“We're already living in the mountains,” I tell him.
“I'm talking about the real mountains. You go to the Rough Forest and clear your head, son. You come home when you're ready to be a real family man.”
“You say it like it’s an ultimatum or something.”
“No, it's a deal.”
“It doesn't seem like much of a deal,” I say, angry that the secret I am keeping to protect him is hurting me more than ever. “I don't really see what say I have in this.”
“The deal is this, son: you go up there and clear your head or you're not coming back to my job site.”
“Oh, it’s your job site now? I thought it was our family business.”
“It’s my business until the day I die. Rye, I always hoped one day I would give it to you. But I'm not handing my business over to a man who is this unhappy. You need to remember what it means to be alive.”
He understands nothing. I'm holding secrets inside to protect him.
I walk past him without saying goodbye to the rest of my family because I already know what they're thinking. They're sick of me.
And I'm not going to change their minds with anything I say right now. My head's too hot. My body is all tense, feeling ready to throw down.
Since I'm not going to start a fight with my flesh and blood, I know it's better for me to just get the hell out of Dodge.
2
PRAIRIE
It's been four years.Four years waking up in this bed that is not my own.
Sometimes when I close my eyes at night, I dream of a big, hulking hero, a man with a beard and axe. A hungry look in his eyes as he enters this cabin, crashing through the door, breaking off these chains, throwing me over his shoulder and taking me somewhere safe, warm.
His arms maybe. His bed, please.
I like those dreams.
Because when I close my eyes and float away and drift into that fantasy, I can forget the truth.
And the truth is this: the last four years I have been locked in this cabin with this couple who have convinced themselves I am their dead daughter.
When I was eighteen, I hitchhiked and thought they were giving me a ride one town over, but they weren't. Instead, they drove me to their house and locked me up in their home, binding me with chains so I was incapable of going anywhere.
I've been living like this for four years. Growing angrier as I’ve waited for the moment when I can escape.
This morning feelslike every other day. Outside the bedroom window, I’m happy to see the snow has melted from the ground; the skies are blue.
Of course, I can't reach the windowpanes. If I could, I would put my fist through them. I would break the glass even if it meant my skin sliced open. I would crawl through that window, and I would let my feet touch the cold earth, and I would run free.
But the chains on my wrists only let me walk five feet in any direction, which means I am stuck in the middle of this room.
I put on the clothing that Marjorie set out for me. It's not like I have a choice in what I wear. They want me to be the daughter that they lost, Alice.
I am in her bedroom. In her bed. Reading her books and sleeping next to her dolls. In her time capsule.
And it is terrifying. What if I am here for the rest of my life? This room my only home?
I can't let myself get hung up on these details. When I do, I spin out of control and lose my grip on reality. The reality is this: eventually I will figure out a way to get out of here. Eventually I will find a way out. And then I will meet that man who's waiting for me.
I always was a dreamer.