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wightknight) wrote2015-02-15 04:01 pm
wightknight) wrote2015-02-15 04:01 pm
Kodama, Part IV (Final)
[Continued from Kodama, Part I, Kodama, Part II, and Kodama, Part III.]
In the next moment, there was an audible click and a beam of light illuminated the length of the park. It flickered rapidly for a few moments before settling on the trunk of the great tree.
Quiet, slow footsteps carefully made their way towards Old Hickory.
I felt a lurch of fear even as Lyle quietly pulled me back into the brush, the sound of our motions obscured by the light wind rustling through the trees. With my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the night, I could make out two figures about a hundred feet away, one holding a flashlight, the other a long-handled implement - probably a shovel. On television, the plucky teen detectives would be celebrating at this point, excited about a breakthrough in the case. I wasn't excited so much as I was having a hard time keeping my bladder from spontaneously emptying.
"Hide here. Call the police."
With a barely audible whisper in my ear, Lyle pulled away, ostensibly still wielding his stick and rope. I hadn't the least idea what he thought he could accomplish on his own, but having been given directions, my numbed mind set to following them. I retreated further into the brush, pulled up my phone and quickly dialed.
"911. What's your emergency?"
With a stifled cry, I pulled it away from my ear. It was loud. So loud, it seemed impossible that the intruders in the park hadn't heard it clearly in the silence of the night.
"911. What's your emerg -- "
Where was the volume button?! I tapped frantically at every button simultaneously... but it was far too late.
"Who's there?!"
They had found me.
Instinctively, I jerked back, slamming my elbow against a tree I hadn't realized was there. The phone fell from my hands, the operator finally quieting as it bounced against the ground. I thrust my hand down - ignored the numbness spreading down my arm - drew away with a sharp intake of breath as thorns raked against my skin. There was no more time. As loudly as I dared, I breathed "In the park!" to the empty air in general before abruptly leaving it to push my way back into the trees. I could hear them behind me now - two voices, one male, one female, both calling angrily, incomprehensibly as they stepped quickly towards me. The beam of light careened wildly across the trees, blinding me momentarily before it settled...
Right on me.
At least I could see where I was going now.
"Stop!"
I had no intention of doing so and responded with my own scream.
"Lyle!"
There came nothing in response but a muffled exclamation of surprise from behind me. I ran. Left and right, zigzagging out of the path of the beam when I could, realizing that I would hit a fence soon and swerving sharply right. I had no idea where the park exit was - no idea how to escape. I could only hope that I would lose them in the chase and hide somewhere in the brush. Being 5'1" was finally going to work out to my advantage. Half-turning, I frantically scanned the trees for any sign of my pursuers.
The next moment, I felt a searing pain - I had run headlong into a branch. Stars exploded in my eyes, and I heard more echoing shouts. There was no time. I ran. ...Tried to run and found myself stumbling wildly into another tree.
I dropped to the ground and stayed there.
"Lyle?"
That wasn't me calling. ...Was it? Gasping, I panted out my own words.
"Lyle..."
Where was he? Where had he gone?
The flashlight flickered off. More screams now with more angry voices. There came a single, sharp thud, the higher pitched tone of the woman screaming a name with an edge of fear to her voice, and then, to my horror, a slow rustling as someone drew near... I was too dazed to do anything but curl up into a ball, hoping I wouldn't be spotted.
"Alex. Alex."
I'd never heard anything more beautiful in my life. He held me gently as I gibbered unintelligibly in a panic.
"Alex, you're gonna be OK. The police are coming."
Firmly, he held me against the ground.
"Don't try to move, alright? I'm going to take care of the rest."
There was a short pause before I felt something brush lightly against my forehead. I sincerely hoped it was meant to be a hand running through my hair or even an attempted kiss on the forehead, but it just felt like more sharp thorns. ...Probably because he was prodding the gash I'd just received. I groaned in pain, and he jerked away.
"Alex... Whatever happens... Thank you for helping me."
There were sirens in the distance as he stood and slowly walked away.
I don't remember much of what happened next.
They found me lying in the brush with a concussion and minor scrapes and bruises. I wasn't going to suffer any lasting damage, but to be safe, I was brought to the hospital for an overnight stay. My parents burst in sometime around 2 in the morning, alternatively screaming and sobbing and causing more of a headache than the concussion itself. When I returned home the next day, I found, to my slight amusement, that the broken window had finally been fixed. Less amusing was my new curfew of 9:00 from now until I graduated from college.
They found Malcolm and Leona Greengard unconscious in the park as well. Rather than ropes, they were trussed up with springy branches and vines. A shovel was found nearby, along with a canister of herbicide.
