The Dark Somnium - "The Ghost Tree"

Episode Date: November 22, 2023

This Creepypasta Scary Story is from the nosleep subreddit, written by Brandon Faitcloth, it is the final part of the series "The Ghost Tree" here is the full playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PL3o9RgvGoFK2-SE7LncZz1ipIZg6sfUMGSpecial thanks to  @RomNex  and  @DusklightRadio  for joining me in this!Checkout the authors pages:Website: https://verastahl.com/Books: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Brandon+Faircloth&ref=is_sSubreddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/Verastahl/Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC73PScmymsggAJ26f_ZPmvQ Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

Hey man, you need to press 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 is overrated. Notting, 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 getting me 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 wracked 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 single. 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 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 of me, or because I wasn't doing a good enough job of fooling her when it hit me the hardest. At first, I tried to just postpone making a decision about it, but a few weeks ago, she brought it up again, and I could tell that 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 the word? Blushing, I offered him a smile. Sorry, guess I'm still... I couldn't think of what came next. Or I could, but I couldn't get it out somehow.

Having trouble with words sometimes wasn't anything new from... me, but it was getting worse. It could be caused by the clipping inside of 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. Its arms wrapped 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 drows 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 acutely aware 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 slash 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, had 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 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 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 to be. He was a little bit. Struggling. not to cry as he talked about finding out that she was dead. I was ashamed of the irrational twinge of jealousy I felt in that moment. I barely knew him at all, and I certainly had no right to feel possessive. But the shame and jealousy 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 things 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 last. 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 passed 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 was impossible, was it? I couldn't say for sure, but I saw a yellow post-it note stuck to my nightstand. Thomas's messy scrawl making me smile even before I read the words. If you wake up, went to the grocery, stair, stone, store. Be back soon. My smile faltered a little as I read.

He'd written stare 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, but 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... His eyes snapped up to mine, anger flashing briefly across his face. I'm not stupid.

I know it's worse. The anger passed, replaced with a lost look that made my chest ache. 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's 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's 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 and frustration. Fuck. You don't even know that there is of 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 the danger can help us when the danger can't. comes. I think... I think I'm still meant to have it for now. Swallowing, he went on. Maybe it's to help you out of your connection to the tree somehow. He never 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 a mission. And I knew there was some hypocrisy in me pushing him to deal with this 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 unless 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 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 anymore. 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 nut job. I 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 he was okay before, before I went away. Thomas's 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's shoulder in 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 his smile. Hey, 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 are you? My stomach was beginning to twist in on itself. Something was wrong. Had something happened? Was he feeling sick? I... Yeah. I'm a little. Okay. Just still sleepy. Find everything you are 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 are not, Thomas. The man in front of me froze halfway out of the rocking chair. care, and when he looked up at me, his smile had become hard and brittle. Well, shit, that didn't last long. Open up, damn you! I stared at the brick wall, as though my concentrated gaze could bore past the barrier through sheer will alone.

I'd run my hand over the dark outline of the man a dozen times now, feeling for a questing route or a yielding bit of stone, something that would allow me to push back into those strange tunnels once again, but no. For a while I'd felt certain that the tree wasn't done with me. Why else was I compelled to return again and again? But it had no use for me at the moment either, and I had moved on, with my help, even, and I knew enough to know that it was a fruitless exercise to make demands upon it now. And why did I want to enter the tunnels again? To try and kill it? To reason with it? To threaten and cajole it until it gave me what I wanted? Or perhaps there was another reason.

The guilt that nestled in my belly like a restless seed, rolling my insides and making my new life, a life free of all the terrible things that had come before, tainted, bitter instead of sweet. A cold, hollow life plagued by fear and self-loathing and an inexplicable need to come back to this damn place again and again. I sat down on the bed, clasping my hands to stop them from shaking. It helped, but only outside. Inside, my stomach twisted hard enough to make me wince. My constant passenger was stirring again, reminding me that I didn't belong out here, that I bought my supposed liberty with a coin that wasn't mine to give,

that I would never truly be free. When I slid the last brick home into the wall of Rachel's prison, I'd done it without hesitation. I was full of restless, hungry anger that was driven by righteous indignation and pain. In that rage, it was easy to ignore her relative innocence and everything. She was only there because of me, after all, and hadn't I been planning on tricking her into taking my place since I first met her in this world? The hypocritical aspect of my feelings of betrayal wasn't lost on me, but it seemed very small and unimportant at the time.

The anger didn't care about the fairness or morality you see, only the acquisition and distribution of pain, the brokerage of suffering. The first time I'd known that kind of anger was when I returned to this world and murdered my parents and my brother John. I didn't consider it murder at the time, of course. At worst, it was a kind of delayed self-defense against my years of abuse and abandonment. In the moment, it hadn't felt wrong at all. To the contrary, it felt like I was the moving hand of God, meting out due punishment for

the sins of my family. I was no longer powerless and hated. I was strong and righteous and in control, and... But what was I in control of, really? By the time I came back and snuffed out my family while they slept, my own flame was guttering low. I had seen so much horror since I first escaped my own cell and began visiting others of similar design and function. Visiting other versions of myself, many of them dead and more than a handful insane. By the time I came back home, I had already seen close to 50 versions of the evil my family.

family had visited upon me. Out of those worlds, four contained versions of me that were still alive and imprisoned in their basement cell. The first was racked with infection and fever. I tried to move him, but he would begin to howl in pain, his ghastly pale, paper-thin skin tearing at the slightest provocation. I believed he was beyond reason or sanity, but I still held out hope that I could get him into the tunnel and the tree might heal him or open a path to a kinder world where he might

still be saved. Gently as I could, I swaddled him in his rotting linens and tried to lift him again. That was when he pressed his hot, cracked lips to my ears, with strength I'd thought beyond his ability. His voice was a painful whisper, but I felt every syllable resonate in my head and in my heart. The linens were already growing wet with new wounds. There might be versions of me that would be disgusted at that, or horrified at the thought of taking a life, even in mercy.

But they had not seen the life I'd been given, or worse yet, this pitiful thing that was begging me for release. It was a simple thing to do, a few moments of pressure and he was gone. The next four, two lost to infection and two more to insanity proved even easier. I took no joy or pleasure in killing them, but it did bring me a kind of satisfaction nonetheless, as though I was writing wrongs or saving some small portion of myself, providing new memories of my family's atrocities in other worlds and stoking the flames of that anger that ultimately ended their time in this one. But when it was done and the anger was gone, all I was left

with was pain and loneliness and sadness. I was untethered from anywhere or anyone, and for a time I feared I might drift on forever, sustained by the tree, but never allowed to find a home or peace or love. When I did find love a few years later, It felt like being truly free for the first time. The joy of it made me foolish. I'd been testing the boundaries of my tether for years and had been growing more sure that the time I was forced to spend within the tunnels corresponded multiplicatively to the time I spent without. But I lied to myself that it wasn't so, or if it had been, that this time would be different, that my love would make it different. I learned otherwise, and with the loss of that love, I felt the last bit of hope and mercy being.

taken from me as well, leaving a man who could spend years trapped alone without breaking, and hurt others as he had been hurt, without feeling the insistent sour pain of guilt at his core, a man who could trap a woman, a very good woman, in his place without a backwards glance. Except as I ascended the steps of the basement for what I felt sure was the last time, I felt my anger already cooling again. I could hear Rachel calling to me from behind the wall, and all I could have had to be think about was my first night in that cell, hands bloody and face raw from crying as I begged

my mother to come let me out. I hesitated at the top step, looked back down to the open doorway that led to the bifurcated room beyond. It was too late to take it back, I told myself. Too late to help her escape. The tree had her now. She could serve her time like I did, and then someday, if she was as clever as I thought, she'd find a replacement as I had.

A weight settled on me like the pressure of a gathering storm. In my belly, the first stirrings of that acid guilt began to form. Swallowing hard, I tried to ignore them both as I made the final step upstairs, made it out of the house, out of the town, and even the state. Two weeks later, I returned. My long life had given me plenty of time for introspection, but I don't know how well I've used it, for I now realized that it was only after I condemned Rachel that I saw myself. clearly. Finally recognize that I've wholly defined the shapes and contours of my life by its negative

spaces, its losses, the betrayal of my family, the various imprisonments from the basement cell to the tunnels of the tree, to the constant and limitless expanses of my interior wasteland, a desert of self-loathing, anger, and regret in which nothing good could ever grow. The theft of my only real love and the life I thought I might have with her, before the tree taught me the cruelest of its lessons. I had hated the ghost tree for so long. It had no face or voice, and wherever I went, it was there. It was easy to see it as the chief devil of my hell. There were times I even blamed it for my family's sins, for my own. It was easy to ignore that it had kept me young and strong, had freed me from my cell, and given me the chance to see hundreds of other worlds, had sustained

me even when I didn't want to be sustained. I frequently rebelled at what I felt was a violation, a usurpion of my free will, but it didn't change the fact that the tree hadn't actually done anything to harm me other than bring me back to it from time to time. And that was significant, particularly when it kept me from the life I wanted, but that was also viewing it solely from the lens of my own wants and desires, when clearly I was dealing with an entity whose very nature seemed to imply that it was greater and more important important than the happiness of just one man.

