The Suicide Forest.

By Michael Richan.

For The Stacys.

Chapter One.

"Come in," the woman said, stepping aside to let Steven and Roy enter her house. It was a normal mid-century home common to the area of Beacon Hill, a neighborhood south of downtown Seattle. Across the street was a park, abandoned at the moment.

Steven and Roy stepped inside. It was furnished simply but comfortably, with magazines stacked on a coffee table and an older style television in the corner. Steven noticed a framed picture of JFK on the wall.

"Please, sit," she said. "Would either of you like some coffee? Let me grab some from the kitchen."

Steven sat with Roy on a sofa in the living room. Roy was holding an old book they intended to give to her, once they could explain to her where they got it. Steven looked around the room. Fake flowers in a vase over the mantle. A display of tiny ceramic bells on framed shelves.

"There we are," she said, setting down a tray with coffee mugs. "Please help yourself."

"Mrs. Williamson," Steven began.

"Please, call me June," she said. Steven looked at her she was in her mid-fifties, a little grey around the edges, but slim and well dressed. She looked like she might be going to work. Her voice was soft and lilting, floating just above a normal voice, and it sounded as if it had a slight accent that he couldn't place. Every word she spoke seemed deliberate and perfectly p.r.o.nounced. When she began to pour the coffee, he noticed her movement was slow and graceful.

"June," Steven said, "as my father probably told you on the phone, we believe we've found something that belongs to you. We think it's a book that your husband was intended to inherit. I hope you don't think of this as a strange question, but did your husband..." Steven always found describing his abilities an awkward thing. The words always jumbled up.

"Did he what?" she asked.

"Did he have 'the gift,' as they call it," Roy interjected. He smiled at her, a little nervously, unsure if she'd think him a crackpot.

"Ah," she said. "I thought so." She set her mug down delicately and slowly walked into another room.

Steven looked at Roy, concerned. Was she p.i.s.sed? he thought. He had no idea how she'd just taken the question, and was worried she might emerge with a shotgun.

Instead, she emerged with a book of her own. She sat back down, and turned it to Steven and Roy.

"When you mentioned a book," she said, "I thought of this." She handed it to Roy, who took it and flipped through the pages. He recognized some of the writings.

"He kept that book the entire time we were married," June said. "It's his writings, and I think his mother's writings are in it, too. I looked through it once after he pa.s.sed, but I couldn't make any sense of it."

"We believe the book we've brought," Steven said, "was written by your husband's grandfather. We believe he intended to pa.s.s it along to his heir, your husband's mother, but it was stolen from him and he never got the chance."

A loud bang came from the kitchen, startling Steven and Roy. At first Steven thought it was a gunshot, but then he realized it must have been the slam of a cabinet door. June didn't look startled by the noise, just annoyed.

"Ah," Roy said, taking a breath, "your daughter and grandson must have returned."

"No," June said, "they're both still out."

"You said you wanted to meet privately," Roy said. "I a.s.sume we're not alone."

"Depends on what you mean by alone," June said. "I do want to talk to you about that," she said, nodding in the direction of the kitchen, "but let's talk about the book first. You say my husband was supposed to have it?"

"We believe so, yes," Roy said. "We came across it in our work, and felt we should return it to you."

"And what sort of work do you do?" June asked.

"Well, I'm retired," Roy said, "and Steven's on a sabbatical of sorts..."

"Oh, not that kind of work," June said. "I mean the kind of work my husband used to do. The work described in these books."

"So you do know your husband was gifted," Steven said, wanting to hear her say it out loud.

"Oh yes," she said. "Of course." She looked at both of them, and they seemed to exhale and relax into the sofa simultaneously. "Oh, I'm sorry to both of you. You didn't know I knew. I should have told you."

"That's alright," Steven said. "It's just that sometimes people don't know, and then it's really awkward."

