I had always thought the forest was a place where a man could be alone with his thoughts. That afternoon, however, I wished mine would leave me alone.
Birds moved between the branches, making small calls to one another. I stopped to watch them. One landed on a low branch, looked around for a moment, then flew away. Another followed. They seemed to have no reason to stay in one place longer than they wanted.
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I wondered what it would be like to live that way. To leave whenever you wished, without having to explain yourself to anyone. To go somewhere new without carrying the things that happened in the place you had left.
I envied them more than I cared to admit.
There was a reason I had taken the forest path instead of the main road. I needed time to think, and the letters inside my coat had given me plenty to think about.
They belonged to Jez.
I had read them more times than I could remember. The paper was old, the edges worn from being handled, and some of the pages carried dark stains that I had never bothered to question. Every time I opened them, I found something I had missed before. Sometimes it was a sentence. Other times, it was the feeling that the writer had started to say something important but had changed his mind halfway through.
One passage had followed me for days:
"The river will keep flowing. It will turn around stones, rush over broken rocks and find its way through places that seem impossible to cross. A stone may interrupt its path, but it cannot convince the river to stop."
I understood the words well enough. What I could not understand was why Jez had chosen to write them to his son.
Was he trying to encourage him? Was he telling him something about his own life? Or was there a warning hidden in those lines that I had not yet noticed?
I had questions, but the only person who could answer them was the same man who had written the letters. And I was beginning to fear that I might never get the chance to ask him.
The forest path became rougher as I continued. Branches hung low, forcing me to bend my head, while thorns caught at my coat. I stepped around a muddy patch, only to find another one ahead. At some point, I stopped trying to keep my clothes clean. I was tired of fighting the path.
A few minutes later, my foot slipped, and I landed in a pool of mud.
For a moment, I just sat there.
I looked at my black suit, then at my shoes. They were a complete mess. I almost laughed. I had left home looking like a respectable man, and now I looked as though I had spent the night sleeping beside a road.
Still, I had no time to worry about my appearance. I wanted to get back to the cabin, wash myself and, perhaps, find a little peace.
But peace was not something I had been finding lately.
As I approached the cabin, I remembered the day Jez gave me the letters. He had placed them in my hands carefully, as though they were something that could break.
"Ted, I need you to find my son and give these to him."
I had looked at him, waiting for him to say more.
"Don't just hand them over," he continued. "Explain everything. He needs to know the truth, even if he doesn't like what he hears."
"Why don't you tell him yourself?" I asked.
Jez looked away.
"I may not have enough time."
He said it quietly. There was no drama in his voice, no attempt to make me feel sorry for him. That was what troubled me most. Jez had always been a man who spoke as though tomorrow was already arranged. That day, he sounded like someone who had begun making peace with the possibility that there might not be one.
I wanted to ask him what had happened, but he had already turned towards the window. Rain was gathering on the glass, and for a while, neither of us spoke.
I had known Jez for most of my life. We had shared difficult days, laughed at things that probably were not funny, and kept certain matters between ourselves. Yet, standing in that room, I realised there were parts of his life I knew very little about.
Perhaps that was why he had chosen me. Or perhaps I was simply the only person he still trusted.
I reached the cabin and pushed the door open. My body was exhausted. I placed my coat over a chair and sat beside the fireplace. I had intended to light it, but even that small task felt like too much work.
The cabin was quiet. Outside, the river moved as it always did, paying no attention to the troubles of the people living beside it.
I closed my eyes.
Then the clock struck six.
A red light flashed from the communication machine across the room.
I opened my eyes immediately.
For several seconds, I did not move. I simply stared at it, hoping I had mistaken what I was seeing. But I knew that signal. Jez and I had used that machine for years, and there was only one reason either of us would send it.
Something was wrong.
I rushed towards the machine and tried to establish a connection.
"Jez, can you hear me?"
Nothing.
I tried again.
"Jez!"
The red light disappeared.
I stood there, pressing the controls, but the machine gave me nothing. No voice, no message, not even a sign that the connection had been received.
I looked at the clock. It was still six.
I had no way of knowing what had happened, but I knew Jez would not send that signal without a serious reason. He was not a man who called for help over small problems.
My eyes moved towards the coat hanging on the chair. The letters were still inside.
For a moment, I considered taking them with me. Then I changed my mind. I did not know where I was going or what I would find. I only knew I had to reach Jez.
I grabbed my keys and ran outside.
By the time I reached the city, the streets were busy. Cars moved impatiently through traffic, people pushed past one another, and shops continued with their usual business. I found it strange that the world could look so ordinary when something might be falling apart somewhere inside it.
I tried calling Jez, but there was no answer.
I thought about the places we had visited together, the people we knew and the conversations we had left unfinished. Then I remembered the building.
It was an old building, and neither of us had spoken about it much in recent years. But it was where our story had begun. I could still remember the first time Jez and I walked through its doors. We were younger then, and neither of us understood how much that place would come to mean.
I quickened my pace.
When I finally arrived, I stopped across the road and looked at the entrance. There was something uncomfortable about seeing it again. The building looked almost exactly as I remembered it, yet I felt like a stranger standing before it.
I checked my phone once more.
No message.
No missed call.
Nothing.
I crossed the road and approached the entrance. My hand rested on the door for a moment. I wanted to believe that Jez was inside, waiting to explain everything. I wanted to hear him complain about my lateness, as he often did.
But I could not shake the feeling that I was already too late.
I took a breath and opened the door.
The first thing I noticed was that someone had left a light on upstairs.
The second was the sound of footsteps.
Someone was coming down.