Perhaps it took some measure of perceived freedom for me to see that clearly, like a starving animal. At first I would do whatever it took to satisfy my sadness, my anger, my hunger, to be freed from the tree. However, once that hunger was sated, I found what I had dined on far less palatable, my family's lives, Rachel's freedom, the best part of my own soul. These thoughts were always at the forefront of my mind, as I'd go back to visit my family's home. I found myself wondering if it had all been worth it, if the life I had won was worth living

if I had such a hard time living with myself. What if the tree really was important? What if it needed me? If I could help it? Was there anything I could do in this life more vital than be part of something so wondrous? Every visit, I was tempted to go and visit Rachel in the basement. I wasn't ready to free her. and offering false hope would be cruel. But I remembered that loneliness, the crushing black of that

place. In the beginning you would turn inward, filling your existence with the landscapes and colors of your interior world. But the gravity of the cell was always pressing inward, compressing the outer limits of your imagination, your heart, your soul, driving your interior toward a singularity, a black hole of self. A place of void and inconsistent logic from which no light could ever escape. I didn't want that for her, for anyone else. I told myself that she had escaped into the tunnels and the infinite worlds it provided, or that she had broken through the wall and freed herself weeks or months earlier, but somehow I knew different. Despite my best efforts, I was still tied to that tree, and through that, I had some dim sense of her down there, living and dying as I had,

one terribly long moment at a time. I reached the point that I was. visiting nearly every day for an hour or so. There was a long dirt-access road that ran behind the house, and while it was some distance from the house, its elevation gave a good view of the house and the mass of red and green tree that stood in its front yard. The branches of that tree would sway on some unfelt breeze when I drove up, almost as if it was a greeting to an old friend. Maybe it was. As time went on, I found myself spending more and more of my time staring at those waving branches, almost hypnotized by the rhythmic rolling of its green leaves, constantly ebbing and flowing like tides of some strange and distant sea.

To my surprise, seeing that tree didn't make me angry or fearful anymore. In a way, I think I missed it. Whether that was a symptom of my growing awareness of myself and what I had done, or some magic of the tree itself, I couldn't say or no. What I did know is that I was growing ever closer to the idea of terror. tearing down the wall I'd put up, of freeing Rachel physically at the very least, and perhaps, just perhaps, asking the tree to take me back instead. I was sitting in my car, wondering at the insanity of these impulses, when sudden motion drug my attention from the tree to the house's

porch. The front door had opened, and now Rachel and a large man I didn't recognize were coming out. I felt the barest twinge of jealousy as they made their way off the porch. More than that, I felt a pang of loss, a part of me that had seen freeing Rachel as a path towards some kind of redemption and now had missed my chance. I watched them forlornly as they headed for the road and began walking toward town. My mind abuzz with questions. Where had that man come from? Who was he?

Was Rachel safe with him? The irony of that last question wasn't lost on me, and I felt I could judge the answer even from a distance. There was a comfortable ease to the pair as they walked. Whoever they might be to each other, it made me think of that past life I had so briefly, the easy joy of that love. I lowered my head to the steering wheel. What was I to do now?

Would this be enough for me to stop hating myself? Stop coming back to the grave of my past? Could I finally be free? I didn't look up at the tree as I pulled away. The next day I was back. I was doing this for me, not Rachel. And besides, I suspected very little had really. changed. The tree wouldn't just release her, and that meant that whatever freedom or life she

might have, it was temporary. Even with what I'd told her, she would inevitably lie to herself, tell her that the rules of the tree wouldn't apply to her, that she could run from it or beat it somehow. As with myself, it would take time for that hope to be crushed from her. On one hand, that meant she was still doomed to the fate I'd led her to. On the other, it meant that there was still hope that I could save her from it, and in turn save some piece of myself. My leg shook as I went back down into the basement for the first time. The air down there seemed thick and stale, and I could hardly think over the pounding of my own heart.

Each step was trembling and slow as I crossed to the back room and stared at the hole left behind by Rachel's escape. The idea of stepping past the threshold into my old cell was terrifying, but I ultimately sucked in breath and dove forward, as though diving deep into heart. hostile waters. Perhaps the analogy wasn't inept. Even after all this time, I could feel the strange and alien subterranean world that lay on the other side of that far wall, the inherent anxiety and danger of the worlds that lay beyond. Could I really do it? Even if it would listen to me, even if it would take me back and free Rachel, could I really make myself a prisoner again?

I glanced behind to reassure myself that the wall was still broken, that the path out was still clear. It was. The cold fluorescent light of the outer space giving the floor a dull but welcome glow. Despite myself and my best intentions, I stepped back toward that light. I couldn't do this. Of course I couldn't. It was madness. I'd have to learn to live with the guilt, except that I had the right to be happy, move on, and trust that Rachel could eventually figure a way out of it.

the mess I'd brought her into. I was dripping sweat by the time I made it outside again. As I left the porch, I vowed to myself that it was for the last time. I couldn't blame the tree any longer. I needed to take responsibility for myself. Stop being so weak. Leave the past behind. The words sounded hollow as I thought them. And three days later, I was back in my spot, staring at the house again. Within a week, I started talking to the tree in the yard, though it was a little. never seemed to notice. It took time, but before the year was done, I was making trips back down into the basement like I had today, begging for Rachel's freedom some days and other days just my own.

I often wondered if I was just insane, if the idea was to comfort me. Better that than all the horrors I knew in my heart of hearts to be true. Through all these months, the tree never responded to me, and there were many times where I left the house with some paltry sense of satisfaction. I had tried, after all, tried to fix things, tried to atone, and it wouldn't answer me. I should take it as a sign that I was truly free of its bindings, and that I should similarly free myself from the cold iron grip of my guilt. Enough was enough, I'd tell myself, time to stop this for good.

And then I'd go back, just like I did today, begging for it to open the wall, to talk to me, to give me a sign, even making an offering of sorts in the form of my dearest possession. The pen John gave me so long ago, as though returning it to that terrible place which showed the tree I was truly ready to make amends, but it all amounted to nothing. And as before, I left angry and discouraged and disgusted with myself. I slammed the doors I got back into my car. I still parked far away, but the walk back had done little to cool my temper. I was just wasting my time with this.

Nothing was ever going to... A car was coming up the driveway fast. It was a small brown sedan with the left side severely dented and scraped, perhaps recently given the precarious nature of some of the trim. As the car skidded to a breaking halt, I felt my confusion turned to alarm as I saw who was leaving the vehicle. If I wasn't mistaken, it was the same man I'd seen leave with Rachel nearly a year before. And yes, there she was too, though she had been pulled out through the driver's seat and

didn't look at all like a willing passenger. What was this? Was this man carrying her back to the tree? Had she tried to trick him into taking her place and he somehow figured it out? None of this made sense. The man was much larger than her, and it took a little effort for him to pull her up and onto the front porch despite her resistance. And she was resisting, but only a little.

Did she have a plan? Or was this somehow different than I thought? Maybe I was misreading everything, and even if I wasn't, did I really want to get involved? They were apparently arguing on the porch about something. Perhaps it was her copy of the key, for he suddenly turned and kicked the door open with one hard blow before dragging her out of view. No, something was very wrong. I should help, shouldn't I? Or should I leave it to the tree to sort out?

Surely it would protect her. Or if not, wouldn't that bring a result? solution on its own? I grimaced at my train of thought. I needed to decide what to do, because if I didn't, I had a feeling it was going to be decided without me. Maybe I could just... Another car came roaring down the driveway.

This one, a small SUV with damage on both sides and a broken headlight and grill. It slowed as it drew near the house and a man jumped out. It looked like the same man that had just drugged Rachel inside the house. He looked around the first vehicle before seeming to notice. the open front door on the porch. I was fascinated as I watched him. Maybe the distance, and my own imagination, was playing tricks on me, but it was the same man, wasn't it?

