Every morning, for the rest of October and November, the first thing I do when I wake up is stare at the pictures of Christmas trees hanging on the wall next to my bed. Something about them makes me feel happy inside, and that’s a new feeling for me. I decide I’m going to leave them up when the holiday season is over.

Boredom has been settling in for the past few weeks, making me restless. Even though I clean the apartment every day, including Feather’s room, take walks on the Merryfield property, work in the garden, and visit with my one of my counselors, I still feel like there’s a gaping hole in my life. Since Feather and I became roommates not long ago, I’ve watched her get a part-time job, start a relationship with a guy, and get a car. I can see progress with her. But with me? Not so much. My life still feels very much like it did when I was captured: each day the same and going nowhere.

Last week, I asked my parents again if there was any way I could get my driver’s license and learn to drive a car, but they were adamant I should wait until summer and give myself more time. I’m not sure what that means exactly, but I do know I’m tired of more of my life ticking away, so I’ve taken to going for longer walks every day, outside the perimeters of the Merryfield property line.

When I told my mother over the phone, a few days ago, that I’ve been walking farther each day, she became very agitated, and while I can understand why she’s nervous, I’m making this decision for myself. My father, luckily, jumped on the phone extension and sided with me, agreeing walks might be good for me, but I think it was just his way of appeasing me since he won’t agree to my getting a car.

I know my parents worry about me but, as Zac said two months ago, I’m going to be twenty in a few weeks. I’m an adult. And I am determined to do something on my own, even if it’s just walking. I need to test my boundaries like other girls my age.

At first, I only walked down the street and back to Merryfield. I had to force myself for a few days, until I felt comfortable, and I gave myself pep talks to walk a block, then another, and another.

My sense of adventure increased quickly. Being free was addicting. Each day I walked a little farther, blocks turning into miles. This morning I walked to a small park a few miles away, and I realized it was the exact place I had been taken, halfway between the school and my parents’ house.

Wow. This town really is small.

I freeze to the spot on the sidewalk with the deep zig-zag crack that I always avoided stepping on as a little girl. I had been stepping over it when the man had grabbed me, my pink sneaker in mid-air. The crack is wider now, with moss growing between its edges, weathered from time. My head swims and I sway slightly in the wind as my stomach clenches and threatens to empty here on the sidewalk. I swallow hard and step over the crack.

I make it to the other side, and I grab the hand of the little girl in my memory and pull her with me where she belongs.

My eyes scan the area, my heart pounding. It looks harmless. Like a typical park, with benches, swings, and paths. It’s empty at the moment, except for some birds hopping around on the ground. The only thing that’s different from that day is the season. Today, the leaves have already changed colors, the grass has turned brown, and the sky is dark with the promise of icy rain. I huddle inside my fall jacket as a breeze whistles down the street behind me. That day, the sun had been out and white fluffy clouds had filled the sky. Monsters don’t come out in the daylight, right in front of butterflies and blue jays, in a tiny town where everyone knows everyone.

But, in fact, they do.

I sit on a bench nearby and stare at that place on the sidewalk for a long time. My memory of being taken is both fuzzy and clear. The feelings are more vivid than the actual events. I can still feel how hard my heart pounded in my chest, how his fingers dug into my arm when he grabbed me. I can’t remember what my best friend, Sammi, and I were chatting about. Nor can I remember what the man was wearing, what color the car was, or if anyone else was around.

I shrieked. Sammi screamed. I was yanked backward. Sammi ran. A hand covered my mouth. The car door slammed. A man laughed.

It happened so fast.

In a matter of mere seconds, I was taken. Stolen from my own life.

And it was easy.

I’ve never been told the details of my case or the technicalities of all the crimes committed. All of that was kept from me by my parents and various psychologists and therapists. Feather says I could probably find out most of it by searching the Internet, but I don’t want to know. I lived it. I know enough.

There are only two things I want to know in relation to my past. The first is to find out where Poppy is. The second is to find my prince. I already know his real name, as I overheard one of the detectives talking about him when I was being questioned. Tyler Grace. Feather says she could find him in about two seconds, but I’ve told her no. In the books, the princess doesn’t go hunting for the prince. He finds her. Or they find each other. I’m afraid if I do it wrong, I’ll ruin the story.

