“You need to push the green button or the red button.”
I jumped slightly as I brought my eyes up. The guy was younger than me, and I felt some sympathy at his expression of tired boredom. “Sorry. I guess I spaced out.”
He shrugged and gave a small laugh. “No problem, man. Reality’s overrated.”
Nodding, I poked the green “Accept” button on the debit card machine. “Definitely some are.” I felt a slight thrill of nervousness as I heard the register start printing the receipt. This was my first time using a card, or anything with my name on it, in almost a year, and even though the last name was made up and unconnected to my past life, it made me feel exposed.
I’d been using cash for months now, and when Rachel first brought up the idea of me getting a driver’s license and a bank account, I resisted. The people that I’d run from, the people that had imprisoned and killed that other version of her, they were worlds away. That gave me some comfort, but only some. I didn’t know what they were capable of, not really. I couldn’t rule out their ability to track me down, even here.
But that wasn’t even my biggest fear. It was that I wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t my world, though in most ways it was nearly identical. And while every day with Rachel felt like a gift, it also felt like a wonderful dream that I’d eventually have to wake from. The day would come when Solomon would find me, or if not him, some version of what he worked for that might exist in this world. And if not that, it’d be something else. Because despite the time that had passed without any problems, at my core, I never lost the feeling that I was still being stalked. Hunted. I was like a deer that had the smell of danger but didn’t know from what or where—never sure whether it was best to stay still or run.
And the idea of running…it terrified me. Because if I ran, it would be to leave Rachel behind, to keep the danger that was coming from finding her. There wasn’t a day that passed that I didn’t worry I was being selfish. That I was letting my love for her, for having her in my life, blind me to the danger I might be putting her in, especially if my gut feeling was…
I was suddenly racked by a spasm of coughing as I took the receipt. It was getting worse again. The pain and the weakness, the aching and coughing, would come and go every few weeks, and at first I’d tried to chalk it up to colds or allergies from being in a new place. And when Rachel started looking more concerned, I’d tried to get better at hiding how bad I felt when it was at its worst.
But the worst was worse now, and for the last few months I’d admitted to myself what I’d always known. This wasn’t some passing sickness. It was the thing Solomon had put inside me—a small part of the tree that had saved me and helped me find Rachel again.
And just like it had her, it was killing me.
Rachel had wanted me to get it out for months, though I couldn’t say for sure if it was because she didn’t like the idea of something we didn’t understand being inside me or because I wasn’t doing a good enough job of fooling her when it hit me the hardest. At first I’d tried to just postpone making a decision about it, but a few weeks ago she brought it up again, and I could tell she wasn’t going to let it go this time.
We had our first real fight, and in the end, I had to be honest with her, and myself. As much as I wanted to get rid of the thing inside me, I didn’t think I could. I had a feeling that trying to take it out would kill me, and even if it didn’t, it would rob us of any help we might have if trouble ever came.
Because I could still feel it in there, and through it, I could see and feel more of everything. It wasn’t like what the other Rachel had—I wasn’t gifted like her and I didn’t get visions. But I was…sensitive…to certain things. And even if I didn’t understand it and couldn’t control it, it made it harder to deny the growing feeling that something bad was coming.
Wiping my mouth, I waved off the kid’s concerned look. “I’ll be okay, I just have a bad case of…” I frowned. What was that word? Blushing, I offered him a smile. “Sorry, guess I’m still…” I…I couldn’t think of what came next. Or I could, but I couldn’t get it out somehow. Having trouble with words some times wasn’t anything new for me, but it was getting worse. It could be caused by the clipping inside me, but I didn’t think so. There was something else wrong, and…
It’s here.
I dropped the bags I was carrying, looking around in the entryway of the grocery store for who had whispered the words to me. No one was there, though I wasn’t really surprised. Because I recognized the voice that spoke to me, the musical words that weren’t words, shot through with images and emotions and ideas I didn’t fully understand.
But I understood enough. Coughing again, I dug into my pocket for my phone. I needed to call Rachel and warn her. Tell her to run, before it was too late.
My fear woke up before I did. It wrapped its arms around me, pulling me close as it whispered that nothing would be all right. It made the last moments of sleep troubled, and rather than stay in the constricting drowse that lay between dream and nightmare and wakeful worry, I forced myself awake. Everything was fine…or, if not fine…it was okay. We were safe for the moment and…
Thomas was gone.
Blinking, I patted the empty bed beside me again as I looked up and around the room. No sign of him, and I couldn’t hear any sounds of movement or life from the kitchen or living room either. It wasn’t a large place, and while Thomas was always conscientious about noise if I was asleep, it was rare that you didn’t quickly know when someone was awake in the house.
I didn’t get a sense of him now, though. I felt cold and alone, and being awake wasn’t the cure all for my fears that I’d been hoping for. That momentary panic wasn’t a new thing, of course. Ever since Thomas had come from the tunnel and helped me escape the basement, I’d had times where a sense of unreality would wash over me. A needle in my heart whispering that this couldn’t be real, that it was too good to be true, that it wouldn’t last.
