CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The best way out is always through.

—Robert Frost

Seventeen Years Ago

Patient Number 0022

“There you go, take a step. You can do it. I won’t let you fall.”

Jett blinked. He was in a forest. He didn’t know how he’d gotten there. He didn’t know when or where or how or why. He took in a big breath. The air felt cooler, and several somethings met his nose. Pine. Dirt. Wet leaves.

Fear. He made a sound in his throat, pulling back.

“You’re fine. I’m here. I won’t let you fall,” she repeated. “This place is safe. Those smells are safe. I’m here to keep you safe. Do you feel my hand in yours?”

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Just like the back and the forth, it soothed him and calmed his fear.

In the distance, he heard the thud, thud, thud . Very soft. A drumbeat. His breath came easier.

“Step forward,” she instructed. “Put your feet on the dirt.”

He took a step, the scratchy solid beneath his feet becoming softer ground. Earth. He looked down, bare toes coming into focus. They were his toes. He wiggled them in the dirt.

“That’s it. You are you, and your feet are anchored to the ground.” He felt her squeeze his hand. That was an anchor too. “Do you feel your feet touching the earth? What does that feel like?”

He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure. It didn’t feel bad, especially not with her hand gripping his, keeping him safe. He wiggled his toes again and took a step. He was movement and skin on ground. He was separate but also not. He was him. He wiggled his fingers and heard her mouth turn into a smile. He felt warm on his face and turned it toward the source. The sun. He felt sunshine and breeze and dirt beneath his feet. He was inside his body, but he was also outside, feeling the world around him. He could touch it and smell it and feel it on his skin.

And he could see it.

The space in front of him widened beyond the spot where he stood. And then he saw the water, a narrow stream that splashed by, a small rocky shore along the edge. A fish jumped into the air and then plunged back into the water, and he could feel its slippery, scaly skin in his palm. He could feel it wriggling and flailing, and he didn’t know how or why, but he could.

He took a step and then another. The woman walked with him, never letting go of his hand. He placed his foot on the sandy pebbles, feeling the bumpy texture on his sole. Other senses opened, and the flash of a blossom unfolding its petals blinked inside his mind. He heard the water now, bubbling and splashing, and he smelled it too. Fresh. Sweet. Good.

He stretched his leg and dipped his toe in. It was wet and cold, and it cascaded over his skin. It made him laugh. The woman laughed, too, and he heard her feet crunch on the rocks next to him. He turned his head to look at her, to see the smile on her face. Her skin looked both soft and papery, and a halo of red curls surrounded her face. Her teeth were big and white, and wrinkles fanned out around her eyes like sunrays. She was the back and the forth and the hand holding his and the thud, thud, thud . She was good. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

He nodded. There was something in his throat. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Mama Maisie,” she said, her smile brightening.

Mama. The word scared him, but he didn’t know why. “Or how about just Maisie?” she asked. The thud, thud, thud in the background grew louder, and his lungs filled with air.

He nodded again. Maisie. The voice and the song and the back and the forth were a woman named Maisie. And she held his hand in hers.

“What should I call you?” she asked.

His head swam. He had a name. Someone had given him a name. A woman. She’d smiled when she’d said it. “Jett,” he answered.

“Jett,” Maisie repeated. “Okay, Jett. And now, sweetness,” she said, giving his hand another squeeze as he took his foot from the water and placed it back on the bumpy pebbles. “It’s time to choose a guide.”

“A guide?” He heard his voice. It sounded cracked and unused. He had to push it from his chest.

“Mm. An animal, maybe a bird? Your guide will stay with you even when I’m not here. Your guide will never ever leave you, no matter what.”

Fear. He squeezed her hand tighter. “But I want you. I don’t want you to go.”

“Not yet. And I won’t ever be far. But I can’t come with you where you need to go. Only your guide can. What should that be?”

A guide? He didn’t understand. Where did he need to go? He wanted to stay here, under the sunshine, feeling his skin and his toes and his hand in Maisie’s. Safe. Warm. He wanted to use his voice, to test different words and different sounds. To feel it rush over his tongue and whisper between his lips.

“You can do it,” Maisie said. “I know you can. Focus. Close your eyes and call your guide.”

He did as she said, closing his eyes. But he didn’t know what to focus on, didn’t know who or what to call.

“There it is!” Maisie said. “Open your eyes. There it is.” She sounded happy.

He opened his eyes and saw what she was looking at. A white dove spread its wings and flew from the branches of a tall tree, gliding nearer. He blinked in wonder and raised his arm, and it landed on his wrist. “A dove?” he whispered. A dove with snowy feathers and glossy black eyes.

“A dove, yes,” Maisie agreed, her voice soft and sweet. “Beautiful. Doves signify peace. Did you know that?”

Peace. Yes. He’d wished for peace in a time and space he couldn’t now recall. Somewhere different. “Peace,” he repeated softly. Then the dove spread its wings again and soared into the sky, gliding above the trees.

“Follow it, sweetness. Go. ”