Eyes of the Forest

by April Henry

  She was at Costco.

  Bridget groaned. Costco. She hoped Ajay hadn’t picked this time to check out the tracker.

  After a shower, she made herself an oversized mug of coffee. She had a second one with her cereal and started to feel slightly human. She toggled back and forth between her email—nothing from Ajay—and the tracker—Joanne was still at Costco. Probably picking up cleaning supplies to give Bob’s house a really thorough going-over while he was in Flanders.

  But then the dot started to move. First it was on Interstate 5, then Interstate 84. And when it turned onto Highway 26, Bridget was sure she knew where it was going. Highway 26 was the road to Mount Hood.

  The dot kept moving until finally, after about forty-five minutes, it came to a stop on a street called Hoot Owl Road. Somewhere near the Zigzag River, but several miles from even the smallest town.

  Someplace isolated. A perfect place to hold someone hostage.

  Bridget waited until midafternoon to see if Joanne left. But the dot stayed put. She had to leave now if she didn’t want to drive in the dark. She put on heavy winter clothes, and waterproof hiking boots. The Leatherman went in her pocket, and the bat and binoculars on the car’s passenger seat.

  As she turned onto Highway 26, it was starting to snow, fat white flakes that seemed to suck up all the sound. By the time she turned onto Hoot Owl Road, still three miles from her destination, the snow was coming faster, the flakes smaller, and night was coming on. She turned the wipers up another notch, leaning forward and squinting. Even though Bridget was going so slow the speedometer barely registered, she could not see more than a few feet in front of her. The snow felt like a blanket that had been draped over the car, pressing up against the windows, isolating her.

  The rear tires fishtailed. Her heart stuttered even as they found purchase. Should she shift the car into a lower gear? Bridget had never driven on snow before. With a start, she realized she’d gotten closer to the cabin than she intended. She had planned to stop well short and approach on foot, but suddenly it was right there, a faint glow in the dark to her left.

  And just as she was thinking that, the car suddenly jolted as it hit something.

  DERRICK

  Save Him

  In Portland, Derrick wouldn’t have paid any attention to the sound of an approaching car. Not even in Cascadia, where a real road ran next to the imaginary battlefield. But in the dead silence of the forest, he and his mom could hear the engine’s low grumble long before they saw it.

  “Who do you think it is?” he asked as they both peered out the living room window, trying to see through the snow.

  “I don’t think it’s the cops.” His mom bit her lip. “But there’s also no way anyone could come down our road by accident, especially not in this weather. So it must have something to do with Bob.”

  They both squinted through the glass. Finally, Derrick was able to make out a dark-colored car. Joanne hissed, and he turned to look at her.

  “It’s that Bridget girl. His researcher.” She pressed her nose against the window. “But this time she’s alone.”

  Derrick jumped when a loud thump suddenly shook the house. It sounded like someone had just pushed a couch out a second-story window. Shock turned to anger when he realized the sound had really been Bridget’s car hitting his Toyota.

  It was all spiraling out of control. He threw on his coat. “You stay with Bob and keep him quiet. I’ll go out and see what’s going on.” He grabbed the airsoft gun from the end table and stuffed it into his pocket.

  When he ran out, Bridget was just getting out of her car. The impact had been at an angle, damaging one corner of his rear bumper and one corner of her front bumper.

  “You just hit my car!” The pain in his voice was no act. He’d traded a lot of Cascadia coin for real dollars to buy the car off Craigslist. Even if he could now afford to buy a half-dozen replacements, that didn’t mean he didn’t still love his old car.

  “I’m sorry!” She was visibly shaking. “I got lost, and I couldn’t see through the snow. I didn’t see your car. I couldn’t even see the road.” Her voice changed. “Derrick? What are you doing here?”

  He found the answer even as he said it. “Are you here for R. M. Haldon too?”

  “Yes.” Bridget drew out the word hesitantly.

