by Toni Kerr
Tristan saw a man who must have been his father.
His eyes were blue with hints of brown streaks, just like Tristan’s, and his hair was a disheveled mess. The man buckled Tristan into a car seat and had just kissed him on the forehead when Tristan reached for the thick glasses.
The man was too fast, shut the door, and got in the driver’s seat before starting the engine. He raised the volume on the radio, then twisted around to smile at Tristan.
It was the clearest image he’d ever seen of his father.
The car picked up speed in a hurry and his father spoke, glancing occasionally through the rearview mirror. “It’s time we took some evasive actions. I have a plan, but you can’t tell anyone. I know you won’t, since you don’t talk much. But things will get better, I promise. We’ll have a new life.” No one will follow us, not even your mother.
The scene went black.
You’ve been invading people’s privacy since childhood, without respect, without a shred of consideration. Other memories flashed by. No system, no organization, meaningless…. It’s a wonder you can remember your own name.
Tristan desperately wanted to see his father again, ignoring Donovan completely. Flashes lasted a little longer and he got glimpses of just about everything he’d made a conscious effort to forget.
A clipper ship made of toothpicks and joint compound was tinted blue by a flapping tarp, surrounded by a clutter of dirty household belongings in the back of his mom’s truck. The tarp broke free and the ship lifted in the wind, sailing to its destruction on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere.
This is the one, Tristan yelled. Go back!
Garbage.
Tristan gave up.
It was dark, with only a strange shape of illuminated orange hovering in front of him. He was hiding behind a stack of life vests, coolers, and grocery bags.
“Come on, Gloria. The boy needs to learn to swim. It’s not safe in a boat if you can’t swim.”
A man and his mother talked quietly, but Tristan heard every word. Why couldn’t they just leave him at home like they usually did?
“Let him be,” said his mother. “He can wear a vest and I’m not in the mood to start anything with him right now. He’s out of the way, isn’t he?”
Tristan leaned to the side, watching her tie back her hair with a sheer, lime-green scarf that matched her bikini.
“You should trust me on this,” the man said. “I myself learned to swim in this very same lake.”
Tristan leaned to see the man. He sat against the sidewall of the boat, soaking in the sun with his arms out wide. His skin was darkly tanned, hairy, and a beer belly hung over his puke-green swim trunks. Gold chains with various medallions glared in the sun. He took a swig from an oversized, dark bottle held in one hand, then puffed on a cigar held loosely by the other.
“No one used life jackets back then.” He flicked the last of his cigar into the lake. “The kid has to learn—he’ll grow up to be a sissy if he doesn’t.”
“If you say so.” His mother tossed the bottle of tropical tanning oil and stretched to reach a cigarette. “Tristan, could you come out for a minute? We need to ask you something.”
There was no way Tristan was going out. He grabbed a life vest and put it on as they started removing the things that kept him out of sight. The man reached in and caught his wrist.
“There you go,” he said, full of cheery happiness. “Here’s the plan. You’re going to learn to swim today! It’s nice and deep, so don’t be afraid of hitting your head at the bottom.”
“I don’t want to.” He heard the feeble attempt in his voice to sound indifferent.
“Nonsense! Everybody knows how to swim! It comes natural for children and the older you get, the harder it will be to learn. I recommend you do it now.”
“You can’t make me!” Tristan leaped over a red and white cooler. His heart raced but there was nowhere to run. How could he escape the boat in the middle of a lake? Even if he did manage to swim, he couldn’t swim to shore.
“Don’t be afraid. You’ll love it!” The man caught him around the waist. “You’ll thank me later, I know you will. I don’t know a single person in the world who doesn’t love swimming.”
Tristan kicked and screamed, unable to break the man’s hold.
“Pretty soon, you’ll be fighting to stay in the water. Trust me.”
The man hurled Tristan overboard.