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.

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.

I stumble backward, almost falling.

He’s not wearing a Santa hat. No. This man has a black bag over his head, tied with a frayed rope around his neck. Harsh, crooked holes are cut out over his nose and mouth. The forest falls deathly silent—the only sound is our breathing. Mine is ragged; his is steady and even.

We stare at each other, or at least I think we do. His eyes are shadowed beneath the dark material over his head, but I assume he’s staring back at me because I can feel it right down to my bones, and it freezes me with fear.

“I can smell your fear. It’s so perfect, so raw and innocent. The more scared you are, the more I like you.”

My voice is almost less than a whisper. “I wanted to see the tree. That’s all.” I’m back in the dark, dirty room with an even darker and dirtier man, bowing to his insane demands, trying to avoid further confrontation.

“Tell me what you were thinking right before I came in here. Tell me what you miss the most.”

His head tilts slowly to the side, his silence menacing as he studies me.

Sometimes, silence roars. I’ve heard it.

Newly acquired common sense tells me to run. But I ran in the past, and I was caught and punished. An innocent person who tried to help was hurt too. Because of me. Backing up slowly, I keep my eyes leveled on his masked face. “I’m going to leave now,” I say softly, continuing to back up. When he doesn’t move, I turn and walk back in the direction I came from, silently praying he lets me walk away. I take twenty steps, with my heart pounding, before I turn to check behind me.

He’s gone.

Turning in a circle, I frantically search my surroundings, dizzying myself, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Monsters are everywhere. You can’t escape them. They will always, always find you.

I walk as fast as I possibly can back to the road, my eyes darting through the woods, hoping to see Poppy while, at the same time, petrified the strange man will jump out at me again. Did that even happen? I push my hair out of my face and press my fingers to my temples, not sure if I imagined it all.

Miraculously, I find the road, relief overpowering me that I didn’t get lost. When I reach the driver waiting for me at the side of the road, I’m out of breath and covered in a cold sweat.

“You okay?” she asks as I slam the car door behind me.

“Yes,” I reply, heart still racing. I press my face nearly into the window, looking out into the woods. “Did you see anyone?”

“Who?” she asks, confusion in her voice.

“Anyone,” I answer impatiently. “Did you see anyone walking around? Or a little white dog?”

She shakes her head and starts the car. “You trippin’? I didn’t see anyone at all. Or a dog. Sorry.”

As scared and worried as I am, I tell myself Poppy looked happy. His tail was wagging. He went willingly with the man with the Santa hat, so he must be a good person. Poppy would never wag his tail if he were scared. But even with that small amount of comfort, I know I can’t just forget him and hope he’s okay forever. I need to make sure he’s safe, and maybe, just maybe, I can bring him home. Having Poppy living with me would definitely make me happy.

When the taxi driver drops me off at Merryfield, she gives me her business card so I can contact her again when I need to be taken someplace. I shove it in my pocket, already knowing I’m going to be calling her tomorrow.

* * *

For once, I’m glad Feather is engrossed in a deep phone conversation when I get home. I’m way too rattled to talk to her right now, and I definitely don’t want her to see me this way. She’ll start hammering me with questions I’m just not ready to answer. I’m not even sure if what happened today really happened. There’s a possibility I made it all up in my head.

I take a long, hot shower—one of the few things in life that calms me. I didn’t have a shower when I was taken, only an old, dirty bathtub with no hot water, which still makes me shiver just thinking about it.

Before I climb into bed, I do my nightly ritual of looking out my window at the moon and stars, which are bright like city lights tonight.

“I miss the sky and the sun and the moon and the stars. I miss knowing if it’s day or night out.”

“Day or night, it’s all the same for you, little girl.”

A tiny spark of light draws my attention away from the sky. Out in the yard, near one of the storage sheds, I can barely make out the shadowy figure of a man smoking a cigarette in the dark. Frowning, I pull the window blind down and step away. It’s probably one of the other patients, even though smoking is not allowed here.

As odd as today was, I’m grateful for two things. First, I set out to achieve the goal of finding one of the decorated trees, and I found one. And second, I learned that Poppy is alive and well, and he appears to be living with the legendary Forest Santa. I’m sure I didn’t imagine that part of what happened today. It was real.