"Yes, my husband had the gift," June said. "He used it his whole life. I was rarely part of it, but I knew he had abilities, and that he was quiet about it. Sometimes he would tell me things, but usually not. He kept that book the entire time I knew him. If you're telling me the book you've brought belongs to him, I believe you. I'll be happy to keep it with his book."

"Perhaps at some point," Roy said, "the books might be pa.s.sed along? To your daughter?"

"Perhaps," June smiled weakly. Another loud bang came from the kitchen. It sounded as if someone had slammed a cabinet door shut as hard as they possibly could.

"What is going on?" Roy said. "What's all the racket in there?"

June sighed. "I was hoping it might happen while you were here, to convince you," she said. "But apparently they're upset."

"Who is 'they'? Who's in the kitchen?" Steven asked.

"There's no one in the kitchen," she said. "Come with me."

She stood and walked towards the kitchen. Steven and Roy followed.

"You see?" she said, glancing around the kitchen. It was silent, with all cupboards closed and everything appearing to be in order.

"Someone slammed the cabinet doors," Steven said.

"Yes," June said. "You never see it happen. You just hear it from another room. I would never say this to anyone for fear they'd think I'm crazy, but I suspect I can say it to you without fear of that. I'm convinced the house is haunted."

"How long has this been going on?" Steven asked.

"Since we moved in," she replied, "three months ago. Not so much at first. The last few weeks it has increased. But I haven't heard bangs that loud in so short a time. They must be upset you're here."

"You're sure no one's here?" Roy said.

"Yes, I'm sure," June said, grabbing the coffee pot and leaving the kitchen. They returned to the living room with her. "My daughter and grandson left earlier. They won't be back until this afternoon. More coffee, Steven?"

"Thank you," he said, watching as she refilled his mug.

"Frankly, when we talked on the phone, Roy," she said, "it occurred to me that you might have skills similar to my husband's, and that you might be able to help. Neither my daughter nor I have the money for another move, and I know if Mark were still here he'd know what to do. You're welcome to use his books if you think it might help."

"What about your daughter?" Roy asked. "Is she able to help?"

"Are you asking me if she has 'the gift'?" June said. "Yes, I believe she does, but she won't use it."

"Why not?" Steven asked.

"Things didn't go well between my late husband and her," June said. "There was a time in her teens when he was teaching her things. But when he died, it all came to an abrupt end. She rejected it all, became very rebellious. I had my hands full with her, let me tell you. She was in and out of jail for theft, drugs, you name it. Once she had Robbie, the chill between us came to an end, and she let me help. She's been better, she's tried to be a good mother. But I don't think she's ever used her gift since those says with Mark. I think she still rejects it all. We don't talk about it."

"And the bangings?" Steven asked. "What does she think of that?"

"I know she's heard them," June said. "But she's never said anything. She has an ability to ignore things that she doesn't want to see."

"What about her son?" Roy asked. "Do they scare him?"

"Robbie comes running to me when he's scared," June said, "not to his mother. I think he's run into a few things that have upset him, but I can't be sure. With kids, you never know if it was a nightmare, or something they imagined."

"Do you think Robbie has the gift?" Steven asked, thinking of his own son, Jason.

"I have no idea," she said. "My daughter might know, but she'd never discuss it. Maybe you'd know if you met him?"

"Maybe," Roy said. "When they're young it's hard to know. How old is Robbie?"

"Ten," June said. "Next month."

"p.u.b.erty is when it starts to kick in," Roy said. "I suppose we could meet with him if you'd like."

"What I was hoping," June said, "is that you'd help me with the bangings?" She smiled weakly at them both. "I know it's a lot to ask, especially from someone you just met. I don't really have anywhere else to turn. They're annoying and I could live with them if I had to, but I worry for Robbie. They seem to center around him. I think they might really scare him, or worse, and he doesn't deserve that. I know Mark would have known what to do. I'm hoping you might know."