His belly smacked the water first. The life jacket was too big and not tied—it slipped away from his scrawny arms as the weight of his shoes pulled him down.
He wished he’d thought to take a breath, rather than spend his last precious seconds screaming.
The cold water stung his skin as he watched the rippling waves expand from the bottom of the rocking boat, making fascinating reflections of light. The life jacket bobbed at the surface.
I could swim away. They would think I drowned and leave me here.
It was a perfect plan. Better than anything he’d ever thought of his whole life. It was thrilling! Ambition, happiness, hope....
Panic set in as he tried to follow through with the plan, in desperate need of a breath. He gave up kicking sideways and kicked for the surface, but the action seemed to make him sink faster.
Grasses tangled around his ankles and the visibility lessened. He stilled himself, settling to the bottom, waiting until he was sure to have enough spring to propel himself to the surface for air.
But the ground wasn’t at all what he’d expected. His feet shot through the silty muck and the suction increased the more he kicked. An icy sensation filled his lungs, burning through his nostrils. Fatigue weighed like lead in his muscles and he stilled again. The bottom of the boat was still visible, but dimming as the silent calmness returned.
In a way, he was glad to be stuck. Glad to not go on.
Nothing in your pathetic existence is adequate.
Tristan dropped to the ground, confused about the air—if he should attempt breathing or not. The pressure around him flowed away.
“You are nothing to me. Get out of my forest.” The dark silhouette of Donovan came closer. “Should I see you here again,” he whispered, inches from Tristan’s ear, “I will kill you.”
Tristan kept absolutely still while Donovan drew a line down the length of his neck. Before he could shut his eyes, the leather strap with the Cyanea coral was jerked away.
Donovan took a step back. “It was mine to begin with.”
Tristan stared as Donovan strolled to the other side of the fire.
“What are you waiting for?” Donovan shouted. “Leave this place before I decide to kill you now!”
The flames became brighter, blocking the man from sight.
Travis and Henry were still oblivious to everything, dangerously close to being engulfed by the fire. Tristan rubbed at the cut on his neck, where the leather cord had sliced into his flesh. His fingertips came away sticky with blood.
“Now!” Donovan shouted.
Hot flames lashed higher in the night sky.
Tristan ran.
14
- LOST BOYS -
TRISTAN CHARGED THROUGH THE FOREST as fast as his legs could fling him. There were no lamps to light his way, but some instinct kept him from smacking into trees. Only luck would get him to his cabin in the dark of night.
Memories continued flashing in his mind. Some he wanted to grab hold of, like ones of his father, and others he couldn’t turn away from if he tried. How could he forget so much of his own life? If only he could sort through them all—he never imagined answers to so many questions could be buried somewhere in his own head.
But unseen monsters snatched at his heels.
Loose leaves rolled behind him, caught in his wake, breathing something sticky against his neck. An apparition of the leaf creature swooping down the rock wall blurred his path. Rustling grew into a roar, drowning out the careless noise he made while crashing through the forest.
It was
insane. Something had to change.
Tristan clung to trees while memories he didn’t recognize exploded in short bursts, then ran while his eyes could focus on something real. Attacks came in nauseating waves, overriding reality. He should have been home hours ago if he was heading in the right direction.
Tristan glanced over his shoulder to see if he was alone, dreary and exhausted, only to trip over the uneven ground. He tumbled down a steep embankment, yanked to a stop when the poncho snagged on a branch. He slipped out of it and fell hard to his back, then remained motionless, afraid to make a sound, stunned by the sudden rush of cold seeping through his skin.
Shadows filled the blackness above him.
He’d have to face Donovan to find the trail home. But for now, distance was a higher priority. He rolled to his hands and knees and trudged on, knowing the direction would only make him more lost, leading him farther from the safety of his cabin.
Would Landon and Victor side with Donovan? Would he have to walk for two days to be free of the boundary? Would Donovan be the first person to show up if he tripped some invisible alarm?
