by Sarah Noffke
I give the woman a cold stare, not certain how to respond.
She looks up at the dark canopy overhead. “I can’t think of a better place to bury your demons,” the woman says and then turns and walks into the forest, humming a song I know and yet I can’t place.
I’m in a slight daze when something on the ground catches my eyes. I lean over and grab the object. It’s a key. But not a regular one. It’s an old-fashioned skeleton key. It’s attached to a wooden keychain. And on it is engraved the name “Sica.”
“You dropped this,” I say but when I look up the woman is gone. I consider leaving it but instead I trudge forward into the darkening forest.
Chapter Sixteen
The forest air is rich with the smell of dirt and chill, laced with so much moisture my shirt feels instantly wet. Jessica took a path that is partially obscured by bloody ferns. The fucking weeds are everywhere, it appears. And the trees, they’re more like buildings. I’ve never been to the redwood forest. It’s one of the few places I haven’t seen because why the hell would I want to. But the love of my life had to see some overgrown trees and now here I am. People go off and get cancer and then I have to do everything they say.
The key in my hand is warm. I’m not sure why I feel the need to get it back to the woman. Maybe the do-gooder mentality from the Lucidites is slowly starting to wear off on me. All I know is the key feels familiar in my hands, like I’ve held it before. Or seen it maybe. It’s copper and rusted in places and edged in green patina in other places.
“Jessica!” I call out at the edge of the woods.
There’s a stirring in the distance. Leaves move from someone or something retreating or approaching.
“I’ve got your key,” I say like a fucking idiot to the trees.
Again something shakes a small twig-filled tree, but this time on my right.
“Are you there?” I say, louder this time.
“Huh?” I hear the woman say, although her response could have been a bird.
“Jessica, is that you?” I say, and with every passing second I feel like a bigger moron. I turn back to stare at the SUV, sitting in the parking area, roughly ten yards away. I could be comfortably sitting in there, reading my book, and not out in bloody nature.
“I’m here,” she says, but on my left, and she sounds so far away.
“You dropped a key. I have it,” I say, rolling the thing around in my fingers.
“What?” she says, her voice now directly in front of me.
What the fuck is going on?
“Your key!” I yell at top volume. “I have it!”
“Will you bring it to me?” the woman’s voice sings and she sounds closer, although I can’t see anything besides trees stacked on top of each other.
“No, I bloody won’t bring it to you,” I say. “I’m going to leave it right here.” I hold the key up, about to drop it on the earth below.
“Presently, I’ve got myself tied up in some thorns,” she says.
“Well, it will be here for you when you get your git ass out of there,” I say, my fingers about to release the key.
“No, don’t. I can’t lose it. Everything gets lost in the forest. I’m just right here,” she says, and her voice sounds like it’s on the other side of the closest tree to me. “Would you be a dear and help me out. I’m hurt from the thorns. They’ve tangled me up pretty badly.”
I turn back to the SUV and then to the forest.
“Presently, you’re all I have,” she says, and her voice reminds me of Dahlia’s when we spoke on the pier. It was pleading and weak and tender and struck a note in me.
My chin rises and I regard the beast in front of me. Trees. Huge trees with trunks bigger around than the Audi behind me. These monsters that are hundreds of feet tall tower over me. Precarious branches hanging from them. The whole scene in front of me is organic and untidy and in need of a serious manicure. The British would never keep their forest in such a sorry state, all overgrown and smelling of rot.
“Please,” Jessica says, her voice so much closer than before. “I need help.”
What am I really afraid of? I’m a man who can create illusions and control minds and teleport. These are just stupid trees. I look at the sign beside the path. It reads “Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park.”
