Stolen

by Elizabeth Gilpin

  One. One. One.

  Then I yelled it at the top of my lungs.

  Chapter 12

  I LOOK AT my time in the woods as a string of bad days, spooling out one after another. Some days were really bad, and some felt more like a dull ache. The longer I was there, the harder it was to imagine ever getting out of the woods. I learned how to smile even when I wanted to cry; I learned how to laugh when I wanted to yell. There were moments of levity, too, of course. My late-night chats with Marissa and the time, midhike, when someone starting humming “Wonderwall.” One by one, we all joined in. For whatever reason the staff didn’t intervene and we belted out the whole song as we trekked, a choir of girls in filthy orange tees.

  It was a routine, like anything else. Old girls left and new girls came; our rations of ramen and oats were replenished; we hiked; we met with Rick on Sundays. I became neither Polly nor Carolina. I wasn’t a rebel and I wasn’t a Girl Scout. I just got through each day as best I could, not stirring the pot for good or for bad, trying to remember what real life was like.

  But I still had moments of hope when I was optimistic about my fate.

  My life isn’t gone, it’s just on pause. If I can only get through the next day, and the day after that, this hell will be over.

  Then my grandmother died. As per usual, I got the news in a letter. My grandma was old, but her death was unexpected and I had to read the words twice before they sank in. I was close with my grammy, my father’s mother, who lived nearby. I’d spend weekends at her house, picking flowers and painting rocks. She taught me how to cross-stitch and took me on trips to visit old Civil War battlefields. The thought of never seeing her again made me genuinely sad.

  Did she think I was really away at summer camp? Off having fun instead of visiting her when she got sick? What did my parents tell her? I hope she didn’t think I was just blowing her off.

  Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I assumed the letter meant I’d be going home. My parents were probably already on their way to pick me up. I knew I wasn’t supposed to leave the woods until I graduated, but surely an exception could be made. It was my grandmother’s funeral, after all. My only chance to say good-bye.

  “You can write her a letter if you want,” the staffer named Greta said.

  “A letter? Are you serious? And then what, mail it off to heaven?”

  “Your father, actually, has offered to read it out loud.”

  “At the funeral?” I said.

  Greta nodded. “Everyone agrees. Staff and your parents. It’s important you stay on track out here.”

  I couldn’t believe it. If the funeral of a person I loved wasn’t enough to get me home, then nothing ever would be. I had been teary-eyed all day, but now I was really sobbing. I grabbed my journal and went off to sulk under the shade of a nearby tree. I was furious and more miserable than ever. The worst part was that I had no idea where my unhappiness was actually coming from. Was I really so grief-stricken over the loss of my grandmother? Or was I just upset that I didn’t get to leave the woods?

  After all, Grammy was as much of a hologram as anyone else by then. I hadn’t seen my family for months. My friends were moving on with their lives. While I was stuck in Fire Phase, so disconnected from the world that I no longer knew what was real.

  Dear Grammy, I’m sorry I’m not able to attend your funeral. It doesn’t seem fair that I can’t be there today, but I want you to know how much I’ll miss you. You taught me how to sew and took me on so many trips. I loved hunting Easter eggs at your house and going to parades. You always had cherry cough drops in your pocket, and you’d sneak them to me like they were candy.

  I can’t believe you’re gone. It saddens me to think of this as a good-bye, but I know life is everlasting. You’ll be watching over me for now until we meet again someday.

  I love you.

  “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”—John 3:16

  Good-bye, Grammy.

  I wrote it again.

  Good-bye.

  The first one was for her and the second for me. I was saying good-bye to my old life. Because I finally understood that I was never going home again. Not really. The home in my mind was no longer a real place. It was a memory of a dead thing, nothing more, and I held a funeral in my mind right there beneath that oak tree.

