As I walk away from the taxi, logic once again reminds me I should be terrified of being alone in the woods—where the bad man kept me—but I practice my breathing techniques to help me rationalize. It’s not the woods I should be afraid of, but a person. The woods never hurt me—a person hurt me. I imagine my prince protecting me, like a guardian angel and, with each step, my worry fades. As part of my initial therapy, Dr. Reynolds would take me outside, sometimes in the sun. This was new for me since I hadn’t been outside at all during my captivity—other than when the bad man moved me, with a cover over my head, to the hole—and I had no window to view the outside world. Other times Dr, Reynolds would take me outside in the dark. Then I slowly graduated to talking to people. Part of my rehabilitation was to not fear the world or hide from it now that I was living in it. Going outside was terrifying at first but, with help and practice, I overcame it and soon started to enjoy it.
I try to pay close attention to my surroundings as I walk, keeping an eye on my watch to make sure I don’t lose track of time and end up walking for hours in a daze. I space out a lot. Or maybe it’s daydreaming. I’m not really sure what the technical term is, but Dr. Reynolds says it’s because I was alone for so long and had no one to interact with other than Poppy and TV.
And him.
After I’ve walked for more than an hour, disappointment at seeing nothing but squirrels makes me turn back toward the road, where I hope my driver is still waiting for me. Something sparkly captures my attention out of the corner of my eye and there, about twenty feet to the right, is a small fir tree draped in gold garland, with colored balls hanging from the limbs, the tip of the tree topped with a glistening silver star. Various boxes wrapped in bright red paper with white bows are beneath it, and I wonder if they’re empty or if they hold real gifts. The mysterious boxes pull me like a magnet, but I resist the urge to go open one.
A smile touches my lips. I can’t believe I actually found one of the trees, and it’s just as beautiful and magical as the photographs. As I step off the path and walk slowly through the heavily wooded area to the tree, a man appears in the distance, on the other side of the Christmas tree. Startled, I hide behind the trunk of a large oak tree as he comes closer, singing an eerie version of “Jingle Bells,” his voice hoarse, strange—but oddly familiar, though I can’t quite place it.
“Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the fucking way. Oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse fucking sleigh…”
Curious as to who is desecrating one of my favorite holiday songs, I peer from behind the tree to catch a glimpse of who I can only assume is the notorious Forest Santa. He’s too far away for me to see his face, but he’s wearing a big floppy red stocking hat with a tattered white pouf and a bell on the end. He’s in faded blue jeans and a gray flannel shirt but no jacket.
“Ho, ho, fuckity ho,” he mumbles then lights up a cigarette as he stands back and looks over his beautiful tree. Seemingly satisfied with his creation, he turns in the other direction and whistles.
I lean forward, my mouth falling open, when a small, white dog comes running from the forest and falls into step beside the man, tail wagging happily.
Poppy!
There’s no doubt in my mind it’s Poppy. I cling to the tree trunk and watch them walk away while my mind races wildly and my chest heaves in panicked breaths.
After a quick debate in my mind, I decide I can’t just let Poppy walk away and lose him again, so I follow the direction the man and my dog disappeared, hoping I can find him and not get myself lost. For the first time, I wish I had a cell phone to call for help if I needed to. Oh, well. I lived ten years without being able to call anyone for help. I’m sure I can get through a walk in the woods. But when I glance around, the man’s disappeared, and so has Poppy.
Suddenly, a body drops right in front of me. From the sky. I have no idea how, but he somehow came from above me and landed on his feet with a solid thud. It’s clear he didn’t fall, meaning he must have actually jumped from a tree.