by Chris Cooper
“Only bakers,” he replied.
They arrived at The Horseman without incident although Oliver figured the ride back home might be a bit more difficult, depending on how many pints their visit to the tavern entailed.
He could hear the chatter of the pubgoers from outside, and a police car sat watch nearby. The car seemed extremely out of place for the small town. Sometimes Oliver forgot he was living in the twenty-first century, with all the preserved history around him, but the cruiser reminded him that even small towns weren’t immune to the terrors of the modern-day world.
“Kind of weird to have all of these cops around,” Anna said. “Feels like we have to be on our best behavior even though I know we aren’t doing anything wrong.”
“At least we know there are people looking out for us,” he said, waving to the officer in the cruiser. The officer rested his hand on the side of the car and gave a halfhearted wave in return. Oliver didn’t recognize him as one of the Christchurch police, who were easy to spot, considering the town had only three of them.
Oliver held the door of the tavern open for Anna. The pub was alive with the hum of the local townsfolk—at least until they walked in. The buzz died down to a murmur at the first sight of Oliver. Several sets of eyes followed the two as they made their way to the bar although the bartender seemed oblivious to the sudden lull in conversation.
“Anna! Good to see you. What can I get you two?” he asked.
Oliver ordered a wheat beer and Anna a stout.
“Didn’t know you liked dark beer,” Oliver said, pulling out his wallet.
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s because I’m a woman, isn’t it?” she asked, feigning offense.
The pub clientele eventually lost interest and returned to their drunken conversations.
“Is the roof open?” she asked the bartender. “It’s a bit of a tough crowd tonight—might be nice to have some privacy.”
“Always open for you, dear, but you might freeze out there. It’s pretty chilly outside,” he replied. “And if anybody catches you, you know the deal. You’re not allowed up there, and you were trespassing.” He smiled at Anna.
She grabbed Oliver by the arm as the bartender set their drinks in front of him.
“Come on. I want to show you something.” She pulled him to the staircase next to the bar, and they climbed the steps. Golden numbers were painted on each of the guest-room doors lining the hallway. The fact that this was the only inn, motel, or hotel in town still baffled him, especially since the place had only four rooms. Anna walked to the end of the hallway and turned toward a small broom closet.
“Hold this,” she said, handing Oliver her beer and opening the closet door.
The closet held a set of brooms and a mop bucket but also had a metal ladder bolted to the back wall of it. Anna put her foot on the first rung and carefully climbed. She unlatched the hatch at the top of the ladder, pulled herself up to the roof, then reached down to grab the beers from Oliver.
“Come on up,” she said.
He closed the closet door behind himself and began the short climb to the roof. As he looked up through the hatch, the brilliant night sky came into view. The countless stars and planets were overwhelming. He could likely see these same stars from the ground, but he simply hadn’t bothered to look. How could I have missed them? The light was different in the small town. He was lucky to see a bright planet every now and then from his studio apartment, but Christchurch was free from the bright lights that polluted the atmosphere in the city.
The roof was clearly not meant for patrons, but someone had nailed a wooden bench down and built a small decorative fence around the edges. It certainly wouldn’t prevent any accidental falls onto the stone patio below and was more of a decoration than anything else.
Anna stood at the edge and looked off into the distance. The entire town was visible from the rooftop. Oliver could see the town square and could even make out Anna’s cottage in the distance. He turned around and saw Izzy’s house, with a single light shining from the second floor. He imagined she had taken dinner up to her studio and was hard at work on her next subversive masterpiece. The forest sat in the valley below, and a few speckled lights shone through the trees.
“Look over here,” he said.
“Huh?” Anna replied, walking over next to him.
“Don’t you see those lights off in the distance?” he asked.
Anna squinted.
“I don’t see anything,” she replied.
“They’re in the trees, right where I found the body. It’s where I brought you that day and where I saw the house the night I found Lilly.”
“Maybe it’s just a bunch of campers or hunters or something. The police could be taking another look in the woods,” she said. Her answer was rational, but it still didn’t explain what he’d seen in the woods several nights before. No matter how hard he tried, he just wasn’t able to rid his mind of it.
Oliver stood in silence for a moment.
“You know, at some point, you’re going to have to let it go,” she said, as if reading his thoughts.
“Let what go?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
“Lilly, Francis, this whole thing. If anyone’s going to figure things out, the police will. You shouldn’t lose sleep over it. We have to keep living our lives. If not, we’re just as bad as the Elders.”
Oliver wasn’t sure how he would be able to “let it go.” He’d found two bodies within a matter of weeks.
“So you like to travel? I noticed all of the books on your shelf,” he said, doing his best to change the subject although the transition was somewhat jarring.
“I wish,” she replied. “I went to Canada once, but that’s about it.”
“I’m surprised the daughter of the mayor hasn’t traveled the world. What about college? Didn’t do any traveling then?”
“Didn’t go, actually,” she replied. “I started working in the bakery after high school. That decision certainly didn’t go over well with the mayor. College just wasn’t for me. I do wish I had the chance to see a bit more of the world, though.”