Over the last year, I’d learned to ignore those whispers most of the time. It was real, and being with Thomas was wonderful, but it also felt like the truest thing I’d ever known. As for it lasting…
There was always a clock running in my head. A clock that counted every day, every hour…sometimes every minute. It ticked with my heartbeat and spoke to me with that same nasty, needle voice, reminding me that every moment I had out with him I’d have to pay back fivefold to the tree. At first I tried to ignore it—I was so happy to be out and to get to know him, it wasn’t hard to do. But as I got used to being free and started realizing how I felt about him, a panic began to set in. An uncertainty of what to do and when, and how much I should tell him before it was too late.
Thomas knew the basics—how I’d moved into the house with Phil/Justin, discovered the room and the journal, and how I traveled those same tunnels that he’d come through to find me after months of being walled into that prison by Justin. Initially I wasn’t going to mention my ongoing connection to the tree, but then Thomas had told me his own story.
By the end, he had been red-eyed when he looked at me, his voice just above a whisper that still filled the motel room we’d rented two towns away from the house I’d shared with Justin. He was crying for her—a woman that he’d never met but that he clearly loved—a woman that…well, he believed was another version of me.
Before the house and the tree and the tunnels, I would have thought that was insane. But sitting in that room with him, I barely batted an eye at the thought of alternate realities and magic tree clippings. I’d learned enough to not be surprised by such things, but at the moment he was telling me all of this, it also all seemed very unimportant. All that mattered was him, sitting on the edge of that bed, struggling not to cry as he talked about finding out that she was dead. I was ashamed of the irrational twinge of jealously I felt in that moment—I barely knew him at all, and I certainly had no right to feel possessive—but the shame and the jealously fell away as I saw his massive shoulders began to shudder as the tears finally came.
I moved over to the bed he was on and put my arm around him, rubbing his back as he described waking up and escaping the place where they’d implanted something inside him. Following that other Rachel’s paintings and the thing singing from within to another version of the Ghost Tree in that other world. Following the path until it brought him to me.
He’d been through so much, and as terrible as my last few months had been, none of it seemed to matter much anymore. Holding him close as he trailed off with an embarrassed laugh, I found myself angry at what had been done to him and sad that I couldn’t do more to make him feel better. I wanted him to be safe and feel happy, and I wanted to be the one that made him that way. And when I touched his face and he looked up at me, I could see that the thing between us wasn’t just adrenaline or past traumas. Not just pining after ghosts or doppelgangers. It was real, and I knew the light I saw in his eyes was reflected in my own.
So I kissed him.
It wasn’t until two days later when we were checking out and moving on that I told him about my being bound to the tree. That I needed to figure out a way to break the connection for good or I’d have to go back into those tunnels from time to time whether I wanted to or not. He’d asked questions, but I tried to stay vague, acting as though it would be a long time before it would really be an issue. At the time, it hadn’t felt like a lie. But a year had already past in what felt like a blink, and I only had Justin’s honesty and the tree’s consistency to rely on that I had another year before it pulled me back inside. Listening again for any sign of Thomas in the house, I had the terrible thought that maybe I was already back in the tree. That it had somehow pulled me and the house into its roots so I’d be more comfortable. That wasn’t possible, was it? I couldn’t say for sure, but…
I saw a yellow post-it note stuck to my nightstand, Thomas’ messy scrawl making me smile even before I read the words:
If you wake up: Went to grocery stair stone store. Be back soon.
My smile faltered a little as I read. He’d written stair and then stone before marking them out and writing store. It wasn’t uncommon for him to lose words at times, but it was getting worse, and he was getting worse at hiding it from me. Just a few weeks ago, he never would have left a note that was evidence of the lapse. But then again, a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have caught him looking pale and shaken from some fresh pain or sensation that I feel sure is caused by the thing buried inside him.
I’d finally confronted him, telling him that he had no idea what that thing was or what it was doing to him. For all he knew, the people he worried about finding us might be able to use that very thing to track us down. When I saw the pain and fear in his face, I hated myself a little for pushing so hard. But I was scared, and my earlier pushes to make him talk to me more about it or figure out how to get rid of it had always been met with nods and smiles and promises that “it’ll be all right.” The closer we became, the more protective of him I became, even if it meant giving him tough love to make him see reason and stop the thing that was making him sick.
“For all you know, that thing is controlling you. Manipulating you so you don’t want to get rid of it. But I’m telling you, I can see how it’s affecting you. You look pale and dark under your eyes. Most nights you’re pouring sweat in your sleep. And I know you’re not eating like you used to.” He was shaking his head, his eyes lowered. “That’s bullshit, Thomas. You’re getting worse. That thing you do? Where you can’t think of words sometimes? It’s happening way more now. You know that, r…”
His eyes snapped up to mine, anger flashing briefly across his face. “I’m not stupid. I know…I know it’s worse.” The anger passed, replaced with a lost look that made my chest ache. “I…I’m dealing with it. Trying to figure it out. But I don’t think it’s controlling me. It doesn’t even sing to me very often.”
