by Carian Cole
“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 e
mailed 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 p
et 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.