  “I just got here myself. I love his books so much. I even play the character based on Rowan in Mysts of Cascadia, this LARP—live-action role play. And then when I saw him online, I was so sure I was going to save him.” To Derrick’s ears, his laugh sounded real and genuinely bitter. “You can imagine how stupid I felt once I realized it was all Haldon’s—I mean Bob’s—idea.”

  It was just like LARPing. Spinning a tale that incorporated the major plot points while glossing over the bits that didn’t quite fit.

  “What?” Bridget’s mouth fell open.

  “Here, come up on the porch out of the snow.” He started up the stairs, and she followed. Through the windows, he saw his mother was no longer in the living room. Derrick turned to face Bridget. “Bob told me he holed up in this cabin so he could write. He said he needed to be away from all distractions, all his toys.” His words sounded true because they were.

  Bridget looked at the Honda. “Is that why his assistant’s car is here?”

  “Uh-huh. She just brought him supplies from Costco. And she’s under strict orders not to reveal the truth.”

  “But he sent me a message that Joanne kidnapped him.”

  “Really?” He feigned confusion. “That can’t be right. He was just complaining to her that she didn’t bring him any junk food. He’s not acting like she’s a kidnapper. And she seems pretty normal to me. Other than being really sick of fanboys. That’s what she was calling me until Bob made her stop.”

  Bridget’s nose scrunched up in an appealing way. “But on Reddit they’re saying someone on the dark web is selling chapters of Eyes of the Forest. Even selling the ability to order Bob to do things on camera.”

  Derrick shrugged, glad the curtains to Bob’s room were closed. “That’s why I’m here. I got worried about him. But it turns out that’s all coming straight from Bob. He’s just pretending to be kidnapped. He says the accountability of people expecting regular chapters is keeping him honest. And the requests for tricks amuse him. He likes to see what people think up.”

  “Really?”

  “He even let me read a little bit of the new stuff he’s writing to thank me for coming all the way out here. Do you want to come in and talk to him?”

  Bridget looked relieved. “Of course.”

  He put his hand on the doorknob and turned to her with a smile. “I’m just glad I didn’t tell anyone what I was doing before I came here. Can you imagine how stupid I’d look once they knew the truth?” He leaned in, his voice conspiratorial. “I hope you didn’t tell anyone.”

  BRIDGET

  How Much Worse Could It Get?

  “So you’re sure they can’t hear us?” Bridget whispered to Bob. They were both sitting on the edge of his unmade bed. Her head was turned so her lips were hidden from the camera. She was trembling, still feeling the aftershocks of the fender bender and its aftermath.

  After she’d stupidly said no one knew she was coming here (since Ajay either didn’t know or didn’t care), Derrick had pulled a gun on her. Derrick, Joanne’s son.

  He was Joanne’s son.

  Derrick had forced her inside, where Joanne conducted a thorough and impersonal search, confiscating Bridget’s car keys and the Leatherman tool. Her phone and the baseball bat were still in the car. Then they’d brought her into this room and undone one of Bob’s shackles. Before leaving them, Derrick had shackled Bridget’s left leg to Bob’s right, which was also attached by a cable to the treadmill desk. He’d even taken her boots.

  At first Bridget had wondered if their prisoner even was Bob. Not just because of the longish hair and scruffy beard, but because this man was maybe three-fourths the size of the Bob she
remembered. But as Derrick closed the cuff around her ankle, Bob had given her a small, sad smile that pierced her heart. It was the same look he’d given her when he learned about her mother’s death.

  For the last half hour, they had been whispering, catching each other up on what had happened. Bob had covered his face with his hands when he admitted the kidnapping had originally been his idea, and then explained, with an out-of-place joy, that he had finally broken through his writer’s block. Bridget had told him about the cops’ jaded reaction. The whole time they had been talking, Joanne and Derrick had been too, out in the living room. Arguing, by the sound of it, although Bridget couldn’t make out the words.

  Bob pointed out the camera to her. “I’m pretty sure whoever is watching can’t hear us. Derrick usually turns the sound off unless they’ve gotten a request for me to say something.”

