Beyond the Tree House

by Gudrun Frerichs

  I push the memories aside and wash the rest of my quiche down with the coffee. I check the walls but I can’t see a clock. What I notice, though, nobody looks at me as if I’m Frankenstein’s bride. It’s unexpected and I feel a satisfied smile spreading over my face. I’m giving myself a mental pat on the back for blending in. We might nail this being normal thing after all. My mood jumps at least several steps from doom-and-gloom-miserable-and-cranky to this-could-be-a-beautiful-day.

  I get up and rush because the white and green Intercity Bus pulls up at the stop.

  My bag.

  At the door, I turn back with a frustrated sigh and grab my shoulder bag still hanging over the back of the chair. A young man holds the door open for me and smiles.

  “Thank you.” I smile back at him.

  There is not much time to relish the unexpected kindness, because Tom steps onto the pavement just as I reach the bus. He grins like the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.

  “You’re all grown up, girl, and on time for a change.”

  He gives me a big bear hug. Believe me when I say he’s one of the best huggers I’ve ever met. Still, he deserves a mock-punch of his arm for his cheekiness. We are always on time.

  “Ha, ha, you’re such a clown. The body stopped growing over twenty years ago.”

  “I mean you, Lilly. You have matured since I saw you last.”

  He winks and tries to fool me with an expression of innocence, but I wasn’t born yesterday. If I didn’t know how excited the Tribe right now, I would … nah, I wouldn’t. I can’t be angry with him. He’s a good man.

  Good heart or not, I still find it unsettling when someone makes a joke about us.

  “Let it go, Lilly, it’s a good sign. It means we’re being treated like everyone else and not like a precious specimen that needs extra protection.”

  Sky’s whispered words float through my mind like a promising breeze. They remind me that when I’m in a good mood friendly banter never stings but drops off me like water off a duck’s back. Only when I’m in a bad mood do I react to it with snarky retorts. Today is a good mood day I decide, and smile up at Tom.

  “Come on, big boy, the deer are waiting.”

  It’s my turn now to wink and his blush tells me he has no trouble reading the subtext in my words. How often had he been hunting with Scott? Five or six times? How many beasts has he shot? And by that, I mean aimed at and hit the target? Exactly. None.

  The bus driver pulls Tom’s backpack from the storage compartment and drops it at his feet.

  “Your bag, sir, is that all?”

  “Yes, thanks.” He nods at the driver and shoulders his huge backpack.

  “Come on, my car’s parked over there.”

  I point to the parking yard next to the grocery shop and bite back a comment on the size of his luggage. He must have packed everything, including the family silver.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m dying for a cup of coffee. Unless you are in a hurry?”

  Now that he mentions it, he looks worse for wear after sitting for over six hours on a bus with narrow seats.

  “Of course, you poor thing. No rush, we’ve got time. Scott will meet us at his cabin. He said he wanted to get it ship-shape for your stay. Don’t expect too much, though. Ama thinks he doesn’t know the meaning of cleaning.”

  We drop his bag into the trunk of my car and walk over to the café.

  “Scott’s cleaning?”

  “Exactly. He left this morning with his guns so don’t get your hopes up too high. He’s more concerned with scouting out where the deer and the wild pigs are to make your hunting week as memorable as possible.”

  “You don’t mind if he’s away for a week?”

  He stops at the Vanilla Bean and holds the door open for me. I walk through and steer to a window seat.

  “It’ll do him good to get away and we’ll get some weaving done. It’s a win-win all over.”

  Tom looks at me as if he’s not convinced. It annoys me.

  “I don’t need a babysitter. I managed most of my life without male support.” I tip my index finger to my temple. “I’ve got plenty of entertainment in here. We are never alone.”

  “If you say so. Take a seat; I’ll get the coffee. Are you a milk and sugar girl?”

  “I’ll have a cappuccino, please, with chocolate.”

  “Do you want a bite on the side?”

