As I followed my son through the forest, I knew that whatever it was Aiden wanted to show me, it would change everything. Part of me was dreading that change. Part of me ached for it. I needed answers, and Aiden was the key to those answers, as he had always been.
But it seemed right that the journey was as arduous as it had been. This was Aiden’s story, not mine, and it had been long and harrowing for him, so to live through even the smallest iota of the kind of pain he had endured made me feel closer to him. I slowly began to close the gap between us, and I longed to slip my hand into his and feed from the warmth of him, but I knew not to.
I was in labour. There was no doubt about that. The contractions were frequent, but my labour with Aiden had been stretched out over many hours, so I could only hope that Aiden had time to show me what he needed to show me before we found the police.
But the pain was worsening as I continued on through the woods. I had to stop and clutch a tree as another contraction pulsed through me. “I… can’t… keep… up. Aiden.”
I felt my phone buzz from the pocket of my soaked jeans, but I ignored it. No doubt DCI Stevenson was hoping to get me to stop what I was doing and turn back. But there was no going back now. I wouldn’t be able to find my way out of this place even if I wanted to. All I could do was follow my son as the forest grew ever darker.
Aiden stopped. His head turned left, then right, and I sensed that he had seen something that he recognised. There was a very tall birch to my right, set up on a slight mound. Aiden regarded that tree long enough to make me wonder if he had seen it before. I took a moment to stop and catch my breath as my son collected himself. I examined the wound on my hand. It would need stitches, but the bleeding had slowed down. I felt light-headed and tired, but I wanted to press on.
He stepped onto a narrow path next to a shallow drop. After passing a row of half a dozen trees, the path widened out into a clearing. Rough Valley forest was a tangled heap of trees and roots, which is why the clearing was surprising. Most of the land was owned by the National Trust, but the Trust had sold off pieces of land to property developers hoping to create more homes in Bishoptown. There’d been a mediocre protest about the plans but most people didn’t really care about the forest. It wasn’t a pretty place. It was dark and overgrown, and walking through it sent a shiver up your spine. It wasn’t a place for dog-walkers and hikers.
Aiden carried on through the clearing and I followed, almost tripping on a smooth and slippery patch underfoot. I turned around to see what it was. It looked like a few trees had been felled around here. I’d slipped on the stump left over. I pressed on, trying to catch up with Aiden. He seemed to know exactly where he was heading now. Whatever this place was, he knew it, and he traversed it with ease.
I held onto my bump as I continued into the centre of the clearing, silently willing the child inside me to stay put for a while longer. I’d already put that child through hell, but I had to push those thoughts from my mind as I watched Aiden. He was acting strangely. He seemed to be kicking leaves, which was not something I was expecting him to do after the struggle back at the Barratts’ house. I was beginning to wonder if he had finally cracked. Then my paranoid mind conjured up the idea that it was some sort of signal, and that Aiden’s kidnapper was about to stride out from the trees with a machete to cut the baby out of my belly. But it was none of those things. Aiden was clearing the leaves away from some sort of door built into the ground. I could see it poking out of the earth now. It was perhaps three or four feet high, and built into a natural slope. I moved over to help Aiden clear leaves, branches, and mud away from the opening.
“Didn’t want anyone to see.”
I staggered back. My hands were trembling. It was the first time I had heard my son speak. It was the first time I’d heard his voice, his speaking voice, and not the strange, high-pitched singing voice.
He sounded like a teenager and that brought me almost to my knees. Yes, I’d come to see Aiden as older than the little boy taken from me ten years ago, but with his diminished size I still hadn’t thought of him as sixteen years old. Then he spoke and suddenly he was almost a man. It wasn’t a deep voice, but it wasn’t a child’s voice either.
I stood stupidly next to the strange door with my mouth opening and closing. I wanted him to do it again, but I didn’t want to frighten him. He was in some sort of trance and I was concerned that if I spoke, I would break the spell that had been cast over the still forest that night. The only sound was the rustling of leaves as Aiden cleared the leaves away. When he was done, he clutched the handle and pushed.
“Still open.”