What did it all mean? I suddenly noticed movement in my vision's periphery and cut my eyes to the giant towering over the overgrown lawn. The ghost tree's branches weren't lazily drifting in some phantom breeze any longer. Now its arms waved and whipped frantically as if its frothing leaves heaved and tossed like Waves meant more for sinking than sailing. Something new was happening. Something new and dangerous. And I could feel the weight and electricity of it in the air. The storm wasn't coming any longer. It was here. I called Rachel's number for the tenth time as I rounded the hill and our place came

into view. I just got the voicemail again, and the sound of that past version of her speaking made my guts clench as I pulled into the driveway and braked hard enough to make the tires squeal slightly as they came to rest. That voice, her but not her, there but not there, like the voice from a memory, a piece of something lost, a ghost. Gritting my teeth, I jumped out of the car and started looking for signs of anything out of place as I ran toward the house. Outside, everything looked fine.

I tried to tell myself that I was overreacting, or maybe I had gotten so sick that it had warped my thinking, made me paranoid. Side was chaos. Furniture was tipped over. Several things lay broken on the floor, and a general path of destruction led from the front of the house to the side door I just entered. There had been a fight, or at least a hard struggle. I didn't see any blood, thank God, but part of me knew that meant very little.

I'd never seen the other Rachel bleed, and they'd killed her just the same. I searched the house and then the yard before going back inside. I tried her phone again, and this time I could hear it. ringing from the nightstand where she charged it the night before. Oh, God, what should I do? I could call the police, but would it help? Given our situation, the odds of the attack not being related to either Solomon or the man who had trapped her in the basement seemed very slim.

Still, maybe they could find her before it was too late, before I failed her again. Shaking my head, I stepped back outside. No, now wasn't the time for panic or self-pity. I had to calm down, think about it slowly. Okay, so assuming it wasn't some random attack or kidnapping, it was probably either Solomon or Parrish. Pairing? If it was pairing, why would he take her? Because he wants her to stay trapped with the tree.

Where would he take her? Back to the house seemed the obvious choice. Back to her prison. Swallowing, I forced myself to go on. If it was Solomon, he might not know about the house at all. and he could have taken her anywhere, but he would have had to find some way to come over to this world, and I didn't know any other way than the tunnels of the ghost tree. I also didn't know why he'd still want me if he'd found the tree, but maybe he didn't.

Maybe he'd found out about my Rachel somehow, and thought he could do to her what he had done to the version of her in my old world. Rage and terror swept through me hard, and I leaned against the wall for support as I sucked in big breaths and tried to steady myself. Either way, the house was a good option, whether to trap Rachel there or to get back to the tunnels. I needed to go and try and catch them, stop whoever had her and get her back before it was too late. Running to the car, I felt a song reverberating from somewhere deep inside. It was a fragile melody full of fear and excitement and something stronger than both underneath.

Pulling back out onto the road, I stomped the gas and shot forward. My eyes constantly scanning for any sign of Rachel or those who might have taken. her. The other thing I'd heard in the song grew stronger as I turned toward the house. It was a song of a promise or some kind of fulfillment, though I couldn't tell if it was good or bad yet. That's when I thought of a story my mom had told me once, about how she'd been in a twister one time when she lived in Oklahoma.

Everyone lived through it, but she said it was a near thing, tore the roof and half of a room off the end of the house, just a few feet over and it would have gotten them, too. Everything was, they'd had time to get away. Flat as the land was there, they'd seen the tornado from miles away, but it seemed so distant that it was more of a frightening curiosity than anything else. Until it turned their way, they heard a sound like a freight train bearing down on them. That had been her point. She told me to always watch out for the storm.

To watch out, and if I see it, get away fast. Because by the time you can hear it, well, by then it's already too late. My hands were slick with sweat and blood as I gripped the wheel. I had to catch back up. I knew they were headed to the house now, or at least had been before I caught up the first time, but I'd lost at least ten minutes slamming into the tree and getting back onto the road. Even though I hadn't recognized the car, I knew it was them as soon as I saw a vehicle ahead. Rachel seemed to sense me too, turning to stare back at me, her face ghostly in the shadow

of the car's interior. I had to make them stop, but how? what if it caused whoever had her to do something to her? Gritting my teeth, I pushed what ifs and fears out of my crowded head. There was no time to think slow now. All I was doing was giving them time to react or outsmart me. I had to stop them while I could, because I might not get another chance. I shifted to the oncoming lane as the front of my car edged up further. The driver had sped up too, but I was still catching up. I thought about hitting their back wheel, trying to make them spin out.

But both sides of the road were lined with trees and we were going over 90. I had a horrible image of Rachel's side of the car slamming into a trunk, killing her. But up ahead there was a curve, and if a car didn't make the turn, they'd shoot out into an overgrown field instead of the woods. She could still get hurt, but I didn't see anything big for them to hit, and it should slow the car down enough for it to stop safely. I just had to get up closer and force the car to stay straight at the curve, taking us both out into the weeds that lay beyond. pressing the gas pedal as far as it would go, the engine whined as I crept up further. I could see now that a large man was driving the other car and—oh, God, he looked like me. How?

The other car suddenly pumped their brakes with a squeal, dropping back even as the driver swerved the front of his car into the back of mine. The effect was immediate. I began to spin out, pinwheeling past the front of the car as the momentum slung me into the trees. There was a moment of tremendous noise and a feeling. flash of pain as my head slammed into the side window during the flight off the road. This was followed by an even louder bang as I struck the tree, sighed in front airbags hammering my head as I slipped

into darkness. My first thought on waking up was that I could feel my heartbeat in my head. I was in the car, deflated airbags draped across my shoulder and lap. There had been an accident. Rachel, he still had her. Some other me, someone made to look like it, had taken her, had now. I'd lost them. I went to get out of a car, but the door wouldn't budge. Looking past the airbag, I saw why. The car had slammed into a large pine tree right where the door was. It was a miracle I wasn't hurt worse, but it wouldn't matter if I couldn't get the car back

on the road and going again. My left eye burned as something dripped into it. Reaching up, I felt a ragged cut at the edge of my forehead, pulsing out a thin trickle of blood as I wiped at it. It didn't matter. Reaching for the key in the ignition, I turned it to off and put the car in park. I waited a moment, said a silent prayer, and tried cranking the car again. It started immediately, heart hammering, I threw the SUV into drive and hit the gas.

There was a groaning squeal next to me as the metal of the door tried to free itself from the tree, followed by a lower scraping sound as I ground the side of the car along the bark. Everything lurched to a stop. I looked out the intact driver's side mirror and saw the tree have. had made its way to the bumper where it had snagged the edge. Holding the wheel tightly, I stomped the gas harder and heard a banging screech as the edge bumper buckled enough for me to shoot forward. I slowed down only a little as I steered toward the embankment and the road's edge. Glancing at the dash clock, I gauged I'd been out for almost ten minutes. Too long, too fucking long.

The tires squealed as they bit the asphalt and I shot forward. There was no sign of the other car, but I knew where they were headed. At least I hoped I did. But what if they weren't at the house? What if you've lost her again? I shook my head against the voice, my own voice, trying to focus instead on the soft music echoing from my core. This was still the right path,

and I would find her and get her back wherever they took her. And God helped me if they tried to stop me. I took the steps into the house in a single bound, only forcing myself to slow as I went to step inside. I knew they were here, and the car was here, and they couldn't have gotten far on foot. Besides, it was clear now they were here for either the tree or the tunnel, and there had been no sign of them in the yard. Still, I had to be careful of an ambush. Pushing the door open quickly, I glanced around inside before heading in.

I didn't know the layout of the house, but that was all right. I was pretty sure where they were headed, if they were still here at all. That was my biggest fear at this point. that they'd made it to the tunnels, and despite the thing inside me, I wouldn't be able to find them again. I'd lose them among all the paths and worlds that lay beyond them. My chest tightened with fear at the thought. I had to hurry.

I found the door to the basement and opened it quietly. The lights were on down there. I couldn't say for sure, but I think Rachel had turned those off when we left last time. Someone else could have been inside, of course, but no. I heard something. They were down there. A surge of nervous relief twisted my stomach and knots as I started down the stairs. I should have brought a weapon.

I'd thought about it in the car when it did me no good. And I hadn't wanted to take the time to search for one upstairs when he could be down here killing her or carrying her through the wall. I flexed my hands as I reached the bottom of the stairs. It was okay. I would stop them either way. I glanced around the room. There was no sign of anything out of place.