  “No thanks, I already had something while I waited for you.”

  I watch him giving his order at the counter and turning to me, winking and smiling. He can be adorable, like a playful boy. I guess that’s one of the attractions Tom has for us. There is a cheeky, playful part to his character that we like. It’s very different from his lawyer persona, which bores us no end. He’s serious then, never makes any jokes, and does everything by the books.

  I told him once he’s a multiple too, and he laughed it off with a ‘you wish’ comment. How come people don’t see or want to see their own multiplicity? I know theirs is different from ours, but in the end, it comes from the same place, from how nature has constructed human beings.

  “A penny for your thoughts.” He puts the coffee on the table and motions to the gigantic cheese muffin he bought. “In case you change your mind. It’s enough for two.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. To your question, I was thinking about how we met. It feels a long time ago.”

  “It’s been over a year. That’s a long time in my books, too. Are you okay?”

  I watch him smiling and chewing up the muffin as if nothing bothers him. We are so different it makes me feel a little sad and disconnected. We’re always having to deal with a heap of things that bother us. Sometimes I wish we could forget all the stuff that happened and start all over again with a clean slate.

  I dip my head and shrug. “Yes, I am. Finish your coffee and let’s get going.”

  I’m impatient and I don’t know why.

  Chapter Five

  Lilly: 3 March 2017, Midday,

  It will rain soon.

  Just once it would have been good for the weather to play along. We should be so lucky. The sun has disappeared behind angry-looking clouds moving in from the west. I swing into the car and turn on the heater to take the edge off the chill that’s suddenly in the air.

  Tom skims the sky with a troubled expression on his face as he slides into his seat.

  “A front is moving in. I hope the weather isn’t putting a stop to our plans.”

  Expecting the worst seems to be a habit of lawyers. I’m sure he always needs a chill-pill before he can enjoy his vacation. I laugh and for a moment as I feel superior to this city boy who isn’t used to the rough weather on the West Coast.

  “Don’t worry. A little rain and wind never stopped anyone around here. Otherwise, nothing would get done.”

  Scottie always says there’s no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable gear. Although I have to admit, I prefer sitting by the warm fire inside when it rains and storms outside.

  The weather on the West Coast is unpredictable and can turn ugly in a matter of minutes. Only greenhorns ignore the signs and go into the bush and high country during bad weather. The trick is to know when it’s safe and when it isn’t, and I’m not the right person to tell people which is which.

  We leave the parking lot and snake along the deserted coast.

  “You fobbed me off.”

  “Me? When? It’s true, people get things done even if it rains and blows.”

  “That’s not what I meant. When I asked you how things are.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes. Oh. So what’s the matter? You are not yourself.”

  I think that’s the most hilarious comment I’ve heard today.

  “Half of the time I’m not myself, that’s true. This integration business is the pits. Since the court case things are not the same in here.” I tap my hand to my heart and my head. “It’s like walking on shifting sands with no solid ground under our feet.”


  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  I glance over to him. How can I make him understand? “I imagine it’s similar to when you visit a foreign country and you’ve had no time to prepare and inform yourself. They speak a language you don’t understand, they have customs and rules you don’t even know exist, there are no maps to show you the way from A to B, and there is nobody who can translate for you. That’s the best way I can explain. Half of the time we feel lost. What’s even worse, most of the time whatever we do or say simply feels wrong.”

  “I thought integration would be a good thing.” Tom looks dispirited as if he’s responsible for our situation. I have to talk him out of that stupid idea.

  “I’m sure it will be. Give us some time to get used to it.”

  The road is getting windier and I have to switch into a lower gear.

  “Also the massive attention the DID thing is getting since the court case is bothering me.”

  “I’m so sorry. But wasn’t the idea that people get a better understanding of what dissociative disorders mean?” He frowns and raises his hands in a questioning gesture.

