The Clearing

Trigger warnings: allusion to assault; mental health

Once upon a time there was a young woman who lived in a cabin, in a clearing in a forest. The cabin's sloping roof was shingled with bark from the forest trees and had flowering vines, trailing up the sides. The interior was small but cozy, one room with a large hearth against one wall and a sleeping loft nestled into the rafters, and flooded with light from two large windows flanking the door. There was a cool, clear stream that flowed through the clearing not far from the cabin’s front.

Sounds like the beginning of a fairytale, doesn’t it? There’s only one problem… I’m that woman and I have no idea how or when I got here.

I know my own name, but I can’t tell you the names of my family, or even if I have one. I know how to read and write. I know how to cook and do all the chores necessary for life in a secluded forest but have no recollection of learning any of it. Somehow, I’m aware that I should have memories of learning, of who taught me, but there’s nothing. If I try to think back to before the past year, it’s a void. Or, more like a wall of fog, like if I just tried hard enough it might reveal all of it’s – of my – secrets, but I can’t get through.

I live comfortably in my little cabin. The forest provides almost everything I need to survive, and my cabin is well stocked with what little else I need. In many ways it’s an idyllic life and my days have fallen into a soothing routine that changes only with the season, or the peddler's visits.

~

I was filling a jug from the stream, the first time he arrived, whistling and pulling his cart behind him. When I saw him, I realized that I had almost forgotten that there was a world that existed outside of my forest. It had been a month since my awakening (as I call it) and his arrival brought a strange sense of both fear and relief. I’m not sure how long I stood there staring at him, or what my expression may have been, but he spoke first, calling, “Hello there!” with a disarming smile.

“Where did you come from?” I blurted out, followed quickly by, “What are you doing here?” There was probably a myriad of less confrontational ways I could have greeted him, but if that phased him, he didn’t let it show.

“I’m a peddler. Thought you might be in need of a few things out here,” he didn’t act like he knew me or like I should know him, which relieved me.

There wasn’t anything I truly needed at that point, but I saw that he had books and my heart leapt. I quickly traded for one, and he left. I realized later that I should have asked him more, but his presence made me uneasy that first day, and I was happy to see him go.

The first dream came that night, I don’t remember it, or any of the ones since. Like all the dream nights that followed, I simply woke up, suddenly, in the middle of the night, knowing I had seen something in my sleep, but nothing remained except a slight headache and a vague feeling I couldn’t quite describe. Everything around me just felt more, but nothing felt quite right, almost like my dream state had spilled over into the real world.

The next time he came I was in my cabin and heard him, whistling the same tune as before, before I saw him. I opened the door to find him standing outside my cabin, sunlight and shadow playing over his hair as a breeze rustled through the trees.

“Hello there,” he said, greeting me just as he had the first time.

“Hi,” I replied, “you’re back.” I wasn’t yet sure if I was glad or apprehensive, but I’d already read through my book twice, so when he smiled and nodded, I stepped out of the cabin.

His visit was once again short, but his presence didn’t unnerve me quite as much and I wasn’t quite as relieved to see him go. Again, I realized too late all the things I should have asked him.

It wasn’t until after his third visit that I connected the dream nights to him.

At first his visits surprised me each time, but I quickly caught on to his unspoken schedule. Each visit we talked a little more, but each time after he left, I thought of all the things I should have asked. As the season grew chillier and I became more comfortable with the idea of somebody else existing in my world, I started inviting him inside and found myself happily anticipating each visit as it neared. Despite this the dreams still unnerved me and there started to be dream nights where I woke in a sweat, panic stirring just beneath the surface of my consciousness. I felt an urgency to try harder to steer my conversations with the peddler towards the questions that were always gnawing at the back of my mind, and I had almost managed a few times, but somehow it had felt wrong, and the idea that I might run him off, might not see him again terrified me so I always slipped back into safe conversation.

~

As the weather has started to warm again, I’ve realized that we aren’t just sitting close to each other for warmth. I’ve noticed him looking at me with an intensity in his eyes that wasn’t there before, and I’ve realized that I’ve been looking at him the same way; yearning for the day he comes back every time he leaves. Today should be that day, and this time I’m determined to ask him my questions. I’m a mess of anxiety and anticipation as I weave wildflowers into my hair and tell myself I won’t have long to wait.