“There’s still plenty of time,” he replied.
She grinned as if distracted by another thought. “Come over here and look at this.” She took him by the hand and pulled him back to the other side of the roof. “See over there?” She pointed.
“You mean your cottage?” he asked.
“No, the lake,” she replied, “just on the other side.”
“What about it?”
“Sometimes I look out of the kitchen window or sit out back and watch the water and imagine I’m somewhere else. The water looks the same everywhere, you know? It could be a lake in Europe or Australia. Occasionally, I can even convince myself that I’m not in Christchurch anymore. Been doing that a lot lately, kinda wishing I could get away for a while.”
“Why don’t you?” he asked.
“I can’t just leave Izzy. She needs my help.”
“Well, I’m here. I can help,” he said, somewhat offended.
“Yeah, but Izzy was willing to take a chance on me when I had no practical experience. She helped me find the cottage when I didn’t want to mooch off Dad anymore, and she even called in a few favors to have it fixed on the cheap so I could afford it. I owe her a lot. And you don’t even know how long you’re going to be here. You’re still planning to go back, right? Back to the city?”
“I guess so,” he replied. He had thought a lot about going back in the last week. He’d have to go back at some point, find a job, and move on with his life. Eventually, he would run out of money, and he was relatively certain his landlord had grown accustomed to being paid rent. He couldn’t stay in Christchurch forever. Still, something was holding him here. The murders were a part of it—he wanted to clear his name, to find out who had been terrorizing the town and leaving bodies strewn about for him to discover like gruesome Easter eggs. He was also growing attached to Izzy and Anna. They’d been a big part of his li
fe recently and had accepted him for who he was. Nights like these made him want to stay.
Chapter Sixteen
Anna held on tightly to Oliver’s waist as the bike wobbled down the gravel path toward the cottage. The night had gotten colder, and the breeze seemed to cut through Oliver’s skin and into his bones. He dropped her off at the cottage doorstep and waited until she was safely inside to turn his bike around and head back to Izzy’s. With the two recent attacks fresh in his mind, he worried about her living in solitude on the edge of town. Breaking into the tiny cottage wouldn’t take much. Fortunately, Anna seemed capable of defending herself, based on her aggressive dough-kneading techniques.
The bike tires hummed against the street as Oliver made his way to the other side of town and down the dirt road next to the market. But instead of turning in for the night, he stopped by Izzy’s house to grab a flashlight then flew down the hill to the open field. He set his sights on the briar patch at the edge of the forest and toward the mysterious lights he had seen earlier from the roof of the tavern. He couldn’t rid himself of the thought something was waiting for him on the other side of the patch.
He parked the bike at the edge of the forest and approached the patch. He reached his hand out to grab one of the thorny vines, fueled by the liquid courage from the pub. The other day, the thorns had pricked and scratched his arms, and he ran his finger over one of the thorns, expecting the same. Instead, the thorn folded flat under his touch. He took a small step forward, putting one foot into the vines. The briars crunched under his feet but did not scratch him and seemed to shift out of his way as he stepped deeper into the patch. These couldn’t have been the same vines that had tangled around Lilly’s body—these appeared to clear a path for him as he crossed to the other side.
The house came into focus in the distance. No light emanated from the window, but he could still make out the edges of the stone structure. I knew it had to be here. As he approached, he identified the source of the light he’d seen from the roof of the tavern. The row of dotted lights was in fact a trail of gas street lamps, which lined the cobblestone walkway ahead. But why couldn’t anyone else see them? Everyone with whom he had spoken had been certain no one lived on the other side of the briar patch, but he was coming face-to-face with proof. These structures were old, and he found it odd that they had gone unnoticed.
Were the police hiding something? Why would they lie about being able to see the house?
The mysterious building in the distance was, in fact, a house after all. Oliver followed the path of streetlights past the simple stone two-story home. The illuminated walkway led him into a square of sorts, not unlike the one in Christchurch. Like the town on the other side of the patch, this one had a memorial statue in the center as well. The figure stood, reaching toward the heavens, its body wrapped in vines and being pulled down toward the earth. He read the metal plaque on the base of the statue.
For our glorious leader.
Dedicated by the Briarwood town council.
Briarwood?
The plaque also had a seal imprinted next to the dedication. Oliver pulled the coin from his pocket and held it next to the image. Both showed a crow entangled by briars.
The coin belongs to Briarwood.
The square was bordered by shops and buildings of various sizes, and all sat in darkness, aside from a large building in the corner of the square. As he walked toward the lit building, he noticed the complete absence of power lines or cars parked along the streets. Christchurch had a historic charm, but this place appeared to be frozen in time completely. The large structure appeared to be a town hall but was oddly proportioned. Instead of taking up a large section of the square, like the one in Christchurch, the stone building seemed to have been built upward instead of out.
The hall must have had four to five floors, and an odd metal turret jutted from the top. The turret’s ornate base held up walls made completely from glass. Corroded spirals of copper wrapped around the panes and formed a filigreed cap, and light radiated from the room as if it were a humongous lantern. The building was the tallest in the square by far and seemed to be almost impossibly constructed.
