Out of The Woods (8 page)

The bow of the boat cut a deep channel through the strangely still waters. Halley watched the steep granite walls for an opening, for anywhere she could escape. The terror was deep in her now, flooding her body, fed by the realization that this man knew all about her. He even knew her thoughts.

Trance watched her calmly. Then his eyes narrowed. He’d thought of something new.

“Most women I know wear their hair differently to you,” he began. His thick lips curled. “They tie it back tightly. They are neatly groomed. You would do well to follow suit.”

She reached up to touch her hair but quickly lowered her hand. The nights in the woods had left her wildish. Her hair was tangled. Parts had weaved together into links like strong hemp rope. Leaves were stuck in these links, dried mud, bits of twig.

“I’ve known women who brush their hair a hundred times a night, garnish it with oils to keep it lovely.” His words hit her like stones. “Women who care for their skin, keeping out of the sun.” He smiled, as if reflecting on their beauty. “They are youthful, attractive.”

Halley stared back at him from her sun-darkened face. The skin around her eyes radiated soft lines, caused by squinting at the bright light of the sun. Her arms and legs bore scratches and bruises. The “women he knew” would not be damaged this way; they would behave with grace and poise.

She was filled with a deep sense of self-repugnance. Her bruises had earlier made her feel courageous and proud. She had even liked the feel of her hair after several days on the trail. But now she felt dirty and clumsy and unkempt.

From above them came a sharp angry cry. It was an eagle. It flew at Trance, talons exposed, a fury. He ducked; cursed; threatened the bird with his oar. He would have smashed it to pieces, just as he had done the helpless river fish, but it was too swift. It flew off into the trees.

The sight of the eagle made Halley feel a lifting, her spirit rising with it from the cold, bitter seat on the boat. The bird, temporarily thwarted, settled on an overhanging tree at the top of the cliffs, to watch them speed downriver. Its angry shriek echoed after them.

She said it first, as a whisper.

“No.”

The word resonated in her belly, growing larger, rumbling like the beginnings of an avalanche.

“NO!” She spoke louder this time.

Trance looked up, all vestige of softness gone.

As if possessed by the eagle, she fought back.

“I won’t hear any more! You know nothing about me – you can’t judge me. You’re wrong! I know who I am and what I have done. And I am not afraid of you!”

The smoothness of the river was gone. The wind had come, and was whipping the wavelets into small grey mountains.

This lack of fear: it was a lie. Her face had a sheen of sweat and she was breathing fast.

He sat, absolutely still and silent. His silence was what finally broke her, his set expression of utter contempt.

It wasn’t until she had slumped forward in defeat that he spoke again. “A spoiled child,” he hissed, “an ugly, wild, utterly spoiled child. If you are so special, why were you all alone at school? Why did the others not choose you for their teams or as a playmate?” He paused, continuing in an even harsher, bitter voice. “Why always by yourself on your bicycle? Why were you the brunt of all their jokes?”

She sank back onto her seat, deflated.

“What sort of woman would try to kill herself?”

The boat drifted. He had released the oars into the oarlocks, and was caressing the side of the boat with his right hand, gliding it back and forth, back and forth, while gazing up at the sky.

“Would a beautiful woman try to kill herself?”

He let his hand slip gently from the side of the boat into the cool water, allowing the hand to drag along behind the boat, creating a small wake. He sat back, as if pondering a rhetorical question, swishing his hand left and right.

Halley watched the disturbance his hand made in the smooth water. Her body jerked when he added, more loudly this time, “Would a woman who was loved by many try to kill herself, Halley? Someone who had a vital purpose for which to live?”

He answered the question himself, by shaking his head slowly, side to side. The white braid swung silently, over first one shoulder and then the other, negating the statements, rubbing out that beautiful, well-loved woman.

Halley bit her lip; she could taste blood.

More softly, he added, taking his gaze from the sky and staring hard at her with hostile, ice-blue eyes, “Or someone like you, Halley?”

He removed his hand from the water, and shook it hard, splashing cold water into her face. “Or someone like you, Halley? Someone ugly and unloved, incapable of doing anything right?” His voice grated over her, sandpaper rubbing off her flesh. “Do you remember Halley? Do you remember? The knife? The little black knife. You just
sat
there for hours, thinking about how it would feel on your wrists. Holding the knife. How it would feel to do it. Wondered if it would be too dull to cut. Crying. Wailing. Too cowardly to go through with it.” He rolled his eyes with contempt, and continued more softly, each word drawn out, long and deadly. “You should have done it, you know. No one would’ve cared.”

She looked away. His words brought it all back, made it real in an unbearable way. She had told no one about that time, not even Fernando. She was crying again, and these tears were not healing. They were the crumbling away of some deepest part of her. Her spirit retreated, and she hugged herself to herself and tried to will his words away. But she couldn’t.

She sat, staring into the water, moving his words in her mouth like bits of broken glass, rubbing them off her flesh, tasting their sharpness.

The river narrowed, the rocky outcroppings becoming first small boulders, then large, dangerous ones. The boat picked up speed.

Halley saw herself, deep down at the bottom of a featureless well, with her head sunk on her arms. From this place, she could look inside and know: she had been here before. She had heard the very words Trance had spoken before. She thought carefully, as the answer swooped away from her, and then swooped back into view with greater clarity.

He had known where to strike. How had he known?

The white water began to bubble and froth around the boat, and she pondered the eagle’s timely swoop. There was no coincidence here. Trance had seemed familiar because he was familiar; he was the darkness she had fought all her life.

