywhere.
Just as he felt like his lungs were going to explode, he broke through the surface of the water and immediately gasped for air. He gulped oxygen down in large mouthfuls, hauling up Annika’s limp body at the same time. He pulled her head above water, but she gave no sign she was still alive.
Soren swam toward the riverbank at what felt like an agonizingly slow pace. He could see some people outside their houses staring at the bridge. He hoped someone had the sense to call the police.
He reached the side after several minutes and pulled Annika onto the wet sand. He leaned down to check if she was breathing, putting his face to her cheek. But her body remained absolutely still.
He couldn’t remember if he had ever properly learned CPR. There were black holes in his memory. But Annika was dead unless he tried something.
Soren put his lips to hers and forced air into her lungs several times and then turned her head to the side as he straddled her body and pushed on her chest. He repeated the maneuver, watching as Annika’s face turned blue before she stirred and began coughing. He immediately jumped off her as she began throwing up water, drawing ragged breaths in between.
“It’s going to be okay, Annika,” he said.
He looked up to see paramedics rushing down the embankment toward them and collapsed back into the sand.
Chapter Thirteen
Soren waited in the hospital room, watching Annika sleep.
When the doctors had tried to force him to leave the room, he had insisted he was her fiancé and watched their every move. He refused to leave her side, even when they wanted to examine him. He hadn’t let them, yelling at them that he was fine and refusing any medical treatment. Eventually, they gave up, forcing him only to sign a form.
He was afraid to leave Annika’s side because he worried what the Association would do next. He knew next to nothing about them. Perhaps they could hire someone to dress up like a doctor and smother Annika in her sleep. He sat in the corner and watched her drawing steady breaths, his mind relentlessly going through the same details over and over. He wished he had Annika’s file, but his copy was now at the bottom of the Chickahominy River.
Late in the evening the police came in and peppered him with questions. Soren answered them all in the same monotone. Yes, he knew their pursuer. No, he didn’t know why he’d attacked them. Yes, he knew where more information could be found.
He directed them to the Association’s door but knew it was pointless. Chastain was far too smart to be caught off guard and likely had enough connections to avoid further scrutiny. Soren didn’t know what had happened to Rick, the half-witted security guard, but his possible presence inside the hospital as a patient kept Soren rooted to the chair.
Thankfully, the police didn’t ask Soren more about his own past. That would come, given time, but for now the focus wasn’t on him.
Sometime past midnight, Annika stirred and cried out. Her eyes flew open and she looked panicked. She tried to sit up, straining to free herself from her bed. Soren stood up, crossed to her bed, and held her firmly in place until she calmed down. She sagged back into the bed.
“What happened?” she asked, and her voice came out as a croak.
She put her hands to her throat and massaged it.
“Don’t try to talk too much,” Soren said. “The doctors had to put a tube down your throat so they could pump all the water out of your stomach. It’s going to hurt for a few days.”
She looked at him in alarm.
“We were in an accident,” he continued. “I don’t know how much you remember, but one of the Association guards ran us off the road and into the river. We nearly drowned.”
“How did I get here?” she asked.
“The accident knocked you unconscious,” he replied. “I got you out of the car, but not before you tried to breathe in half the Chickahominy River.”
She stared at him in shock.
“You saved my life,” she managed.
Soren sighed.
“We both survived,” he said. “That’s what matters.”
He couldn’t read the expression in her eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was surprise, gratitude, or something else. He belatedly realized he didn’t have his sunglasses anymore. They must have fallen off during the accident.
“Thank you,” she said after several minutes. She reached over, took his hand, and squeezed it.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said.
They were both startled when the phone rang. Soren had a premonition of who it was as he dropped her hand and picked up the receiver.
“Mr. Chase, so glad to know you are well,” the voice on the other end said.
“I bet,” Soren replied.
Annika looked at him questioningly, and he mouthed “Chastain” to her.
“I trust Ms. Taylor is also recovering,” Chastain said.
“She’s doing great,” Soren said.
“Glad to hear it,” Chastain replied. “Although I’ve heard such incidents can be quite damaging to your psyche. But you know all about that, don’t you? Not the first time you’ve been fished out of a body of water.”
“Is that why you had your minion knock us into the river? So you could savor the irony?” Soren said.
“Mr. Chase, you wound me,” Chastain said. “Mr. Bailor was a troubled individual. The Association is deeply grieved that he attacked the two of you and that he lost his life in the attempt.”
“It’s very convenient that he’s not alive to tell a different story,” Soren said.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Chastain said.
“You’ve made your point,” Soren said.
“Have I?” Chastain asked. “I wonder about that. I wonder very much. Men like you have a tendency to be stubborn when it comes to their own well-being.”
“I said you’ve made your point, I didn’t say I’d agree with it,” Soren said.
“It would b
e a shame if Ms. Taylor suddenly took a turn for the worse, don’t you think?” Chastain asked. “It happens, you know. Most unfortunate.”
“If she dies, you die, Chastain,” Soren said. “And don’t doubt for a minute that I can make it happen. I will dedicate my life to ending yours.”
“My, my, we’ve hit a nerve, I see,” Chastain said. “I had no idea you cared so much for her. You’ve only just met. Not like your friend Sara. You’ve known her much longer, haven’t you?”
Soren gritted his teeth and had to restrain himself from throwing the phone across the room.
“Maybe I’ll just kill you anyway,” Soren said. “Don’t you ever—”
“You are welcome to try,” Chastain said, and the fake tone of concern and friendship was replaced with ice. “You’d have to make it through armed guards to even get to me, and you might find me harder to kill than you imagine. I’m simply pointing out that you’re vulnerable. It appears to be difficult to kill you, but your friends may not be so lucky. Who’s the assistant in your office? We could get to him, too.”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing,” Chastain replied. “I want absolutely nothing from you. You don’t have to do anything except walk away. This forest is none of your concern. Find another case, and let the Wallace Institute stew in its own juices. I’ll even give you an additional incentive, Mr. Chase. Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it. And all you have to do is absolutely nothing.”
Soren stared at Annika, who gave him a questioning look.
“Do we have a deal, Mr. Chase?” Chastain asked. “Even you can’t be this stupid. Just take the money and run. I’m sure Ms. Taylor would understand.”
“What’s in it for you?” Soren asked. “What do you want so badly?”
“That is entirely our concern,” Chastain replied. “Take the money and everyone’s happy. Keep going on this case, however, and people will start dying.”
There was a soft click, and the other end of the line went dead. Soren put the receiver back in the cradle.
“What did he say?” Annika rasped.
The Forest of Forever (The Soren Chase Series, Book One) Page 13