The door to the second room, the room with the hidden prison. cell was open, cool glow of fluorescent light pouring from the opening. That's where they'd been. Swallowing, I stepped to the doorway and looked inside. My plan had to be cautious, to go slow and try to spot them before charging in. But then I saw her. She was propped up next to the broken brick wall. Her face bloody and her eyes closed. A memory suddenly gripped me, the twin of this beautiful face, long dead and drifting in that hidden, evil place where they'd kept her prisoner until they killed her. No, no, no, no, don't. I let out a wish of air as I felt the knife slamming into my stomach.

I started to reach for it, but a hand was already pulling it free, only to slam it in again. Looking up, I found a hard but familiar face smiling back at me. I could already feel my head beginning to swim as fire spread across my belly. They told me you'd be harder to get than this. He smirked as he yanked the knife free, shoving me against the door frame as my legs began to buckle. But then again, they told me to bring you back, to bring the thing you've gotten you back. He looked at the knife in his hand thoughtfully before pointing its tip at me. The thing is, I think they'll be satisfied with the woman.

She's the same as the one they had, right? And if I kill you, he stepped forward, a cold smile in his face. Then I'll be the last man standing. I hear the voice as though in a dream, familiar and yet not, comforting and terrifying at the same time. Why? It's Thomas, talking about something I don't understand. My head is killing me. And if only he could stop sounding so wrong and I had a flicker of a memory. Not Thomas. Someone that looked like him. Taking me back to the house. to the tree and me arguing with him, trying to convince him that he shouldn't do this while looking

for an opening to attack or escape. But he either sensed my growing rebellion or decided it was time to shut me up for whatever he had planned. And as soon as we reached the bottom of the basement stairs, he'd been on me, holding a cloth to my face while wrapping his other arm tightly around my waist. I tried to break free, but it was no use. Thomas or not, he was big. He was big. and strong enough to keep the cloth in place until the world slipped away. I opened my eyes, recoiling slightly against the brutal onslaught of the light, as the room burns itself into view. I was next to the hole leading to the prison room,

and there was not Thomas, and there. Oh no, I knew my Thomas right away, and seeing both of them together just made their differences all the more obvious. The man standing above Thomas, has attention to him. A coil of anger stretched tight across some chasm where his heart should be. His back is to me, but I can tell by his posture that he's readying himself to attack, even as Thomas tries to get up. He's going to kill him. I feel something lurch in my chest as I catch a glimpse of scarlet on Thomas's stomach between the other man's legs. He's already hurt.

I've got to help him. If I wasn't so far, out of it and weak feeling. But I have to do something. I can try to distract him. But what if that isn't enough? I need a weapon, maybe the leg from the bed I was using. But what if I can't hit him hard enough? Or can I even stand?

I have to hurry, or it's going to be. I see an unfamiliar glint of metal shining out from on top of the chest in the prison room. What is that? Where did it come from? I pull myself closer. Thomas was talking to the man now, but I couldn't focus on what was being said. I had to make my limbs work quickly and quietly, try to reach that glinting bit of silver before it was too late. I searched my double's face, looking for some sign of doubt or remorse, some kind of, what was the word?

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore if I couldn't find a way to stop him or at least make him leave Rachel alone. Just take me. I won't fight you. They sent you from me, not her, right? I was guessing at this based on what he said, but I could tell by his eyes that I'd struck a nerve. He may be working with Solomon or whoever else, but he was still afraid of them. I had a moment of hope that I'd start to change his mind, but then his expression hardened again.

Sorry, but no, Gratiss. You'd be unconscious or dead in the first few minutes, and I'd much rather carry her than you. His face brightened. Besides, they really just want what's in your gut. He pointed the bloody knife at my stomach. And I can just cut that out of you, can't I? This wasn't going to work. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye.

Rachel, maybe if I kept him focused on me, it would give her time to escape into the tunnel. The tree might protect her there. Keep him from getting in at all. I just had to keep his attention on me and not look in her direction. Talk to him. Get him close, maybe. I could feel my strength fading as icy cold slowly spread out from my stomach. I wasn't as weak as I was acting, not yet at least.

You don't have to do this. You're me, right? Another me. Think about that. It's like killing a brother or killing yourself. We're the same. He snorted. You think they didn't prepare me for your begging?

We're not the same. They trained me, changed. The man glanced away, and for a moment he looked different, uncertain, and haunted. They changed me, I think. He shook his head, dispelling the brief doubt that had clouded his eyes. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is surviving, taking what's mine. What you've stolen from me just by existing, his smile widened.

You see, killing you will solve pretty much all of my problem. I looked down to see Rachel, teeth gritted as she pulled a piece of metal free from his leg and slammed it against his ankle. Howling, he turned toward her, kicking Rachel in the shoulder as he pinwheeled backward toward the wall next to me. I didn't hesitate. Preaching out as far as I could, I grabbed his good ankle and yanked hard, sending him to the concrete floor with a grunting wish of air. I couldn't waste any time now. My limbs felt loose and spongy. The world was swimming as I pushed myself up the wall to a shaky standing position. I looked at Rachel. She was in pain, but seemed okay.

No time to check on her now. Forcing myself forward, I cradled my oozing stomach with one hand as I held out the other for balance. No time to go slow. I had to get it before it was too late. The sledgehammer was where we left it, propped against the inner wall of the secret bedroom. It barely moved when I tried to pick it up. It was almost impossibly heavy.

But no, I could move it. I would. I had to. Taking the other hand away from my stomach, I gripped the handle with both hands. It was slick with my blood now, but I could at least drag it out of the hole and towards the other version of me.

He was already rolling over, trying to get to his feet again. Once he did, even with a hurt leg, I didn't know if I could stop him. In the moments between moments, I saw what I had to do, thought slow so I could act fast. Gripping the handle tighter, I yanked the sledgehammer forward and up, using my whole body's momentum, even as my limbs began to go numb, and my stomach felt like it was ripping wide. There was no time to think about aiming or worry about failing. I was just doing what needed to be done. What would be done? It could be no other way.

The iron head of the hammer swung through its arc, and even when it struck the back of the other Thomas' head, it barely slowed. Instead, it drove him back to the ground with a sickeningly wet crunch that changed to a pulpier sound as his skull broke open on the floor. The vibration from the impact shook the hammer from my grip, but it didn't matter. He was dead, and Rachel was okay, and...

I gasped as I hit the ground. What was... Rachel was over me now. Her eyes filled with tears. You're going to be okay. I'm going to find something to put on your stomach and find a phone. I reached up and touched her face. No, no time.

Her eyes widened. No, there is? I'll be right back, just... She trailed off as she started to stand. I grabbed her arm with a hand that felt strangely disconnected. Everything was so odd now. I didn't feel like I had a body. Or if I did, it seemed far away.

But in my mind, I felt like I saw everything clearer, like I could think more clearly than I ever had. I distantly felt that stranger's hand give her arm a weak squeeze. The tunnel! Get us to the tunnel. I felt numb as I helped Thomas into the tunnel. I'd never worried the wall wouldn't open for us. And my fears of traveling down those never-ending, glowing paths seemed a small thing now. Because everything was eclipsed by the stark terror that had seized my heart. It had begun when I saw the thickening stain at Thomas's stomach, but it had taken

firmer hold when I looked up into his face. He was dying, and he knew it. I didn't have to question the logic of going into the tunnel. I already knew the tree had some ability to stave off hunger and aging, so the idea that it could choose to sustain or even heal someone wasn't that big of a leap. Beyond that, Thomas had his intuitions, and whether it was from the thing those bastards had put in him or something else. I knew they couldn't be discounted. So we went into the tunnel. Thomas helping me as best he could. He pushed himself along the ground as I pulled him.

And once we were inside, I lifted his shirt to look at his wounds. God, that fucker, it almost gutted him. Taking off my jacket, I pressed it gently, but firmly against the wounds, trying to slow the flow of blood until the tree could perform its miracle. If it would, or could, could. Thomas seemed to pass out for a minute. His breathing growing first rougher and then more even before he suddenly opened his eyes again, giving me a weak smile. He nodded. It still hurts a lot, but it feels a bit better. See how it looks. Winsing, I peeled back the soaked jacket to look at his stomach. There wasn't much fresh blood, but the wounds weren't healing, and I could see the spots where bits of torn, insides were visible. Swallowing, I met his eyes. It's better, but not healed.

I don't know if it's going to. I glanced back toward the brick wall that had reformed after we'd entered the tunnel. I think I should go get help. Maybe the tunnel can keep you going until I bring someone back. Thomas was already shaking his head, and I frowned at him, my voice growing sharp. Well, I'm not going to fucking let you die. You're not going to fucking die. The anger was gone as soon as it had come, taking my breath and composure with it. Tearing up, I shook my head. We have to fix this.

