Of the Trees

by E. M. Fitch

  “What about this tree?” he prompted, suspicious, but listening. Cassie shrugged.

  “I was talking to Laney, and I looked down. When I looked back up, she was gone. He was behind the tree, I didn’t see him until he moved back, into the woods. At first, it looked like she just disappeared.”

  “But you got a pretty good look at the guy,” he said, his eyebrows raising. She nodded. “You said the tree ate her. That’s what you were saying to the officer on the scene.”

  Cassie tried to work up the appropriate blush. “I freaked. I ran. I left her.” She teared up at the admission because this, at least, was true. She had left her. She had no idea how to find Laney, how to help her. Tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and Gibbons had the decency to pause his questions until she had wiped them away.

  She tried again to explain where the clearing was, but she knew it wouldn’t be there if he tried to find it. It wasn’t natural, it didn’t consistently exist. An overwhelming calm swept through her as she accepted that, a natural admission that something, something she couldn’t explain using laws of the known world, was occurring. Her mind felt quieter as she admitted this to herself.

  He didn’t seem to mind her being unable to give directions to the clearing. He seemed to accept that she had gotten lost, and she had, coming out of the woods miles from where she entered it.

  Because that too was unnatural. Something had chased her out, taunted her with whispers and wind and roots springing up to catch her toes. Her breathing settled into a calm pattern, her mind blocking the panic that she knew would come.

  “What happens now?” Cassie asked, locking eyes with Gibbons. He held her gaze, suggested they call her parents down. Once Cathy and Patrick had Cassie sandwiched between them on the couch, he continued.

  “We’re organizing a search party. We’ll start in the morning. You all should probably stay inside. The media will kick up a frenzy outside your house. We’re going with the kidnapping, just like your daughter said. I’ll talk to the Blakes, give them your side of the story.” He paused here, regarding them. “They’ve been your neighbors for a long time?”

  “Years,” Patrick answered, “since the girls were babies.”

  “And our friends, as well,” Cathy offered. Gibbons nodded.

  “I would steer clear of them for a while. Don’t let your daughter over there alone. Let us handle them.”

  “But—” Cassie started, feeling guilt rise inside of her. Their daughter was gone. Cassie saw it happen. They would want answers, need comfort, it couldn’t be wrong to try to give those things.

  “Trust me on this one,” Gibbons answered, rising from his seat. The chair creaked underneath him. “Things like this, they tear people apart. Those folks can’t be blamed for what’s going to come out of their mouths. But it doesn’t mean you should have to hear it.”

  Sunday morning was a whirlwind of activity. Cassie had slept terribly, and a dull headache was her waking companion. They kept the blinds shut tightly, but it couldn’t block out the noise. Organizers on bullhorns, people jostling into position. They were combing the woods that surrounded the neighborhood, trampling through Gray Lady Cemetery, and trying to get the dozens of people who showed up into position. There were more than a few knocks at her front door. Cassie was shooed into her bedroom each time, and her father would open the door a crack to send whoever it was off their property. After the sixth time, Cassie didn’t bother coming back down from her room. She sat at her window, peering through a crack in her blinds. It had started to rain. Not heavily, but a steady mist. The people outside, covered with rain gear and wearing heavy boots, must have been cold. She could see Mr. and Mrs. Blake, standing on their porch, a crowd of people surrounding them, leaving muddy footprints all over their lawn.

  There was a collection of flowers and candles and pink teddy bears at the end of her driveway. Cassie couldn’t help but feel this appropriate. Jessica had her tribute at the softball field, Laney’s was home, close to the cemetery. The funny thing was that neither girl was particularly fond of teddy bears or candles. Cassie found herself wondering why people left these things, why the useless St. Valentine’s Day mementos that anyone could buy at their local drug store? For that matter, why anything at all? It wasn’t like the girls would come back to claim them.

  Her stomach fell at the thought, the subconscious realization that no, Laney wasn’t coming back.

  Cassie heard the knock on the front door from her bedroom, but she didn’t move until she heard his voice.

  “Please, I have to see her.”