But it turns out I was wrong, the day has come and gone, and he hasn’t come.

He doesn’t come the next day, or the day after either and the third night I wake up screaming.

It’s been a week of nightmares now that leave nothing but terror behind when I wake. I know I couldn’t have miscounted the days by this much. I tell myself that something just delayed him, but the nightmares are exhausting me and trying to think of anything beyond my clearing gives me a headache.

I’m sitting in bed trying to focus on a book, when I hear the knock on my door. It takes me a second to even realize what I’m hearing. It takes another second to realize what a knock on the door means, but as soon as I do I launch myself from the bed and down the loft ladder, run across the room, tear open the door, and fling myself into him, throwing my arms around him and holding on like he’s my lifeline.

“Well, hello there,” he chuckles, pressing his cheek briefly to the top of my head, before taking a deep breath and pulling me gently away from him. I can’t quite read the expression on his face – maybe uncertainty, maybe surprise, maybe fear even – but it's gone almost as soon as it appeared, replaced by a longing and desperation I’ve only seen flashes of before, but that mirror my own.

“Where were you?” I ask, “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“There were some things that… delayed me,” I know from his hesitation what he’s not saying, that he almost didn’t come, and I take a step back. “I’m sorry,” he says, reaching out to hold my arm, “I didn’t want to…. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

He lets his arm drop but takes half a step closer to me, neither of us sure what to do next. Minutes or hours might have passed, I’m not sure, but the next thing I know I’m back in his arms and he’s pressing his lips to mine, tentatively at first, but more firmly when I don’t pull away. I kiss him back despite the ache building behind my closed eyes. I open my eyes to try to ease the pressure, but what I see is strange, and I break away from him with a gasp of shock and fear.

His first reaction is hurt, but it quickly changes to concern, “I’m sorry,” he says, “Are you okay? I shouldn’t… I thought… I’ll leave…”

“No!” I cry out, gripping his forearm, “No, I mean, yes, I’m okay, I just saw, well, I’m not exactly sure what I saw,” I look behind him again, but everything is as it should be, even the headache is fading, “I… it’s fine now,” I reassure him as his hand reaches up to cup my cheek . I place my hand over his and then step back to lead him into the cabin, his hand in mine. He nods for me to sit at the table while he pours me a glass of cold water from my jug.

“Here,” he says, “drink this. Do you get headaches often?” I grunt a noncommittal response, taking a sip of water. “What about seeing things? Has that happened before, or the feeling that something isn’t right?”

“No,” I answer quickly, but it feels like a lie, and my mind wanders to the dream nights. His face relaxes, his eyes studying mine. A flush of warmth comes over me, but something in his eyes leaves me feeling less unbothered than I’m pretending to be. He pulls the second chair to my side of the table and sits down, taking my hand in his and gently caressing it. I know there were things I needed to ask, and that he might have the answers, but I can’t quite seem to get my mind to focus, too distracted by the lingering feeling of something not right, and by his touch. He’s been talking, but I haven’t been paying attention. He repeats his question, his voice gentle, soothing.

“Have you finished the last book I brought you?”

He’s trying to move us onto safer ground, but nothing feels safe right now. I answer him anyway, and we sit for hours talking, gradually moving closer to each other until our chairs are so close that my knees are between his. As evening creeps up outside he sighs and stands, pulling me up against him.

“I should leave,” he says, his voice deep. I don’t want him to go, but I’m not sure if I can ask him to stay.

“Do you have to go?” I ask in a whisper.

He takes a ragged breath and answers, “Yes,” but rather than pulling away from me he leans down so that our lips meet once more. My knees go weak at the passion of the kiss. Suddenly the pain in my head flares, and I cry out, pulling away from him and crumple towards the floor, my head in my hands. He catches me on my way down, holding me half crouched as the pain begins to subside. He lowers us to the floor so that we’re sitting with my back resting against his chest and holds me as I struggle to breathe, fear keeping a tight grip on my lungs. I can feel his body taut behind me, it feels like he’s fighting something just as much as I am. I lean my head into the crook of his neck. I am so, so tired and I close my eyes relaxing into the safety of his arms.

