Akilina: Out of the Woods

by Patricia A Bowmer

  Published in Australia by For Your Inspiration Pty Ltd

  E-mail: info@patriciabowmer.com

  Website: patriciabowmer.com

  First published in Australia 2012

  This edition published 2012

  ISBN: 978-0-646-57367-0

  Copyright © Patricia A. Bowmer 2012

  Cover design, typesetting: Chameleon Print Design

  The right of Patricia A. Bowmer to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to that of people living or dead are purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

  Author: Bowmer, Patricia A.

  Title: Akilina out of the woods / Patricia A. Bowmer.

  ISBN: 978-0-646-57367-0 (DG.)

  Dewey Number: A823.4

  Digital conversion by:

  Winking Billy Productions

  For Gary, Tin Ko and Jing Jing

  Contents

  Part 1: Descent

  Part 2: Four Years Earlier

  Part 3: All Time and No Time

  Part 4: Deep Water

  Part 5: Epilogue

  Appendix: Symbols and Archetypes

  One moment, their car was carefully hugging the pavement of the two-lane suspension bridge. The next, it was head-to-head with a yellow and black truck that had swerved directly into its path.

  It barreled towards them like a wasp, staring at Halley with its dead headlight-eyes. Its metal crash bar jutted mercilessly, sneering Hit me, if you dare. Halley strained to see through the truck’s tinted windscreen but all she could see was a mirrored reflection of cloud and sky. She narrowed her eyes. A man’s face became visible, his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. The man wasn’t moving. His face was devoid of all expression. It was like he was already dead.

  Halley went cold all over. She saw it all in a moment, and she saw what would happen. But she didn’t move: she couldn’t decide what to do. Sean, asleep, was oblivious.

  Just before the crash, the truck swerved back into its own lane, avoiding the direct head-on collision. But, in the avoidance, it caused something far, far worse. Halley’s car was hit on the left fender – a grazing, scraping, pushing blow – and it was useless, useless, to hold onto the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white: the car’s wheels were no longer in contact with the road.

  Staring at her hands, her eyes found her ring finger, where the wedding ring used to be. She’d just removed it that morning, yet it was as if it had never been there at all. Having worn the ring for two years, this surprised her – it should have left an indentation in the skin, at least for a little while. It was painful for her to lift her eyes from her bare finger, from the reality of the choices she had made. When she did, she found she was staring out through the windscreen at the empty blue sky.

  For the car was flying, ever so lightly, ever so gracefully through the air, over the crash barrier. They were surrounded by gulls. Cawing and flying, in their natural element. Soaring.

  The car rose high in the air. In the rearview mirror, the suspension bridge was etched in the sky behind them. Sorrow engulfed her. Her plan to end their marriage suddenly seemed so insurmountably foolish. She had plenty of time for regret, plenty of time to think about what she and Sean would not be doing together for the rest of their lives. The children they might have had; Sean’s birthday party; the trip to Africa. All gone, all in that instant. And it was Friday night. Silly, how sorry she would be to miss the trip to the pub. She willed herself to wake up, to go back to the seconds before the crash, to do something different. But she couldn’t. Her entire life had led her here, to this moment of inaction.

  The car, buoyant, surfing the air, seemed to realize that this was not its element. With a heave, it turned downwards, nose first, and plunged deep, deep into the cold, dark waters below the bridge. Almost immediately stillness engulfed the scene. But for a few bubbles drifting seamlessly to the surface, the accident might not have happened at all.

  Underwater, all was silent, but for the very faint and immensely fragile sound of their heartbeats. They were alive. For how long depended entirely on Halley.

  Eden watched from the riverbank. She knew Halley had been planning on telling Sean that afternoon that it was over; that she never should have married him; that, even from the very beginning, it had been a mistake. She felt a lump in her throat. It wasn’t the first time she’d watched helplessly as Halley made a disastrous decision, but she didn’t judge her. She understood. And she knew she had to be nearby, to help Halley pick up the pieces. That’s why she’d been so close.

  But without any warning, their car had gone flying off the bridge. The sound of the car striking the water hit her like a blow. She began shaking, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

  “Oh no oh no oh no…oh, Halley. Don’t let this be. You should’ve just let him love you. Then everything would have been okay…”

  Then she remembered something more important than Halley and more important than Sean. More important than everything.

  “What about the baby – what will happen to the baby?” Her eyes grew huge. Usually Eden was the first to laugh, and her giggles were a delight to hear. Now it felt to her like she’d never giggle again.

  Crouching low, she held onto the gnarled surface of a low-hanging willow tree, and got quiet, watching the skin of the river, observing the slow bubbles surface where the car had gone under. She couldn’t help Halley; she was just a little girl, and the current was very strong.

  She stared at the river, as if it held the answers. Despite her youth, or perhaps because of it, Eden could think about a problem for as long as it took to figure out the answer. She usually knew right away, but if she didn’t, she’d be patient and think about it. Hard. She watched the river. The river: moving fast, with hidden depths, full of all sorts of unknown things. With ups and downs and twists and turns. It knew its way. If only Halley knew her way so well.

