Beach Day

24: That Classic Cain Rage

Having calmed down enough to talk like a normal person, Tiff leads the way to the hole and the sturdy oaks, explaining the significance of each landmark. It was silly to freak out like that, when she can just not think about it at all.

It's hard not to, though. She isn't used to having secrets of her own. She knows how to keep Betty's because she has had practice. How is she supposed to keep her own, especially if she keeps slipping up like she has been. It's so hard. Rambling on and on, rattling off something that couldn't possibly be true to the average joe, and making things up wholecloth have been her go-to for so long that she doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut anymore.

She used to. That version of Tiff Sheridan died somewhere between here and Lake Wonder. For all the old habits she has fallen back into, there isn't really a way to resurrect her. She just has to go on living. Rebirth isn't always good. Baptism doesn't always take. Suffering doesn't always mean something. Sometimes, things just suck to go through. Resurrection was one of them— it wasn't much of a resurrection at all. And if she is an apostle to the supernatural that brought her back from death in the wilderness, then how could she ever be righteous again?

She spins the umbrella in her hands by its curved handle as she leads the way through a part of the woods she has never technically been in. The ground is soft, the Spanish moss is thick, and it feels like stepping back in time.

Time travel is mostly bullshit, though. At least, it isn't real here, in Fort Reverence. Mr. Mathew is thousands of miles away; the Time Gnome is probably on a different plane of existence. This isn't the kind of fuckery she could or would expect from the Dream World, either. This is one hundred percent organic.

There's something about nature itself that brings a little more peace. It's hard to stress about college when you're so far away from everything. Even with all the business at the Bridge, even with what happened when they were fishing— it's a wonderful place to be, out in the great wide world beyond asphalt streets and neon lights.

Even before all that business about her disappearing into the woods and almost dying, even before the supernatural showed itself to her when it saved her life, there was always a sense of wonder and peace. Vibrant grass, drooping fronds, the sky stretching out above her: some of her happiest memories from her childhood took place here. It wasn't even the freedom of running through trees to find a creek. It was just being there, with the rocks and the bugs and— eventually— the knowledge that Bigfoot was out there.

Multiple Bigfoots; they cared for her then, enough to save her, enough to pull her from the stump where she was supposed to slump over and die. That camping trip happened about thirty minutes from here, and she isn't sure where in the woods she got to— just that it was there and it wasn't here. It was there, and a group of terrified people went out of their way to save her. The universe may not have cared— but they did.

She supposes the same could be said about the Woodland Crafters she knows now. Dr. Theodore is a godsend of a man, even if he did try to kiss some aggravated harvest spirits; Susan Lewis is a wonderful woman who has never once told Tiff to stop standing on her lawn or collecting photos from her family— not after the interdimensional communication device, and not before. Then there's the infinite wonder of Betty Lewis's existence— her best friend, going off to learn about her heritage on a different plane of existence while Tiff, herself, stayed behind to learn here on the ground. She's surrounded. More than that, she's surrounded by caring people in a way she didn't intend to be.

Right now, she's surrounded by trees.

She might be lost.

Again.