  Cassie sprang out of her chair, her vision blurring a bit in the corners as she crossed her room. She reached out a hand to the doorjamb, steadying herself.

  “She’s not well, Ryan,” her mother was saying. Cassie saw his face, broken and lined with worry.

  “Ryan,” Cassie called out. Her voice wasn’t loud, but they all turned to her. “Mom, please.”

  Cassie could read the indecision on her mother’s face, but it didn’t matter. Ryan was already scooting around her, pushing through the cracked opening in the door and taking the steps two at a time. Her mother shut the door, the sound of shuffling volunteers and the light pattering of the rain quieting. Ryan reached her in a single stride from the top step, his arms already opened, and she collapsed into him. He was damp but solid. She inhaled sharply, noting the sandalwood cologne he wore, the sharp scent of the soap that undercut it. She could feel the way he trembled, feel herself break apart into sobs as she started to whisper over and over, “She’s gone, she’s gone.”

  He was whispering to her, mostly nonsense, trying to calm her, and she could hear her mother’s voice, “You better bring her to the living room.”

  That wasn’t what Cassie wanted. She wanted her bed, a closed door. She wanted to tell someone what happened and have them believe her. She wanted to have Ryan curl around her, let her sleep while he watched, standing guard over the trees that swayed and moaned in the wind and plagued her with nightmares of dirt and rot and being dragged down and into a living grave. But her feet were already shuffling down the stairs, her body guided under his firm arm, and so she went, away from her room and the possibility of a closed door, and followed Ryan and her mother to the living room.

  The light streaming through the bay window was weak, cold sunlight that didn’t warm. Her mother left them for a moment. Cassie could hear the clink of tea mugs from the kitchen, the sloshing water of the kettle as her mother lit the stove top. She sat on the worn leather couch, tipping slightly as Ryan sat next to her. His hand drifted from her hip to her shoulder. He hadn’t let her go yet, and she was grateful for it.

  “Thank you for coming,” Cassie said softly. She felt him shift on the couch next to her. Warm fingers caught her chin and tipped her face up.

  “Of course I came,” he said. He searched her face, his eyes a steady and warm brown that drank her in.

  “But we haven’t,” Cassie said falteringly as she kept her eyes on his. “Not since. We haven’t spoken. I missed you.”

  The last bit came out in a rushed breath, Cassie not even consciously aware of the words as they tripped out of her mouth. Ryan smiled gently.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked. He lowered his voice and brought his face closer to hers. She doubted it would matter, her mother would be listening regardless. However, she wasn’t watching.

  Cassie nodded her head, as the words came out. “I can’t remember,” she whispered. His brow scrunched in confusion. Her tongue darted out, ran across her dry lips, and she pulled the lower lip into her mouth, biting in distress.

  “What do you remember?” he asked, turning and facing her on the couch. He brought his knee up, it grazed her leg. Her hand flitted up, her fingers stretching out in midair before she curled them into a fist. He frowned at her, and she took a breath, placing her hand firmly on his knee. He started in surprise but didn’t back away.

  “Not
much,” she answered, but she was shaking her head at the lie she told, staring imploringly at him. She patted his knee with her hand and lifted one finger, tracing letters on his thigh. He shifted uncomfortably, staring at her, obviously thinking she was losing it because when had she ever touched him like this? But she kept tracing the words, over and over.

  Later.

  I’m lying.

  Later.

  He frowned, looking from her mouth, where she was telling him that she woke up in the hospital, a complete mess with no memory, to his thigh where she was telling him not to believe her. In the end, it was her eyes that did it, pleading and begging him to understand. He nodded and mouthed the word “Later,” and she sighed in relief.

  The flood of panic was coming, she felt it rising up. Her mother strode into the room, preceded by a loaded tea tray. Cassie jumped when she saw her. Cathy Harris stopped, her face blank. Cassie pulled her fingers slowly from Ryan’s leg, and he cleared his throat, shifting back on the couch.

  “Maybe I should—” he started, and the panic blinded her. Her hand shot out, gripping his forearm hard.