  Everything changed yet nothing changed. My future was uncertain, but my present was very much the same dull routine. Another hike, another fire, another hole in the ground. I handed over my boots at night and got them back each morning. Time lost its meaning and I’d given up counting the days long before I got to a hundred.

  “Congratulations, Elizabeth.”

  Kendra said it like it was a good thing. She smiled at me and the rest of the group clapped.

  “Thanks,” I said, playing along.

  A hundred days.

  “How does it feel?”

  I have no idea.

  In one sense, it was an accomplishment. A testament to my strength. I’d actually survived in the woods for a hundred days. I’d slept a hundred nights on the hard ground, feeling completely alone, surrounded by darkness. And I hadn’t given up.

  “It feels pretty good,” I said.

  At the same time, a hundred days is a lot of fucking days. I’m not sure exactly what was keeping me in the woods so long. Maybe it didn’t seem like I was doing enough emotional work or becoming a full-on Polly. I suspected the real thorn in my side was my reputation as the girl who’d tried to jump from her parents’ car. I wondered if the staff might be trying to keep me around long enough for that troublemaker to reveal herself, for all that anger to come rushing out.

  I never let it happen, though. And yet there I was, watching girls leave who’d arrived after me, still yelling out “One” every time I had to pee.

  They couldn’t keep me there forever. My time was almost up. It just had to be. Even Kendra seemed to know we were just going through the motions. Her friendliness was so unsettling I almost wished she’d go back to being bitchy.

  “Lucky you,” she said. “Have you picked a meal?”

  “Chocolate chip pancakes,” I said without missing a beat.

  I’d had awhile to think about my answer. I’d seen a few other girls reach the hundred-day mark, and they were rewarded with a food item of their choice. The rest of us would fantasize about our own picks, and I always came back to the pancakes I used to have on Sunday mornings. I never expected I’d be stuck in the woods long enough to actually ask for them.

  I got my reward during my next one-on-one session with Rick.

  “Have a seat,” he said. “How are you this week?”

  “Good. I feel good.”

  “You seem good.”

  I nodded. Just going through the motions.

  “Tell me,” Rick said. “Do you feel as though you’ve been making progress?”

  “Definitely. I’m so happy I was able to open up to you guys about my past. I feel like now I can put that all behind me and work on becoming a better person.”

  “That’s wonderful news. We’ve noticed the same thing.”

  “Thank you.” I forced a smile. “Thank you for helping me.”

  Rick seemed satisfied with the interaction. He pulled a plate wrapped in tinfoil from beneath his seat.

  “As promised, chocolate chip pancakes.”

  He handed me the plate and I sat back. Maybe it was a power move or some weird perversion, but he was actually going to watch me eat. I wouldn’t let that stop me, though. I’d been fantasizing about this moment for days.

  I unwrapped the tinfoil, expecting to see warm, gooey chocolate chips bursting out of a thin, fluffy cake. But these pancakes were cold and dense. They were soggy with syrup poured hours before. I took a few bites and felt my stomach churn. After months of subsisting on little more than rice and air, the rich batter sat like a rock in my gut.

  “
Enjoying?”

  A serpentine smile crept across Rick’s face. So that was why he wanted to watch. He’d known all along that the pancakes would be too rich for me. I took one more bite to spite him, but that’s all I could manage. The last thing I wanted was to spend the rest of the day hovering over the latrine. It just wasn’t worth it.

  I left the rest of the food with Rick and made my way back to camp. Nate’s truck was parked by the creek, and I saw him passing off a brand-new girl. She looked like a fighter, just like I’d been once. Nate and I crossed paths on his way back to the pickup.

  “You’re looking skinny, Elizabeth.”

  No shit. It was like he and Rick had conspired to taunt me.

  “Too skinny.”

  I shrugged. “I think I’m about the same.”

  But in reality, I suspected I’d been losing weight. I hadn’t looked in a mirror for more than three months, but I had stretch marks on my thighs that definitely hadn’t been there before I got to the woods.

