8: A gripping dark fantasy mystery

by Georgina Bartlett

  “I’m here to talk to you about Ronnie. I really don’t want to have this conversation over the intercom,” Rick stammered, his voice low.

  Without another thought, Justine pressed down her door release and let Rick into the building. She unlocked her front door and left it on the latch for him before wandering into the middle of the room. She turned when she heard his footsteps on her wooden floor. His eyes were puffy. There was a file in his hand.

  “Justine.” His voice hit her like a frosty wind. “I’m sorry to tell you that at eleven last night, Ronnie’s body was found. She was confirmed dead at the scene.”

  The cover was still wrapped around her shoulders, but everything felt cold. Her eyes pierced into him, unable to leave the moment.

  “Do you understand what I have told you?” he asked her, his voice broken.

  Justine didn’t respond. The only movement from her the rise and fall of her chest.

  “Justine, are y-”

  “I haven’t slept. I haven’t slept because I was afraid that there was a monster under my bed,” she sobbed, as a single tear escaped from her eye.

  “Ok,” Rick said.

  “I tried to. I tried, but every time I closed my eyes I-” She stopped suddenly and met Rick’s gaze. “Have you seen her?” she asked him, her hand shaking as she covered her lips. He nodded and wiped a hand across his nose, tears rolling over his already puffy cheeks.

  “Was she? How was she?” she started to say, but trailed off, the cover falling away from her shoulders as she covered the bottom of her face with her palm and shook with tears.

  “She was strangled,” Rick told her, a hitch in his throat catching on the end of his sentence.

  “Oh god,” she faltered, and sank to the floor afraid it would swallow her whole. She was dressed in a black bra and girls boxers underneath the comforter. Rick picked up the cover and wrapped it around her again. Her messy bun sat in an awkward position on her head as she dropped her gaze and held her hands out in front of her on the floor. “She called me,” Justine gasped through sobs.

  “What did you say?” Rick asked, sat on the floor with her.

  “She called me last night. She called me about ten times and left messages,” she cried, unable to catch her breath as dribble fell to the floor along with her tears. “She called me, and I ignored it. She needed me and I wasn’t there.” She cried and slapped at the ground.

  “Take a breath,” Rick told her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Justine perched her head on his arm and sobbed. “You couldn’t have known. You can’t blame yourself.”

  They sat alone on the cold floor, unaware and uncaring of how much time passed.

  ***

  Lightning struck the night sky before a clap of thunder followed as the rain came pouring down. It spattered against the window like a hailstorm. Branches from a tree by the balcony scratched at the glass like a thief looking for a weakness.

  Justine laid on the couch, take away boxes and wine bottles keeping her company as the television blared out a comedy sitcom she watched till she was bored of it. She wasn’t paying it any attention, but the voices from the show made her feel less alone. Swinging her arm out she knocked over a wine bottle, it rolled across the hard wood floors and knocked against the kitchen counter, her mobile sat atop it. The cover she was wrapped in had various stains and spills on it. She had used it as her personal napkin for days. She peeled if off as if it had become a second skin. She crawled along the cold floor and wobbled up, and wrapped her arms around herself as she walked to the counter.

  She picked up the phone and saw several messages from Rick and Jason, but swiped them all away. She pulled down the notification bar There were eight messages from Ronnie. Her finger hovered over the screen, prepared to press play, and hear the last words Ronnie had sent to her, but she couldn’t. She asked Rick if he needed her phone to listen to the messages, but he told her he would be able to get her call records and listen to it.

  “Why didn’t they just take you?” she asked her reflection on the phone screen in a sob, a tear streaking down the screen. She slammed the phone back down on the counter and was sure that she had broken the screen. But right now she couldn’t care.

  As she walked back to the sofa, the power went out. She was left in the dark so picked the phone back up and turned on the flashlight. She considered turning it off and curling up on the floor, but before she could, another flash of lighting hit the sky. She left the flashlight on but put the phone down on the counter and wandered over to the balcony doors, the crackle of thunder filling the air and making her shudder. Before she knew it, her hands were on the lock, and the door was open.