~

My eyes rip open at the sensation of an invisible force slamming into me. I’m lying on my back. The light around me has a strange quality, so different from my cabin. My cabin! The ceiling I’m staring up at most definitely does not belong to my cabin. Panic grips me and I try to move only to find that I’m strapped down, but before I can work up a scream, I feel hands touch me gently and a face comes into view. It’s my peddler. He’s making soothing noises while undoing the straps and helping me to sit up. I look around. The room is white and plain, walls and floor strangely smooth. The bed I was lying on is more of a table with sheets and a flat pillow with an odd device dangling off of it.

“Adelaide? Addy, are you here?” he asks, tense and hushed. I realize I’ve never heard him say my name before, realize I’ve never told him it, realize he’s never given me his name either, and that I’ve never asked. My head feels like my brain is being chiseled open.

“Where am I? What’s happening?” I squeak.

“You’re safe, I’m here for you,” he answers cautiously. Suddenly, memories fill my head. My mother’s husband who always hated me, until one drunken night he decided he liked me too much; the blood; him convincing them I was crazy, a danger; Compassionate Isolation. Bits and pieces breaking through, but I can’t quite make it all fit together. I shake my head, trying to clear it.

“Adelaide,” he says again, cupping my chin in his hand.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“You know who I am, just let your mind catch up”

“No. I mean, I know who you are, but, but what’s your name? How are we here?” The questions swirling fast in my mind, scraps of memories flooding in with them. Memories of other times I’ve woken up in this room, of alarms sounding, and the air changing and a strange sensation pumped into my head and then all that gone and waking up in my real world. I cover my eyes with the heels of my hands, willing something, anything, to make sense.

The peddler pulls my hands gently from my eyes and crouches in front of me, “This is an Institute. My name is Lee. You were committed here by your family, I looked into your case when I was assigned as your Isolation Subject Liaison,” He pauses, either to see if I’m following or to figure out which question to answer next.

“Compassionate Isolation,” I whisper.

“Yes. I know things are fuzzy right now, and nothing probably makes sense, and I promise I will explain it all, but we need to hurry,” He pulls some clothes out of a bag on the floor and stands. I realize I’m wearing a thin paper dress as he hands the clothes to me. “I made sure your Monitor for tonight won’t be raising any alarms. He’s fine,” he adds quickly, before I even have a chance to question what, or apparently who a Monitor is, “I just brought him a special coffee at the start of his shift tonight, but we have to hurry before someone else realizes.”

“Why aren’t we in my cabin?”

“The cabin, the woods isn’t real. That’s what Compassionate Isolation is, your consciousness was placed in a virtual world, with the Institute controlling what you knew, or remembered or saw. You’re still feeling the effects of it, fortunately you’ve only been here for a year, and you’ve been fighting it more and more the whole time. But that’s why we need to go, they’re starting to talk about moving you to a higher level if they couldn’t get you under control, I couldn’t let that happen,” his voice deepens and softens as he says that last part.

“But, if you’re here, how were you in the woods with me all those times?” I ask, my head still hurting and confused.

“The computers can monitor your vitals and control what knowledge and memories you have access to, but they need someone to go in and check on things periodically, that’s what my job is. Falling in love isn’t supposed to be part of the job though,” he takes my hand in his, “that’s why I was late coming this last time, they almost took me off your case because all the times you woke up and had to be put back under were after my visits and I thought maybe it would be better if I didn’t go back, but then they had to resort to stronger measures to send you back, and I knew I couldn’t abandon you. You know the rest, or will remember it all soon, anyway.” He turns his back to me and my heart shutters until he looks back over his shoulder to say, “hurry, change clothes, we really have to go”. The pain in my head is feeling lighter, and things are almost making sense. I’m starting to remember, not just tonight but my whole life, just flashes now, but pieces I might eventually be able to put together. I change clothes quickly and touch his shoulder to let him know I’m done. He picks up the bag and takes my hand, leading me towards the door of the small room. My mind is still trying to tell me that this must be a dream that reality is back in the woods, but each step I take feels more and more real than any of my time in my cabin. Except maybe on the dream nights, my mind suggests, and that clears all doubt of what is real and what was the mental prison that they have convinced everyone is compassionate. We continue into a room with a big screen showing my oubliette, and a panel covered in controls with a man slumped over in a chair in front of it. Before we can cross the room a light on the panel starts to flash, drawing Lee’s attention.

“Shit,” he says looking at it. He turns to me, “this may not be as easy as I had hoped, do you trust me?” I nod, sure of that if nothing else, “then run!”