Steven looked at Roy, and they exchanged a quick glance. "Steven and I are working on a larger project," Roy said, "but let us think about it for a few days, if you would?"

"Yes, of course," she said. "Anything you could do to help would be appreciated, even if it's something small you could fit into your schedule."

Roy handed both books back to June. "Here," he said, "keep these together. They should all go to your daughter, but maybe they'll go straight to Robbie someday."

"And with that," Steven said, arising from the sofa, "we'll be on our way."

They all exchanged goodbyes and Steven and Roy were soon back in Steven's Honda, driving the short distance back to his home in Seward Park.

"Nice that she's so close," Steven said to Roy as they travelled. "I worry one of the books might wind up taking us to China or something."

"We'll ship the book if that's the case," Roy said. "I don't mind delivering these books to people within a day's drive, but otherwise we'll box 'em up and ship them. They've been kept from their rightful owners for multiple generations, so who knows if the inheritors even want them. For a moment I worried that June thought we were crazy."

"What do you think about the house?" Steven asked. "Do you want to help her?"

"I always want to help," Roy said. "Sometimes it gets me into more trouble than it's worth. Like Medford."

"Or Eximere?" Steven asked, referring to the place where they'd located all the books they were now returning to their heirs.

"Well," Roy said, "Eximere is an excellent example of something we shouldn't have gotten involved with, but turned out to be a fantastic opportunity. Every book we return corrects a mistake from the past. You don't often get that kind of a chance in life."

"No," Steven said, "I suppose not."

They drove a moment in silence before Steven spoke again.

"Do you believe in evil?" Steven asked Roy.

"Why are you asking me that?" Roy said. "Seems like an odd question coming from you."

"I know you were never a religious person," Steven said. "Neither was I. But when we were dealing with Michael and Lukas, I felt something in our interaction with them that was different. Not like Jurgen or Anita, who seemed like bad people who chose to do dark things. Lukas was different. He didn't seem..."

Steven struggled for the right word.

"Human?" Roy offered.

"Yeah," Steven said, "I guess that's it. The ghosts we've dealt with, they've all had a certain humanity to them. As f.u.c.ked up as they've been, they were still rooted in some routine that was normal, some aspect of human life. Mundane sometimes. Lukas didn't feel that way."

"I agree," Roy said. "Lukas was different."

"Have you dealt with others like Lukas?" Steven asked.

"Only once before," Roy said. "It's mostly been ghosts for me. I've tried to avoid creatures like him."

"So I come back to my original question," Steven asked. "Do you believe in evil?"

"I guess I'm going to need you to define what you mean by it," Roy said. "People throw that word around a lot."

"Satan," Steven said. "The devil. That kind of thing."

"Put that way, no, I don't," Roy said. "But if you mean the opposite of what's good and decent, yes, I believe that exists. I think religions give it names that fit in with their theology. But it's the same thing."

"Do you think it's something that exists in its own place," Steven asked, "or is it something specifically designed to interact with humans?"

"Christ, where is all this coming from?" Roy asked. "I feel like I'm in Philosophy 101. Or worse, seminary."

"Something I felt in June's house," Steven said. "Something that reminded me of Lukas."

"Reminded you how?" Roy asked.

Steven pulled his car into his driveway. "You want some more coffee? I wouldn't mind a fresh pot."

"Sounds good," Roy said, getting out of the car and walking with Steven into the bas.e.m.e.nt door of his home. "Reminded you how?"

"Well," Steven said, "I remember when we were dealing with Lukas. The child disappearances, his pact with Michael, all of that. It was all horrific, all on its own. But when we'd encounter him in my house, in the hallway, I remember thinking that he was pure evil. A ridiculous thought, in a way, since I'm a rationalist and not a churchgoer. But I never had a better way to describe the feeling. It was almost subconscious, or something that triggered my animal brain, something I couldn't really control. Jesus, the hair stands up on the back of my neck just thinking about it now."