  Rain hit her face and washed away the salt from her tears. With a step forward she flinched as the cold went through her feet, but soon welcomed the numbness that accompanied it. Holding onto the metal railing, she shook from the chill, her arms and legs bared. She could hardly see anything, the power cut affecting the whole street and lamps. But as another flare of lighting lit up the sky, she spotted the figure of a woman with long hair on the pavement across the street.

  “Ronnie?” she whispered to the shadow that disappeared in a second, the lightning finished with its encore. Her eyes were fixed to where she’d seen her, waiting for a response but hearing nothing but the wind. “Ronnie?” her voice trembled, this time getting a reply from the thunder, full of anger. Breaking down in tears, Justine crumbled to the balcony floor, both hands wrapped around the bars of the railing. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ronnie. It’s all my fault,” she cried, her hot tears mixing with the cold rain.

  A knock came to the door, but she couldn’t hear it, the downpour drowning her senses. She kept her hands wrapped around the cold metal and curled her legs up into her chest, the hard concrete a welcome bed.

  “Justine?” said a voice as the front door opened, followed by a ray of light. It weaved its way through the furniture and glass bottles. “Justine, where are you?” the voice came again, but she was lost.

  Justine’s teeth began to chatter as she looked up to the night sky. There were no stars to be seen because of the light pollution. She wondered if all the light in her had been chased away, taken over, and replaced by nothingness. Her thoughts were interrupted as her ribs ached and her frozen body shifted.

  “Justine! What in the hell are you doing?” Jason screamed at her, his torch, laid on the ground shining into her face. “Your lips are blue. I need to get you inside.”

  “No,” she murmured, her voice weak as she clung onto the metal bars.

  “Justine, you’re going to catch pneumonia if you stay out here,” Jason nagged, and reached to unclench her hands from the bars.

  “No. Don’t!” she screamed at him as he unhooked her hands. “Stop it! Stop it” she cried as he released her from the floor and carried her into the flat.

  He sat her upright on the sofa and wrapped her stained duvet around her shoulders, then rubbed her arms. “What the hell were you doing out there?” Jason asked again.

  “It’s my fault. She’s dead because of me,” Justine cried as she shook.

  “Hey, Justine. Look at me,” Jason said, and cupped her face. “This is not your fault. What’s happened is terrible, but you were not the one who took Ronnie from this world.”

  “I didn’t love her the way I should have, the way I did. I was too scared to love her, and now I never will,” she shrieked, struggling to catch her breath.

  “Come on now,” Jason took a seat next to her on the sofa, pulling her into his lap. “She knew how much you loved her. She knew,” he reassured, and rocked her in his arms until she fell asleep.

  Fourteen

  Forrest climbed the staircase of the tree. Felix had taken Doc to a private suite and bought in empaths from the village that his grandmother trusted.

  “He’s in de room at de very top of de stairs,” Felix had told him, but with every step, Forrest’s legs felt heavy.

  Luckily, the staircase was
short, and he glanced the door at the top. Happy to be away from prying eyes he let out a sigh of relief and sunk down to sit on one of the smooth wooden steps. With his elbows supported on his knees he held his head in his hands trying to silence the words that flew through his mind. The questions from Mort and Amour, his own questions about the person he thought he knew everything about.

  He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath before he pulled himself up on the banister that ran down both sides of the stairs. His brow furrowed as his hand slipped from the rail and he stumbled slightly. Sat back on the step, he took a closer look at the railing and found that each section was disconnected and resembled door handles. He reached up and pulled the handle down which caused the metal to change from black to a glowing gold. The gold ran up the wall and filled in an etched pattern in the wood. The wall began to stretch, and the gold etching continued and seemed to make a doorway. Once finished a sign in the middle of the door began to write itself and read – The Tranquillity Room.

  Forrest turned the handle and, as the door opened, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “There is so much to see here, a person could easily get lost,” Buttercup purred as she stroked her hand down his arm.