  “Save the baby, save the baby, save the baby,” she chanted to herself, as if, by saying it enough times, she could make it come true. Her sing-song voice filled the air. Because it made her feel better, she continued the mantra for some time. The willow dropped slow-falling leaves into the river’s flow as she thought, and she watched their small yellowness swirl away.

  She decided. “A new place to begin,” she said. With her decision, her ready smile returned.

  Standing up, she turned away from the river, and began to walk into the deeper part of the dense, dark forest. A ten-year-old girl she may have been, but in her walk, there was something about her that made her seem older than her years.

  Someone was in their bedroom. Standing over her. It was dark. The dead of night. Halley tried to scream. But she was frozen. The girl! It was the girl again. Her face, invisible in the dark. Halley tried in vain to move, to break free. Her heart pounded. Help, she screamed in her head, help, help!

  A moment later the spell broke, and she was flailing her arms and shouting and sitting up in bed in a panic. Fernando reached for her. What’s wrong babe? Oh my god oh my god oh my god someone was here what are you talking about take your hands off me what take your hands your hands your hands ok babe ok.

  He lay back down and
was asleep in seconds.

  But it wasn’t ok. It was nowhere near ok.

  Halley continued sitting up, breathing fast, cold with sweat, with panic. She was alone again. Yet someone had been here. Some vague, terrifying threat that she couldn’t place, couldn’t get away from.

  The rest of the night she was feverish and frightened. She half-slept, too hot, but too afraid to put her arms outside the blankets. When morning came, Fernando remembered nothing. But Halley, well, Halley never forgot.

  The other times, it had been a man. The clearest memory she had was of his shoes by her bed. Men’s shoes. Not sneakers, but big, dark, men’s shoes. His face, like the girl’s, had not been visible.

  They had breakfast together, and did not speak of the dream. Then they got ready for their hike. It didn’t take long for Fernando to grow impatient.

  “Aren’t you ready yet?” He stood with his hands on his hips, his elbows jutting out from his sides. The bulk of his body took up all the space in the room. “God, you take forever.”

  Halley lifted her arms overhead to get her backpack down from the hook by the door. The movement changed Fernando’s attitude immediately; his eyes roved down the lengthened profile of her body, over her breasts, her waist, her hips. He looked like a cat lapping up warm cream. “Mm,” he said to himself, “Even after all this time, you are still so hot…”

  She turned quickly. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing, baby,” he answered. “Just hurry up.”

  Halley looked at him for a moment, and then focused on her backpack. She slid her plastic-sheathed contour map inside, behind the food, resting it flat against the back of the pack. Fernando was leading today. He would have marked their route on the disposable plastic map cover with indelible red pen, as always. The extra map was just a precaution. The First Aid Kit was there and fully stocked, the small red and black compass was properly magnetized, North showing where she knew North was. She placed it into its special front compartment, and zipped the pack closed. “I’m hurrying…I’ve just got to find one more thing…”

  Halley rushed into the bedroom. Fernando breathed out hard through his nostrils. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured after she’d gone, his lust dropping quickly. “It’s just a day trip.”

  Alone in the bedroom, Halley swallowed hard, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. I won’t let him make me cry again. No way. Her jaw clenched. I’ve got to focus, do this right.

  Quickly, she reached for her small pocketknife on the top of the dresser. Her hand stalled halfway: there was that photo of them again. She picked it up, the pewter frame weighty in her hand. It had been taken a couple of years ago, on one of their first hikes together. Halley had set up her camera on a tripod. She wanted to have a picture of them together, to have something permanent of this elusive, handsome man.

  In the photo, Fernando had his arm around her shoulders and was staring straight into the camera. He was deeply tanned and darkly Mediterranean; the camera flash had made his black eyes glitter, like they had been embellished with tiny specks of diamonds. He wore his hugest smile; his straight white teeth looked like he was being photographed for a toothpaste ad. Or like he’s hooked the best fish in the pond and is showing it off to his friends, she thought. That’s what he used to call me back then, the best.

  She frowned; she could hear him pacing in the living room. She didn’t want to look at herself in the photo; she knew what she’d see. In contrast to Fernando, her head was turned; she was looking up at him with softened eyes. With admiration. It was as if she’d forgotten there was a camera there at all. A song played in her head as she looked at the photo: you put me high, upon a pedestal…

  She still felt the same way, even after all that had happened. She still admired him.

  “Come on, Sparrow!” Fernando shouted, using the nickname that used to sound so cute. “Get your ass out here. It’s time to go!”

  She put the photo down, her arm falling heavily to her side. When had it all changed? It had begun so well. The rough grey carpet stared blankly at her and held no answers.

  Moving quickly to stem the tide of emotion, she pulled on her combat trousers, buttoning the knife into the pocket. As she pulled her hand out, her old watch caught, pulling the clasp open. She closed it again and made sure it locked. Focus, Halley. What else? What else are you forgetting?