I’m not going to let the bizarre man in the scary mask stop me from going back to try to find my dog, even though my mind is spinning with questions. Is he the Forest Santa? Why would he try to scare me? Isn’t Santa supposed to be happy? Or was it someone else entirely? I was so stricken with fear when the man jumped out of the tree, I didn’t notice if he was wearing the same clothes as the man with the Santa hat. All I could see was that eerie mask.

* * *

The next morning is almost an exact replica of the one before it. The driver takes me to the same place she did yesterday, and I walk up the same dirt road to the path, only this time with the added fear of running into the man with a plastic garbage bag tied around his head.

The scent of burning wood floats through the air, getting stronger with each step I take on the frost-covered trail. This time, I turn left at the fork in the path. Soon, I spy a tiny house with smoke curling out of the chimney. The house is small and well hidden amongst the trees and looks almost exactly like the tiny cottages in my fairy-tale books. The small windows have white shutters and flower boxes, waiting for spring flowers. A vine, gray from the cold, creeps up the house, on a trellis, all the way up to a tiny stained glass window on the second floor. A stone walkway begins not far from where I’m standing, runs to the front door, and branches off to a matching detached garage. Various birdhouses, all painted in bright colors, hang from the trees and sit atop wooden posts. It’s simply the most magical place I’ve ever seen in real life.

My excited breath is a cloud of mist as I approach the house. I’m so busy huffing out more puffs of my own personal clouds that I almost miss the man perched, still as a statue, on a huge rock between the house and the small garage. He doesn’t look in my direction, even though my boots are crunching rather loudly in the dead leaves. Poppy, however, comes running to me like a white tornado as soon as he sees me. His odd bark makes me smile, and I’m relieved to see that he is real and not a figment of my imagination. I kneel down in the dirt and leaves and gather him up into my lap, his little body wiggling with happiness in unison with his tail.

“I missed you so much. So much,” I whisper, kissing his head as tears of happiness fall down my cheeks and onto his fur. “Did you miss me too?” He responds by licking my face and making happy whimpering noises. He must have been bathed because he’s much whiter and softer than I remember him and he smells fresh and clean. Feather would be impressed that even Poppy’s “evil shit” has been washed away.

I lift my head and finally lock eyes with the guy on the rock, and my heart does a leap into my throat. It’s him. I almost didn’t recognize him. Now it all makes sense. Yesterday he was wearing a hat, and his long-sleeved flannel shirt covered his tattoos. But today, his shaggy hair is visible, and the sleeves of his sweatshirt are pushed up. There’s no denying those tattoos are the same ones I’ve seen twice before. I can’t believe he’s had my dog all this time. That he’s been here this whole time. Surely my parents and my doctor knew he lived right here in the same tiny town, knew I could have run into him, but still refused to let me write to him.

He appears normal to me—not mentally deranged, as I was told—other than defiling a holiday song, decorating a tree in the middle of nowhere, and not wearing a jacket in the cold. He continues to stare at me, totally expressionless.

Tyler Grace. In my head, he’s always been the prince. Silly, I know. But that’s who he is to me. I stand, holding Poppy in my arms, and slowly walk toward him, stopping about ten feet away. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because he seems to require a lot of personal space.

“Hi.” I quickly swipe the damp tears from my cheeks with my fingers. He looks away from me, and I frown at the back of his head. This is not the reunion I was expecting. I take one more step closer. “You’re Tyler, right?”

His mouth opens but, instead of answering me, he yawns. Yawns!

For a year, I believed that he would return to me one day and, instead, I’ve returned to him. I tell myself it must be fate. And instead of sharing in my excitement, he yawns.

“Do you remember me?” I ask, undaunted.

Nothing. As irritating and rude as it is, his ability to completely ignore me is impressive.

Hesitantly, I take two steps closer to him. The unique tattoo on his hand is visible, as is the strange, ragged, discolored skin of his other hand. I remember how those hands squeezed the throat of my captor after I dropped the rock onto his head to make him release the knife he was swinging. That knife and I were very familiar, and I have the scars to prove it. The paralyzing fear I felt in that moment, before I let the rock fall on his head, was intense. I made the choice of who would live or die that day.