  “If you lose any more weight,” Nate said, “I’m going to have to take you to get checked out.”

  Then give me some fucking real food. Not soggy pancakes and dry ramen. What the hell do you expect?

  As much as I wanted to unleash an angry tirade at Nate, it just wasn’t worth it. I needed to keep my head down. Avoid the bait. I couldn’t give them one single reason to justify keeping me in the woods any longer. Either way, they’d win. I wanted the version where I’d be gone before they could take a victory lap.

  “I won’t,” I said.

  A week later, the letter I’d been waiting for finally came. It was handed to me during group and I nervously scanned the page, knowing I’d have to read it out loud.

  “‘Dear Elizabeth. The weather report says you’ve been getting rain. I hope you’re managing to stay dry.’”

  My heart raced as I began to share my father’s words.

  “‘My last call with Rick was very positive. He says you’re making great progress. Your mother and I are proud you’ve been able to accept that you’re ultimately to blame for your own anger. We love you and have forgiven you.’”

  “That’s nice,” one of the counselors said.

  “‘I know you want to come back to South Carolina,’” I continued reading. “‘But Mom and I don’t think that’s going to help you. Even if we sent you to a Christian school, your wild friends would still find you. We feel that a boarding school would help your self-esteem so you won’t need fulfillment with beer, pot, and parties. And we think we’ve found the perfect place for you.

  “‘Carlbrook School, in Virginia! It has a beautiful campus with lots of great kids. In fact, there are several from South Carolina. And, guess what? They’re building tennis courts as we speak!

  “‘Please trust us. We’re not doing this to be mean, we’re doing it out of love. We just want you to get better so you’ll be happy and safe for the rest of your life.’”

  I read the rest of the letter in a daze. Right up until that moment, some part of me had still been praying for a miracle. Hoping that maybe I’d be the exception, the one kid who actually got to go home. But no, I was headed to a boarding school just like everyone else.

  My graduation was scheduled for the end of the week. My parents, no big shock, would not be attending. After not getting to attend my grandmother’s funeral, the pain and disappointment just felt like par for the course. Instead, they invited my old pals, the kidnappers, to pick me up and transport me to a place called Halifax, Virginia.

  Carlbrook. That’s one of the fancy schools.

  It wasn’t home. At least it wasn’t lockdown, though, and I was finally getting out of the woods after three miserable months.

  Compared to all that, how bad could this other place be?

  Part II

  Chapter 13

  ONCE I KNEW I was leaving the woods, time passed more quickly. It was easier to hike all day when it felt like I was heading toward some destination. I made it through my graduation ceremony and gave away all my decent possessions to the other girls. I had just handed off my trail mix when I heard Nate’s truck sputtering down the road.

  “God,” I whispered, “if you exist, thank you for getting me out of here.”

  I got into the truck and looked around at the other girls.

  “So,” I said. “I guess, um, good-bye.”

  “See you.”

  I got into the truck and Nate pulled out. My last impression of the woods was of waving hands and sad, dirty faces. Fuck you for getting to leave, they all seemed to say. But I didn’t blame them. I’d thought the same thing every time I watched the truck drive away with a girl who wasn’t me.

  It took about fifteen minutes to get to base camp. My escorts were waiting by the intake trailer. Once again, they were dressed in identical black. The man grinned when I stepped out of the car.

  “We meet again,” he said.

  Intake Jan called me into the trailer. She handed me a thin, frayed towel and a sample-size bar of soap.

  “There’s a shower on the other side of the door,” she said.

  A shower. An actual, real shower. Sort of.

  It wasn’t exactly a spa. The shower was tiny and caked in the grime of the thousand kids who’d come through before me. I could almost feel them there with me as I stepped inside, waiting for the water to turn as hot as I could possibly get it. Two thousand arms scrubbing and scrubbing, a thousand bars of soap dissolved into slivers. We couldn’t possibly get clean enough. It was the most thorough shower I’d ever taken, and still, dirt and sweat clung to me like a layer of skin. I had scraped myself raw, but I hadn’t managed to wash away the last three months.

