Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Derek awakens the morning after his wish and discovers that no one can see, hear, or touch him. He tries to interact with hikers and townspeople, all without response. Returning to the well, he attempts to undo the wish, but Ronoben is silent and cannot reverse it. Derek is left alone by the well, facing an eternity of isolation.
Morning came slowly through the red and gold canopy. Derek woke to the sound of leaves shifting in the breeze, a sound he had grown fond of over six weeks alone on the trail. He sat up, stretched, and packed his gear without hurry. The air was cool against his skin, and the first slant of sunlight fell across his hands. Solid. Real. He felt no different.
He heard voices before he saw them. A pair of hikers, young and laughing, came up the trail. Derek stepped aside to let them pass, but they did not slow. Their eyes swept over him as if he were a tree or a rock.
"Morning," he said.
Neither responded. They kept walking, their boots crunching through the leaves.
Derek frowned. He raised his voice. "Hey."
Nothing. The hikers disappeared around a bend, still laughing.
He stood still for a long moment, then called out again. The forest answered with silence. A flicker of unease ran through him, but he pushed it away. Maybe they had earbuds in. Maybe he had spoken too softly.
He decided to head toward town to resupply. Blacksburg wasn't far. He walked the trail he knew, passing two more groups—a jogger and a father with a child. He tried to catch the jogger's eye, waving. The man ran through Derek's outstretched hand as if it were empty air.
Derek stopped. His skin prickled. He looked down at his hand, flexed his fingers. They were there. He could feel them. But the jogger had seen nothing.
He walked faster.
The town was quiet for a Tuesday morning. Derek went into the general store on Main Street. The bell above the door did not ring when he entered. A clerk stood behind the counter, flipping through a magazine. Derek picked a granola bar from a shelf, then stood in front of the register. He put a five-dollar bill on the counter.
The clerk did not look up.
"Excuse me," Derek said. "I'd like to pay."
The clerk turned a page.
Derek tapped the counter. No sound. His finger passed through the wood as if through smoke. The five-dollar bill lay on the counter, untouched.
He snatched his hand back. His breath quickened. He stepped outside, and the door did not swing. He walked through it like a ghost.
He stood on the sidewalk, heart pounding, and watched people go about their morning. A woman pushed a stroller. A man unlocked his car. A dog sniffed at a fire hydrant. No one looked at him. No one slowed. He might as well have been the air itself.
He tried to speak to everyone he passed. "Hello? Can you hear me?"
Nothing.
He reached out to touch a woman's shoulder. His hand went through her as if she were made of light. She shivered slightly and kept walking.
Derek's legs carried him back to the forest. He did not plan it. His feet found the trail, and then the clearing, and then the well. The stones were dark with moss. The iron ring was cool and wet. The water below was black and still.
He stood at the edge and looked down.
"Ronoben," he said. "I want to take it back."
No voice. No ripple on the water.
"I didn't understand. I thought I wanted this. But I don't."
The forest held its breath.
Derek waited. Minutes passed. The sun climbed higher, and the shadows shortened. Nothing spoke. Nothing stirred in the depths.
He dropped to his knees. He had no coin left. He had nothing to offer. He was alone, truly alone, and the trickster spirit that had granted his wish was itself trapped—defeated by his own emptiness.
He did not cry. He was not built that way. But something heavy settled in his chest, and he knew it would not leave.
He sat by the well and watched the light move across the stone, waiting for a voice that would never come.