Happy Sunshine: Part 3
"It's time," he says, and I close my eyes, breathing in the cool night air.
Blank Pages are getting filled. I have an idea to add a little 'inside baseball' to this newsletter. Don’t worry, I’m not going to bombard you with writing tips. I’m only figuring it out myself. But it might be nice to add some context behind the stories I write. So at the end of each story/series, I’ll add a few words about the origins, rationale, challenges etc. And if there’s something you want to discuss, we can do it in our Chat!
For now, enjoy the third and penultimate part of Happy Sunshine…
Yellow tape is being unravelled, and fingers are sliding over paper maps when I leave Jack’s. In a way, their haste to follow protocol gives me the distraction I need, and I run silently over the patchy lawn and make it to the tall fields of wheat. Once I'm covered, I peer over my shoulder and see them huddled around the bonnet of the newest police car. Winton's the only one not looking at the map; he’s glancing around, taking in the views like a tourist fresh out of the airport. His gaze flicks my way, and I turn and run. Maybe he didn’t see me. After all, there are lots of distracting things between us. But even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. Jamie was alive, and within a couple of hours, we would hear his parents chastising him for making such a fuss. I’m lighter on this trip, not weighed down by a backpack or the weight of evidence. Even so, I'm breaking into a sweat before I reach the forest boundary. Salted snakes escape from the pores on my forehead and slither down my cheeks. My body’s not used to this much exercise. In places, the ground’s so soft I'm running on sand. My thighs are heavy, and my calves are pleading for a reason to stop. He’s not worth all this effort, they tell me. But he is... anyone would be.
Before I’ve had time to explain why they are running so much today, I’m back at the foot of the hill. From here, I can see the tops of the chestnut trees waving in the gusting wind. It’s going to rain again tonight. I climb the hill, being more careful with my feet this time. Now I’m looking down on the shallow valley below and listening for the grunts and snorts. There are none, the hogs have eaten everything they could, and now they’ve moved on. But I can hear something, a low hum or buzzing. It sounds like a thousand male honeybees lost in the wilderness, hovering in the air, hoping to rediscover their hive. I look up, but the summer has been too kind, and the canopy is thick. I haven’t got the time to be distracted, so I slide down the hill into the valley and clammer up the other side. Here’s the tree where I found the bloody cap, and it’s where I decided to start my search.
“Jamie!” I shout, and my voice echoes into the forest's hidden crevasses. “I know you’re out here, Jamie!”
A branch snaps to my right, and I start running towards the sound. But by the time I’m standing next to the branch, it’s alone. There’s your answer to the question: if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it even fall? Sure, I’m here to hear... But the tree doesn't know that. I inspect the branch; it’s too thick for the wind to be responsible, and the trees too healthy for disease to be the course. And hogs are destructive, but they don’t possess the ability to climb. The branch by my feet has snapped from ten feet above my head.
“Jamie!” I start again, sensing anger building in my chest. “If you keep damaging the forest like this. I will kill you.”
“Go on then… Everyone will think it’s you anyway,” He says, although I still can't see him.
“Come on, I’m not that type. But at least tell me this, why are you hiding out here?” I say. If there’s anything I’ve learnt from movies, it’s that negotiations should be handled carefully. You can’t go in all guns blazing, demanding this and that. First, you have to build rapport.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“And I’ll answer if you come out from wherever you are. Jack was right, you’re a pretty good scout.”
“Ha, don’t listen to that fool. He repeats whatever he’s told. Like an impressionable toddler.”
“But there’s no denying you’re capable of holding your own out here.”
“Don’t start buttering me up either,” He says, spite sharpening the edges of his words.
“I’m not. There’s a difference between being capable and being excellent. And that, you are not.”
“And you’re what? The judge?” He says, and I remember the knocking at the door and the sound of the gavel.
“I’m no judge, but anyone can make judgments. And you, Mr Andrew, are not even good, just capable.”
“You don’t even know me. I’d last twice as long out here as you would.”