The view of the valley appeared with the thought; rugged mountain peaks covered with snow, surrounding a crater of wilderness. He plunged onward through wiry brush, flinging up his hands when unseen, sharp branches scraped at his face.
The acrid flavor of blood coated his mouth, tainted each breath. The harder he thought about the class, before everything went wrong, the less it made sense. The less he could remember.
Focusing on the darkness seemed to help though, allowing reality to be a touch stronger than what his mind saw.
A shift in the shadows caught his attention. Tristan walked slower, unsure if it was real, hoping to identify the shape before his concentration broke. A quiet sniffling drew him away from his straight-line course, toward a child huddled in a tight ball near a thick wall of brush.
“What are you doing out here?” Tristan asked, in case the figure wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
The boy jerked his head up, his glassy eyes wide with fright. Tear-soaked mud streaked his cheeks and he clutched a small ball in his hands. When the boy’s gaze darted toward the darkness, Tristan noticed the rounded silhouette between trees: a large black dog sat with its fangs bared.
“Okay,” Tristan said softly. “I see it.” At least he hoped he did. He never would have seen the danger if the boy hadn’t looked at it. The thought drove a spike of fear in his exhausted bones. “Stand up nice and slow,” Tristan said to the boy, not taking his eyes from the dog.
The boy got to his feet and the dog stood as well, growling on the verge of attack. Its breath made angry puffs of steam in the frigid air and when its lips curled back, pointy fangs shone bright and sharp. The boy quickly sat back down and the dog responded by doing the same.
“Heh.” Tristan held his hair out of his face, willing all distractions away, moving slowly to stand between the dog and boy. Landon hadn’t mentioned any dangers to look out for, except to stay on the trails. He’d only seen squirrels and birds...the occasional deer. “We’ll both make a run for it. If it attacks, I’ll stop it. So if you hear something chasing you, it’ll be me, not the dog. Got it?”
The boy nodded, wiped his nose with his sleeve, and got to his feet. The dog did the same, growling as it had before.
“Run,” Tristan whispered, barely audible even to himself.
The boy took off behind him and the dog lunged in pursuit, roaring vicious growls that might have been barks. Tristan faced the raging beast and caught it with a cage, much like the gloved hand that had caught him before he hit the water of the so-called puddle.
He made sure there was air within the bubble, and solidified every wall to keep it from collapsing. The dog gave a muffled yelp as it bashed its head against the thick barrier, unable to stop in time. It circled and clawed furiously in different places, searching for weak spots to dig its way out.
A nauseous wave drove Tristan against the nearest tree for support—the memory of falling from the cliff to the puddle too real in his mind, making his stomach lurch. He shoved the sensation back down and ran half-dazed to catch up with the boy, trying not to analyze how he’d captured the beast. The cage had started out as water, but as a solid, did it turn into glass? Ice? Clear plastic like the dolphin tank from the carnival? Would it last long enough for them to escape?
“Wait!” Tristan called. He gave up the chase and bent over to catch his breath. He’d been running for half the night before the encounter with the boy, and that little burst of adrenalin was long gone. Images flickering in his vision seemed less debilitating as the surroundings lightened with dawn.
Ahead, the boy stopped to wait, but didn’t come closer. His clothing hung in shreds and his hair, the color of dirt, nearly covered his eyes. He seemed coated head to toe with mud.
Tristan dropped to his knees and rolled to his back with exhaustion. He felt for the coral at his neck and cringed, reminded of Donovan. Waves of images pulsed with agony. His muscles cramped and he rolled to his side, clutching his head.
The boy watched curiously from a distance.
Tristan focused on him, desperate to regain control of his mind. “What are you doing out here?”
The boy stayed half-hidden behind a tree and kept silent.
“Do you live around here?” Tristan squeezed his eyes shut as a pale-blue wall of glass bulged outward, exploding as he turned and tripped over a helpless child. He grabbed hold of the boy and shielded him from shards of glass and water that never came.