“I’m the girl in the hole.” For all the times I hated being called that, here I am using it to introduce myself.

He nods his head slowly but still refuses to turn to face me or speak. I understand his silence, the fear of speaking words. Or hearing them. I felt that way for months after I was found.

“You don’t have to talk. I just wanted to say thank you. You saved my life. And you kept Poppy. I never thought I would see him again.” I hug my dog tighter, and he nuzzles his face into my neck just like he used to. “I had no idea what happened to him. I’ve missed him more than I can even say.”

Finally, he glances over at me and, wow, his eyes are a startling bright blue.

“You’re the Forest Santa?” I half ask and half state. “I love how you decorate the trees. My birthday is on Christmas Day, so I sorta have a thing for anything Christmassy. My parents even named me Holly.” My babbling is becoming embarrassing. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that it’s you. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

A faint smirk crosses his lips. It’s small, and not really a smile, but I saw it before it disappeared, and it’s enough to make me want to see a genuine smile from him. I have a feeling it would be the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

I shift nervously on my feet. “I should probably go, I have a driver waiting for me. Not like a chauffeur, I just don’t have a car. Or a license. I don’t even know how to drive.” One of his eyebrows rises, and I can tell he thinks I’m an idiot. “Can…can I take Poppy home with me? I really miss him. He’s my family.”

He shrugs and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans and lights one up. I’m not sure exactly what happened to him, but I remember the detective who questioned me in the hospital telling me Tyler was in a fire when he was younger. They asked me to describe his scars, but I didn’t remember them at all until the detective mentioned them. All I could remember were his eyes and how I wished I could walk right into them, like an ocean. He hadn’t frightened me the day he saved me. Not even a little. I was transfixed by him, grateful to him. Curious about him. And I still am. It’s odd to me that he would want to put a small stick of smoke and fire into his mouth after going through such a horrific accident.

I wait for him to do or say something—anything—but he just stares off into the distance, as if he hopes if he ignores me long enough I will just go away. A tactic I tried many times with my captor. I may be new to interacting with people, but I can definitely take a hint. “Okay,” I say awkwardly. “Thank you again for everything. Take care.”

Still holding Poppy, I turn and head back in the direction I came, expecting him to stop me and demand I leave the dog with him—or want to talk to me after all—but after I’ve walked for at least five minutes, it’s clear he’s not going to do anything of the sort. My heart sinks like an anchor that may never surface again.

For months, I daydreamed many different scenarios in which I saw him again, and not one of them was even close to what just happened. He was completely uninterested and borderline rude. How hard is it to say hello? Or you’re welcome? Or how are you? Or hey, take your dog and just go. Something. Disappointment seeps into the places in my heart that shut down a long time ago, and a dull ache sits in my chest as I walk back to the waiting car. For years, before the television was given to me, I sat on the dirty floor with my fairy-tale books, daydreaming of walking into a beautiful sunset with the man who would eventually come to save me. That’s where the happiness is supposed to happen. It’s in the books. The prince saves the princess, and they live happily ever after.

The bad man would step on my books, leaving his smudged shoe prints on the white pages that I loved so much. He’d pick them up and hold them behind his back, taunting me until I knelt, and obeyed. And I did. I choked, and I cried, and I begged until it was over and my books were given back to me.

“Fairy tales don’t come true, little girl,” he’d say, zipping his pants. “No matter how many times you read them.”

“It’s not true, Poppy,” I whisper, shivering against the cold breeze. Dead people should stay dead, especially the bad ones. But they don’t. They keep living in our heads and come out whenever they want to keep hurting us. I know Tyler tried, but he didn’t kill the bad man. He’s still here, torturing me, even from the grave. I won’t let him win. And I won’t give up on Tyler.

The secret to fairy tales is believing in them. That’s what makes them come true.

* * *

“Where did you get a dog from?” the taxi driver asks sharply, peering over her shoulder, when I climb into the back seat.

“It’s my dog. A friend was watching him for me.” I settle Poppy on my lap. “Is it okay for him to be in the car?”

“Usually I’d rather not, but I guess it’s okay,” she frowns. “He seems well behaved, and he’s tiny. I wouldn’t want some huge-ass dog back there.”