The truth came out slowly, aided by my testimony.
When it did, I couldn't make any sense of it at all.
The Greengards, as everyone knew, were fanatically devoted to their land and their trees. With their donation to the town a decade and a half ago, they had impressed quite clearly that they were interested solely in the protection of the environment and the preservation of important landmarks. Their fortune was already made; they had no need to sell the land for its rightful value.
At least... that was the story we all knew.
In reality, the Greengard family had quietly gone bankrupt with the unexpected death of Lyle's grandfather that day fifteen years past. He had died of a sudden heart attack spurred on by years of overindulgence and a morally turbulent lifestyle. His son had nearly died of a heart attack himself when he came into possession of the debts that his father had incurred, unbeknownst to his family. They couldn't afford to keep the land; it had been sold to the town for a paltry sum in a desperate effort to repay what they owed. In consideration, the Mayor had graciously allowed the Greengards to save face, spreading the story with the environmentalist bent that had come to be taken as the truth. Malcolm Greengard had been all too happy to allow that rumor to persist.
In fact, there were no protected trees whatsoever with the exception of the weathered guardian of the park... the venerable Old Hickory beloved by all. The singular tree of any note whatsoever in the town, and of course, the main attraction of the plot of land most closely adjacent to the current Greengard estate.
Fifteen years was a long time.
They had their money back.
They wanted the rest.
By now, the park had been town property for so long and Old Hickory had become such an important symbol that their request to repurchase their former property was firmly denied. The exact words used in the conversation when they had broached the topic three years ago was, "As long as Old Hickory's there, it's just not possible."
So they had made it possible.
They were exceedingly careful. The poison was slowly administered on a biweekly interval, and the amounts used were never drastic enough to cause immediately observable change. The tree had died so very slowly that no one had ever thought to have it examined, attributing it to the natural course of old age. Probably, it had gone much slower than they had expected - in recent months, they had increased the dosage, leading to the more drastic loss of foliage I had seen with my own eyes. But with the observation that Old Hickory wasn't long for this world, the Greengards had stepped forward once more to request the return of the land... Earnestly, they had promised to do anything they could to preserve the tree as long as possible; they argued that they had the finances and time to devote to the health of a single tree, whereas the town had better things to worry about.
And so, tonight, a week before the final decision would be made, they had returned to carry out the procedure one last time.
Lyle Greengard must have known the truth. A teenage boy couldn't be expected to have the strength of character to turn in his own parents, and so he had concocted a scheme to bring a third party into the equation as an observer. He had chosen carefully: someone he knew would believe his every word, someone he could convince to come to the park at the right time to see the sabotage in progress...
Someone whose affections were so obvious that the entire school knew of them.
Or at least... That was what I assumed had gone through his mind. When I asked to see Lyle, my father furrowed his brow in concern and told me that I had been the only one fund in the park that night. I realized the truth, then. I had been used... used for a good cause, it was true, but used, nonetheless. Lyle Greengard was nowhere to be found the rest of the week, either. I heard later through the grapevine that he had gone to visit relatives up north for the duration of the break; when news of his parents' arrest broke, he simply failed to return. When school resumed in late April, we heard that he had transferred for good.
His parents were sentenced to two years in jail and 500 hours of community service.
I saw Lyle Greengard only once more, through the gates of the park looking into the grounds of the Greengard estate. We were high school seniors, then, and he had returned to his childhood home to pack up some belongings he intended to take to college. By that time, I had developed the habit of visiting the park once a week to cheer on Old Hickory. Its valiant struggles to survive, I feared, would ultimately be fruitless; despite the efforts of a troupe of botanists and dendrologists, it was declared to be beyond salvation. Three months after that day, it would be chopped down without much fanfare and processed into wood chips to be sold in kitschy souvenir shops across the town.
I bought five bags. They live today in a shoebox under my bed.
I hadn't realized Lyle would be back in town. Our eyes met only briefly as he strolled along the fence, glancing up towards the dying tree. It was hard to read his expression; though he was unsurprised to see me, he seemed to be at a loss for words. I was no different. We simply stood silently for a few moments with the pressure building around us, wordlessly understanding that it was too late, now, to talk about the truth of what had happened.
I don't know who broke eye contact first. But as I stepped away quickly back towards the park entrance, I flashed back to the moment we had our first real conversation - the moment he had met my eyes and solemnly asked me to 'stop them before it was too late'.
And I suddenly realized... why it was that his dark, flashing eyes had frightened me so much, and why I had felt, so many times that week, that the situation was unreal, that I was on stage for an act I wasn't qualified to perform...
