Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

“You said he has been around forever,” John consulted his notes, “where did he come from?”

“He used to be a normal boy. His people were the people of the valley with squash and corn. They were from the man who created himself. Then he ate his family,” Davey said. “Now he eats bats and mice. He has to replace his body a little bit at a time…” Davey slowed as he trailed off.

“You said you used to think you created him,” said John. “Why did you think that?”

“Because he was born in the Stage of Possibilities. I thought he was from my dream, because maybe I stayed up too late and imagined him into possibility,” said Davey. “But he moved into the Stage of the Hunger long before I was born. Now he’s coming into the Stage of the Hunt.”

“Can you tell me what he looks like?” asked John.

“Tsi-noo,” said Davey.

“Pardon?” asked John.

“Odzihozo, Tsi-noo,” Davey said in a low, guttural tone. “Tsi-noo,” he repeated again. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and thrashed his head, sending out hot tears in small arcs.

“What does that mean?” asked John. “Can you tell me what it means?”

Davey’s eyes flew open and he clamped his jaw shut. He wiped his eyes with the back of his arm arm turned his attention to the doctor. “What?” he asked.

“Can you tell me what Tsi-Noo means?” John asked.

“I don’t know,” said Davey, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head.

“You were saying Tsi-noo,” said John.

Davey looked around, confused. “I don’t know,” he said.

John’s clock dinged twice, and Davey pushed away from the leather chair.

“Can you do me a favor for next time?” asked John.

“Okay,” said Davey.

“When you wake up in the morning, can you write whatever you can remember from your dreams?”

Davey’s face dropped into a frown. “Do I have to?”

“I would appreciate it,” said John. “I’ll tell you about lucid dreaming next time you come in.”

“Okay,” Davey shrugged again, uninterested.

MIKE PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT of the medical center and flipped his visor down to check his hair. The call from his old friend took him by surprise, and he drove for twenty-five minutes before realizing he hadn’t showered or shaved in days. Instead of turning around to go home and clean up, he stopped at a convenience store and picked up a travel-sized stick of deodorant and tube of toothpaste. After a bum-shower in the bathroom, he got back on the road and arrived at the office just five minutes after eleven o’clock.

Greasy, but presentable, he thought.

Mike climbed out of the car and walked up to the building. He squinted against the bright sun, and took a deep breath of the fragrant apple blossoms. Spring had always been Mike’s favorite time of year, but this spring had been ruined by his legal troubles. He slumped as he exhaled, and made his way up the steps.

“I’m here for Ken Stuart,” he told the receptionist.

“Is Dr. Stuart expecting you?” she asked, flipping open the doctor’s calendar.

“Dr. Markey,” said Mike, reaching to straighten his tie and then realizing he wore a sweatshirt. “Eleven o’clock consult.”

“He’s running a bit behind,” said the receptionist. “Would you care to take a seat?”

“If you could show me to his office?” said Mike. “I’ll wait there.”

“Well,” she said. “He didn’t leave me any…” she trailed off.

“Mike!” said Dr. Stuart, emerging from the hall behind the desk.

“Hey Ken,” said Mike.

“Come on around,” he waved Mike towards the door. “Nothing until after lunch, right Jules?”

The receptionist nodded.

“Great,” said Ken. “Emergencies only, then. We’ve got a tough one to figure out.”

“Certainly,” said Jules.

KEN PULLED UP TWO CHAIRS to his desk and spread out test results. On the screen of his computer, more results were arrayed. Mike studied silently for twenty minutes before asking his first question.

“How come you haven’t sent these out for a consultation?” asked Mike.

“I did,” said Ken. “Sent them to your firm, and asked for you specifically. That’s when I found out you were on hiatus.”

“That’s a nice way for them to put it,” said Mike, smirking. “More like shit-canned without pay until they could figure out what to do with me.”

“What happened?” asked Ken.

“Bad stuff with a side thing I was doing,” said Mike. “Nothing to do with my work, but they’re afraid I’ll get convicted of something and they don’t want any impropriety scandal. So what was their conclusion about the results?”

“How about you tell me what you think first?” asked Ken.

“Well,” Mike said rubbing his temple. “It’s nothing that has been classified, I can tell you that. It’s great you’ve got samples from the mom and dad, but why only sperm from dad?”

“He’s dead,” said Ken. “Had a vasectomy before he kicked, so they banked some.”

“And what’s this with mom?” Mike pointed at an anomaly on Melanie’s results.

“Uh, don’t know. Probably got contaminated. I’m going to have her retested,” said Ken. “Do you want to see some of the casework?”

“In a second,” said Mike. “Not to be crass, but this is my favorite part.”

“Okay,” said Ken.

“I’m going to say…” Mike tapped a page of results with his finger and hummed a little. “Clumsy.”

“Wow,” said Ken. “That’s amazing. How did you know?”

“It’s a gift,” Mike smiled. “No, seriously, none of these results show any of the markers I would expect. So he clearly isn’t dying of cancer. Plus, you don’t have any signs of delayed development here. If anything, I’d say he’s an early bloomer.”

“Right again,” said Ken.

“So it had to be an external indicator—something big enough to get him to you. Did someone think he was abused or something? I saw another case where the kid was reported as an abuse victim, but then they just figured out he couldn’t keep his feet under him.”

“No, he came in for a punctured lung that was supposed to be from a fall. But his fall shouldn’t have caused what I was seeing,” said Dr. Stuart.

“Cystic Fibrosis? Maybe Marfan syndrome?” asked Mike. He flipped through a couple of pages. “No, can’t be.”

“Yeah, no, we ruled out both of those right away," said Ken. “But you already told me that. Nothing that’s been classified, remember?”

“I thought maybe I’d missed something,” said Mike. “Not as much confidence as I used to have.”

“Happens to the best of us,” said Ken. “So, have any other ideas?”

“Well, if it’s something nobody has seen, then he’s a clean slate, right? How bad are the symptoms? Any organs misfiring?”

“Symptoms aren’t bad—he’s clumsy sometimes, early puberty, gets these weird chalky marks on him, especially on his neck.”

“Weird,” said Mike, looking towards the window.

“Yeah, right? What else… He’s really smart, almost too smart for his age. Great memory, sight, hearing, all above average. He’s quite an athlete, too. Great kid, you should meet them. Him and his mom.”

“No thanks,” said Mike. “I don’t know how you can do that. It would break my heart if I had to think of all these crazy diseases belonging to actual humans. I’ll leave that to you.”

“I hear you,” said Ken. “It gets easier over time, but not much.”

“So I’d get it published, see if anyone else is seeing the same thing, and then just treat the symptoms. You know, he’s got some unusual markers here, looks like they’re from the dad, but who knows, maybe you’re chasing ghosts. You have him with a shrink?”