From deep within her, from an untouched, undamaged place, she felt herself arise again. Not a roaring or a gushing or even a bubbling. Certainly not visible to Trance as he seemed to luxuriate in the damage he had wrought; she did not stand up or even sit up taller. It was if she had removed his coat, and let the orange glow of her windbreaker show through, though she did not.

The growing roar of the river awoke Trance from his reverie; he glanced up, his ice-blue eyes taking her in.

She looked down. It was she who was facing the course of the river. Listening for the break in the roaring, for the lull, she waited. When she heard it, she glanced up quickly. The river was being split asunder by a smooth, blackened rock in the center of the white water. He glanced over his shoulder. They raced towards it, but Trance was smug, certain he could simply use his oar to steer them around.

At the moment they came alongside the rock, Halley leapt to her feet, throwing all her weight outwards, away from the rock. The boat twisted, its bottom rising up from the river, lifting, flipping, like a salmon turned over going upriver. They were flung overboard, into the deep, frothing, turbulent water.

Underwater, Halley held her breath and began to swim.
Got to stay under. Move towards shore. Let him drift downriver.

The current was fast, and before she had got her bearings, she was swept unexpectedly into the sharp edge of a rock, scraping the skin off her knee. Her face clenched in pain, but she was careful not to cry out, not to open her mouth underwater and begin the process of drowning. She clenched her teeth and added force to her stroke, making her way cautiously through the swift water.

Trance was all around her, as if he had become the sharp-edged rocks in the river, the water that threatened to drown her. Maybe it was because of his jacket – she noticed the weight of it suddenly – it was like he was still grasping her by the shoulders and pressing her down. She stopped swimming and struggled out of it. Once off, the greedy waters sucked the jacket swiftly away. Without it, her remaining clothes felt powerfully buoyant.

Just a few more moments underwater…a few more strokes.
Pulling hard, she drew herself away from the spot where she’d tipped the boat.

Finally, in desperation for a breath, she shot to the surface. She sucked in air hungrily, at the same time searching the river for Trance, her body poised to duck back under. She imagined his face, compressed with fury.

From the corner of her eye, she felt rather than saw the movement. The light of the sun was suddenly blocked, as some shadowy thing hurled towards her, fast. She had no time to react. Something struck her hard on her right arm, throwing her body sideways. Pain shot through her and she hit the water, her mouth open, making her swallow water, too much water. She began to cough furiously.

Trance! God! Wait…NO!

It wasn’t Trance. It was the pointed hull of the boat, rearing up at her. Pulled to by the current, it came at her once more, white and sharp and deadly.

Instinctively, she threw herself back underwater, diving, trying to pull herself deep. Her damaged right arm sent a thrill of agony through her. After the first pull, the arm wouldn’t work at all; she could use only her weaker left arm.
Faster, come on Halley! You’ve got to get down!
She watched for rocks, afraid the current might bash her against them again without warning. She needed the deeper water – that would save her.

Holding her breath, she prayed:
Make it go away, make it go away. I can’t hold on much longer.

It came at her again, dropping down underwater like a bird after a fish. She swung both her legs up and landed a desperate shoving kick on the hull. The boat shifted. It was just enough. It was caught by a downstream current, and pulled away. In a moment, it was gone.

She breathed out hard. Flattening her arms to her sides, she kicked herself upwards, moving like a rocket. When she reached the surface, she was coughing and spitting out river water. Her whole body was shaking. The current grabbed her, and she was dragged downriver.

Her only thought was Trance. Had he been swept downriver too? She scanned the area but didn’t see him.

Kicking hard to stay on the surface, she stared at the shoreline, praying for a way out of the river. Ten feet ahead, she saw it – a break in the smooth canyon wall, at a corner in the river where the water looked calm. Just beyond it, the fury of the whitewater increased dramatically. Hurriedly, she scanned the bank. No sign of Trance. Just the green and brown of trees and rocks.

The river was already pulling her towards the rougher whitewater. She made fast for the shallow corner, trying to ignore the sharp pain each time she pulled with her right arm. At first, she made no progress, swimming hard to simply stay in one place. She decided to go diagonal to the current, took a deep breath, and kicked as hard as she could. When she broke free of the river’s pull, it was with a sudden sense of popping. She moved into the calmer water of the sheltered area and treaded water, breathing fast.

The shoreline was fronted by large rocks; she scanned them to find a way out of the river.
There, that one.
Her chosen rock sloped into the water at a steep angle. Though slick with black moss, it was her only hope. The rest of the rocks were smooth monoliths, between seven and ten feet tall.

The sloping rock was split in one obvious spot, forming a ridge she could hold onto. Catching the fingers of her left arm in the ridge, she pulled hard, and managed to slide part-way up. Unexpectedly, the weakened rock slab sheered off, and she fell back into the water with a splash, going in over her head. Exhaustion filled her as worked her way back up to the surface. It was hopeless.

Don’t give up Halley. Try again.

This time she used her damaged but more sensitive right hand, gritting her teeth, feeling for tiny ridges in the rock that meant her life. The ridges she sought were small, barely visible, but her fingertips could feel them. When she found them, the edges of her fingerprints held on tight. Miraculously, she felt her body pull upwards, until she was sliding up the slanted rock face. Carefully, so carefully, she lifted her left arm, finding another hold, and then another. Inch by inch she moved up the slick rock, away from the river. Finally, she made it to the top.

Warm. The rock is warm
. She lay still on its flat surface. In time, the rock’s warmth and afternoon sun warmed her. The lesson she’d learned from Trance echoed in her tired head.

Listen to your intuition. What is bad is bad. Do not let it close.

This time, the lesson was learned.