“Is that so? What are you eating? Still surviving on instant noodles and biscuits?”
“Of course not. I haven’t even touched my supplies.”
“So I know you a little then.”
“I wouldn’t say, knowing I have supplies is knowing me.”
“And what are you wearing? How many clothes did you bring with you? I know the blue shirt and the hat were planted. You never intended on wearing them. And the blood is what? Ketchup?"
“Squirrel. But why are you so fascinated with my wardrobe?”
“For Christ's sake! Can you at least crawl out of your foxhole so I can see you,” I say and I know as soon as the words leave my mouth he’ll be happy with them? From a dry patch on the floor, I see an arm sprout from the ground, then another, before finally, his dirty face pops up.
“Not bad,” I say, a little impressed at how close he had been without giving himself away.
“Did you know, in the Vietnam War, the Viet Cong would hide in holes that small for days at a time,” Jamie said, looking back at his hole with pride.
“That’s where you got the idea from?”
“Yeah, I saw the Ken Burns doc a few months ago.”
“So you decided to do your own experiments or what? How many holes have you dug?”
“Enough. Don’t worry I won’t let you fall in them... unless I have to.” He’s even taller than I remember, making his commitment to hiding in holes even more impressive. But his face is still young and innocent. His pupils are dilated, and I’m not sure if they are shaking or if it’s the fading sun playing on their surface.
“Jamie…” I start like a doctor talking to a patient, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
While I’m waiting for a reply, the buzzing returns. Again it sounds like a lost colony of bees, but with the fading light and the thick canopy, there's still on way to tell.
“They’re onto us,” Jamie says, determination taking control of his voice, washing away the innocents.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a drone.” He’s pointing to the sky.
“I didn’t know the police had drones?”
“Of course, you didn’t,” he says, turns, and starts running further into the forest, this time not towards the motorway but to the left, parallel to the village a few kilometres away. I’m not sure what to do: do I stay, do I head home, or am I about to run after him. My legs start complaining as soon as they take the first step, but there’s no way I can leave without him now. I can’t go back to proclaiming Jamie’s whereabouts just for him to elude us all for another few days. My problem is keeping up. He’s quick and nimble. Four days in the forest have turned him into a deer bouncing along the muddy floor and weaving effortlessly between the trees. But he’s still in sight, and the buzzing overhead is getting fainter. He’ll stop soon, I tell myself, promising my body it doesn’t have much more to do. There’s a stream on this side of the forest, and I can see Jamie’s already been hard at work utilising its sustenance. I’m not a fan of the plastic bottles or the fishing lines, but as I leap over them, I can’t help being impressed with his efficiency. He came here with a plan; it wasn’t just a spontaneous decision made in the heat of an argument. He came prepared; maybe I was wrong when I said he was not good but only capable.
I’m blowing hard now, he’s been running for at least ten minutes, and we’ve probably covered another kilometre, almost two. Based on the map in my head, we are close to another village, one without searching police and whispering theorists. But just as I start to think about the hushed hypotheses being whispered back home, I realise I’ve lost him. I stop, lean my weight against a tree and look for signs. If there’s another foxhole around, there'll be some signs of it, no matter how small. But in this light, everything looks suspicious. This is the time of day when monsters come out of their hidden lair, it’s now that bats fly out of their caves and land on the ground as vampires or tormented men run into the forest, frightening themselves with their vicious transformation.
Eventually, my heart falls back into its usual rhythm, and my legs can bare the weight of my body again. But I don’t start running, I don't know what direction to aim my feet. Instead, I listen; something will give him away. A crackling fire, the snap of a twig, or his heavy breath after running for so long. But all I hear in the dimming light is grunts and snorts. The hogs are close. Then out of nowhere, he calls me.
“Up here,” he says, and a rope falls down a tree a few paces ahead of me.
“Very clever.”
“I know, now hurry up.” He says, and I start climbing up. It’s much more of a struggle than I thought. I reach the top exhausted. He’s not created a treehouse per se, it’s more of a hunting post, a little platform wedged between the natural tripod of the tree trunk. There’s an unopened pot noodle beside him and a banana in his hand.