“All right, Jedediah, make sure your trees fucking behave themselves. I’m going in,” I say, walking forward. The ferns caress my slacks as I enter the path. The earth under my feet is soft, probably covered in a billion dead leaves. Fucking dumbass trees and their disorganized ways. It takes longer than I figured to walk around the tree where I suspect Jessica has gotten herself tangled up. Maybe the length of time it takes is because the fucker is so huge, or because each step is followed by a tentative pause. Am I really worried about being knocked out by a branch like Jimmy? It would be something I couldn’t easily escape. Like him, I probably wouldn’t see it coming. And then I’d be gone from this world. Away from Dahlia with no way to comfort her.
But truly, after everything I’ve been through, am I really afraid to die? That doesn’t seem realistic. And yet, everyone must fear their own death on some level.
“Where are you?” I say when I don’t find Jessica behind the tree.
“I’m over here,” she says, and her voice is quieter, a few yards off. “I’m past the first line of trees.”
“Of course you bloody are,” I say, turning back to the road; however, I can barely see it now. I’m not that deep into the woods and yet it feels like I am.
I stalk forward, the key clenched in my hand. I could just teleport over to her, but I don’t know where I’d land. And I’m growing more pissed by the second that this little errand is causing me to do the one thing I haven’t done in all my life: hang out in nature. Even before Jimmy’s death, I never spent much time outside. I didn’t appreciate what a showoff nature always is. I’ve always been powerful, but in the backwoods I’m mostly powerless. And that’s a problem, but I’m not sure why. My thoughts, which seem to be spinning around like cotton candy on a spool, have me distracted. That’s probably why I march farther than I intended and off the path by the time I realize I still haven’t found the daft woman tangled in thorns.
“Where the fuck are you?” I say, turning about. All I see now are trees. No road. No sky. Just trees.
“Past the point of return, I’m afraid,” I hear her voice behind me, even deeper in the woods.
“What?” I say, and her words trigger the message that Leen said to me at her farm. And then like a storm following a steady wind, the tour guide’s words stream through my head. Ephanie had also spoken about the past. What had each woman said? And as if the play button on a recorder has been pushed I hear their voices in my head, one on top of the other.
The past can’t be undone.
You need to enjoy the present to not regret the past.
Nor can it be redone.
The present is a bitch until you realize it’s all you have.
Get over the past to enjoy what’s to come.
I halt. What’s going on? I hold up my hand and realize I’m shaking from adrenaline, but this makes no sense. I’m always steady. And yet, I have no idea what’s going on right now. I’m deep in the redwood forest, chasing after a stranger and replaying conversations I had with bloody nutters.
“Jessica, where are you?” I yell.
“Past the point of return,” she repeats, her voice like it’s coming through a tunnel.
“What? I thought you just got yourself tangled in a patch of thorns.”
“Not me. You,” she sings, and the last word sounds like a call from an owl, almost melodic.
“What?” I say, spinning around, doing a full three hundred and sixty. I then march back the way I came, but it looks different. There is a tree lying on its side, having toppled due to age. On its side it is taller than me, making me feel instantly small. Weak. Human. On top of the fallen tree is m
oss and other trees have grown. I definitely didn’t pass this set of trees. I would have remembered. And then my photographic memory blanks. For the first time in all my life, I can’t accurately remember how I got somewhere and how to get out. I turn and go a different direction. And soon I realize that I’m fucking lost. There’s no sky to tell me the direction of the sun or how I’m supposed to get my ass out of here. I slap my trouser pocket to learn that I’ve left my mobile in the car. That’s fine. I’ll just have to teleport away.
“I’m leaving your fucking key here,” I say to the forest.
“It isn’t my key,” I hear overhead. I jerk my head up to see the green canopy above me. The leaves sway in the cool breeze.
“What? But you said… And it has your name on it,” I say and hold up the key. But then the word on the key chain shakes my chest. There engrained on the redwood placard attached to the key are three single letters.
REN
“But I saw… Your name was here,” I say, holding up the key, talking to the forest that appears empty.
What the fuck is going on? And then the old gypsy woman from the petrol station darts to my memory, which is apparently restored. Her words pour through my consciousness.