“He’s very well behaved. Is there a pet store we could stop at on the way back to my apartment? I need to get him a few things. It won’t take long, I promise.”

She shrugs. “Sure thing, honey.” I wonder if she thinks I’m crazy. She knows the place she picks me up and drops me off at is a recovery facility, and with this being such a small town, I’m sure everyone knows what kind of people live at Merryfield.

When Poppy and I lived in the basement, all he had was a food and water dish, which is about the same as I had. He never had any toys, bones, or doggy beds to sleep on. He went potty on the floor, and I would have to clean it up with paper towels and put it in a bucket until the man came and threw it away. Sometimes the smell would be horrible, but I loved the company of the dog so much I didn’t mind.

I pet his head absently as I stare out the window, making a mental list of things I will need to buy at the pet store. Finally, the money my father sends me is going to some use. “Get yourself something nice,” his card always says. I hope dog supplies fall into that category.

After a quick stop at the local pet store, the taxi driver expertly navigates through the afternoon traffic and pulls in front of my apartment unit at Merryfield.

Poppy whines in my arms and licks my chin as I grab my bags, thank and pay the driver, and walk up the small walkway to my and Feather’s apartment. Because we’re considered residents now, we have a private apartment with a separate doorway that leads outside. When I was just a patient here, I had a much smaller shared space in the main building, like a hospital room, with a door opening into the main hallway so the staff could monitor us.

Feather is draped across the couch, engrossed in a phone call, when I walk in. She does a double take when she sees me, bolts up, and tells the person on the phone that she’ll call them back.

“You got a dog?” she asks incredulously.

“No…I found my dog. This is Poppy. Remember I told you about him?” I ask excitedly.

She eyes me suspiciously. “Okay…how exactly did you find your dog? I thought you went for your usual walk?” Her tone is laced with disbelief like she thinks I’ve possibly lost my mind.

“I was looking for the Forest Santa, and I found him in the woods. The man who saved me had him. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him! Poppy, I mean. And the Forest Santa! He’s the guy, Feather, my prince! He didn’t talk to me, but seeing him again was so unbelievable.”

Her eyes go bigger, and she shakes her head really fast.”Wait…what? Slow down a little, because I’m lost. You were looking for what?”

Sighing with impatience, I put Poppy down on the floor, and he runs over to sniff Feather’s feet. She leans down to pet him, and he licks her hand, making me smile. Even after everything he’s been through, he’s always been a friendly dog.

“The girl at the store where I bought the Christmas photos said there’s a legend that a man they call Forest Santa decorates them.”

She nods. “Okay, yeah. I think I’ve heard of that before, when I was younger.”

“Well, I wanted to see if I could find one of the trees, so I emailed the photographer, and he told me where he found them. So I decided to get a taxi and go there.”

“Holy shit, Holly, are you crazy? You shouldn’t be traipsing around in the woods alone! Why didn’t you ask me to go with you?”

I shrug and clasp my hands together. “I don’t know,” I admit, and I really don’t, other than I’m used to doing everything alone. “I didn’t even think about it. I just kinda went.”

Her face takes on a disapproving look, much like my mother’s. “You have to be careful.”

“I was very careful.” I decide not to tell her about the masked man jumping out of the tree. “Anyway, I walked for a little while on the path, and I found a tree, and it was beautifully decorated and magical, just like I knew it would be!”

She raises her eyebrows at me, and I can tell she will never appreciate my love of Christmas trees.

“And then there was a man by the tree, with a Santa hat on, singing Christmas songs.”

“Singing? In the woods? With a Santa hat on? Holly…” Her eyebrows rise, and she scratches her head. “Are you sure about all this?”

“Yes,” I insist. “Then Poppy came running, and he went right up to the guy with the hat, and they walked away together. I was literally just stunned.”

“I know the feeling,” she says, falling back onto the couch. “You do realize this sounds crazy? Like I legit think you may have hit your head and just stolen someone’s dog.”

“I did not. I’m totally serious.” My eyes burn with tears of frustration. I need her to believe me and not think I’m crazy.