  “Sure, I hoped the focus would be on child protection. I hoped they would put together a task force to identify more groups like Gateways. Instead, we became Port Somers’s attraction. We didn’t expect that. You know, like Ohakune has the giant carrot, Paeroa has the giant soft drink bottle; Port Somers now has a famous crazy person. ”

  He reaches over, takes my hand, and squeezes it.

  “You’ve done a brave thing. At least now we talk about it. People took notice after the court case brought out your story. Never underestimate the impact you had.”

  “I don’t know. Elise is terribly disappointed. Rather than looking at what else needs to happen to combat child abuse and child sexual abuse, people and the media go on about whether Dissociative Identity Disorder is real, whether we’ve made it all up, or whether we’re plain schizo and the doctors should force us to take medication.”

  “I’m so sorry. I read some of it in the newspapers and wondered how you’re dealing with it.”

  “You are sweet, don’t worry. We had hoped by coming forward and telling our story, something would change. But not much has. And I’m at a loss as to what we could have done differently.”

  “You’ve done the best you could.”

  As the silence grows between us, so does my need to change the topic.

  “Enough of this. We have to get you to Scottie so you can shoot some deer or a wild pig or whatever else you guys have in mind.”

  “Yes, and I promise, we’ll talk about it some more when we come back.”

  I’m not sure whether I want that. This young man has a thing or two to learn about me. People say talking about stuff is a good thing. However, moaning about it over and over again smacks too much like self-pity. I have no intention to start on that track. He means well, I’m sure. I plan to enjoy the coming week of solitude without threats of a good talk. If Tom needs a good cause to stick his teeth into, he must find a better one than me.

  I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. It’s now past midday and I promised Scottie to deliver his friend in time for lunch. Short after we leave the highway and turn into Flatbush Creek Road I have to stop and let two oncoming pickup trucks pass.

  “Who was that?” Tom turned his head and leaned out of the window. “They drove like maniacs.”

  I understand now why Scottie asked him to come along for the week. He needs to unwind big time.

  “Maybe they were workers from the Department of Conservation. DOC is always fixing a hut or a path. Nobody else has any business here. It’s only Scott and us living on this road.”

  I yawn. It’s time for my nap. When you have other parts up and about half of the night, you run out of energy and need your after-lunch-nap. I turn into the gravel road to Scottie’s cabin when wafts of smoke greet us.

  “It seems to be coming from Scottie’s direction.”

  Tom’s voice sounds nervous and I put my foot down. The car jumps ahead and swings from right to left on the windy path. The smell becomes stronger and a horrible sense of foreboding settles in my gut. Tendrils of smoke are clouding my view and red-orange flames are flickering here and there through the trees.

  “Call the fire brigade. Hurry!”

  I point to my cell-phone on the dashboard, fear careering through my body, taking my breath away. Seconds later stop with squealing tires in the hut’s driveway. Raging flames greet us, greedily devouring what was Scottie’s cabin.

  “No! Scottie!”

  I scream and fly out of the car toward the cabin. Tears are running down my cheek. The heat takes my breath away as I grip the handle of the cabin’s front door. I smell burned skin and hair. I have to get to Scott. Tom doesn’t let go, not even when we are at a safe distance.

  I drop to the ground and stare at my blistered hands. Blinded by my tears I hadn’t even noticed the singeing hot door handle.

  “You can’t go in there. Look at your hands and your hair.”

  Through a haze, I hear Tom’s words, but they make little sense.

  Skin and hair? Who cares?

  “Let me go.”

  I wrestle against his firm grip, jabbing and biting to get free. With no success. I’m sobbing hysterically, choking and coughing and spitting out smoke. Ash is filling the air now, falling like snow.

  “Scottie!”

  My voice is hoarse as if heat and smoke have charred my lungs.

  “Scottie might still be alive.”

  The words fall in sobs from my lips like puffs of smoke. They are the desperate cries of the Tribe. Our minds reach out to the flames, unwilling to accept that nobody could have survived this burning inferno.