Thomas put a cool hand on my arm. We will. We need to go deeper in. The thing in me is pulling me deeper in, and I trust it. Whatever its reasons, it doesn't want me to die either. I took his hand and squeezed it. "'Sweetie, I don't think you can go any further. "'You're going to tear open worse than you already are.'

He smiled again and returned the squeeze. "'It'll be okay. The tree can't fix me on its own, I don't think, "'but it's trying to get us to where I can be helped.' "'Puffing out a trembling breath. "'I glanced at his stomach before meeting his gaze again. "'Are you sure?' "'He nodded. "'I think so, yeah.'

"'Thomas was stronger now, but still unsteady on his feet. and I could tell that every breath and step was growing more painful. We walked slowly, and I let him set the pace and path as we went. He never slowed or seemed unsure of which turns and branches to take, but I could tell that it was taking a toll on him. I'd periodically ask if he wanted to stop and rest, but he'd always just shake his head. I understand.

We never said it, but we both knew he was running out of time. When we turned a corner and saw a brick wall, I felt him relax a little. Glancing up at him, my chest tightened. He looked pale and waxy. His skin slick with sweat from our journeying through the tunnels. Despite trying to sound calm, I could hear the tremble in my voice when I asked if this was it.

He nodded. Yeah, I think it is. The wall dissolved as we walk forward into the darkness. As soon as we crossed the threshold into what I assumed was another basement, Thomas began collapsing against me, the weight of him pulling us both down. I managed to slow his descent to the floor, easing him down onto the concrete floor. I didn't have my phone, but after a moment of feeling in his pockets, I found Thomas's and turned on its flashlight. He was alive, but unconscious, and I could already see fresh blood welling from his stomach wounds again.

God damn it! I should have had him weight in the tunnel. He wasn't thinking straight and now I had to drag him back in and hope it was enough, and then... No, I needed to calm down. I needed to trust in him and trust myself to help him. There was still time. Sucking in a shaking breath, I pan the light around the room. It was a version of the basement, though it was empty, no prison room or furniture or anything else.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Near where Thomas lay, I could see some... being scratched into the floor. A number. 71. Oh no. Fuck no. I felt a new wave of fear roll through me. I knew what this place was.

A glowing cave with a rotting version of the tree. And something terrible lurking in the dark. Something that had spoken to me. Asked me something. What was it? Suddenly everything snapped into place. It. It was often.

a trade, and if it was still up there, maybe it was what could save Thomas. Whatever it took, whatever it wanted, I'd give it gladly if it would save him. I leaned over and kissed him in the dark, whispering how much I loved him, before standing and heading to the other room and the stairs. I could see the cold, blue light as I took the steps quickly, and by the time I stepped out the front door, I was already shuddering from both the chill air, and the cold, and the cold, and my own fear. But it was all right. I could do this. For him, I could. My throat burned with the cold as I called out. I'm here. I, um, I went to offer tribute for my need. For several moments, there was nothing. I looked around. The house was as I remembered it, though this version of the

tree looked even worse than before, as though the corruption at its roots had worked its poison through the trunk and was now spreading out to the branches beyond. On the far side of this massive cavern, I could see tunnels trailing off and, wait, there, I thought I saw twin blue embers glowing in the distant black. I took a nervous step forward and was about to call again when a hand fell on my shoulder. Letting out a scream, I spun around even as I stumbled back. It was a man, a man a bit bigger than Thomas, though leaner and much older, holding up his hands placatingly. He offered me a tentative smile, set in a hard, unreadable face. Didn't mean it startled you, but you need to listen to me.

You don't want to deal with that thing out there. I frowned at him. I don't have a choice. My... Thomas is dying. I have to get him help. His face softened slightly. What's wrong with him?

I swallowed. He's been stabbed. A lot. I heard the fresh tremor in my voice as I pointed toward the house. And he's going to die in there if I don't get him help. I was thinking maybe the thing that lives here could do it. His expression darkened for a moment, and I felt a new thrill of fear. This.

This wasn't a normal man. I didn't know if he was bad or not, but he had an aura of dangerousness that set me on edge. Studying me for a moment. He seemed to make a decision. Perhaps it could help, but you wouldn't like the cost. He hooked a thumb at the strap of the backpack he wore. I have medical supplies in here. They were meant for someone else, but I don't mind using some of them on your friend if you'll let me.

I glanced back out across the tunnel. The blue lights were brighter now, maybe a bit closer. I'd like that, but I'm telling you, A first aid kit isn't going to cut it. He's dying. His expression didn't change as his eyes bored into mine. I understand. I still think I can help him.

Taking a step forward, he put out his hand. My name's Patrick, and I'm a surgeon. Thomas didn't stir as we approached, and I felt my stomach lurch at the growing pool of blood on and around his stomach. He was still breathing, but in the harsh glow of, With the phone's light, he looked faded and pale. The man named Patrick stepped past me, using his own flashlight to highlight Thomas as he checked him with the calm efficiency

that was both comforting and maddening. He had to hurry. Had to help him. Had to... Get your light over here. Shine it on his stomach. I jumped slightly and stepped around to get a better angle with the light. I could barely breathe as I pushed out the question I'd been wanting to ask

Since the man started checking him. How is he? Patrick didn't pause in his examination of the stab wounds in Thomas's stomach. Not good. His pulse is off and he's losing too much blood. He's not in hemorrhagic shock yet, but he's heading that way. I need to work on him now, but not down here. He paused and looked up at me.

We need to carry him upstairs, outside to where that light is. I have to perform a laparotomy. and the lights we have down here are insufficient. Standing up, he gestured to Thomas' feet. We need to be gentle, moving him. Try not to bend or compress his abdomen more than we can help. So grab his feet and help me get him up there. I took a step forward, but then stopped.

Wait, maybe we can do it in the tunnel. Patrick gave me a confused frown. There's a... We got here through a tunnel that appears in this back wall. I walked to the wall, but nothing happened. I felt panic surging through me as I turned back to him. It's not. The tree, it has to let us in.

But the tunnel stops the bleeding and can help him. The fear I felt boiled into anger as I turned back to the wall and slapped my hand against it. Let us fucking in, you piece of shit! He's going to die because of you. You fucking let us! I trilled off as I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned back to see Patrick looking at me somberly. His gaze sharp, but not unkind in the ambient glow of my light.

I believe you. But it's not working right now. And we don't have time to wait. So get his feet. I tensed at every bump and jostle as we carried him upstairs. But it went much smoother and quicker than I'd expected. Despite his apparent age, Patrick was very strong and sure-footed. And in a couple of minutes, Thomas was laid out on the front porch as the doctor handed me

his flashlight. He immediately started digging in the bag he carried, laying out a strip of paper, and then spreading out a line of medical supplies. The stuff I have is limited. I brought enough for first aid, simple emergency, surgery, and initial treatment of burns or infection. But my space was at a premium, as I had to make room for food, water, and other supplies as well. He paused and looked up at me. Pay attention to this. He glanced back at a row of tools and began pointing out. at them. Scalpel, forceps, hemostats, syringe, retractors, needle, PGA suture, PDS, suture.

He began rolling up his sleeves as he met my eyes again. You keep the lights where I tell you, he thinks as I ask for them. I'm about to open up these wounds more so I can see the degree of damage and try to repair them. I'll likely need you to hold open some of these wounds with a retractor at times. Got it? I puffed out a shaky breath. and nodded.

I'll do whatever you need. He offered me a smile. Good. Let's get started. Time slipped to and fro as he worked, crawling and rushing at the same time. I was still terrified that Thomas might not make it, but that fear was in the background now.

Part of that was due to seeing Patrick work. He moved with a quick grace and self-assuredness. That told me he knew what he was doing. even if I didn't know myself. But a lot of it was my focus on making sure I did my part. Lit what he needed, lit, handed him what he asked for, pulled back an opening when it was required. Despite the cold air in the cavern,

I could feel sweat running down my back as Patrick suddenly paused and looked at me. There's something in here. Not at the wound's sights, but close by. It could be a surgical implant, but it feels irregular. You're sure it was a knife he was stabbed with, right? I swallowed and nodded. And no signs of it breaking or looking like it left something in him? When I shook my head, he frowned slightly.

Any idea what it could be? I glanced past him to the corrupted version of the tree sitting some distance away. Yeah, the tree. The tree over there is part of a tree on a lot of different worlds. Maybe all of them. A year ago, some bad people had Thomas, and they put a piece of the tree. tree in him. That might be what you feel. He studied me for a moment before giving a slight nod. I see. I still don't think I should. He broke off as Thomas lifted his arm weakly.