  And somehow I still smell like the fucking woods.

  The scent was trapped in the fibers of the T-shirt my parents had sent to base camp. I smelled the tartness of the woods even as I sat inside the SUV, even after we’d left the Appalachian Mountains behind.

  If I closed my eyes and tried really hard to forget, I could almost pretend my escorts were chauffeurs. They were hired drivers, after all. They had dropped me off and now they were picking me up. The same two people in the same black SUV, paid to ferry me around. Chauffeurs. Just as long as you ignored that three-and-a-half-month gap in the middle.

  The drive went much better this time too. In fact, my escorts and I were even getting along. They talked about the night they grabbed me from my bed. Apparently, I was one of the angriest kids they’d ever met, pure rage and spitting venom. But now I was subdued, glad just to be back in the civilized world.

  “Chick-fil-A, right?” the woman asked.

  “Yep,” I said.

  I was almost touched that they’d remembered my fast-food preference, even if it was only from a truck stop with three options. I ordered three chicken biscuits this time, because the fact that I even could was almost too good to believe. I scarfed the first one down right away and got to work on the second. I didn’t care about gut bomb or my last biscuit going cold. I was going to eat every last bite out of principle, even if it took the whole drive.

  I looked through the window and watched the trees go by behind glass. I sniffed the glorious stale air, a mix of chicken, the man’s aftershave, and the cheap, filmy soap I’d just used to shower. I had actually made it out of there. I’d managed to survive hell for more than a hundred days. And while I wasn’t exactly thrilled about my next destination, the fact that I was heading somewhere else, anywhere else, had me almost delirious with relief.

  I unwrapped my last biscuit and asked the escorts to turn up the radio. It was a country station, not my favorite, but I hadn’t heard music in so long I would have been happy with polka.

  Pretty soon, we crossed over into Virginia. My nerves spiked. I tried to prepare for whatever was coming.

  “Get ready, kid,” the male escort said. “We’re there in about five.”

  I looked out the window. We were in a town that had been worn down and neglected, just like everything else
along our path since we’d veered off the highway. My view was all crumbling barns and abandoned houses, cars left to rust. There was no way this setting was five minutes away from an expensive boarding school, the place that had been described, essentially, as the place where all the fancy fuckups go.

  “Where are we?” I asked.

  “Right about the middle of nowhere.”

  I turned back to the window. Already, the landscape was changing. There were fewer and fewer houses and eventually there were none. For several miles all I saw was green, just tall trees and lush grass. Then a glimpse of stone in the distance.

  “Is that it?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

  It was like driving through an oil painting. A long stretch of white fence ran from the side of the road up to an old and elegant stone mansion. The lawn was perfectly manicured, the trees freshly pruned. A sign read “Carlbrook School: Visitors by Appointment Only.”

  The SUV pulled onto the sprawling grounds. Up ahead, I saw the huge stone mansion I’d spotted from the road. Everything was so quaint, with cobblestone paths and Victorian streetlamps. We stopped in front of a carriage house, smaller than the mansion but still old and stately. My escorts walked me to the door. Only this time, they didn’t grip my arms or jostle me around. I guess I’d actually earned their trust or something.

  Oh my god, I have Stockholm syndrome for the second time.

  I wasn’t prepared to start something new already. I hadn’t even begun to process everything that had happened in the woods. So when they tried to send me through the doors of the carriage house, I wouldn’t budge.

  “Okay. This is where we leave you.”

  “Wait.”

  The escorts stared at me. “Yes?”

  “Nothing,” I said quietly. “I just don’t want to stay here.”

  “You’ll be all right,” the woman said. “At least you’re out of the woods, right?”

  I forced a smile.

  “Good luck, Elizabeth.”