Tristan heard himself gasp in frustration and got to his hands and knees, searching for the boy. He had to stay focused on something real. The boy hadn’t moved an inch. “Do you have any idea where we are?” Tristan stood, demanding his feet to move forward. “You must be...what...eight?”
The boy backed away as Tristan approached, gathering more speed with each step.
“I don’t know my way out of the woods,” Tristan said, not daring to slow his pace once he got moving. If the boy didn’t trust him by now, he wouldn’t. “Do you have a name?” He walked past the cautious boy, concentrating on what might be a trail. “No reason we shouldn’t keep going the same way, right?”
The boy remained silent.
Tristan sought the image of his father in the car and instantly regretted it. Like an open flood gate, emotions from each memory poured into him as he waded through the endless barrage. He couldn’t face them, couldn’t ignore them, how was he supposed to get a handle on it? Aggravation and confusion made it impossible to think.
Landon and Victor were sure to ask how the class went. He’d have to lie, or admit he couldn’t remember.
His mind whirled around Ireland, around times so far back, he must have been in a stroller. The lake where he almost drowned. Someone must have saved him, but it wouldn’t have been his mother.
He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the boy was still with him, barely able to tell the difference between what was real and what wasn’t. “Are you there?”
How would he protect the kid if he couldn’t see straight? He guessed wrong on which trees were real and recognized the trail to the cliff house on Dorian’s island. Get a grip, he said to himself, testing the nearest tree to see if he could lean against it.
The kid came into focus, keeping his usual distance.
“Sorry.” Tristan rested his head against a solid tree, determined not to lie down. He had to stay awake until they were both safe. “I’m having some problems, but we need to keep moving, okay?”
The boy didn’t move, didn’t make a sound.
“If we get separated—” Tristan sucked in a breath as darkness swallowed the area. Dorian stared at him with tears in her eyes. Large raindrops were washing away the mud on her beautiful face. He blinked hard, pushing the memory away. “I won’t be able to find you.”
Tristan turned before the boy might see the fear in his eyes. He was in no condition to do anything if the boy actua
lly needed him. Their best chance would be to find a house, or someone who knew their way around.
He picked up the pace, embracing the stabs of slicing thorns to keep him in the present. Skin-deep pain wasn’t enough to keep his mind from shifting. His memories would surely get him and the boy killed.
15
- NO LIGHT AT THE END -
TRISTAN PLOWED THROUGH THE TALL GRASS along the creek’s edge. Images and voices overlapped each other, creating a transparent, chaos-clouded reality. He was in sensory overload, with everything too scrambled to keep separate.
He concentrated on trees that didn’t flash, following the consistent sound of water flowing on his right.
The back of a building came into view, with an A-framed roof and an immense field of grass. Grumpy’s.
Tristan followed the creek until it became the waterfall, bringing the puddle below into focus. The man’s voice from the boat on the lake repeated on an endless track. Everyone knows how to swim.
The man meant nothing, but he felt the need to prove he could swim, the need to prove he hadn’t grown up to be weak and helpless. But maybe he had. There were too many fears keeping him from being himself. He’d never fit in if he didn’t start facing a few.
The water fell effortlessly over the ledge, so easy and natural.
He should wait until there were other people around, in case he couldn’t make it out, or somehow missed the current that had carried him to safety the first time.
But this was something he needed to prove to himself, not to a crowd.
Tristan shut his eyes, letting images of schoolboy pranks override the puddle. A cry echoed overhead, drawing his gaze upward to see the flight of his falcon, gliding to a nearby branch.
Now you come, Tristan thought in disgust, unsure if the bird was real or imagined.
“What are you doing out here?” Landon stood beside him, taking in the peaceful setting with his hands clasped behind his back. “I figured you’d be sleeping in.”
Tristan felt calmer at the edge, having made a decision. There was no way to explain what he was going through.