Take it. Take it out, please. It's time for it to... His arm slipped back down as his eyes closed with a flutter. Patrick looked at him and then back to me. I can try, but given his other injuries, It may be better to leave well enough alone if it's been in him this long without... It's killing him. I was staring at Thomas now. My word's sounding more calm and sure than I felt. I think we've both known it for a while. But I also think he knew he needed to keep it for some reason. Maybe for now, I don't know.

Either way, it needs to come out. I met Patrick's eyes. Please. If you can get it out without hurting him worse, do it. He seemed to consider it for a moment. moment and then nodded. He's stable now. He had four peritoneal penetrations, one of which punctured his liver and two more in his colon.

But the sutures should hold well enough for the time being. My main concern is putting his body through more than is necessary. But it sounds like this is necessary. Patrick turned back to Thomas. Hold up the light. Let's see if we can get this thing out. Not trying to be nosy. But why are you in here?

We were sitting on the steps of the back porch, looking out at the shadowy cavern that served as the yard of the house in this place. Being there made my skin crawl. And not just because of the corrupted tree off to one side, were just the overall strangeness of being in this cold and glowing cave. It was the constant feeling of being watched. That itch in the back of my brain that said unseen eyes were on us, maybe even the eyes of the thing that had spoke to me when I was here before.

Either way, I had the impression that Patrick had come here willingly and prepared, sitting in the chilling dark with him as we waited for Thomas to wake. I couldn't help but wonder who he really was and what could bring him here. I'm, odd as it may sound, just passing through. He glanced at me with a small smile. There's a cave. It looks much like any other cave from the outside, but it's not. It leads here, and from here it leads on to another place, a place where I believe my grandson is trapped.

My eyes had widened slightly at the mention of a cave entrance. Do you think we'd be better off trying to get Thomas out through the cave? I know the tunnel seemed to help him, but if it's close, I trailed off as he began shaking his head. It's hard to say in here, but if I had to guess, that entrance is ten miles or more back. He pointed a thumb behind us to where Thomas lay. Those sutures will last for a while, but the less movement the better, and he'll be weak from losing all that blood, that and the pain. If your tunnels work as well as you say, that's probably your best bet.

He puffed out a breath as he turned to meet my eyes. And I want to be clear with you, Rachel. I was very happy to help. Given the odds of us meeting at all in this place, I tend to think I was meant to help in some way. and I'll stay until we know he's awake and still stable, but beyond that, you're on your own. I...

There have already been too many sacrifices to get me here. Put me on a path to where I can possibly help Jason, my grandson. I can't squander all of that now. Rubbing his mouth, he let out a small sigh. I hope you understand. Reaching over, I gave his arm a squeeze. I do. I do just about anything to save the man laying back there, and he already has done just about

everything to save me. So I get it. And thank you. I don't know if it's fate or the tree or what else that brought us into this fucking cave at the same time, but I'll never be able to repay what tribute. I froze mid-sentence, and I felt Patrick tense under my hand, though the word had been in my head. He had heard it too. Heart pounding, I looked out at the cavern, hoping to see nothing, or, at most, those strange glowing flames in the distance. Instead, I saw a horror moving toward us

across the cave floor. Its head was like a skull, stretched long and wrong, with pointed cheeks holding twin indigo flames above a criss-cross mouth, full of glass needles, pale, almost translucent skin that seemed to swim with spots of darker color glowed with the blue shimmer in the light of the cavern, stretching down from its head to a torso that was thin but muscled and long fingered hands that seemed to have bits of black rot or bone jutting from their tips. It was an impossible monster and it made even less sense as my gaze went lower. The torso ended in ragged strips of torn flesh. and from that ruined mound, four razor-sharp sickles of bone curved down,

flashing and digging into the stone floor as it worked its way toward us. I started to stand up, wanting to grab Thomas and drag him toward the basement. But Patrick grabbed my hand and gave it a squeeze. When I looked at him, he shook his head slightly, never taking his gaze off the creature that had come to stop a few feet in front of us. Its blazing eyes were hard to read, but I got the distinct impression it was focused on me, not Patrick. I didn't know how to respond, or if I should even try.

When it spoke again, its voice, which was already icy and hard, was almost painfully cold. I had to think. It had mentioned safe passage. If I had to offer it something to get us out of here, safe, I would. And if that wasn't good enough, I'd all. offer more just to get Thomas back into the tunnel. If that didn't work, then I thought Patrick's scalpel was still back there behind us. The thing towering over us had to be at least 10 feet tall, and I knew I had a little chance of actually killing whatever it was. If nothing else,

maybe I could distract it long enough for Patrick to get Thomas and get away. But first, I try to talk to it. What, um, what do you want for safe passage for us? For all of us, its eyes flickered lower for a moment before brightening again. What is your offering for passage? Damn it. I looked over at Patrick when he spoke, surprised to see both anger and sadness in his expression, as he stood up slowly. The passage that was brought for me included safe passage for friends of my choosing.

He turned and gestured to me and then to talk to me. Thomas on the porch. These two are those friends. He met my eyes briefly before turning back to the monster. Part of our bargain, I extend my safe passage to them. The creature's eyes flared as if focused on the old man. When it spoke again, its voice was threaded with poison. Very well.

Safe passage is granted, and our bargain is complete. With that, it turned and moved back across the cavern, disappearing into one of the dark openings at the far end. I puffed out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding as I turned and gave Patrick a hug. Thank you so much. I don't know what it wanted, but I was ready to give it whatever just to get you two out of here. Letting out a shaky laugh, I pulled back. Patrick was smiling at me, but his eyes were troubled.

I frowned. That was meant for him, wasn't it? Jason? He nodded slightly. It was, or I thought it was. Now I see what's meant for you to instead. Rubbing his face, he gave a slight shrug. No need to worry.

If I find him, when I find him. We'll figure out another way back. Patrick glanced toward the dark where the monster had gone. For now, we need to hurry. I think it may keep to the letter of its bargain, but I don't trust it any further. I'll help you get Thomas backed into the tunnels if it'll open this time. And then I'll be on my way. First things first, let's see if we can wake.

I'm up. I jumped at the sound of Thomas's voice. It was soft and hoarse. And one of the best sounds I'd ever heard. Turning to look, I saw he was not only awake, but was already sitting up with a wince. Careful, go slow. I moved to his side and put my arm around him, kissing the side of his head. as I supported him.

Looking up at Patrick, I raised an eyebrow. Should he be moving like this? He nodded. He should be okay to walk if he's careful, didn't you help him? Just don't waste time getting back home and getting him into a hospital. Magic tunnel or not, he needs more help than he's gotten. Patrick held out his hand to Thomas. Let's see if you can keep your feet.

The wall fell away before we even reached the cell room this time. As though the tree was as anxious as I was for Thomas to be brought. back inside, or maybe it just cared about what we carried. Thomas had insisted that we used the remains of his bloody shirt to wrap up the thing Patrick had removed from him and bring it along. I felt its weight inside of my jacket, a small piece of red wood covered in bits of new green growth, and shuddered at the dread coiled in my stomach. The cutting was just another reminder that we weren't done with the tree yet, and it wasn't done with us. Still, for the moment I was was grateful. While I was worried with every step Thomas took that he might collapse or start

bleeding again, so far he seemed alert and, if not strong, at least not so weak he couldn't walk. When we reached the threshold of the tunnel, Patrick let him go and stepped back. He was looking past us at the soft, golden light coming from the tunnel that had appeared. That's really something. Do you know how to get back home? I frowned slightly. Not exactly. But between the two of us, we'll figure it out. I use the light on Thomas' phone to highlight the number etched into the concrete behind Patrick. The tunnels go to different worlds, different versions of this house.

Some of them have numbers. This one's 71. We'll keep looking until we find number one again. Patrick raised his eyebrows. I see. Well, I don't know if your home is even the same as mine then. But if it is, and if we all make it back there, Feel free to contact me sometime and let me know how you are.

He handed me a wrinkled card that said, Yeager's Solutions and thin black lettering. The number isn't good anymore, but the email address still works. He started to step away. But you two get going, and I'll do the... Thomas suddenly stepped forward and embraced Patrick. At first I thought he was giving the man a hug for saving him. But then I realized Thomas was speaking in his ear.

I couldn't make out most of it, but I thought I heard a number. 26. Patrick nodded to Thomas as they stepped apart, and then gave me a last smile before turning and heading away in the direction of the stairs. His expression had been troubled at the end, but I could ask Thomas what he told him later. For the time being, getting out of this place and into the tunnel was more important. Within moments of crossing into that golden light, I could feel Thomas growing stronger. He still leaned on me for support, but more for balance than anything. And more than once I had to tell him to slow down and take it easy as he picked up the pace.