  “Calm down. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Tom doesn’t let go of my arm no matter how hard I try to shake him off. I try to punch him but he pins my hands to his chest.

  “Shh, Lilly. Shh.”

  My vision goes red from rage. How dare fate rip my love, my future from me! I don’t want to calm down. Right now I’m a whole lot crazier than I’ve ever been because standing twenty yards away and not able to do anything is killing me.

  I hear sobbing in the back of my mind. When it stops it’s as if someone pushed the mute button on a remote control. There is nothing but an eerie silence inside my head. Like the silence, I imagine there to be when you’re in a diving bell sinking to the bottomless darkness of the ocean. My body is going cold and numb. All emotions drain out of me, like grains of sand slipping through the hourglass, leaving behind little more than a lifeless shell.

  It can’t be. “Scott, Scottie!” I fight Tom’s arms but they don’t give. He even pulls me further back as the heat discharged from the burning hut becomes unbearable. Orange flames rise with thunderous howls into the grey afternoon sky. The fire whips around the house, charging at the walls, and attacking the roof overhang with angry force. It ravages everything in its way until the cabin is standing in the clearing like a giant torch.

  It has started to rain properly now and I wipe the film of moisture off my face. It’s too late. Not even the steady West Coast rain can stop this hellfire. I can’t bear watching it, but I also can’t turn away. Something explodes inside the hut and a giant plume of fire and smoke rolls towards us. Its heat makes me jump even further back.

  “Where is the fire brigade? What’s taking them so long?” I cough to expel the smoke from my lungs. My eyes are stinging and I cover my nose with my arm to avoid the nauseating stench of burning wood, chemicals, petrol, and plastic.

  “They can’t be far away.” Tom puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me toward him. He wipes my tears away and worry is clouding his eyes. He shouldn’t worry about me, not when Scott … I don’t dare to finish that thought. Tears are streaming down my face. I cough. Bloody smoke.

  “Here…,” he tears off a piece of his cotton shirt and ties it like a bandana around my head, covering my mouth and nose.
r />   “It’s possible that Scott wasn’t even in the cabin. You know how he forgets the time when he’s out in the woods.”

  I want to believe him. Oh, I can’t express how much I want to believe him. But wouldn’t he rush back at the first sign of smoke? The West Coast is not known for bush fires. It’s much too wet with over a hundred and ninety days of rainfall a year. That makes smoke even more suspicious.

  I shake my head in disbelief and rock my body, my arms holding tight around my pulled up legs. “Don’t give me false hope!”

  “Listen?” He paused and I heard a siren howling. “It’s the fire brigade. They’ll be here soon.”

  “What for? There’s nothing left to save.”

  Minutes later the roof collapses with a roaring bang, sending an army of fire sparks into the air, just as the fire engine comes around the corner.

  I stare at the burning ruin spitting black smoke in the air that hangs in the trees like a thick blanket. Only a few smoldering beams are still standing where once were walls with doorways leading to rooms.

  It’s too late. Scottie is gone. We arrived too late. They arrived too late. There is a giant drum in my head and with each bang, I hear; Too late! Too late! Too late! Regular like a heartbeat. Too late.

  Tom puts his jacket over my shoulder and is waiting for the firefighters. With the precision of a Swiss clock, they pull out their hose and turn switches and levers until water comes shooting out.

  The captain walks up to us.

  “I’m Chief Fire Officer Bruce Miller. What happened?”

  “Tom Aldercroft.” He explains how we noticed the smoke as we came home from town and raced toward Scott’s hut.

  “The flames had already engulfed the cabin when we arrived. We tried to get into it,” he pointed to my blistered hands, “but there was nothing we could do.”

  The Fire Chief shot a glance at the smoldering remains of Scottie’s hut and returns to us with an incredulous frown. “Not once they burn. However, these log cabins don’t burn that easily. Is it possible that Mr. Thompson himself …?”