“Three wise women. They will find you. And you must listen to them or pay the consequence of ignoring their wisdom. One will give you the key to your future.”
I stare at the key. How is this piece of junk a key to my future? I throw my head up to the sky which I can’t see, but I do spy golden light pouring through the trees now, dusk fast approaching. “What the fuck, God? What kind of game are you playing at?”
When I get no answer, as usual, I say, “Jessica, this is dumb. I don’t care if you’re lost, I’m not playing anymore.”
And I expect to hear more silence, but instead the woman’s voice sings, “I’m not the one who is lost. Or unwilling to deal with the losses that have happened.” And her voice seems to come from everywhere.
I spin around. “What are you talking about?”
There’s no answer. And I’m angry. Livid. What does she mean? I’ve dealt with loss, I think… But then I realize I have no evidence to support that. I ran when my mum died. I sought revenge when Jane died. And most recently, I pretended that killing Vivian, my wife, was not a mark on my soul. Have I really never dealt with loss? And my mind flashes to Dahlia and the inevitable fact that I’ll lose her. Maybe not tomorrow or next week or this year, but her death most likely will come before my own. Most don’t beat a cancer as aggressive as hers. And I can follow her, but the death will still be an experience. One I’ll have to deal with. An adventure I can’t avoid. I realize I’ve been walking, pacing through the forest, managing my way around the fallen trunks and vines as nimbly as ever. I roll up my sleeves, realizing I don’t know where I’m going or why I continue to go. Trudge on, deeper into the humid forest, like there’s something just up ahead. An answer to this riddle that I didn’t even know was my life.
My mind thinks of my mum, that loss that did scar my heart. I let her die, never telling her so much. And then I pretended as if it didn’t matter. I’ve continued to live this half-life, feeling that it was a punishment I deserved. Even now, I realize I’m the strongest man I’ve ever met and prone to avoiding adventure. Is it possible that the past has bound me, making it impossible for me to allow my daughter close? Made me cold to Dahlia when she needs me? Cursed my pops when he’s all of my past that I have left? And then there’s Lucien, a boy I look at and see myself, but I rarely allow myself to look at him. Afraid of what I’ll really see.
The future is a product of the demons we lay to rest, I hear the hippie woman, Jess, say in my head.
I look down at the key in my hand. It’s a symbol and I don’t discount such things as insignificant. Signs have saved humanity more than once. And symbolism has power. I know that. My mind flashes to Sica just before she walked into the forest. She had said, “I can’t think of a better place to bury your demons.”
I hold the key in one hand and look up at the great redwood in front of me. It’s just then that the tree’s size accosts me. It’s somehow bigger than any other I’ve stumbled upon. It’s actually a cluster of trunks and easily the size of a large house. And my chin keeps reaching up higher, and higher, trying to allow my eyes to find where the tree ends, but it seems infinite. And just then my breath feels shallow, my head swims in a cloud of mist. The beast in front of me is mesmerizing. It’s beautiful and majestic and not the horrid thing I’ve always thought it was.
My weight brings me down and I’m on my knees. The earth underneath me. My always well-manicured fingers dig into the soft soil. Old memories and hurts rise to the surface, like lily pads in a pond. Jimmy’s death. My mum’s passing. Jane’s murder. And with these scars the fears associated with them unfurl in my chest. The way I’ve allowed each of these losses to restrict me seems to be undone. When my eyes adjust to the present moment I realize I’ve dug a hole that’s a foot deep. I pull the key from beside me and drop it into the earth. It somehow feels heavier than before and I’m greatly relieved when I let it go. Then I shove the dirt on top of the key, patting down the earth, which feels cool in my fingers. It feels healing. With my last pat I hear words come out of my mouth and they surprise me. “The past is gone. The present is all I have or need.”