Do you know where you're going? I tried to keep the hope out of my voice. I had managed to get back to our world from 71 before, and I could do it again. But I had no illusions that it would be a quick or error-free process. Do you still have your feelings about things? Without the cutting inside you, I mean. He stopped and smiled down at me. Even with the improvement, his face was slick with sweat after a few minutes of pain and exertion.

No, I don't think so, but I do have something. I don't know. It's like I'm guessing, but I know I'm guessing right. Thomas frowned. That sounds dumb, but I think it's right. I nodded. Well, let's just take it slow and see. The main thing is you don't overdo it and we get you to a hospital as soon as we can.

Man, squeezing me with the arm I was supporting, he nodded. I'm okay. I think I know where we need to go. We kept walking, and every time we came to a turn or branching path, Thomas paused only a moment before picking one and continuing on. As time passed, I could feel the weight of him increasing again. He was wearing himself out, and I didn't know that he couldn't do more harm than the tunnel and Patrick's work could mitigate it. I was about to make him stop for a bit and rest. When I saw an opening in the distance, I glanced at him.

Is that it? He grinned at me and nodded. Yes, this is where we need to go. Thomas picked up his speed again, and this time I led him. We'd have to be careful when we crossed the threshold. I didn't want him to collapse again. But we'd get out, get to the car, and I'd drive us into town to the husp. This wasn't the basement.

It wasn't a basement at all. I'd been here before. A large chamber of roots with a burned pedestal of branches in the middle. What Phil or Justin had called the heart room. I stopped and looked at Thomas. He didn't look surprised or disappointed. And his eyes were clear as he looked around the room. I could hear the fear in my voice when I spoke.

This isn't the way out? This is the wrong place! A chill of recognition shot up my spine as a voice. voice sounded from behind us, Phil's voice, Justin's voice. On the contrary, Rachel, you're exactly where you need to be. I could see fear and anger in Rachel's face as she stepped in front of me. Her body tensed as she brought her hand up. Something flashed there. A scalpel, golden in the glowing air, and still smudged with my blood from the doctor's surgery. I gently put my hand on her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

Rachel, it's okay. Everything's okay. She turned slightly, giving me a frowning side glance as she kept her eyes on the man she'd once known as Phil and then as Justin. How is this okay? We need to get you out to a hospital. She cut her eyes back to Justin to punctuate her words with a stab at the air. And now this fucker is hiding out to ambush us in this fucking place.

She turned towards the other man. And to be clear, you aren't the first motherfucker we've had to kill today. If you try anything, I have to. no problem with leaving you here to rot, or become fertilizer or whatever. Rachel glanced around the heart room. Fucking tree. It must have some influence over you still. Made you think you knew the way out when you were really being led back here?

I let out a sigh as I gave her shoulder another squeeze. No, sweetie. When I was out of it, before you removed the cutting, I talked to it more. To the tree, too, I guess. I don't understand everything, but I figured out enough to know what needs to to be done. I brought us here on impulse. I wasn't sure I could find the way, but I'm glad I did.

Rachel pulled back as she stared at me, her eyes blazing. You're glad? You're fucking glad? I don't know what the tree did to you, but we don't have time for this bullshit. We're leaving, getting you help. She shot a dark look at Justin, who was just quietly watching as it all played out. And God help anybody that tries to get in our way. She reached out and grabbed my arm.

Let's go and... When I grabbed her hand, she broke off and met my eyes, really looked at me. I think she could see that I wasn't confused or controlled. I was beat up, yeah, and despite the tree's efforts, my guts still felt like they were on fire, but I was also clearer and more me than I... Well, maybe than I'd ever been. Despite everything that had happened, and everything that I was afraid might be about to happen, I couldn't help but feel a strange excitement and happy pride in that moment.

Ever since I was little, I felt like a little bug in a river, holding on to whatever leaf or stick passed by, trying to get a grasp to get my bearings. Never being sure where I was headed or why. Instead, the only sure thing was that I wasn't in control of any of it. When I was younger, it wasn't so bad. I wasn't so fuzzy headed back then, and my mom and dad were my leaf and stick. They guided me as best they could and tried to prepare me for the world, and they did a good job. But by the time they were gone, I was living on my own and working at the music store, first

as a clerk, then on up. I had my apartment and my job. They were my leaf and my stick. And while I was lonely at times, it was enough. But that wasn't all I had. In the back of my head and my heart, I had this feeling that I was slipping away. my problem, whether it was my brain or not, it went beyond just being a little slow or having a bad memory for certain words.

It was like I was standing in weak acid and I couldn't get out. I just had to wait as it ate me up bit by bit. That feeling scared me a lot. I'd always gotten flustered when I couldn't think right, had to force myself to calm down and think slow. Remember that just because I wasn't as quick as some people, it didn't mean I wasn't as good as them. But this, this was something different.

It was slowly getting worse, and as it did, I felt my life getting smaller, felt me getting smaller. The few friends I had, I pushed away. I went to work and home, home and work, and most of my free time was spent reading, trying to pack in all the things I wanted to learn, but was too nervous to try to take classes for, Trying to stuff more into my head so that the slow acid couldn't eat it all, couldn't take all of me. But it was a losing battle. Not just because of the hungry fog that hid words and made it hard to think sometimes.

I was hiding away from the world, not taking risks, afraid of living as much as I was losing my own life. Now I could remember a poem I read years ago, though if you'd ask me yesterday, I don't think I'd have known what you were talking about. It was about a man who regretted how he'd lived his life. life, how small and unfulfilled he felt. I remember he said he'd measured his life out in coffee spoons, and the first thing that had struck me, as I sat reading it on my break at the music store, was that he was describing

me. So when I saw that ad for a new job, I took a chance. A chance to make more money, sure, but also a chance to do something that mattered, to force myself out into a new corner of the world, a new leaf or stick outside of what was comfortable her safe, a chance to push back on that terrible gravity, always trying to crush me down to one tiny point of near nothingness. And then I found her. That changed everything, though I didn't realize it at first.

It was more than having a job or a crush on the mysterious woman on the monitor. It was about caring about something more than I worried about what I was risking or what was slowly slipping away, loving it more than I feared it or my own flaws. and through that care, through that love, finding my way back through the fog to who I really am. Rachel, the tree has to have someone. You know it, and I do too. For years it was Justin, then it was you. Now, I think it's my turn.

I want you. Tears were already rolling down her face. No, fucking no! You are not sacrificing yourself to this thing. Not for me or for anything. thing. I'll do my time here, and when I'm able to be out, I'll be with you. If that's what you want, and you can come see me, maybe. She wiped her tears. Fuck, I don't know. I've been trying to avoid thinking about it, hoping it would go away, which is stupid, but I was just so fucking

happy, and... But no, you're not taking my place. You're going to get medical attention and be healthy and happy, whether it's with me or not, and— She trailed off as I stepped closer and wrapped my arms around her. It's okay, it's okay. I love you more than anything. You make me so happy. And doing this, getting you free of it while helping the tree, I'm proud to be able to do it. She glanced up.

Her face confused and angry, and I nodded. I know. You think I'm being controlled by the tree. I'm not, I promise. but I understand it more now. It's important, very important, and it needs help. I nodded toward the tunnel we'd come from. That cave place?

The rotting version of the tree there? It's getting attacked in more places than just that. I glanced past her to Justin. And since the heart room got burned, it's not able to fend all that off. I smiled at her, at least until now. Reaching into her jacket, I slid out the cutting. This fresh cutting has survived because of me and that other version of you. It's grown strong, strong enough to heal the damage that has been done.

I took a step back from her. The tree will still need a person, but it will be better. Maybe I won't have to stay here as often. And even if I do, at least I'll know you're safe, that everything is safer. I'm telling you, the tree is that important. She stepped back to me, grabbing my shirt. Fuck everything and fuck the tree. I want you and I want you out of all of this bullshit not deeper in it.

She tried to snatch the cutting from me and I pulled it away. Just fucking give it to me. If it will help, let me do it. I shook my head. No, this is my choice. You've already sacrificed so much in this world and the other for all of this. I'm not going to. My father gave me a book of poems once.

I turned to look at Justin, confused. I didn't trust him. I couldn't. Not after all he'd done, but I did trust the tree at least partways. And if he was there, I had a feeling there was a good reason for it. Still... What the fuck are you talking about? Justin gave Rachel a quick smile and nodded.

