Page 15 of Tied

Her phone rings and she raises her finger to me as she answers it, signaling that she’ll be back in a few minutes. Nodding, I continue to wander around the store until a collection of small, black-framed photographs on the wall catches my eye. There are four, all taken of a lone fir tree in the snow-covered woods, decorated with Christmas ornaments. In one photo, a small red fox is sitting a few feet away, staring into the camera as snow falls around him. I was born on Christmas Day, and when I was little, I was fascinated with all things Christmas. Those are memories I never forgot. The one thing I looked forward to while in captivity was watching all the holiday movies and cartoons on my television. Of course, I never knew when they would be on, so it always came as a surprise when Christmas commercials and movies finally started playing. I was never given any gifts by the bad man, but I was grateful for the fantasy world the TV let me live in.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” A salesgirl has come up next to me as I gaze at the photographs, and I silently pray she doesn’t recognize me.

I reach out and touch a frame, as if in some way it will connectme to the photo more intimately, bringing me into its scene and letting me stay there. “They are,” I say, my voice low with awe. “I love them.” And I mean it. I’m in love with these photos, and I have no idea why.

“It’s a cool legend.” She nods at the photos.

“Legend? What do you mean?”

She tilts her head at me and smiles, no recognition in her eyes. “You must not be from around here. It’s a cute children’s legend in this town—the Forest Santa.”

“Forest Santa?” I’m instantly intrigued.

She nods, smiling at me. “Yeah, for the past… maybe twenty-something years… someone decorates random trees way up in the woods, in the middle of nowhere, around Christmastime. Hikers usually find the trees, and photographers are always hunting for them, which is how we got lucky enough to have these photographs. Nobody knows who actually decorates them, so at some point, he or she was given the nickname Forest Santa. There’s a myth that woodland animals can speak on Christmas Eve, so part of the legend is that Forest Santa decorates the trees with them and they celebrate Christmas together. The little kids love the story.”

“I would like to buy them, please,” I say, not taking my eyes off the photographs. I’m captivated by the magical feeling of the photos and the legend behind them, and now I can’t bear the thought of not being able to look at them whenever I want.

The salesgirl stares at me; then she eyes the four pictures. “They’re quite expensive, two hundred dollars each—”

“That’s fine,” Feather interrupts, suddenly appearing next to me with a big smile. “She’ll take all four. Can you wrap them up for her?”

“Of course!” the salesgirl says, responding instantly to Feather’sconfident demeanor, which I know is an act that she plays very well. “I’ll meet you at the register with them.” The salesgirl carefully takes them down from the wall.

Nerves rattle my stomach. Money is not a concept I’m at all comfortable with, and I don’t feel like I have a right to spend someone else’s money. Especially my father’s. He barely speaks to me.

“Feather… that’s a lot of money, and I don’t need them. I didn’t know—”

My friend puts her hand up to shush me. “Holly, stop. You’re allowed to have things. I know you probably don’t know this, but your dad makes a lot of money. He took me aside last night, when you were putting your suitcase in your room, and told me to make sure you bought anything you wanted after I told him we were going shopping.”

I bite my lip. “Are you sure? I’m not used to buying things.”

“I know—that’s what I’m here for. I’m a pro.” She grins and loops her arm through mine. “Come on, I’ll let you slide the card. It’s totally addicting.”

It’s nearly eight o’clock by the time Feather and I are on our way home to Merryfield. It’s dark outside but even darker inside her car due to the tinted windows. I squint, my gaze wandering around the interior of the car. The darkness reminds me of being in that hole, the dirt in my nostrils, the sounds of the woods at night frightening me. I could hear things walking around at night, and I never knew if it was my captor or a wild animal. I always tried to hush Poppy by gently putting my hand over his mouth, afraid he would make the bad man mad or bring a wild animal to eat us.

“Did you scream for help while you were in the hole in the woods?” the female officer asked.

“No… never,” I answer.

“Why not?”

“I guess I forgot someone would ever help me.”

I thought we were only going shopping, but Feather surprised me by also taking me to her favorite restaurant for dinner, and now we’re finally on our way home. I look at her uneasily as her manicured fingertips tap out a text message on her phone with one hand as she steers the car with the other. I don’t have a cell phone, and the insane appeal of them is lost on me. What can be so interesting on a little phone?

“Sorry… Steve is telling me about his day,” she says, referring to her sort-of boyfriend, a guy she’s known since she was very young, who is mostly a friend but is slowly turning into more. She puts her phone in the console between our seats, and I can breathe a little easier knowing she actually has her eyes on the road and the traffic around us. “Are you feeling okay now? I’m sorry about the lipstick thing…”

“It’s okay. You had no way of knowing. I just feel bad I embarrassed you.”

“The guy… he made you wear lipstick?” She’s the only person who ever asks for any details whatsoever about what happened to me, and I usually don’t mind telling her.

I chew my lip, torn between wanting to tell her and not wanting to remember any of it. “Yeah,” I finally admit, feeling ashamed, even though the logical side of me knows it’s not my fault. “Bright red lipstick. He’d put it on me before he… touched me.”

She grimaces. “God, that’s fucking sick. That’s like the shit you see in movies. I’m so glad my mom’s husband didn’t do weird shitlike that with me. He just liked to get drunk and grope the hell out of me.”

Just thinkingredandlipstickstarts to make me panic, and I break out in a cold sweat. I clamp down on that sensation, force the images and feelings of fear away. I don’t want to freak out again, or Feather may not want to take me out in public again. I use the breathing and visualization exercises Dr. Reynolds taught me to do when I feel overwhelmed with emotions.

Counting to ten, I squeeze my eyes shut. I bite on my lower lip and try to clear my mind. I force my thoughts away from those memories and into less dangerous territory. I think about Poppy, in his new home, happy and loved. I think about my prince, his words promising me I’ll be okay. I think about my books and the stories that always give me comfort. I think about my grandmother’s hugs. I think about my new Christmas photographs. Soon I feel better. Less out of control.

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