  “He was asking these weird questions about you back on Halloween. I think he must have figured out I was your researcher. Everyone at school knows he’s a total fanboy of yours. And of course he would cast himself as the Rowan character.”

  “Nobody wants to be third spear carrier from the left,” Bob said mildly.

  “You’re acting pretty calm for someone who’s being held hostage.”

  “I’ve had a lot of time to get used to it. And Derrick’s not a bad kid. His mom is the one who scares me. She’s a little trigger happy with that stun gun. But now that you’re here, I’m worried they’ll decide to use you as a bargaining chip. One they don’t care about but know I do.” He flushed and looked away. “Speaking of which, I’m sorry I had to mention your mom in that note. I was just trying to figure out how to get your attention.”

  Bridget sighed. “That’s okay. And I apologize for how long it took me to understand what was really going on. I only checked on the Swords and Shadows Reddit a couple of days ago. A few people have seen your video on the dark web, but most don’t think it’s real. Especially once you started doing tricks for money.”

  He grimaced. “That was Joanne’s idea.”

  “Most people seem to have decided you’re just some weird guy who looks a little like you. You know, they think this whole thing is a novelty act, one of the internet’s weird corners. But I think if we could make your fans realize it is real, we could get them to call the police.”

  “How are we going to do that? Even when the sound’s on, either Joanne or Derrick is always hovering right outside the frame.”

  She straightened up. “We could hold up a sign asking for help. I don’t know the exact address of this place, just that it’s three miles once you turn on Hoot Owl Road.”

  Bob sighed. “The only thing I have to write with is the typewriter, but the type is too small for them to read. Derrick could only see I was typing, not what it said.”

  “What about if you got on top of that desk and held a note a few inches away from the cam?”

  He looked skeptical. “How’s that going to work? We’re chained together, and there’s not room on top of that desk for both of us.”

  Bridget measured distances with her eyes. “I think if I lay on my back on the treadmill and stuck my legs straight up, there would be enough slack in the chain for you to get on the desk.”

  Bob shook his head. “I’m not getting up there. It’s not safe.”

  The actual danger was waiting for Joanne and Derrick to decide what to do with them. “Okay, then you lie on your back, and I’ll climb up.”

  He pressed his lips together. “What if they come in and catch us?”

  “Do you think they’re really going to let us go? Besides, how much worse could it get?”

  Outside, the wind was howling. Bob shivered. “Maybe quite a lot, especially for you. They won’t kill me while I’m still writing the book. It’s why I’ve made sure to never finish. At least not the book Derrick is reading.”

  “I think I have to try.” As Bridget was speaking, the lights flickered. “And I’d better hurry in case the power goes out.”

  “The camera runs on cellular service, so as long as the towers are okay, it should work.”

  “But if it’s dark, no one will be able to see anything,” Bridget pointed out.

  “We just better hope that Derrick doesn’t think to switch the camera over. When I’m supposed to be asleep, he loops the day’s footage so it looks like I’m always writing.” Bob snorted softly. “I guess the joke’s on him, because it’s true.”

  Together, they moved to the desk. It was awkward moving in tandem, like the world’s worst sack race. Bob had to roll the paper into the typewriter, because Bridget didn’t know how, but she did the typing with the CAPS LOCK key on. It was weird how far her fingers had to travel and how hard they had to strike, but also oddly thrilling to see the words appear letter by letter.

  HELP!!! CALL POLICE. R. M. HALDON, AUTHOR OF SWORDS AND SHADOWS, AND BRIDGET SHEPHERD HAVE BEEN KIDNAPPED BY HIS ASSISTANT JOANNE DART. HELD HOSTAGE IN MT HOOD CABIN ON HOOT OWL ROAD.

  “Three exclamation points.” He raised one bushy eyebrow as he freed the paper and handed it over. “Don’t you find that a bit excessive?”

  “Not when it’s life or death.” She pushed the typewriter aside. “Now you get down, and I’ll get up.