Fair enough. I know what that sounded like. I know I have a lot to answer for and explain. And speaking what appears to be nonsense isn't helping matters. The smile fell away as he looked at me. and then at the root pedestal in the middle of the room. I don't necessarily have a lot of answers or explanations. Whoever this man is, he seems to understand the tree better than I ever have.

He shrugged. For what it's worth, I had a small-formed idea of trying to help you when the other man, well, I suppose it's the other one? Justin raised an eyebrow and glanced between us. I nodded. My name's Thomas, and yeah, the other guy, the other version of me, is dead. Justin glanced for confirmation from Rachel, glaring at him, she gave a brief nod as well. Okay, well, I assumed that from the body in the basement, and your conversation here comported with that assumption as well.

But it's always polite to ask and make sure what is what and who is who. But anyway, I'm rambling. Sorry. My point was, when I saw you being taken into the house, I had the sense that you were in trouble. I debated trying to help, but then this one comes, and I decided he was likely helping. enough, so I waited outside for a while. When no one came out, I finally came in to see what was going on. I didn't find you, obviously, but I did find the tunnel open for me again.

I went in, initially, with the idea of, I'm not sure what, if I'm honest, helping you, apologizing? I don't know, but I wasn't sure where you had gone. And after a bit of looking, I headed here instead. He let out a sigh. The tree, it still won't talk to me, or maybe it can't, not the way it has to him, just in gesture to me. But sitting here, I've had time to think, or more time, I suppose.

I've been thinking a lot these last few months. Listening to you two, it makes me see things more clearly, see myself more clearly, and it reminded me of my father giving me a book of poetry once. It wasn't like my father to give gifts, much less books. He always wanted me to be more like my brother, more like him. I've never known what prompted him to give me that book, but it always meant a great deal to me, even when I was imprisoned two years later without it. It was the selection of poems by William Blake, songs of innocence and experience, among others.

I loved that book, read it over and over until I knew most of it by heart. One of my favorites, and the one I've been reminded of today, is, funny enough, about a tree, A poison tree. It goes, I was angry with my friend, I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe, I told it not, my wrath did grow, and I watered it in fears, night and morning with my tears, and I sunned it with smiles and with soft, deceitful wiles, and it grew both day and night till it bore an apple bright, and my foe beheld it shine, He knew that it was mine, and into my garden stole when the night had veiled the pole.

In the morning, glad I see my foe outstretched beneath the tree. I've spent so long hating, hating the tree, hating my family, hating you, hating everything for all the wrongs I've endured. I've done terrible, terrible things out of some misguided sense of entitlement, some warped, cancerous idea that just because I'd had evil inflicted upon me, I'd somehow earned the right to do my own evil in return, to lie, to despise, to even kill. For some time, much of my hatred had been turned toward myself. As meaningless as it is, I'm sorry for what I did to you, Rachel.

I'm sorry for most of what I've done. I'm not a good man. I've tried to be at times, lied to myself that I was, or if not that my failings weren't my fault. The world had inflicted such cruelties on me that I had everyone to blame but myself. But seeing the two of you, I don't know all of what you've been through, and I don't presume to know what you think or feel, but your willingness to love each other, to sacrifice for each other, to give up everything for that love and to protect, well, whatever this damn tree may be, it makes me even more ashamed of myself than I already was.

not just because of all I've done, but because of what I've taken for granted. Because this damn tree, this magical miracle that spans untold worlds, perhaps even binds them together, has always been there for me. It was my joy when I discovered it, my escape when I was imprisoned, my constant companion in all the years that followed. And yes, it took from me as well. It took my time and liberty. But I think now, only in those measures that it was.

required to sustain itself in its struggles and maintain its role in creation. In exchange, it gave me long life and health, as well as countless worlds to explore when it could manage without me. I repaid it by trying to burn out its heart. And yet, even now, it lets me back in, my one true and constant friend, showing me a path toward, if not redemption, at least some kind of peace and understanding. I've spent so long resenting what has been taken from me. me. I've lived so long not grasping something but the tree, and I think you two understand very

well. It's not about what you're given or what you take, not about what you want or think you need, some person or thing you want to control. It isn't even about what you want to love you. It's about what you give, what you love. Justin blinked at me in his surprise as I spoke. Yeah, that's it. That's it exactly. look at what might have been sadness or shame passed across his face as he glanced between me and Rachel, and his gaze lowered as he turned toward the pedestal. I don't know if the tree is good, or if such terms can even be applied to whatever it truly is.

Such a line of thought may be akin to calling gravity evil or ascribing jealousy to a passing rain cloud. He shrugged as he let out a small sigh. But I've always known it is very special, very necessary. I spent a long time lying to myself about that last part, but it really is important, isn't it? His eyes went to Rachel now. She nodded. She looked up at me as she slipped her hand back into mine.

Yeah. Yeah, I think it is. I gave it a squeeze. Yeah, it is. When I could hear the thing inside me, I was hearing the tree, I think, hearing how afraid it was. It wants to live, to get well and survive. but more than that, I think it's scared of what will happen if it's gone. It's weird.

It wasn't talking to me in words exactly, but it didn't matter. I could still understand some, and toward the end, it told me more. And I believe it. It's part of why I'm willing to stay with it. I glanced up at Justin. But unless I'm wrong, I think Justin may be asking to take the job back. In the corner of my eye, I saw Rachel frown as she shook. her head.

No. Maybe he's had a change of heart, or maybe he's full of shit. But this fucker walled me up. He murdered his own family. If this tree thing is so important, it can't be left with him. Tears sprang back into her eyes. I'll stay if someone has to. We'll figure it out, but he can't be trusted.

Turning to her, I touched her face with the hands not holding the cutting, using my thumb to wipe away the tears from her cheeks. She was so good and so strong, and I knew the fear and anger she was feeling was because of all that she had been through. That and being afraid of losing me, I was afraid too. But even though I couldn't hear the tree anymore, I still thought I could feel music in my chest, a melody that connected me and Rachel and both of us to everything else. Despite my pain and my worry, my doubts and my ignorance, in that place, in that moment,

It all seemed very clear and simple and beautiful, like the lines of a painting I saw once long ago. You don't have to trust him. Trust me. Rachel studied my face for a moment and then nodded. I kissed her briefly and then turned to Justin. Am I right? Do you want to fix what you did? Are you willing to stay?

Justin's face lit up as he smiled. I do. I held out the cutting to him. Then do it. But do it right. This is your chance. Be smart enough to see it. I shook my head slightly as I held his gaze.

I don't want to have to hurt anyone else, but I will." He swallowed as a smile faltered a moment. I understand. Thank you. Both of you. He paused and looked around the room. All of you for giving me another chance. Eyes shining, he took the cutting in both hands, gently unwrapping it and letting out a small sigh

as he touched the twisted bark before looking up. up at us with wide eyes. It really is part of it. I can feel it. I can tell. He was crying freely now. I can almost hear it again. I've missed it so much.

Turning, he stepped to the pedestal and carefully sat the cutting in the middle. The roots from the table immediately began winding together with the bark of the cutting, pulling it in until, after just a few moments, it was gone. Immediately I could see the color of the heart room deepening and in place to the room. that were black from past flames, new green growth was already pushing through. Rachel hugged my side. It worked, didn't it? I nodded as I looked around.

Yeah, it worked. My eyes went to hers. Do you feel different? She pondered for a moment, and then nodded. I think so, yeah. I can tell something has changed. It's hard to describe the feeling, but I don't feel bound to it anymore. She glanced at Justin.

How about you? He smiled. Yeah, it's back with me. For good this time. Justin's gaze went to me and back to her. You're both connected to the tree. You always will be. With everything you've seen and done, but you're no longer bound to it.

Rachel nodded. Good. Turning to me, she raised an eyebrow. We done here? Because you still need a hospital. I grinned. Yeah. We made it back, and I spent the next three days in the hospital,

though the doctors finally admitted it was more due to the nature of my injuries than my actual condition. I was strangely free of infection, and whoever had done the emergency surgery had clearly known what they were doing. When Rachel rolled me out to the car on the fourth day, it felt like I was finally coming out into the sun after a lifetime trapped in the darkness, or, well, fog. My new clarity was part of it, but just part. I was also less worried, less afraid.

The world was infinitely stranger and more dangerous than I'd known just a few years ago, but it was also so much more wonderful and beautiful than I'd ever thought it could be. I knew we'd still face obstacles and dangers in the future, not just things like Solomon, but the more normal stuff that comes with living too. But that was okay. I stood up from the wheelchair and smiled at Rachel before sweeping her up in a big hug. We'd face what came and beat it, do our best to help others when we could. And whatever happened, whatever world we were in, so long as we're together, we're home.