Christopher Renna - Beyond the Trees

BEYOND

THE

TREES

Two brothers. One bond. A dangerous journey.

Christopher Renna

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2022 Christopher Renna

Cover Design by Christopher Renna

Edited by Angela Houston, ahjoyediting.com

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Published by Christopher Renna

North Syracuse, NY 13212

BEYOND THE TREES

Paperback ISBN 979-8-9856012-2-0

Ebook ISBN 979-8-9856012-3-7

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022913724

According to Publisher:

Teen and Young Adult Fiction.

Coming-of-AgeYA Fiction. | BrothersYA Fiction. |

FantasyYA Fiction. | ThrillerYA Fiction. |

LGBTQYA Fiction. | SupernaturalYA Fiction. |

Missing PersonsYA Fiction. | South CarolinaYA Fiction.

Also by Christopher Renna

Darkness on the Horizon (01)

Before the Sun Rises (02)

The Butterfly House

A Long Story Short

The Unspeakable Kind

Condemned

The Souvenir Game

Endless Sky

Forthcoming

Misconduct

Salt of the Sea

After Darkness Falls (03)

For

William Noll

Plato

ONE

J ust like people, some towns have their demons to battle. In Cedar Falls, South Carolina, it's the woodland witch. A local legend I'd laughed at, then promptly forgotten until the guy blocking my path from the wall of urinals reminded me. "If the witch took your pansy ass, I doubt anyone would miss you."

The soft echo of his words mingled with the flowery aroma of pink hand soap and residual piss dried onto the rims of urinals and toilet seats. The patter of fat raindrops hitting the row of small, frosted windows near the ceiling grew louder.

I glanced at my phone. 12:57. I'd probably be late to class.

"Oh, yeah. The witch in the woods." I slipped the phone into my backpack. "Every three years. Blah, blah, blah. I forgot about her."

Doug Turner palmed my shoulders, forcing me to stagger a step toward the white subway-tiled wall. The urinal on my right, the metal stall to my left, and Doug in front of meand his buddy Steven behind himcut off my escape. So we stood nose-to-nose as he huffed a haze of warm onion-breath on my face. While he called me an artsy-fartsy, dick-sucking faggot, I stared at a pimple on his chin and wondered if he'd eaten an onion bagel for breakfast.

"This is way too easy," he said. "You like getting pushed around, don't cha? A pretty boy like you totally gets off on it, huh?"

Unimpressed by his tone and bully antics, I eyed him with a lazy gaze. "Uh-huh. A dumbass with bad breath like you is a real turn-on."

Steven, his dumbass sidekick, snickered.

Doug glanced over his shoulder. "What's so damn funny?"

"Nothing, man. Just"

The bathroom door opened with a metallic whine that made me cringe and want to wiggle a finger in my ears.

My brother Ansel casually walked in and headed straight for the urinals. Popular. Beautiful. Athletic. Mister Perfect at school and at home. He fixed his eyes on us as he situated himself to pee.

Doug dropped his hands from my shoulders to his sides.

"Get away from my brother," Ansel said calmly. "Or I'm gonna kick your ass right after I take a piss."

"I'm just playing around," Doug replied.

"Whatever." Ansel looked me in the eye. "Did he call you faggot again or threaten you?"

I shrugged. "Actually, an artsy-fartsy, dick-sucking faggot. His bad breath was more threatening than his bark, though."

Ansel tucked himself back into his jeans and flushed the urinal. As he turned toward us, he smiled. "He's right, Doug. You do have some funky ass breath. What do they call that, Caden?"

"Halitosis," I replied.

Strutting up to Doug, he said, "Yeah. Halitosis. Brush your damn teeth, dude." Then he shoved Doug off balance. "If you ever touch my brother again, you'll have less teeth to worry about."

Quick to recover from his near fall, Doug flippantly replied, "I said I was only playing a"

"Shut the hell up and get the hell outta here."

I'd never witnessed anyone confront Ansel after he'd warned of the consequences. And Doug was no different. He followed Steven to the door, glaring at me over his shoulder.

Ansel lunged forward and waved his arms in the air. "Ahhhhh!"

Their sneakers skimmed across the linoleum floor with a squeak as they rushed out of the bathroom.

Ansel and I laughed.

The dim sunlight faded as the rain intensified and the dings of hail reminded me that spring brought tornadoes to the South.

At the sink, my brother washed his hands and looked at me in the mirror, then lowered his head. "I don't know why you don't stick up for yourself more."

I loved my brother, but sometimes I resented that he had the face and body of a male supermodel and the athletic skills of an idolized champion. Although nearly everybody said I was a younger mirror-image of my brother, I lived in his shadow. The great Ansel Murphy set the bar high, and I struggled to reach it.

"Stick up for myself?" I slung my backup onto my shoulder and approached the sinks. "I don't want the drama. Plus, he doesn't like me because I'm from California, not because I'm gay."

Turning to face me, he set his butt against the porcelain sink then folded his arms tight against his chiseled chest. "I graduate in four months. Then two months later, I'm off to college. What are you gonna do when I'm not here? Let these dumbasses push you around your senior year?"

Ansel had never hesitated to confront someone who harassed me. During the three years we'd lived in town, he'd scared off nearly every bully with hard-edged words and threats of his hard-muscled physique powering a punch. I dreaded what my life would be like without him around to swoop in and save the day.