“I don’t,” Leila said curtly, silently cursing herself in her head for immediately closing up with Landon. At the same time, it felt good to keep that bit hidden, especially after the drama with Shawn. “And I just wanted to put it all out there before you start asking who this person is and that person is, and what was it like, or if I’ve ever thought—”
“Leila, I’m not gonna bother you about it,” Landon said, his tone final. “It’s obviously not my place. I’m not even sure I know your last name yet.”
“Oh,” Leila said. “Uh, it’s Hetter. Well, I guess Hetter-Kline, now.”
“Great. Mine is Johnson, though I may have brought that up before. I’m sorry, I just give a lot of those welcome-to-the-park type of talks. Now, what is your social security number? And where are you from? Not like, from, but you know, from, from?” Landon turned around and grinned at her. She smirked, and he turned back. “See? I get it. It’s okay. You’re not the only one with some family stuff, or who gets asked those kind of questions. Here, I’ll put some of mine out there. My parents? Doctors. And they would kill me if they knew I was studying environmental science and not preparing to pursue some Ivy League education post-community college. They think this,” he waved around at the trees, “is just a hobby.”
He sighed.
“Basically, I’m saying I get the family issues and share a mutual loathing of people who ask too many questions. You share when you want to. Or don’t.”
They walked on. Leila trailed a little bit behind him, small sticks and branches crunching under her feet as they pushed farther and farther into the park. Milford’s head swung about as they walked, his eyes seeming to take in everything. It was as though the more they pressed forward, the denser and thicker the entire place got. Less like a park, and more like a small patch of wilderness that had been slightly swallowed up by the city, tucked away like a secret and forgotten by time.
She closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in deep, half expecting to hear something on the wind. A whisper. A voice. A suggestion.
Nothing.
“You okay?” Landon asked. Leila opened her eyes and took in a quick breath, surprised to see him right in front of her, his light-brown eyes alight with concern. “Was it, you know? The voices or whispers or whatever? Are you tired? Are you—”
“You don’t have to fuss over me,” Leila grunted, walking past him, trying to shed herself of the momentary flush of embarrassment. How long had she been standing there with her eyes shut for him to notice, stop, and walk over and nudge her out of whatever moment she was having? “I’m okay, I’m . . .”
She stopped, looking at the trail, which split into several smaller trails.
“Uh,” she said as she looked at them, each as identical and leading-to-nowhere as the last. Landon stepped up next to her, his boots crunching against the trail.
“We’re going right,” Landon said, leaning down a little to talk to her. Leila felt her heartbeat quicken as a gust of wind pushed through the trees, carrying the smell of the forest and Landon. A mixture of sandalwood and sawdust, an earthy smell.
“Right. Got it,” Leila said.
Landon shrugged and walked forward, the trail narrowing to the point that only one person could fit, shrubs and trees pushing their branches and twigs at Leila. She dodged them as they walked, and a few scratched at the thick jacket Landon had let her borrow.
A small branch sliced across her face and she winced, taking a step back, only to open her eyes and see a number of the branches and brambles pushing themselves back, inching ever-so-slightly away from the trail in front of her and behind Landon. She continued to walk, listening for anything on the wind, as the gnarled, thorny vines and shrubs seemed to bend away from her.
She shook her head lightly, ignoring it all. Was Landon seeing this? This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.
They approached a cleared section of the path where the thorns and vines weren’t as close to the trail. Tired of the silence as they walked, Leila stared at Landon’s shoulder and down to his arm, the jacket worn away a little where Milford no doubt landed and scratched. His talons were gripping into the leather hard.
“So, why Milford?”
“What?” Landon asked, his head quickly turning to Leila and then back to the path in front of him.
“Milford. The owl. Why that name?”
“Ah,” Landon said. “I always felt like owls need old man names. Names that sound wise beyond their years, no matter how old they are or what they’ve done with their lives. Milford just felt, I don’t know, right.”
“What other names did you consider?”
“A handful. Wallace. Barnabas. Engelbert. Percival. Humperdinck.”
Leila laughed, surprised. “Those are good. Bonus points for The Princess Bride references there.”
“You like that movie?” Landon asked, turning around for a moment in surprise.
“Um, I like that book. The movie is great, too. Why shouldn’t I?”
“It’s just an old movie, is all,” Landon said, and she could see his broad shoulders shrug as he pushed a large branch out of the way on the path, carefully navigating around the plants. He looked back towards her, his hand still clutching the tree. “Watch out. Here, walk on by.”
Leila squeezed by Landon on the narrow bit of trail, brushing against him as she did. The smell of sawdust and sandalwood mixed with the scent of the urban forest: wet leaves, dried wood, the cold, crisp air. She felt herself blush again, though she didn’t know why, considering how relatively cold Landon was about everything. He seemed closed off, but a warmth swirled in her chest, and the trail suddenly opened up to a clearing.
She gasped.
“I know,” Landon said, walking up next to her. “Welcome to the Thomas Mansion.”
The wind picked up and rustled around her. Milford suddenly sprung to life, flapping his one wing wildly. He started hooting loudly, something Leila hadn’t heard once since she’d been around the bird.
“Whoa, calm down, buddy,” Landon said, brushing a hand over the owl, who angrily shook his one wing. “Sorry, he’s never like this.”
You are here.
The voices.
Leila closed her eyes, speaking to herself, hoping Landon wouldn’t hear her.
“Trees. Forest.”
The voice. It was here. Carrying itself on the wind.
“Wind. Soil.”
And it spoke loud and clear.
My daughter, welcome home.
WithouttheY 15m
Fairmount Park
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WithouttheY Taking the road not taken. #nofilter #trees #forests
sarikathepaprika Whoa where IS that even?
XII
Leila froze, her heart beating madly.
Those words. The voices. The voice. Why would it say that?
“What is it?” Landon asked. He looked at Leila, and then up and around at the trees. Milford seemed to have calmed down a bit, though he was still looking about, his eyes wild and wide. “Are you . . . are you hearing them right now?”
“Shh!” Leila shushed, closing her eyes.
In the grove. Beyond the house.
Leila opened her eyes to see Landon bending over a little and looking at her intently. Milford sat quietly on his shoulder. Landon’s hands were out and open, as though he was about to grab her.
“What are you doing?” Leila asked, taking a step back.
“Sorry, you just,” Landon stood up and brushed his hands on his pants, as though they hadn’t just been stretched out to shake her. “You zoned out for a minute there. Is everything okay?” He reached for the little walkie-
talkie on his belt. “Did you . . . should I call someone? Or are they saying anything?”
“Yeah, it . . . she,” Leila stammered, shaking her head. The headache pounded where her scarf wrapped around her forehead. The realization there, that . . . that pronoun she suddenly felt like saying, that felt like it fit with the voice. She. There was more to the voice. It belonged to someone, someone who sounded like a woman.
And daughter?
Home?
“She said something about welcoming me here,” Leila said. “The voice. It, it sounds like an older lady.”
“Did it, she, say where she is?” Landon asked. Milford looked at Leila as if he was just as curious.