Strong

The forest exploded around them.

Branches slapped at faces.

Roots reached for ankles.

Somewhere behind them, something laughed.

Or maybe it was the Hollow Folk celebrating.

No one turned around to find out.

"Keep moving!" Limbo barked.

Nobody argued.

They crashed through ferns and briars like frightened animals fleeing a wildfire. Clint stumbled over a fallen log, caught himself, and kept running. Tess grabbed his sleeve before he disappeared into the fog.

"Stay together!"

"I'm trying!"

Limbo never looked back.

He was listening to something else.

"My name is Eliot."

The words refused to leave him.

He'd heard gunshots.

He'd heard screams.

He'd heard Simon laugh.

None of them stayed.

Only...

My name is Eliot.

Again.

Behind him—

"Dammit."

Sloane stopped.

Nobody noticed.

A branch had snapped across her face, leaving a thin line of blood beneath one eye.

She stood there breathing hard.

Watching the others disappear into the mist.

"Fuckers are always running."

She dug into her jacket pocket with practiced fingers.

Found the orange bottle.

Shook two pills into her palm.

Paused.

One back into the bottle.

The other onto her tongue.

Swallowed it dry.

Closed her eyes.

Waited.

"There."

The edge came off.

It always did.

She leaned against a tree.

"I'm coming."

She wasn't.

Not yet.

Just...

one minute.

One minute where nobody needed anything from her.

No dying patient.

No screaming family.

No frightened stranger.

No Limbo barking orders.

Just...

quiet.

Then...

she noticed the light.

Not bright.

Warm.

Orange.

No breeze stirred the clearing.

Yet somewhere overhead...

branches whispered.

Fire.

Someone else's camp.

She followed it.

The clearing was small.

Comfortable.

An old man sat beside the fire.

A black kettle rested over glowing coals.

He looked up as though he'd been expecting company.

"There you are."

Sloane stopped.

"You lost?"

"No."

He smiled.

"I don't believe you."

Neither did she.

The old man poured steaming tea into a chipped porcelain cup.

"Come."

He motioned toward the opposite log.

"There is no bullshit around this fire."

She laughed.

Against her better judgment...

she laughed.

"That's the best invitation I've heard all day."

"I've had a long time to practice."

She looked around the clearing.

No monsters.

No shadows.

No fairies.

Just...

an old man making tea.

Against every instinct she'd had since entering the forest...

she sat.

He handed her the cup.

She accepted it.

Their fingers never touched.

The tea smelled...

familiar.

Sweet.

Lemon.

Honey.

Something about it reached backward through years she didn't like remembering.

She frowned.

"You remind me of someone."

The old man nodded.

"I usually do."

She stared into the tea.

"...He used to make tea."

The old man waited.

"He lived next door."

Silence.

"I was little."

Silence.

"He'd ask if I wanted lemonade."

She laughed once.

Without humor.

"Funny the things you remember."

The old man looked into his own cup.

"Not funny."

"No?"

"No."

She shrugged.

"He said I was mature for my age."

The old man closed his eyes.

"I imagine he did."

"He told me not to tell anyone."

Silence settled over the fire.

The wood cracked softly.

"I didn't."

She took a drink.

The warmth settled into her chest.

"I never said no."

The old man nodded.

"I know."

She looked up.

Something about him made her want to keep talking.

Words she'd buried for decades simply...

came.

"I spent my whole life making sure nobody could ever do that again."

Another sip.

"I got stronger."

"So you did."

"I don't need anybody."

"No."

"I don't let people see me cry."

"I've noticed."

"I don't let them see me hurt."

"No."

She smiled bitterly.

"I don't even let myself."

The old man watched the fire.

"You've mistaken numbness for strength."

She didn't argue.

Because she couldn't.

Instead she looked down at the tea.

"I don't know how to stop."

"I know."

"I don't know how to be anything else."

"I know."

The fire popped.

A shower of sparks drifted into the night.

Finally...

the old man smiled.

"Let's play a little game."

She rolled her eyes.

"I don't like games."

He chuckled.

"Oh..."

"You most certainly do."

She frowned.

"You play one every day."

"What game is that?"

He looked at her over the rim of his cup.

"...Simon Says."

Everything inside Sloane went still.

The smile.

The calm.

The fire.

The impossible peace.

Her voice barely worked.

"...Simon."

He inclined his head.

"So we've finally met."

The forest became impossibly quiet.

Even the fire seemed to listen.

Simon poured himself another cup of tea.

"You were a little girl who was never allowed to say no."

Sloane's throat tightened.

He wasn't accusing.

He sounded...

heartbroken.

"Now..."

he continued softly,

"...you're a woman who doesn't know how."

A tear escaped before she could stop it.

She wiped it away angrily.

"I hate crying."

"I know."

"I hate weak people."

Simon looked at her for a long time.