She puts her hands up. “All right, don’t get upset. I’m sorry. It just sounds like a crazy coincidence, that’s all. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well…” I try to recall where I was in the story, and I wish she hadn’t interrupted me when she knows sometimes it’s hard for me to remember things when I’m talking. “Then I walked some more. And I found a little house in the woods, and Poppy was there—and so was the prince.”

“Holly, you have to stop calling him that. This is real life now.”

“But he’s real.”

She scratches her head and thinks for a moment. “Do you mean Tyler Grace?” she finally asks. “The guy who found you in the woods and killed that douchebag loser pedophile?”

“Yes. I think he’s had Poppy ever since.”

“Just…wow,” she says as I sit on the floor to play with Poppy. “I can’t believe you actually just…stumbled on him. And he’s the Forest Santa? That’s a lot of what-the-fuck going on with him.”

My guard rises. “Feather, he’s not what-the-fuck. He’s just very…special, I think.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” She checks her cell phone real quick and then puts it back down. “What else happened? Was he surprised to see you? Because I’m pretty sure he was thinking ‘what the fuck’ when he saw you.”

“He didn’t say a word,” I say quietly. I wish he had talked to me—acknowledged me in some way other than yawning and shrugging. He hurt my heart, and he probably doesn’t even know it.

“Did he see you?”

I roll a tennis ball across the floor and watch Poppy chase it happily then plop down with it in his mouth. “Yes…I talked to him. He just didn’t talk back.”

Sensing my sadness, she backs off a little and doesn’t shoot another sarcastic comment at me. “So what are you going to do now?” she asks.

I look up from Poppy. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t keep him, Holly. There’s a no-pet policy here.”

My heart slams in my chest, and the tug-toy I’m holding falls from my hand. “No-pet policy? What’s that?”

“It means we can’t have any cats or dogs. We can have fish tanks, but that’s it.”

“No,” I say, my hands shaking. “They have to let me keep him. This is my home, so it’s his home too.”

“I don’t think so, Holly. Rules are rules. Hang on, I’ll be right back.” I pull Poppy into my arms while she goes into her bedroom. I stroke his head, not remembering anyone ever saying we couldn’t have pets here. I’ve never seen any of the other patients or residents with a pet, but maybe it’s just because no one has one. That doesn’t mean I can’t keep Poppy, though.

“I won’t lose you again,” I whisper. “I won’t. I love you. It’s going to be okay.”

Feather returns with a small booklet in her hand. “It says right here, pets are not allowed to live on the premises. Patients and residents are permitted to have one ten-gallon fish tank. Certified therapy pets are permitted only on a special case-by-case basis.”

“Can’t Poppy be a therapy pet?”

“No…they have to go through special training. You can’t just say he’s a therapy dog, even though I think—in a lot of ways, for you—he is a therapy dog.” She puts the pamphlet on the coffee table. “I’m sorry, Holly. I know how much he means to you.”

I blink my eyes hard, a dull pain throbbing in my forehead.

“There must be something I can do…help me think, please?”

Feather kneels down next to me. “Okay. Don’t get upset. Take a few deep breaths. Do you want me to get one of your pills?”

A sedative is the last thing I want right now. I don’t want to sleep—I want to be able to think.

“No, please. Just help me think. I’m not good at ideas, Feather. But you are.” I search her eyes, pleading for her to come up with an answer for me because I have none. I don’t know enough, haven’t learned enough yet to come up with plans.

She combs her fingers through her hair. “Let’s see…” She chews on her lip and stares across the room. “What about your parents? Could they keep Poppy for a while? Until you’re ready to leave here?”

A momentary burst of hope surges through me but is quickly extinguished when I remember we’re talking about my parents, who have never shown any kind of compassion to me over Poppy. Every time I’ve brought him up, they’ve dismissed me. They led me to believe he was happily living with a family. So either they never knew where he was and didn’t even care, or they knew he was with Tyler all this time and didn’t tell me.

“I don’t think they’d take him,” I reply. “They don’t seem to like dogs.”

Or me.

She sits back on her heels and meets my eyes. “Holly, I think you have to bring him back. He seems happy and clean.” Her hand gently caresses Poppy’s back. “It looks like he’s being taken care of, right?”

I nod, the tight lump in my throat plugging back my words.

“I’m sure he would let you visit him, and you can go back and get him when you’re ready to have your own place. I’ll bet he would agree to that. He’s obviously not a bad person.”

