by Edward Flora
The only answer he received were the sounds of branches snapping up ahead.
“Hello?” he called out. “Can you hear me? You shouldn’t go down there!”
Neither should you.
Peter had never ventured out into this part of Piermont. He pushed branches aside, allowing for a temporary path to continue deeper into the woods. The sunlight dissipated the further in he traveled. The trees limited the amount of sunlight, even at peak hours of the day. Now, more concentrated rays of light found their way through the canopy and shot down like spotlights. Catching Peter off guard, the bright light temporarily blinded him.
He squinted. His deep-set eyes worried about what he was seeing. However, the need to convince himself that the girl’s safety outweighed his need to confirm his sanity drove him on. That was something he could address later.
The branches on the ground cracked underneath Peter’s running sneakers as he advanced into the wilderness. That first “snapping” branch startled him. This choice of footwear wasn’t intended for rough terrain. Neither was Peter.
A second branch snapped under his sneakers. Then a third and fourth. The noise echoed a pattern like the clicks of a typewriter. Another snap occurred which had a distant sound to it. Peter felt the branch cracking under his sneaker but the sound followed half a second later.
Now with each snap caused, an echoed snap appeared in the distance. For each branch, he heard two snaps.
A sharp chill shot through his body. The feeling lingered deep in his neck and right behind his ears. A strange sensation that occurred when he felt as if he was being followed.
Surely the girl felt the same way since he was following her. Peter became self-conscious of this detail.
Was she a lure? he thought to himself.
It had worked before at the lake.
A hint of panic overcame him as these ideas set in. It would be all too easy to get lost in these woods. He could no longer see the girl but he still heard a periodic “snap” up ahead, signaling there were footsteps.
Peter had also lost sight of the road.
His wrist watch beeped, signaling a rise in heartrate. His breathing became more abrupt. Each exhale forced its way out harder than normal as his eyes darted around the woods. He needed to find his bearings. Identify some familiar area that would allow him to backtrack and make his way towards the road again. Except it all looked the same. Indistinguishable. The path towards safer ground and the path leading further astray.
Following his gut, his only option, led him towards the light. Surely more light meant an opening. An opening that could possibly be the road.
Peter marched towards the clearing in the woods. Not yet out of his panic, but hopeful he was going the right direction. He continued pushing each branch aside to clear his path. Missing one, it brushed against his face. It wiped half of the sweat from his brow which he ignored until this moment. The splintering branches began to resonate from a distance and he was certain someone was now following him.
Panic began to fully sweep over him, his watch pulsating autonomously. Now, it was not only vital to escape the woods but to survive them. He felt the trees closing in on him, like he’d fallen for a trap.
The cracking branches underneath his own feet picked up in pace. He broke into a mild jog. He needed to reach the road, and he needed to do it now. The two sets of snapping branches: the set following as well as his own were not alone anymore. They were joined by more footsteps. Footsteps of varying speeds, coming from every direction within the woods. Some closed in on him, while others moved away.
You’re not alone out here.
He imagined endless silhouettes wandering these woods for eternity. Would he be the next to join this labyrinth? Or were the steps collectively working together to surround him?
Peter did his best to avoid any dips or crevices in the ground that may trip him up. Also, trying to avoid branches if he could. The less sound he made, the better chances he had of escaping. Maybe he could lose whoever was following him.
From the corner of his eye, a man in a suit ran right towards him. Peter held his breath and covered his ears. He broke into a sprint to escape from this stranger. The man reappeared again in front of Peter; black, slicked back hair, charging towards him. His white, button-down shirt tucked into his pants and held in place by suspenders. Peter braced for impact, but when he opened his eyes, the man had vanished right before colliding. The man reappeared, running away in the opposite direction. His footsteps echoed the clicks of a typewriter more so than branches snapping.
Peter’s lungs and legs burned, working harder than ever to assure his survival.
He dodged one tree in his path only to run into another immediately after. His hands pushed against the trunk, preventing him from collapsing. Looking up slowly, he nearly screamed out loud. A woman hung from the tree’s branches.
Frozen in shock, he couldn’t believe what he’d uncovered.
There was only silence now. Every set of footsteps rummaging through the woods had stopped with Peter. Along with the orchestra of echoing twigs.
Dirt covered the woman’s brown cardigan. Only one shoe had remained with her. Her dark hair hung tattered with a twig caught in it, laying out a sad tale leading up to her final, tragic leap.
A binder lay on the ground next to her other shoe. It remained face up, exposing papers which had been written on, scribbled out, written on again and finalized with more scribbles.
Peter looked on in horror. What he had stumbled upon could not be reality. He was not meant to be here. As with the lake, this vision must be a projection of his mind.