  With a muffled groan, Bob lay on his back on the treadmill, curling his knees to his chest. He wiggled until his butt was even with the desk’s front edge, then straightened his legs. She braced her hands on the work surface. Jumping up, she got one knee on and then the other. Moving carefully, she stood up as Bob straightened his legs.

  Every move was foreshortened with a bruising yank on both their legs.

  Bridget picked up the paper. Holding her arms overhead, she held the sign as close to the camera as she could. She slowly counted to fifteen, then pulled it back a few inches in case it was too close and cutting off a key phrase. Another count of fifteen, and she held it against her chest. Then she repeated the sequence.

  She tried to imagine what was happening on the other end of the broadcast. Were viewers googling Joanne Dart? Checking Google Maps for Hoot Owl Road? Or laughing at what was apparently a weird joke? Maybe no one was looking at her note at all. Or maybe the cam wasn’t even working because Derrick had set it to broadcast one of those loops Bob had talked about. She just hoped Derrick was distracted by the argument with his mom, which, judging by the yelling, was still going on.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Bob loudly clearing his throat. She looked down. He was frantically gesturing for her to get off the desk. Someone must be coming.

  Bridget started to kneel. But if they saw the typewriter pushed to one side, it would be a big clue as to what they had been doing. She leaned over and began to move it back into place. But as she did, she lost her balance. Suddenly she was tumbling off the desktop.

  For a second, she had the illusion she might catch herself. Then her right shoulder slammed into the floor. At the same time, her legs pinwheeled overhead, until the chain abruptly jerked her left leg back. Pulled in two directions, Bridget felt like a turkey wishbone at Thanksgiving. When she finally stopped, she was lying on her right side facing away from the treadmill, while her left leg was straight up and nearly behind her.

  Somehow Bridget had managed not to scream at the shock and pain. Not that it mattered, because Bob had shouted. And her fall had been so noisy.

  Any second they would come in here and discover the sign. With her last bit of effort, she slid the paper under the treadmill. As she did, she saw short stacks of pages already hidden underneath.

  With a wince, she probed her shoulder and then her ankle as she turned toward Bob. She was going to have some horrible bruises, but nothing was out of place. Nothing was broken.

  And then she saw Bob’s right foot. It was bent at an odd angle, dangling like a half-kicked-off shoe.

  The room went dark.

  DERRICK

  So Wrong, So Fast

  Derrick was running to Bob’s room to see what had caused the loud cras
h when the power went out. With a thumb, he swiped the flashlight setting on his phone as he threw open the door. He half expected to see a broken window and an empty room.

  Bridget and Bob were both still there, but something was broken, all right.

  Bob’s right ankle. Dark blood on his dirty white sock and his foot at the wrong angle. Derrick’s stomach somersaulted at the sight. It was disgusting. It took all of his willpower not to throw up, but to instead find the key and set it in the lock. He tried to unlatch the cuff without actually focusing on anything.

  His mom added the light of her own phone. After coming in, she reached down and yanked off Bob’s sock.

  He screamed. Not only was there a bloody gash, but also something white and shiny. A bone, broken and now poking through the skin.

  “What did you do, you stupid girl?” Joanne demanded.

  “I tripped and fell.” Bridget was on her knees next to Bob, who lay moaning on his back on the treadmill. Her face contorted. “I’m sorry.”

  After Derrick removed the cuff—the old man certainly wasn’t going anyplace—he put it on her other leg so that she was wearing both halves of the shackles. When he looked back at the doorway, his mom had disappeared. Panic swept over him. He didn’t know what to do.

  But then she returned carrying a small red-and-white plastic bottle and a glass of water.

  “Looks like these Tylenol are expired, but they’re all we’ve got.”

  When Derrick tried to help him sit up, Bob went rigid and screamed. But finally they got him to swallow four pills. Bridget was crying softly.

  His mom’s upper lip curled in disgust as she played her phone’s light over the wound. It wasn’t bleeding as much as Derrick would have expected, but that was the only good thing about it.

  “We’re going to have to try to put the bone back in,” she finally said. “You”—she pointed at Bridget—“clear off the bed so we can get him on it.”