  “We thought you had left.” Forrest admitted still clutching the handle.

  “I have my ways of popping up here, there and everywhere.” She smiled; her crown full of buds that began to bloom.

  “Maybe getting lost right now wouldn’t be the worst thing,” he mused and traced the name on the door with his finger.

  “Forrest, you have so much on your shoulders. I can feel the ache inside of you calling to be eased. And apparently so can the tree.” Buttercup pointed to the room. “You are yearning for peace and quiet and I’m sorry. Because you are the glue, you are the one keeping this all together. They need you,” she insisted, and turned her gaze to the top of the stairs.

  “I’ve lost so much. I can’t lose anymore,” he confessed and laid his head against the door.

  “Who said you were losing anything. You just need to make the first step,” Buttercup assured and touched his shoulder.

  In the next moment, Forrest glanced around and found himself at the top of the stairs, Doc’s door handle now in his hand. Buttercup’s giggle filled the air as she vanished.

  He paused before opening the door and perched in the entrance. It was a spectacular space, with a sizeable round bed covered in white and brown sheets. It sat against two wooden pillars that had been draped in white silk. The bed had a nightstand on either side, a lamp resembling a golden fish sat atop each, anchored to a block that looked like it was the only thing keeping them from swimming away. Two large windows that rounded with the shape of the room allowed purple light to flood in and showcased the tops of other trees, revealing the chamber to be high up. A rug made of pink and white flowers sat in the middle, and a wardrobe carved in the shape of a heart sat at the other end, opposite the bed.

  “You going to linger there forever?” Doc asked, lying in bed with his eyes closed and his arm in a sling. His blue coat and shirt had been laid on the bed, both bloody and tattered. His shoulder was bandaged with gauze and tape, and a brown blanket had been draped over him up to his chest.

  “I honestly don’t think I’ll ever find out how many rooms and staircases this tree-fortress has hidden,” Forrest joked, and stepped into the room, his hands in his pockets.

  “Rather magnificent, isn’t it?” Doc said and grabbed his glasses off the nightstand.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good.” Doc smiled and sat himself up in bed, his cover falling off and revealing a tattoo on his chest. Before Forrest could get a real look, he pulled the blanket back over him. “The empaths have helped a lot. I just have some healing to do myself.”

  Forrest nodded and walked around the room. Then he perched on the edge of the bed and crossed his hands in front of him. “What is going on, Doc?”

  Doc itched his brow and pushed his glasses further up his nose, unable to make eye contact. Wrapping his arm around himself, he supported his elbow and remained silent.

  “I – I don’t recognise the person I have known my entire life,” Forrest started. “I’ve got Mort and Amour downstairs already broken because of Harmony, and now they feel like they’ve lost you too.” He rubbed his hands together and dropped his head. “Not all of you. Just the part they trusted and thought of as a fa-” Forrest stopped himself and held his head in his hands, his blue-black skin like stone. “Doc, please. Just say something. Anything.”

  “Forrest?” Felix’s voice came from the staircase and caused them both to turn in his direction. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but she’s awake. She wants everyone to meet at de Atheneum tree,” he mumbled, his yellow eyes jumping from Doc to Forrest as he tapped out a nervous tune with his brown fingers on the doorframe.

  “Don’t worry. You weren’t interrupting anything,” Forrest stated, and stood up.

  “I brought dese up for yuh. Do yuh need some help to de tree?” Felix asked, a t-shirt and wool jacket in his hand.

  “No. He’s staying here.” Without a look back, Forrest left the room.

  ***

  “Hey, where’s Doc?” Mort asked Forrest as he joined them. They’d all gathered behind Madame Arbre’s house, past her allotment of fruit and vegetables.

  “He stayed behind. He wasn’t feeling up to it yet.”

  “But he’s going to be ok?” Amour asked, his arms crossed.

  “Yeah, he’ll be fine,” Forrest assured.