I frowned. “But listen to what you’re saying. Some implanted thing is singing to you? That’s not normal.”
Thomas’ face hardened slightly. “None of this is normal. How I got here isn’t normal. I’m not it’s…” He paused, his eyes distant as he struggled for the word before looking down with embarrassment. “It’s not controlling me. It helped me. It helped both of us.”
I crossed the kitchen and put my hands lightly on his arms as I spoke again, this time more softly. “Maybe so. I think you’re right about that. But it’s not helping you now. It’s making you sick. All I’m saying is get someone to look at it. I know you don’t want a doctor seeing what’s in there, but…”
He stiffened under my hands. “No, I don’t. I don’t know how they’ll react or who we can trust. I can’t risk calling attention to myself. It could lead them right to…”
I gripped his arms tighter in frustration. “Fuck, you don’t even know that there is a “them” here! Maybe there is, but what’s the odds they would ever hear about you getting an x-ray or MRI in this podunk town?”
He just stared at me. “You don’t know them like I do. And maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t feel like we’re out of danger yet. And maybe this thing in me can help us when that danger comes. I think…I think I’m meant to still have it for now.” Swallowing, he went on. “Maybe it’s to help you out of your connection to the tree somehow. You never have really told me when you have to go back or for how long.”
It was my turn to feel my cheeks flush. I hated lying to him, even by omission, and I knew there was some hypocrisy in me pushing him to deal with his problem while I kept stalling on dealing with my own. Maybe if I talked to him about it, we could work together to figure out what…
I stepped back from him. No. He had enough to worry about without me adding to it. And if I told him how short the timer was on my time away from the tree, and what it would mean once I got pulled back, he would focus all his energy on trying to get me out of it, putting himself at even more risk. I didn’t know what him going back around the tree or inside its tunnels might do to him, what it might awaken inside him, and I didn’t want to find out.
Thomas read my expression and gave a short nod. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I know my brain doesn’t work right sometimes, but I’m not dumb. And I know you’re hiding the worst of that from me. So until you want to tell me what’s really going on with you, how about you just…” He stopped, a pained look in his eyes. “I…I don’t want to fight with you. And I know you want to help. But we need to help each other. I just…” He shook his head. “I don’t have the right words. I don’t know what they are.”
I stepped forward again, hugging him silently. There was no point in pushing any more, not right now. I’d have to give it time. Try to figure out a way to fix my problem…if there was a fix.
But that was the problem.
I hadn’t completely ignored my connection to the tree in the last few months. I’d spent hours looking for answers in my memories and trying unsuccessfully to find out more about the tree through the internet. I’d even called the woman at the museum—the one that had sent me the picture of Justin—but she’d never heard anything about a weird tree in the front yard, and it became clear after a few minutes of conversation that she thought I was either playing a prank on her or a nutjob.
I’d tried to think of clever plans to sever my ties to the tree, but the best thing I could come up with was going back and trying to destroy it. I knew from Justin’s attempt just how well that would work. I considered going to the tree and begging it to let me go, but the idea of being near it before I had to terrified me. Who was to say that it wouldn’t just keep me then? And how could I guarantee that once it got me back, that it would ever let me go again like it did Justin?
No. The best thing I could do was try to help Thomas be well and safe. Treasure the time I had with him now. If he would just listen, I just wanted to make sure he was okay before…
Before I went away.
Thomas’ note was still in my hand as I stopped on my way to the kitchen. There was something moving on the front porch. It was gone, and then it was there. Gone and then there. Thomas’ shoulder and the edge of the rocking chair he was sitting in. He was back.
My chest fluttered slightly as I changed course and went out the front door to see him. He was looking out at the yard, apparently in deep thought, but as I approached, he shifted his gaze to me and offered a smile.
“Hey there.”
I grinned. “Hey. Just saw your note. I didn’t hear you come back. Or have you gone yet?”
I saw a brief flicker of something across his face and then he nodded. “No, I’m back. How’re you?”
My stomach was beginning to twist in on itself. Something was wrong. Had something happened? Was he feeling sick?
“I…yeah, I’m okay. Just still sleepy. Find everything you were looking for at the store?”
He stared at me for a second before nodding. “Yeah, yeah I did.” His gaze, which normally made me feel warm and excited and happy, felt hot and uncomfortable on my skin now. It was almost as if…He continued as he began to stand up. ”Yeah, let me show you what I…”
“You’re not Thomas.”
The man in front of me froze halfway out of the rocking chair, and when he looked up at me, his smile had become hard and brittle. “Well, shit. That didn’t last long.”
---
Credits
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