Chatter echoed from the first floor of the building, while the rest of the town sat in silence. He sneaked to the side of the structure and climbed up on a bench, which sat near an open window. He struggled to lift himself up and peer inside.
The hall was lined with long wooden benches, and all had been filled to capacity. The scene reminded him of his first town-hall meeting, which brought feelings of anxiety rushing back to him. Light came from gas wall sconces lining the room and cast an eerie flickering glow on the crowd. The people were very strangely dressed, with a hodgepodge of Victorian-era fashion accented with decorative touches that were oddly out of place.
A large opera box extended from the front of the room, in which sat an elaborately carved wooden desk and a thronelike gilded chair. The box was suspended by ornate iron beams bridged by two giant circular pieces resembling spoked bicycle wheels on either side. He wasn’t sure who typically occupied the chair, but he or she was clearly someone of great importance. The seat was vacant though, and the crowd seemed to be ignoring the man who stood underneath, waving his arms frantically and vying for their attention. Eventually, enough of those in the room noticed his desperate pleas, and the room began to quiet.
“Please, please!” the man shouted. “Let us bring this meeting to order.” He clearly wasn’t the one who belonged in the throne and seemed nervous to stand alone in front of the room of raucous townsfolk. This man was a stand-in.
“Where is our glorious leader?” A voice emerged from the crowd.
“As I told you before, our glorious leader hath fallen ill and is recovering at home. He should be fully recovered any day now,” the man replied.
Glorious leader?
The peculiar language and fashion made Oliver feel as if he’d stumbled into a mediocre renaissance fair.
“You are a liar. No one has seen him for weeks,” another townsperson shouted, identity safely obscured by the large crowd. “He is gone, and you know it!”
“Now, I would hate to tell our glorious leader that certain members of our town are showing their disobedience by questioning my honesty.” It sounded like a threat but was made less menacing by the wavering tone of the man’s voice.
A woman, perhaps midthirties, stood in a middle row of seats.
“Now listen here, little weasel, you can threaten us all day, but we all know that he’s gone. And threats won’t do much good if we’re all dead by the time he gets back.”
The crowd cheered in agreement.
“No one is going to die. Measures are in place to ensure the town is protected. The barrier has held for centuries, and it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Might I add: those protections are all in place thanks to the royal family. Our glorious leader continues to protect us from all outsiders who are waiting to do us harm, and the least we can do is show our—”
Oliver felt a hand wrap around his leg and yank him down from the window ledge.
“Can I help you?” the man asked. His broad-shouldered frame was imposing, and he wore an armband with the Briarwood seal stitched into the cloth.
Oliver panicked. “Just passing through. I was just on my way out—”
“Haven’t seen you in town before. Where do you live?” The man interrupted.
“Just on the other side of the briar patch, actually.”
The man’s eyebrows furrowed. He grabbed Oliver by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up against the stone wall.
“Came to spy on us, eh? Why are you here? How did you cross?” he shouted.
“I-I swear, I was walking through the briars and stumbled upon this place. I can just turn around and go home. I’ll leave, I promise.”
“No one crosses the briars. What is your wicked purpose?”
In a moment of panic, Oliver flipped his flashlight on in the man’s face. The man released
his grip and stumbled backward, disoriented by the sudden burst of light. Oliver fell to the ground and regained his footing. As the man lunged toward him, Oliver ran for the edge of town and the promise of safety awaiting him on the other side of the briar patch.
The man let out an angry growl, which escaped through clenched teeth. “Come back here!” he yelled, and his footsteps quickly followed.
Oliver ran past the streetlights and the dark stone building and into the depths of the forest.
As he sprinted into the briar patch, Oliver heard the footsteps stop suddenly behind him. He jogged through the brambles, which seemed to glide out of his way. He still couldn’t believe that the tangled mess, which had wrapped Lilly in a death grip, moved so easily for him. Why?
Once at a safe distance, he turned back toward the mysterious town and the man who had given him chase. The lumbering figure stood in amazement on the other side of the patch as if he were a dog constrained by an electric fence. “Stay out of here,” he yelled, pacing back and forth along the edge of the patch. After a few moments, he rubbed his head and ran back toward Briarwood.
He’s getting reinforcements. Oliver took one final look at the town and turned toward Izzy’s house and the promise of safety awaiting him at the top of the hill. When he turned though, he was startled by a mysterious shape standing in his path. He lifted the flashlight to illuminate the figure, revealing the slender silhouette of a woman. She was perhaps his age or slightly younger and wore a tattered white nightdress. He stood for a moment, puzzled by her sudden appearance, and waited for her to say something. She stood unflinching in the moonlight.
“You scared the crap out of me,” he said. “Are you all right?”
The figure didn’t move. Her long hair covered her face in a tangled sea of black.
“Can you hear me? Are you okay?” he repeated, slowly stepping toward her.
Oliver noticed she wasn’t wearing any shoes, and he didn’t recognize her from town. She stood, slightly swaying, with knobby knees turned inward and shoulders back so far that her arms hung limp behind her.