  “Yuh need to respect yuh elders young man,” Madame Arbre said to Forrest, raising her white eyebrows at him. With a cane in one hand and the other around Steven’s arm, she shuffled across to them. “Felix is on his way. He is bringing Doc along.”

  Forrest stiffened and his eyes turned a dark green.

  “Yuh fear is just dat. Fear,” Madame Arbre reassured as she looked up at him with a knowing half smile. “So, lighten up.” She shifted her gaze between his eyes. Forrest closed them and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his irises had shifted back to a light green, piercing against his blue-black skin. “Dat’s better. Now let’s get moving. We don’t want to be out in dese woods too long during the purple bloom.” She led the way for them through the purple haze of the moon, Steven by her side, a horizontal red oval painted on his forehead.

  After a five-minute walk into the woods, Madame Arbre and Steven stopped in front of an old tree stump that was covered in mould and surrounded by large groups of wild mushrooms.

  Amour opened his mouth to speak but stopped when he felt a jab from Madame Arbre’s cane. “Boy, yuh best keep quiet right now,” she warned him.

  “You see a mouldy tree stump too though right,” Amour whispered but straightened as Madame Arbre stared him down with her glare.

  “Yuh problem is dat yuh see what yuh want to. While yuh might only glimpse an old, mouldy tree stump, I see magic and life,” Madame Arbre declared. “Look closer, and yuh may find an entire world within dis tree.”

  As they all took a closer look at the stump, Mort began to move forward, as if being pulled, her fingers splayed out by her side.

  “Mort, you ok?” Amour asked.

  “Don’t you feel it?” she whispered, her head tilted to the side as her fingers danced in the air.

  “Feel what?” her brother asked, his pink skin a slightly lighter shade than his faded jacket.

  “Life. It’s pulsating from the stump. It’s radiating like a heartbeat, but louder and faster. It’s like drums,” she explained, sweeping her hand over the top of the stump, but careful to not touch it.

  “I can’t feel anything,” Amour admitted.

  “Neither can I,” Forrest hesitated, a crease on his brow. “I normally feel connected to everything, especially nature.”

  “Tis because death is connected to everything,” Madame Arbre said, meeting Mort’s wide eyes. “Yuh are so much more dan what yuh believe.”

 
Mort smiled at her, her alabaster skin exposed against all the brown and green of the woods. Her dress was now a light grey.

  “Let us begin,” Madame Arbre winced as she pushed her thumb into a sharp piece of wood protruding out of her cane.

  “What are you doing?” Amour asked and turned his nose up at the blood dripping from her finger.

  “To enter de Atheneum tree, yuh ave to go through a sort of…spiritual cleansing,” Madame Arbre answered and moved towards him. “My blood will allow yuh access from dis day to de day I take me last breath.”

  “What, the thing…on his head?” Amour pointed to Steven, making an invisible circle on his own head with his finger. “No, no. I’m not having blood drawn on me.”

  “Then I guess you are waiting out here,” Forrest quipped, and bent to give Madame Arbre access to his forehead. Once the oval drawn in blood was complete it lit up in a silver shimmer and disappeared into his blue-black skin.

  “What happened to it?” Amour asked, his eyes stuck to the spot she had drawn the oval. Forrest ran a hand across his head and found nothing there.

  “Like I explained, dis will allow yuh to enter de Atheneum tree till de day I take me last breath. Tink of it like a temporary tattoo.”

  “Temporary?”

  “None of us can live forever child.”

  “Well, this just gets better and better. Not only do we have your blood smeared on us, but now you’re telling me that it seeps in.” Amour held a fist up to his mouth like he could throw up.

  “Come on. Get over it.” Mort admonished and moved to stand in front of Madame Arbre for her ink. The blood seeped into her ghostly white skin leaving no trace. The three of them turned to look at Amour and waited.

  “Fine,” Amour finally agreed and bent down for Madame Arbre. “Mind the hair.” He closed his eyes. Once finished, the blood singed and evaporated into his forehead. “What now?” he fumed and brushed the front of his hair to check for mess.