“God, you’re out of shape.”
“That’s your fault.”
“Hardly, I never asked you to come and look for me.”
“But you knew I would.”
“What do you mean? How could I?”
“Maybe I’m giving you too much credit. But I'm starting to assume you've planned this all out. You don’t want to be found, and everyone in the village knows I’m the only one who comes into the forest daily. So if anyone was going to find you, it would be me. Hence all your… precautions.”
“You might have crossed my mind..." He starts with a grim smile turning the corners of his lips, "but I also know you are the key to my total disappearance.”
“Your total disappearance?”
“Yeah…I mean, you can’t just vanish without tying up the loose ends,” he says. His face is overwhelmed with determination. “But don’t worry, you’ve seen the other side, I know it. So you know this life is just a pinprick.”
“How long have you been eating them?” I ask, trying my best to dilute his delusions.
“Actually, I’ve been making tea.”
“Look, I know you won’t believe me. But at your age, that stuff can really mess with you. Don’t make any rash decisions.” I say, well aware of my vulnerability. I'd heard the same speech from my Dad once upon a time.
“Of course, you’d say that.”
“Okay never mind, that’s neither here nor there anyway. But why do you want to totally disappear?”
“That’s not something you need to know.”
“But you intend to kill me? That’s what you mean with all your poetry.”
“Kill" is such a harsh word. I like the idea of sending you to a place you deserve to be. You hate this village as much as I do.”
“Why do you think that? I’ve been here all my life?”
“This isn’t a place for you. They all talk behind your back, even your best mate.”
“And?” I say, and his face seems a little disappointed he could inspire any rage.
“And everyone you know, even the one person you love, talks about how weird you are. My father says you're some a forest fag.”
“What does that even mean?”
“God, I don’t know, but everything is faggy to him. When I was in scouts, he thought tying knots was, and the badges we got were the worst of all.”
“Is that why you’re out here?”
“Because my dad picked on my scout badges…” he said, then bursts into a demented laugh. It seemed to echo so happily that I thought it might reach our village. “That man has done far worse to make me come out here. I'll tell you now because you'll never repeat it. A few weeks ago, he beat me unconscious because I went foraging. The mushrooms and berries were bad enough, but as soon as I gave Mum some wood sage, he pulled me into the yard, pushed me into the mud, dragged me down the cellar stairs and drummed his spanner over my ribs.”
“Jesus… I’m really sorry, Jamie.”
“Don’t be… It gave me the idea to come out here and disappear for good.”
“You know. Jack and I are good friends with the detective who’s searching for you. He’s in the village now. We could help.”
“And what? They arrest Dad and leave Mum alone to run the farm?”
“She’d find help or sell up.”
“I think she’d hate that more than seeing him being dragged away.” There’s a pause while we both digest what he’s saying. I want to run home and find Winton, but the more I play out that scenario, the more I see it going poorly.
“Where do you sleep?” I ask, wondering whether or not someone his size could spread out on this plank suspended in the trees.
“In one of the holes. I made a couple of them a little bigger than the one earlier. But once I’m dead. I can make a proper camp out here.”
“And in the winter?”
“I’ll steal from Dad’s barn.”
“And if he catches on?”
“I’ll go into the other villages and shop.”
“With what money?”
“Deadmen don't need money."
There’s another break in our conversation, and I hear the grunts and snorts again.
“I led them here,” he says, reading my mind.
“What do you mean? Why, how?”
“With food and like they are dogs or something and because it’s always good to have them around. They can clean up any mess.”
The ground is fifteen metres below, but looking down at it, I have the feeling I'm gazing into an abyss. It's where people lay down and never get up again. It's death, decay and delusion. I look back at Jamie, and he's not moved an inch; his face is paralysed in its demented position.
"It's time," he says, and I close my eyes, breathing in the cool night air. It's the remedy to my reality.
Love, Luke
I really like this series :)
I enjoyed the image of salty snakes!