Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
I’ll ruin our story.
And if I do that, the happily ever after may not happen, and that’s something I cannot begin to accept. That’s the only thing that kept me going for all those years I was alone in that dark room. The mere idea of it not happening is unthinkable.
Each day I walk a little farther, always feeling triumphant as I walk past the spot by the park. I make it downtown, walking by stores and cafes, then turn and walk back to my apartment. I learned at Merryfield that I could move. Being locked in a small room for years, with no option to go anywhere else, created an invisible spatial barrier in my mind. It took months for me to get used to the idea of going to other rooms, of being able to go outside, walk around, and return to where I started. The expectation of a wall popping up and stopping me, trapping me, continues to linger.
I still expect him to sneak into my space, even though I watched him die. Death doesn’t erase fear or memories. The monsters that live inside us are much harder to get rid of.
I’m getting better at battling them, though.
One morning, I decide I’m going to be extra adventurous and take a taxi to a street near the part of the woods where the photos of the Christmas trees were taken. I’m going to hunt for a Forest Santa tree and see it with my very own eyes. It’s another huge step for me—doing something on my own without direction or permission.
I know that going into the woods to look for trees might sound crazy. And it probably is. But I don’t let that deter me. I feel like this is something I have to do. And I’m not going to tell anyone because I don’t want any negativity ruining my mood.
A few months ago Zac gave me his old iPad, making me promise I would only use it to read books, find out about potential jobs, or other safe activities. He made me promise I wouldn’t go looking at news sites, join social media sites, or search for information about my past. I agreed, feeling no desire to do any of those things anyway.
Yesterday, I kept my search simple, safe, and specific. I found the website of the tree photographer. Two emails later, he told me where he had found the trees, off an almost-hidden trail that branches off the main path people use to get to a small waterfall in that area. Of course, this doesn’t mean there will be any decorated trees in the same place this year but, after some mental coaching, I decide to trek up there and look anyway.
Dr. Reynolds keeps suggesting I take on some projects and goals, so why not this? At least I’ll have something exciting to tell her when we meet next month.
Getting a taxi is a lot easier than I thought it would be. Just a simple phone call from the landline and, within the hour, she’s pulling into the lot in front of the apartment. I make sure I have keys and my wallet, with a credit card and some cash, in my backpack—just as my mom insisted I should do every time I leave my apartment. I dash outside, practically run to the taxi, and climb into the back seat. The female driver asks me for directions with a rather bored attitude and, next thing I know, I’m off. Free. Doing what I want.
I watch the scenery pass by, trees and houses blending into a blur. I get more anxious with every passing mile, and the woods loom ahead. When we arrive at the destination, the girl driving the car asks me for an extra fifty dollars to wait for me while I walk around the woods, and I give it to her just to make sure she won’t leave me stranded here. Thankfully, my father sends me money every week, which I rarely spend.
Having donned boots, gloves, a scarf, and a hat, with my backpack over my shoulder, I start up the trail. Even though it’s the first week of December in New England, it hasn’t snowed yet, so I only have cold air to deal with. I’m well aware I should probably be scared to go walking around in the woods alone, but my desire to find a decorated tree far outweighs my fears. And what are the odds I would be abducted twice?
The research I did on the magical little iPad provided very few clues about Forest Santa. One short article I read on a local Wiki page, though I’m not entirely sure what a “Wiki” even is, stated that the trees have been found decorated as early as the beginning of December and as late as Valentine’s Day. I wonder if the mysterious Santa goes back to the trees and undecorates them. I decide that he must—otherwise decorated trees from the year before would still be around and, according to my research, they’re not.