  “Don’t go,” Cathy murmured just as Cassie begged, “No!” She felt her fingers dig into his arm, knew she was probably hurting him, but couldn’t let go.

  The whispers started again, slow and quiet, from the inside of her skull. They were deceiving, like the slow rustle of dead leaves in a soft wind, but they were persistent, louder and louder until they were roaring and Cassie couldn’t hear anything but them.

  Gone.

  She’s gone.

  You will never see her again …

  Ryan’s arms were around her suddenly, gripping her fiercely. Her mother was there, hovering in her vision as something sinister shouted at her, blurred her vision with roiling dirt and roots that pulled and sucked and consumed. Something bitter was placed on her tongue, and she was told to swallow, her mother’s voice soft, but firm through the chaos. Warm tea flooded her mouth, and she sputtered but swallowed, washing the bitterness away.

  Gone.

  Never see her again.

  The tears were hot on her cheeks, and she felt herself being pulled into Ryan’s chest. Cassie went willingly, burrowing her face into the soft cotton of his shirt. Warm fingers smoothed the hair from her face, but she couldn’t tell if they were his or her mother’s. A wave of dizziness overcame her and her fingers curled with brutal force into Ryan’s shirt.

  “Hush, baby,” her mother’s voice spoke, low and soothing. Cassie could only just detect the panic there. Hands rubbed soothing circles into her back and her breathing hitched. “Sleep now.”

  Not unless you want to …

  Cold dread washed over her, and she shut down, clamping her fingers into damp cotton, pressing her face against the fast beating of Ryan’s heart. She gave in to the drowning rush of whispered taunts.

  The light was soft and warm when she woke, she could sense it, even with her eyes closed, and Cassie shifted, inhaling deeply. Someone had tucked her comforter around her; she could smell it, even pick up the whiffs of lavender from the last time Laney had slept over. Her chest caved in at the realization, and she lay quietly, ignoring the lavender. Something else, warm and musty, floated around her, and she burrowed into it, tensing when what she was lying on shifted underneath her. She blinked in surprise, bringing the page of the book that was a couple inches from her nose into focus.

  “You awake?”

  His voice, husky with disuse, rumbled from his chest, and Cassie stiffened, her mouth falling open. She clenched her eyes shut in embarrassment, not yet ready to sit up from his chest. His arm was still around her, and she felt his hand drift under the comforter, his fingers gently stroking her back.

  “I am so sorry,” Cassie whispered, clearing her throat when her voice cracked. She felt, rather than heard, his chuckle. There was a soft thump as he placed his book on the end table.

  “It’s no problem,” Ryan assured her, squeezing lightly. He brought his arms up in a stretch, and she heard his joints pop.

  “What time is it?” she asked, bringing her head up. Ryan shrugged, smiling down at her. “Do you have your phone?”

  “My battery died hours ago,” he said, nodding toward the book. “Your mom lent me that.”

  “Hours ago?” Cassie gasped, sitting up. “I’ve been out for hours? I’m so sorry! You should have left.”

  “Well, I tried,” he said, pulling her back into the crook of his arm. “Especially after your dad came in, it got a little awkward.” Cassie groaned, turning her face back into his chest. He laughed softly, his fingers smoothing her hair back from her face, lingering with warm intensity on her exposed neck.

  “You started freaking out again when I tried to get up,” Ryan continued. “Your dad tried to take you, but—”

  He broke off and Cassie didn’t dare try to make eye contact. She cringed into his chest instead, safely where he couldn’t see her. She didn’t remember a thing. His fingers pressed lightly against the column of her throat, stroking the skin there almost absently. “I don’t want to know the rest, do I?”

  “It was probably the meds your mom gave you,” he said gently. “She said so anyway. They got me a sandwich, checked in on us a bunch, covered you up with the blanket. It was fine.”

  “I am so, so sorry,” Cassie mumbled. He just chuckled again.

  “I can think of worse ways to spend a day,” Ryan murmured. “Do you feel any better?”

  “I—” she broke off, unsure.