  On top, she was wearing her simple red sleeveless t-shirt, designed to wick moisture from the skin. She liked its small feminine twist, its picture of a crown sewn on the front in shiny red sequins, outlined with tiny pearls. A Queen’s crown. The thought made her smile. Pulling open the closet door, she grabbed her bright orange windbreaker. It was light but very warm. She held it up next to her long-sleeved t-shirt. It was a slightly different shade of orange. She frowned; Fernando didn’t like it when her clothing clashed. Still, she stuffed the windbreaker into the top of the pack.

  Taking a last look around the bedroom, her eyes lingered on the familiar place she called home, as if she was cataloging it in her memory. Finally, she walked out of the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

  Together they left the house.

  The music smashed against her as they drove: Metallica’s “Enter Sandman”. It was Fernando’s latest favorite, very trendy. He always favored trendy things. She listened to the music, anticipating: first it was the heavy guitar (he took one hand from the steering wheel and played air guitar) and then the ugliness of the first verse. These, she could handle. But when the music slowed, it was like the singer had slipped inside her head, and was pounding on the soft inner surface of her skull with a hammer. The beat was hypnotizing. She found herself mouthing the familiar words: Sleep with one eye open…gripping your pillow tight. Exit light…enter night… Take my hand – we’re off to nevernever land… The guitar, screaming. The sound of doom. Her heart was pounding. She reached over to turn off the music with a sudden twist of her wrist. There was abrupt silence in the car.

  “What? Why’d you do that?” Fernando said. “I was enjoying that.”

  He looked at her with annoyance and switched it back on, but, seeing her face, he made the small concession of forwarding it to the next song: Savage Garden: I knew I loved you before I met you…I think I dreamed you into life… He hummed along; this one was popular too.

  She stared out the window. That was better. The lyrics reminded her of the day when they’d first met, of the firm but gentle way he had shaken her hand, of the way he’d held her gaze a moment too long. Scenery flashed by the car window: tree, tree, tree, river, house, tree, the greens and browns calming. He had felt so familiar to her, she thought. Really, it had been like meeting herself, embodied in a man. On their first few dates, even the music he had played had been right – as if by telepathy, he had chosen all her favorites. “Soul music” she called it, and she had felt him a kindred spirit who saw the world the same way she did. She hadn’t mentioned it at first, had just held it to her chest like a small treasure. Much later, when she brought up the music in a desperate attempt to prove that indeed they did have common ground, he had looked puzzled. It was a Top Hits album, he’d said; he’d never really listened to the words of the songs. She had masked her disappointment with a quick kiss.

  Now, she stared out the car window and thought of that false kiss, of his thick lips and his ready smile, of his easy laugh, and his goddamned pied-piperish charisma. He had pulled her in, just like that. It had been so easy to hand over control of her life to him, to hand over her power.

  The song finished as they pulled into the parking area. She noted the trail head; she’d not been here before. She wished suddenly that she’d paid more attention to the route they’d driven to get here – they could be anywhere. She hadn’t noticed how long the drive had taken, and that made her doubly dependent on Fernando, because she couldn’t bring herself to ask where they’d come. The question would just inflame him. At least she had her own map.

  Fernando went to get their packs from
the trunk. She sat in the car and watched him in the rear view mirror; this was how they always did it. He ran his hand through his thick dark brown hair, and she knew he was thinking about the new style, trimmed short at the sides, and subtly teased up on top with sticky gel. He’d had many compliments about it. It did look good. God, he looked like a movie star. It was unusual to be so adept outdoors, and yet to be so immaculately groomed, so caught up in appearance and the latest trends. Sometimes he seemed like he was just playing the part of a wilderness guide for a Hollywood blockbuster, rather than his work being his passion. It was Halley’s passion – she just wished she were as instinctively good at it as he was.

  She watched him move, as always, with assurance. Self-absorbed, she corrected herself, that was more the word, as if the whole world should say ‘Bless You’ when he sneezed.

  When had she first noticed she’d got him wrong? Maybe it was the first time they’d made love: she had touched his strongly muscled chest with two fingertips, running them across his smooth skin. He was so beautiful, golden and chiseled, more like a statue than real flesh-and-blood. And she had felt…stubble. It had felt exactly like her legs when she missed a few days of shaving. Confused, she ran her fingers over the spot again, more slowly. He noticed, answering her unspoken question with a shrug of his broad tanned shoulders. “I haven’t waxed in a little while.” At the time, it had seemed endearingly feminine.

  Halley got out of the car and took a quick glance at her watch: ten am. Not so bad; they’d planned to be at the trail head at nine-thirty and she knew Fernando always allowed extra time for her to get ready. It did take her a long time lately, but it wasn’t because she was ‘disorganized and stupid’, as Fernando put it. She glanced at him checking and rearranging the contents of both backpacks, and then looked at the trees.

  It was also because of the doors. And the windows. There were so many to check. She couldn’t just do it the one time; it needed three times to be absolutely certain. It was a large house so this meant running from room to room while he was in the shower. She couldn’t check them when he was around: if he caught her at it, it would ruin it. No, she couldn’t let him see her doing it or tell him anything about it.