“You can’t trust anyone, little girl. Evil can hide in anyone. You brought out the evil in me.”

“I guess you’re right. I just really wanted to keep him.” I hold Poppy closer, not wanting to let him go again. He’s the only friend I had for so long. The only one who loved me. Without him, I think I would have totally forgotten what any kind of good feelings for another living thing felt like. Without him, my entire world would have consisted only of fear, contempt, and survival techniques.

“I can drive you there now, okay?” Feather offers softly. “I really think it’s for the best. You don’t want to get in trouble here or do anything to set back your therapy. You’re doing so good.”

Some days, I do feel like I’m doing good. I feel strong and brave. And other days, I feel lost and unsure. “You’re right.” I let her help me rise to my feet. Usually, I enjoy her snarky side, but tonight I’m grateful to have this nicer, more caring side of her. My instinct has been to keep people at a distance, but maybe Dr. Reynolds was right when she said I needed to form friendships with people to help me heal and move forward.

“Let me just get my keys and send a text to let Steve know I’ll be a little late. We’re going to dinner tonight.”

I gather up the bag of pet supplies and my backpack while I wait for her to return, and when she does, I notice she changed her clothes for her dinner tonight, and she looks beautiful. Instead of her usual baggy hoodie, she’s wearing a form-fitting v-neck sweater that actually shows off her thin waist and a small glimpse of the curve of her chest. We share the belief we shouldn’t wear clothes that show off our bodies—for fear of unwelcome attention from men, or people jumping to the conclusion that we must have done something to make our abusers molest us. I admire her pushing out of that negative mindset, and it gives me hope for myself. The mere idea of a boyfriend still scares both of us, but at least she’s trying. Once a man has touched you in an inappropriate way, it’s hard to ever imagine enjoying touches or kisses.

“You ready?” She puts her arm around my shoulder, and I let her lead me outside.

Poppy’s tail wags nervously as we get into Feather’s car, and I’m pretty sure he knows things aren’t going well for me tonight. He’s always been able to sense my emotions.

Feather turns the radio up, and we don’t talk much after I tell her where to drive. Instead of staring out the window at all the trees, as I usually do, I spend the ride whispering to Poppy, telling him how much I’ve missed him, how much I love him, and that I’ll come back for him as soon as I can. I tell him to be the very best boy, as I know he always has been. His huge dark eyes stay solemnly on mine as if he understands every word, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. After all, I spent years talking to him as if he were a person, and I even talked for him, in a voice with a slight made-up accent, so we could have pretend conversations.

When Feather pulls over by the dirt road that leads to the path in the woods, she tells me she’ll wait in the car if I promise to be careful, but she also asks me to try not to be too long since Steve is waiting for her. The sparkle in her eye when she mentions his name makes me wish there were someone, somewhere waiting and wanting to see me, but there’s no one.

“You’re my favorite toy. I count the days until I can get away and come play with you.”

Shivering, I kneel down and clasp the new blue collar and leash on Poppy, before we start up the trail, so he can walk with me like a real dog with a real girl in a real life that we never had.

“You look so handsome.” I smile down at him, prancing next to me, and he wags his tail happily at me as we walk quickly through the woods.

Luckily, I find the small house again without getting lost, but he’s no longer sitting outside so I have no choice but to go up to the house, lightly knock on the front door, and wait for him to answer. When he does, he looks startled and nervous, shaking his head so his long blond hair falls over half his face. Continuing with his silence, he takes the leash from my outstretched hand, not inviting me in.

“I’m sorry.” My voice wavers with a mix of restrained tears and anxiety. “The place I live…we can’t have dogs. I didn’t know.” I hand him the bag of dog supplies, and he takes it from me, our fingers lightly brushing against each other during the exchange, sending a shiver up my arm, through my chest, and right into my heart. He inhales quickly with a faint hiss, making me wonder if he felt it too. “I bought Poppy some things. Toys and dishes and food and a bed. You probably already have those things, but maybe you could still let him have them? From me?”

He nods and sets the bag on the floor just inside the doorway.

Taking a deep breath, I gaze up into his bluest of all blue eyes. “Can you take care of him for just a little while longer? I’m moving with my brother in a few months. If he says it’s okay, can I come back and get him then?”