The woman’s eyes shot open, bolting directly in Peter’s direction, causing him to stiffen. Her face remained expressionless, but she watched him.
Peter leaned against the tree trunk, unable to move, his fingers digging into the bark.
The binder ignited. Smoke and flames billowing upwards towards the woman who did not break her stare with Peter. She too caught fire and the stench of burning flesh caused Peter to dart from the scene. He felt hysteria taking over.
I told you not to follow her.
“Shut up!” he shouted as he ran. The sound of his own voice bounced off the trees.
He turned sharply, ran in the opposite direction and away from the brutality he uncovered. He ran until he hit paved ground, where he was safe. Doubling over, he lost his breakfast on the side of the road.
TWENTY-FIVE
Before the move.
Peter sat on a leather couch in this strange room, his stomach in knots. He had no idea what to expect. It had only been a week since coming out of the hospital but things seemed to be going so fast. All of a sudden, he agreed to meet with this stranger bi-weekly. He had never gone to speak to someone professionally before. He didn’t know whether he could even trust this person.
He sat there on the couch, thinking, why leather? Why make things as uncomfortable as possible? Or would he feel the same way had the couch been a softer material? Would he say, should have been leather?
He studied the room closely. There were no abstract art pieces on the wall. He thought for sure there would be some thought-provoking art in this office. The only piece of art displayed was a painting on the opposite wall – a vibrant sunset over a beach. Peter guessed that its sole purpose was to leave a calming impression on whomever sat on the couch.
The lack of quirky “mind-game” pieces raised Peter’s attention as well. He thought at some point he would be tasked with trying to move a magnetic ball along a track without touching the edges. Perhaps they would engage in an activity where the doctor held up sheets of paper with ink blots on it asking, “what does this remind you of?” Something obscure like that, unrelated to what was troubling him but still had everything to do with everything.
Peter began to take notice of the items that were actually present as opposed to the ones missing from what his mind told him would be there. A vapor emitter sat dormant, but its dim light signi
fied it was active and may strike at any moment. A sound machine positioned outside the office door, in the hallway. Each room had one. He thought it was an odd location at first. Then realized that the soothing waterfall served as a subtle distraction to keep patients calm in the event of someone from another room having an episode.
Any pre-conceived ideas of what this place would be like prior to his visit had been broken so far. However, when it came to Dr. Urbridge, Peter was almost certain he knew how the interaction would unfold.
Peter sat there on the couch, running through the possible scenario when he heard a knock and the door opened.
“Peter. Good to see you.” The voice came from a good-looking man in his mid-thirties. “How’re you doing today?”
Peter hesitated for a moment, not sure where to begin. He had no doubts that Dr. Urbridge would be some white-haired shrink type with thick rimmed glasses. Peter would describe his life which would lead to Urbridge asking, “How does that make you feel?” To which Peter would respond in half-truths until he built up some kind of trust in this person.
“I…um,” Peter stumbled. “Nice to meet you…Sorry, I just didn’t expect you to be so young.”
Dr. Urbridge’s eyebrows crunched together but quickly relaxed again and he jotted something down before turning his attention back to Peter.
He seemed more like a buddy from college. Oddly enough, he reminded him a bit of his old friend, Jeremy Watts. Someone more likely he’d share a beer with and talk about the Yankee game on TV rather than spill out his most troubling notions.
“Well, I’ll tell you about myself to start off,” Dr. Urbridge began. “I graduated from Rutgers University four years ago this coming June. I was in the Social Work program, specializing in helping young adults deal with addiction and grief. I felt it was the right choice for me because I struggled with addiction myself. I was able to relate to those who struggled. I wanted to make a difference in other’s lives.”
Peter remained quiet. Wriggling around, trying to get comfortable as the leather sofa squeaked. He focused all of his energy trying to listen to every detail. He didn’t want to miss something important or be rude.
Pfsstttt.
A soft puff of mist released from the vapor machine. It grabbed Peter’s attention from listening to Dr.…Lavender. The scent was lavender. The tiny puff of air was as distracting as someone dropping a bowling ball on the floor.
“That’s lavender,” Dr. Urbridge chimed in. “You ever use any scents at home, Peter? They’re great. I use them at home myself. Lavender, Jasmine, Chamomile…Excellent for relaxing and feeling at ease. Even for helping you get a better sleep at night.”
Peter shook his head.
“I recommend it,” Dr. Urbridge continued. “As minor a detail as a little scent seems, it works. You’ll be amazed at the difference a tiny puff of air makes.”
Silence.