"No."

He said it so gently it barely sounded like a correction.

"You hate being reminded."

She couldn't breathe.

He had found the wound she'd spent her entire life burying.

"I watched people die every day."

"I know."

"They begged."

"I know."

"They couldn't move."

"I know."

"They were pathetic."

Simon was silent.

She looked away.

"...Sometimes..."

her voice cracked,

"...I helped them."

Still...

he didn't judge her.

"I told myself I was ending suffering."

"I believe you."

"I told myself they were too weak."

"I believe that too."

She looked at him.

Waiting.

Waiting for condemnation.

It never came.

Instead Simon asked,

"And who decided you were strong enough to make that choice?"

She opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Simon looked toward the towering Blue Trees.

"Would you like to know what strength really is?"

After a long time...

she nodded.

"Yes."

Simon smiled.

"Then let me make you strong."

Sloane let out a tired laugh.

"Strong?"

She held up her hands.

"They shake every morning until I get my first pill."

She smiled without humor.

"I have to drink before I can sleep."

Another laugh.

"I tell myself I can quit whenever I want."

Simon nodded.

"I know."

"I hate hospitals."

"I know."

"I hate the smell."

"I know."

"I hate people asking me for help."

"I know."

"I hate that I still hear them."

Her voice became smaller.

"I hate that sometimes..."

"...I wanted them to die."

The confession hung between them.

Simon did not recoil.

He didn't forgive her either.

He simply accepted what she had offered.

"I know."

She stared into the fire.

"I wanted them to stop asking."

"I know."

"I wanted them to stop needing me."

"I know."

"I wanted..."

She swallowed.

"...to stop hurting."

The words surprised even her.

Simon smiled sadly.

"There you are."

She frowned.

"What?"

"The little girl."

She looked away.

"I buried her."

"I know."

"No."

She shook her head.

"I killed her."

Simon looked into the flames.

"No."

"You simply taught her that surviving meant becoming someone else."

The fire crackled softly.

Neither of them spoke for a long while.

Finally...

Sloane noticed something against her wrist.

A tiny blue flower.

No larger than her thumbnail.

Growing from the inside of her forearm.

She smiled.

"That's..."

"...pretty."

She reached to brush it away.

Her hand didn't move.

She frowned.

Looked again.

Her fingers remained resting on her lap.

Almost politely.

She tried harder.

Nothing.

Her smile faded.

"My hand..."

Simon watched the flames.

"I know."

She tried to stand.

Her knees never answered.

The cup slipped from her fingers.

It struck the ground without breaking.

Tea soaked quietly into the roots beneath them.

"I..."

She looked down.

"My legs."

"They've carried enough."

A second flower opened near her elbow.

Then another.

Tiny.

Blue.

Beautiful.

She watched them bloom with childlike wonder.

"They're lovely."

"They are."

She should have been frightened.

She knew that.

Instead...

she felt...

peace.

For the first time in years...

nothing hurt.

Not her back.

Not her shoulders.

Not the ache behind her eyes.

Not the place inside herself she'd spent a lifetime trying to numb.

"I don't..."

She smiled weakly.

"I don't need another pill."

"No."

"I don't even want one."

"No."

Her breathing slowed.

The forest breathed with her.

Roots beneath the soil shifted.

Not toward her.

Around her.

Making room.

Welcoming.

She looked at Simon.

"...What did you do?"

"I offered tea."

"No..."

Her voice was fading.

"...this."

Simon was quiet for a long time.

Then...

"You were a girl who was never allowed to say no."

A tear rolled down her cheek.

"You became a woman who couldn't."

Another flower bloomed beside the first.

"So now..."

He looked up into the endless blue canopy.

"...you'll become something that never has to."

She wanted to argue.

She couldn't remember why.

Her skin felt...

cool.

Not cold.

Like bark left in morning shade.

She looked down.

The lines on the back of her hands were changing.

Stretching.

Darkening.

Wood grain.

She should have screamed.

Instead...

she traced the pattern with her eyes.

"It looks..."

She smiled.

"...strong."

Simon nodded.

"The strongest thing in this forest."

A breeze should have stirred the clearing.

It didn't.

Yet somewhere overhead...

branches whispered.

Sloane looked up.

Thousands of Blue Trees surrounded the clearing.

Ancient.

Silent.

Watching.

One branch...

moved.

Not in the wind.

There wasn't any.

It simply...

lifted.

Barely.

Like stiff fingers remembering they once belonged to a hand.

Sloane stared.

"...Did you see—"

"I did."

"Was that..."

Simon never answered.

He simply rose to his feet.

Adjusted the kettle over the fire.

And stood beside her as the bark slowly climbed her wrists.

Then her arms.

Then her shoulders.

Sloane never looked away from the trees.

Not because she was afraid.

Because...

for the first time...

she wondered if they had been looking back all along.