As soon as I stand, I hear giggling. It’s the unmistakable laughter of a child. And then I realize that a child’s laughter is an unmistakable sound. This is a new idea for me. Not at all tentative, but rather curiously, I peel forward, managing my way around the trees. Each scene changes as I clear another tree, and then from around a large redwood a little figure appears. It takes my eyes a second to recognize the sight before me. There, toddling on two feet, is Lucien, walking and laughing.
“Lucien,” I say, unnerved and elated. “What are you doing out here?”
“What do you mean out here?” Adelaide says, running around a tree. And then she looks down. “Lucien, you’re walking!”
And just then the little monster rocks back and lands on his bottom. Relentless as ever, he pushes up again as steady as if this isn’t his second time walking and marches forward until he’s gripping my slacks with his dirty hands. I lean over and pick up the child, holding him to my waist. His hands make dark marks on my already filthy shirt.
“Was that his first time?” I say to Adelaide, because I need to know for certain.
“Yeah, it was. And what are you doing? I thought you were staying in the car,” she says, angling her hand in the distance, where through a few well-spaced trees I can see the SUV.
“I was,” I say. “I changed my mind though.” And then I set Lucien down and walk forward, toward the sound of familiar humming. Just on the other side of another massive tree, there in the clearing is Dahlia throwing a blanket down on the ground. Pops stands beside her, his hands pinned to his lower back as he takes in the great trees around him.
Dahlia turns when I approach, a radiant smile unfurling when she sees me. “Ren, you decided to join us. I’m so glad.” And then she throws her arms around my shoulders, pulling me down to her.
I peer back at her when she releases me. “I didn’t want to miss this adventure,” I say, placing a single kiss on the corner of her mouth. And then I realize I’ve somehow been freed to live in the moment. The future is a free beast allowed to be whatever it becomes.
Epilogue
Life isn’t an adventure. That’s like saying life is a riddle. It’s not. Sometimes it’s confusing. Perplexing. But often life presents itself fairly straightforwardly. Usually we aren’t listening or paying attention. Or maybe even we have our vision obstructed by the past or colored by old hurts. And life isn’t a missile we’re forced to ride. There are ups and downs. There are uncertainties. But life is usually a series of days linked by chores and learning and hopefully punctuated by the kindness of another person or two.
Life is a journey.
Someti
mes we’re stalled. Sometimes we get lost. Sometimes we’re speeding by so fast we miss something. And sometimes we break down. The path we take dictates most of what we experience, but our approach is the vehicle. And hopefully we enjoy the time with the people we’ve decided to take the ride with, because they aren’t guaranteed to be on our journey with us forever.
Past, present, and future are three parts of the whole, constantly intertwined and shifting as we change and grow.
I’m Ren Lewis and this is my evolution.
REN: THE MONSTER’S DEATH, Book 5
Author Note
Where do you start when you’ve just written your heart and soul into a five book series? At the very beginning. I remember the day Ren Lewis came to me. I was writing the Lucidites series and the funny thing is that first scene never made it into the books. But from there that man went on to appear in six of my novels. And it was a reader named Kelly, you know who you are, who said I should write Ren’s story. I like challenges and so I accepted it. And I thought it would be a short story. I thought I didn’t have much to say on the subject of this man who was mostly hated and somewhat loved in my other books. And two weeks later I completed a sixty thousand word novel. That was supposed to be the end of it. Honestly. But then the redhead wouldn’t shut up. He had more to say and it kept me up at night. And so I decided to give him a three book series. That should suffice, right? Oh no, Ren Lewis isn’t happy unless ALL of his story is told. And so I kept writing. At first it was because of the readers. They loved the idea of sending Ren on a bad vacation where everything went wrong. Again, I love a challenge and so Ren 3.5 was born. That was going to be the end, right? Where else do you go after a wacky vacation? But it wasn’t the end. Ren had one last story to tell. One that I’m certain he was planning on telling all along. He’s used me as his vessel to tell his tale and I don’t know what to say except for, “thank you”.