Because I knew, and I had always known...
Lyle Greengard had blue eyes.
[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kodama_%28spirit%29]
In the next moment, there was an audible click and a beam of light illuminated the length of the park. It flickered rapidly for a few moments before settling on the trunk of the great tree.
Quiet, slow footsteps carefully made their way towards Old Hickory.
I felt a lurch of fear even as Lyle quietly pulled me back into the brush, the sound of our motions obscured by the light wind rustling through the trees. With my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the night, I could make out two figures about a hundred feet away, one holding a flashlight, the other a long-handled implement - probably a shovel. On television, the plucky teen detectives would be celebrating at this point, excited about a breakthrough in the case. I wasn't excited so much as I was having a hard time keeping my bladder from spontaneously emptying.
"Hide here. Call the police."
With a barely audible whisper in my ear, Lyle pulled away, ostensibly still wielding his stick and rope. I hadn't the least idea what he thought he could accomplish on his own, but having been given directions, my numbed mind set to following them. I retreated further into the brush, pulled up my phone and quickly dialed.
"911. What's your emergency?"
With a stifled cry, I pulled it away from my ear. It was loud. So loud, it seemed impossible that the intruders in the park hadn't heard it clearly in the silence of the night.
"911. What's your emerg -- "
Where was the volume button?! I tapped frantically at every button simultaneously... but it was far too late.
"Who's there?!"
They had found me.
Instinctively, I jerked back, slamming my elbow against a tree I hadn't realized was there. The phone fell from my hands, the operator finally quieting as it bounced against the ground. I thrust my hand down - ignored the numbness spreading down my arm - drew away with a sharp intake of breath as thorns raked against my skin. There was no more time. As loudly as I dared, I breathed "In the park!" to the empty air in general before abruptly leaving it to push my way back into the trees. I could hear them behind me now - two voices, one male, one female, both calling angrily, incomprehensibly as they stepped quickly towards me. The beam of light careened wildly across the trees, blinding me momentarily before it settled...
Right on me.
At least I could see where I was going now.
"Stop!"
I had no intention of doing so and responded with my own scream.
"Lyle!"
There came nothing in response but a muffled exclamation of surprise from behind me. I ran. Left and right, zigzagging out of the path of the beam when I could, realizing that I would hit a fence soon and swerving sharply right. I had no idea where the park exit was - no idea how to escape. I could only hope that I would lose them in the chase and hide somewhere in the brush. Being 5'1" was finally going to work out to my advantage. Half-turning, I frantically scanned the trees for any sign of my pursuers.
The next moment, I felt a searing pain - I had run headlong into a branch. Stars exploded in my eyes, and I heard more echoing shouts. There was no time. I ran. ...Tried to run and found myself stumbling wildly into another tree.
I dropped to the ground and stayed there.
"Lyle?"
That wasn't me calling. ...Was it? Gasping, I panted out my own words.
"Lyle..."
Where was he? Where had he gone?
The flashlight flickered off. More screams now with more angry voices. There came a single, sharp thud, the higher pitched tone of the woman screaming a name with an edge of fear to her voice, and then, to my horror, a slow rustling as someone drew near... I was too dazed to do anything but curl up into a ball, hoping I wouldn't be spotted.
"Alex. Alex."
I'd never heard anything more beautiful in my life. He held me gently as I gibbered unintelligibly in a panic.
"Alex, you're gonna be OK. The police are coming."
Firmly, he held me against the ground.
"Don't try to move, alright? I'm going to take care of the rest."
There was a short pause before I felt something brush lightly against my forehead. I sincerely hoped it was meant to be a hand running through my hair or even an attempted kiss on the forehead, but it just felt like more sharp thorns. ...Probably because he was prodding the gash I'd just received. I groaned in pain, and he jerked away.
"Alex... Whatever happens... Thank you for helping me."
There were sirens in the distance as he stood and slowly walked away.
I don't remember much of what happened next.
They found me lying in the brush with a concussion and minor scrapes and bruises. I wasn't going to suffer any lasting damage, but to be safe, I was brought to the hospital for an overnight stay. My parents burst in sometime around 2 in the morning, alternatively screaming and sobbing and causing more of a headache than the concussion itself. When I returned home the next day, I found, to my slight amusement, that the broken window had finally been fixed. Less amusing was my new curfew of 9:00 from now until I graduated from college.
They found Malcolm and Leona Greengard unconscious in the park as well. Rather than ropes, they were trussed up with springy branches and vines. A shovel was found nearby, along with a canister of herbicide.
The truth came out slowly, aided by my testimony.
When it did, I couldn't make any sense of it at all.