  “Do you want to tell me now?” he asked after a silent moment, his voice low and soft. Cassie shook her head against his chest, her chin shifting against the shell of the hand that still rested on her neck. No, she couldn’t tell him. Now, in the quiet, the dark, without the trees and the voices whispering, she felt sane. And looking back, remembering the voices and the terror and the churning earth, it all felt so insane, so unreal, that suddenly she wasn’t sure just what she had seen.

  “That’s okay, then,” he whispered. “I can just stay here and sit with you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, looking up at him. Cassie meant for all of it, for being there and not asking, for holding her together and braving her parents when she was falling apart. His gaze caught hers and held, his eyes gentle and warm in the soft glow of the lamplight. His lips curled into a smile, and he nodded. She shifted toward him, pulled by the intensity in his gaze, her eyes flitting to his lips. Without a thought, she pressed her mouth to his, and his fingers tightened reflexively against the soft skin of her neck. Her lips lingered long enough for her to tilt her head, pressing her mouth more firmly to his when a throat cleared behind them. Ryan pulled back, startled, and she turned, her cheeks flushing when she found her father, shifting from foot to foot as he pulled his bathrobe closed.

  “Thought I heard you wake up,” he muttered, eyeing Ryan. “You okay to get up to bed?”

  Cassie nodded. “I am, yeah,” she said to her father. He paused a moment longer, rocking back and forth on the threshold to the living room.

  “All right, then,” he finally said, his tone gruff. “Come kiss your mother goodnight before you head to sleep.” Cassie nodded, and he turned to head back up the stairs. They could hear the soft pad of his feet as he quietly made his way to his bedroom.

  “I guess I’m leaving,” Ryan said through a yawn. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yes, of course,” Cassie said, pausing. “Tomorrow … ”

  “Monday,” Ryan clarified. “I’ll come hang out for the day.”

  “But, school … ”

  “We’re ditching. Becca, too.” He stood, stretching. “She called, worried about you.”

  “Right. Okay.”

  Cassie got up, walking by his side toward the front door. The lawn was quiet when she opened the door, the madness of it settled. It was still raining, harder now, and Ryan paused, looking down into Cassie’s face. “Thank you,” she said. He didn’t lo
ok away. His head bent and he caught her lips with his own in a soft kiss. She smiled against his mouth, wondering if this was his thing now, kissing but not talking about it.

  He stepped back, flipped up the collar to his jacket, and darted out the door. “Lock that behind you,” he turned to say, nodding at the door. She gave a jerky smile, waiting until she saw him get into his car to do as he said, sliding the bolt home with a click.

  Cassie was awoken early Monday morning by her father. He knocked on her bedroom door, ushering her into her sweatshirt and down the stairs where a sketch artist from the police station was waiting. She spent the morning describing Jude and Aidan and Corey to him, her mother serving her pancakes in the living room.

  She could hear the searches being conducted outside, the organizers splashing through mud puddles and pushing further into the underbrush now in search for, what they undoubtedly thought, would be a dead body.

  It was harder to describe the three men than Cassie initially thought. Part of that was because she didn’t know which version of them to describe. Young and lively like they were in the clearing, their shoulders broad, stomachs flat? Or how she had seen them at the carnival, lined faces and creases by their eyes? It still didn’t make sense in her own head, how these three could shift so easily. Young, attractive men, hands warm and soft, to older men, looking worn down by years of alcohol abuse or drug use. Their skin became sallow and sagging. Jude’s gut was definitely pronounced, Cassie remembered it straining against his stained, white tank top. Corey had been boney and looked worn.

  Aidan.

  Well, Aidan had looked older, Cassie remembered that much, but he also had those same piercing blue eyes that nailed her to the spot.

  To the sketch artist, she described three young men, a cross between the two versions of them she knew. She made them to be in their twenties because that was what Rebecca said when she had described Aidan to Cassie. She described them as attractive because, in the clearing, they had been. It seemed to take forever for the squirrelly little man to get Aidan’s eyes right. She wasn’t sure why it was so important that he did, only that it was his most distinct feature. Cassie couldn’t help but feel that if she got that right, someone would recognize him. No one else alive had eyes as fierce as Aidan did.