“Let’s see, what else?” Dr. Urbridge kept things rolling. “I’m engaged and like any other couple we have our arguments and I do my best to make her happy when she’s mad because let’s be honest, she’s always right.”
Peter just stared back, wondering if it was alright to laugh.
A slight smile cracked across William Urbridge’s face, allowing an awkward smile from Peter. The two laughed at the cheesy little ice-breaker.
“You don’t have to be so guarded here,” Dr. Urbridge continued. “I’m here to listen and give you my input…Oh, we also have a dog together.”
“I like dogs,” Peter said, finally getting a little more comfortable. The sofa squeaked less. “Dani and I…my fiancé…we’ve always talked about getting a dog together. I still hope we do one day.”
“Good. I believe couples should have a pet together. It tests the dynamic of the relationship.” He took a moment and let Peter absorb what he’d said.
“So, you really don’t remember me from the hospital?”
A flush worked its way up Peter’s neck. “Oh gosh. I recall speaking to an older man, but it was all a blur. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. The memory loss and the headaches, all common side effects of what happened to you. But you’re here, and we’re working together to help you out.”
And that had been how it started.
When Peter had left off with Dr. Urbridge after close to a year of visits, he had improved drastically. His overwhelming struggles had finally become manageable.
Dr. Urbridge had prescribed a low dosage of meds to keep his anxiety at bay. It helped keep Peter on track. Although things were rocky, Peter was very fortunate. His doctor helped to point out the positive aspects which Peter would otherwise overlook.
“I want you to look at yourself and ask…what is the picture that you want to paint of yourself? Right now, you have a great job, a wife who loves you…but what else? What do you see up in the unfinished corners of Peter’s painting? If those corners are blank, what do you fill them with? You can add anything you want. The brush is yours. It’s up to you to color in the canvas.”
Peter made a short list of goals which would serve as “coloring in the canvas”. It was simple enough just listing off achievements to reach for. The important part was figuring out how those goals would be reached. On that list included finishing his book, buying a house with Dani and starting a family. Travel was another big one. That one would come later though and would fill in the top corners of Peter’s canvas. The final goal, and the key to the others, was improving his physical and mental health. Dr. Urbridge prescribed running every day, first thing in the morning.
Peter built himself back up one day at a time. It was a grueling journey for him but he made it. Both Peter and Dr. Urbridge knew their sessions would likely come to an eventual end. With Peter returning each week stronger and more confident than the last, Dr. Urbridge brought up the question:
“So, Peter…do you plan on continuing your sessions with me?”
Peter took this moment to break the news to his long-time therapist, and now surprisingly, friend.
“Dani and I are moving.”
“Good.” William Urbridge put down his notebook. “A big step for you both.”
“Yeah, a big step.” There was hesitation in Peter’s voice. “We’re leaving Brooklyn. We found a place in Rockland County. Still New York, but outside of the city.”
“Are you feeling apprehension about that?”
“Honestly…yeah, a little. I mean, I’ve never lived outside of the five boroughs. This is all very strange.”
Dr. Urbridge smiled. “Do you remember your first dive, Peter?”
“Of course.”
“And you remember feeling like you were diving into the unknown? The hesitation you felt standing at the edge of the diving board? Not having control over the situation and the mystery
of what lay in front of you. Once you took that dive…that literal leap of faith…you learned there was nothing to fear.”
Peter listened on, knowing exactly where William was going with his analogy.
“You’re going to succeed, Peter. You’ve wanted this all along. You just need to take that leap.”
Dr. Urbridge’s objective from day one was to bring Peter to a place where he was no longer afraid to step outside of his comfort zone. Where anxiety no longer held him down, giving him a feeling of hopelessness. Peter was now healthy and didn’t depend on alcohol for escape. His dependency on medication to help keep the anxiety at bay had dwindled too. He’d grown to manage it all on his own.
Peter and Dani found a house together. Albeit a rental, it was a step towards what they wanted. A few brush strokes to paint in that blank canvas with new, happy memories.
Peter had also made incredible progress on his book. The daily morning run had worked. It cleared his mind and put him in the place he needed to be to focus. The writing process, as a result, came naturally. In a year’s time, Peter finally started becoming the person everyone knew he could be.
Dr.
Urbridge gave his friend a hug before they said their goodbyes. “Don’t hesitate to reach out if you or Dani ever need anything. I’m always here for you.”
Peter never did take him up on that offer. Dani, on the other hand, was about to.
TWENTY-SIX
“Dani, welcome.” Dr. Urbridge sat on his chair across the room from the leather sofa which Peter had once occupied. On that sofa now sat Dani, understanding why Peter was so against a leather sofa when they were furniture shopping. She shifted her position and the sofa gave way with a little “squeak”.