The words come out of me without conscious thought, and I wonder if that’s how life decisions are usually made. Just like that. All of a sudden, it just felt like starting over, somewhere new, with my brother and Anna would be best, and my choice was made.

He glances down at Poppy then back to me and winks at me. The small gesture is unexpectedly affectionate and, in that fleeting moment, I see the ghost of who I am sure was young Tyler Grace. Playful. Incredibly handsome. Confident. Free.

A euphoric dizziness spreads through me, my knees weaken, and my empty stomach ripples with an odd, jittering sensation that has nothing to do with hunger for food. Wow. So being near the man of your dreams feels like a panic attack…only you never want it to end.

“Is that a yes?” I ask softly, still caught up in the dazed feeling.

He nods again then holds up his hand, the one with the brightly colored tattoos all over it, with one finger pointed up. Confused, I wait as he disappears inside. He comes back, a moment later, and hands me a small piece of ripped cream-colored paper.

This is his home as long as needed, says the note in blocky writing similar to what I’ve seen in comic books.

I look up to meet his eyes, hoping I don’t faint right here on his doorstep from this overload of strange feelings. “Thank you.”

He motions for me to turn the note over.

I remember you.

Written or typed words on paper have such an intense impact on me. Maybe because I lost myself in books for so long. Or maybe because we can keep them, read them again and again, and see the words whenever we need them. They can become new again, or be an old, familiar, faded memory. While I long to hear Tyler’s voice, this little three-word written note is something I’ll cherish forever and probably read a thousand times.

This time, I’m the one who nods, and an unspoken acceptance of sorts passes between us as his gaze stays on mine. He doesn’t breathe for a few moments, and then slowly lets out a steady breath.

I realize he expects me to look away with discomfort, and when I don’t—when I stare right back with what I can only guess is a mirror of his own expression of hesitance and pleading—a flicker of relief flashes in his eyes. His tongue slowly moves across his bottom lip, and I wonder if he’s going to say something, but he remains quiet. His eyes, however, continue to burn into mine with a myriad of emotions that I can feel but am unable to begin to describe.

Once again, my insides flip, and it reminds me of the excitement I felt the first time I had ice cream again. I wanted to gobble it all at once but forced myself to eat it slowly, savoring its deliciousness.

That’s how Tyler makes me feel.

“I better go,” I say, wrenching my eyes from his. “My friend is waiting at the road, and it’s getting dark. She has a date to get to…”

He looks off behind me and up at the darkening sky, then he hands Poppy’s leash back to me as he steps outside, closing his front door behind him. I look at him questioningly, and he points to the trail leading back to the road and nods his head.

Wordlessly, he walks me back to the end of the dirt road as the sun begins to set, the sky turning a dazzling reddish orange behind us. I turn several times to see the sky change color, and he watches me with amused interest.

He’s not rude, I decide. Plagued with a bad attitude? Yes. Guarded? Definitely. But enough of a gentleman to walk me back to the car so I don’t have to walk alone. On television, that’s what the nice guys do when they like a girl.

“Thank you, Tyler,” I say, handing the leash back to him after kneeling down to give Poppy a kiss and a pet goodbye. I hope Tyler doesn’t notice my hand shaking. “For saving me, and for taking care of Poppy for me. I know ‘thank you’ isn’t enough…”

He stares down at his feet for a few seconds, and it almost seems like he’s struggling, maybe wanting to say something, but when he raises his head, he just nods and then heads back up the trail. I remain rooted where I’m standing and watch them walk away. Right before they disappear from view, Poppy turns to see if I’m still there and, of course, I am.

For reasons I can’t understand, I long to go with them, back to the little house in the woods.

“It’s about time,” Feather says when I get into her car, pulling me back into reality. “I was starting to get really worried.”

“I’m sorry, I went as fast as I could.”

“So, what did he say?”

“Nothing. He doesn’t talk.”

“Still? Is that like a permanent problem? Did you see his face? What the hell happened to him?” She puts the car in drive and burns rubber back onto the road.

I don’t answer her because all I see when I look at him are eyes the color of a sky I ached to see but was kept hidden from me for ten years.