Suicide Forest (42 page)

“Want to watch some TV?”

“What is it?”

“A NatGeo thing on cheetahs.”

“No, thanks. I have to do the dinner
dishes.” She hesitated. “I—I felt him kick.”

I was immediately on my feet. “Really?”

“Earlier this afternoon. Just once.”

I went to her, putting my hand on her belly.
It was strange, I had reflected numerous times since she’d become
pregnant, how quickly events could change your priorities. A year
ago the last thing I had wanted was a kid. Now the idea of raising
a baby filled me with excitement and purpose.

“You see any more jobs?” she asked.

I shook my head. “There’s that bartending
thing in Oakville. But they told me I need a certificate or
something to serve alcohol.”

“Why don’t you take the course?”

“I might. But I’m waiting to hear from the
construction company in Rutherford first.”

“We don’t have any money, Ethan. And when
the baby comes—”

“I know, Mel,” I said gently. “I know. I’m
looking every day. I’ll find something soon. It’s just that there’s
not much around here—”

“Oh shoot!” she said suddenly. “I forgot to
give Mom her medication earlier. She’s going to wake up in
pain.”

She retreated down the hallway. I watched
her go. Then I went back to the armchair and continued watching the
animal documentary.

I was just getting back into the narrative
when Mel screamed.

I ran to Mel’s mother’s bedroom, from where
Mel continued to scream. Stepping through the door was like
stepping into the past, and I came to an abrupt halt, as if I had
collided with a wall. Mel’s mother had tied an orange extension
cord around her neck and hanged herself from an exposed beam in the
cathedral ceiling. Her head was cocked to one side, her neck purple
and swollen, her pajama bottoms soiled.

“Oh fuck no,” I breathed.

My attempts to comfort Mel were to no avail,
so I ran to the kitchen and called the police. While I spoke to the
dispatcher, I heard myself telling her that I didn’t know why Mel’s
mother had hanged herself, but that wasn’t true. Your boyfriend
murdered by your ex. Your daughter labeled a villain by the town in
which you’d lived your entire life. Your face and body disfigured
almost beyond recognition by third-degree burns.

Sure I knew why she’d hanged herself.

Nevertheless, I didn’t feel pity for her; I
felt compounding anger.

Why did she have to choose this way to do
it—knowing what her daughter had gone through?

I hung up the phone and ran back to the
bedroom. Mel had stopped screaming and was now sitting on the edge
of the bed. Her hands were resting on her lap. In them she cradled
a matte-black .44 caliber pistol. It was her mother’s. She’d bought
it years ago, fearing her ex-husband might somehow break out of
prison and come after her.

“Mel,” I said, starting slowly forward, “set
the gun down.”

She raised the barrel to her right
temple.

I stopped. “Mel…”

“I’m sorry, Ethan.”

“Don’t do this, Mel, don’t do this, think
about what you’re doing.”

“It’s never going to end, is it?” she said
softly, wistfully.

She cocked the hammer.

“Mel!” I said. “Don’t—the baby! Mel, the
baby. You do this, you kill the baby. Please don’t do this. Don’t
kill the baby.”

She frowned.

“It will be all right. I promise you. It
will be okay. Think of the baby.”

Tears welled in her eyes, then overflowed,
pouring down her cheeks. She lowered the pistol. I crossed the
space between us quickly and removed the weapon from her hand. I
returned it to the top drawer of the dresser, then led her to the
living room, where I pulled her against me.

As sobs shook her body my mind ran at a
ferocious pace. I thought about the words she’d spoken—
it’s
never going to end, is it?
—and told myself she was wrong. We
would put Aokigahara Jukai behind us once and for all. As tragic as
her mother’s death was, it meant we were no longer tied to St.
Helena. We would move somewhere else. We would get jobs. Both of
us. Good jobs. We would start over. I’d done that before, I’d do
that again, only this time with Mel at my side. We would start over
together, and everything would turn out okay.

I rocked Mel and stroked her hair and
listened as the sirens approached.

J
eremy Bates is the author of the number
#1 Amazon bestseller
White Lies
, which was shortlisted for
the 2012 Foreword Book of the Year Award. He is a graduate of the
University of Western Ontario with a degree in English literature
and philosophy.

For a limited time, visit
www.jeremybatesbooks.com
to receive a free copy of
The Taste of Fear
.