The Greengards, as everyone knew, were fanatically devoted to their land and their trees. With their donation to the town a decade and a half ago, they had impressed quite clearly that they were interested solely in the protection of the environment and the preservation of important landmarks. Their fortune was already made; they had no need to sell the land for its rightful value.
At least... that was the story we all knew.
In reality, the Greengard family had quietly gone bankrupt with the unexpected death of Lyle's grandfather that day fifteen years past. He had died of a sudden heart attack spurred on by years of overindulgence and a morally turbulent lifestyle. His son had nearly died of a heart attack himself when he came into possession of the debts that his father had incurred, unbeknownst to his family. They couldn't afford to keep the land; it had been sold to the town for a paltry sum in a desperate effort to repay what they owed. In consideration, the Mayor had graciously allowed the Greengards to save face, spreading the story with the environmentalist bent that had come to be taken as the truth. Malcolm Greengard had been all too happy to allow that rumor to persist.
In fact, there were no protected trees whatsoever with the exception of the weathered guardian of the park... the venerable Old Hickory beloved by all. The singular tree of any note whatsoever in the town, and of course, the main attraction of the plot of land most closely adjacent to the current Greengard estate.
Fifteen years was a long time.
They had their money back.
They wanted the rest.
By now, the park had been town property for so long and Old Hickory had become such an important symbol that their request to repurchase their former property was firmly denied. The exact words used in the conversation when they had broached the topic three years ago was, "As long as Old Hickory's there, it's just not possible."
So they had made it possible.
They were exceedingly careful. The poison was slowly administered on a biweekly interval, and the amounts used were never drastic enough to cause immediately observable change. The tree had died so very slowly that no one had ever thought to have it examined, attributing it to the natural course of old age. Probably, it had gone much slower than they had expected - in recent months, they had increased the dosage, leading to the more drastic loss of foliage I had seen with my own eyes. But with the observation that Old Hickory wasn't long for this world, the Greengards had stepped forward once more to request the return of the land... Earnestly, they had promised to do anything they could to preserve the tree as long as possible; they argued that they had the finances and time to devote to the health of a single tree, whereas the town had better things to worry about.
And so, tonight, a week before the final decision would be made, they had returned to carry out the procedure one last time.
Lyle Greengard must have known the truth. A teenage boy couldn't be expected to have the strength of character to turn in his own parents, and so he had concocted a scheme to bring a third party into the equation as an observer. He had chosen carefully: someone he knew would believe his every word, someone he could convince to come to the park at the right time to see the sabotage in progress...
Someone whose affections were so obvious that the entire school knew of them.
Or at least... That was what I assumed had gone through his mind. When I asked to see Lyle, my father furrowed his brow in concern and told me that I had been the only one fund in the park that night. I realized the truth, then. I had been used... used for a good cause, it was true, but used, nonetheless. Lyle Greengard was nowhere to be found the rest of the week, either. I heard later through the grapevine that he had gone to visit relatives up north for the duration of the break; when news of his parents' arrest broke, he simply failed to return. When school resumed in late April, we heard that he had transferred for good.
His parents were sentenced to two years in jail and 500 hours of community service.
I saw Lyle Greengard only once more, through the gates of the park looking into the grounds of the Greengard estate. We were high school seniors, then, and he had returned to his childhood home to pack up some belongings he intended to take to college. By that time, I had developed the habit of visiting the park once a week to cheer on Old Hickory. Its valiant struggles to survive, I feared, would ultimately be fruitless; despite the efforts of a troupe of botanists and dendrologists, it was declared to be beyond salvation. Three months after that day, it would be chopped down without much fanfare and processed into wood chips to be sold in kitschy souvenir shops across the town.
I bought five bags. They live today in a shoebox under my bed.
I hadn't realized Lyle would be back in town. Our eyes met only briefly as he strolled along the fence, glancing up towards the dying tree. It was hard to read his expression; though he was unsurprised to see me, he seemed to be at a loss for words. I was no different. We simply stood silently for a few moments with the pressure building around us, wordlessly understanding that it was too late, now, to talk about the truth of what had happened.
I don't know who broke eye contact first. But as I stepped away quickly back towards the park entrance, I flashed back to the moment we had our first real conversation - the moment he had met my eyes and solemnly asked me to 'stop them before it was too late'.
And I suddenly realized... why it was that his dark, flashing eyes had frightened me so much, and why I had felt, so many times that week, that the situation was unreal, that I was on stage for an act I wasn't qualified to perform...
Because I knew, and I had always known...
Lyle Greengard had blue eyes.
[https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kodama_%28spirit%29]