The Clearing

Caitlin startles awake with a gasp. Her body is gripped in a cold sweat. Heart still racing, she grips her oversized t-shirt at her chest, willing the beats to slow. She rubs her eyes with her palms as she grounds herself in reality. She takes a deep inhale and slowly lets it out. The nightmares have been relentless since Patrick went missing. Most nights she is lucky to get even 4 hours of sleep. Caitlin glances at the clock glowing red on her nightstand. 4:53am. Up before the sun once again. She slides out of bed and places her feet firmly on the chilled wooden floor. The old wood creaks as it adjusts to her weight. She wonders how many memories wood this old has seen.

Caitlin walks to the bathroom. The only light to guide her is a yellowed night light in the hallway. Entering the bathroom, she flicks the switch and squints as her eyes try to adjust to the daylight bulbs above the mirror. She ponders her reflection. Her eyes are surrounded by a deep bluish hue that any insomniac knows well. Flakes of mascara speckle her face from yesterday’s makeup, growing evidence of her creeping neglect of her own needs. She sighs at the sight, then splashes cold water on her face. The cold water ritual has been a staple in her routine lately. Some part of her hopes that this splash of ice will wake her from the horror that has been her life for the past four months. Every time that it doesn’t work, she has to fight back tears to accept that this is her reality. This morning, the tears come anyway. She pats her face dry, flicks the light off, and walks downstairs.

She goes straight to the kitchen to the old Mr. Coffee machine that she has had since college. It’s nothing fancy, but it brews a lot of coffee at once and that is exactly what she needs. She stares out the window into darkness as the coffee begins to brew. The tiny sounds the coffee maker emits soothe her and she inhales the powerful scent of the dark roast she has chosen this morning. She pours herself a generous serving in her favorite mug that reads, “Dead, but Caffeinated.” She goes to the living room, sinks into her favorite chair by the bay window, and waits for the sun to rise. She thinks of nothing.

The first cracks of dawn begin around 6:45am. By this time, she’s consumed nearly the whole pot of coffee. Her brain is still fatigued, but her body has enough energy to function somewhat. The anxiety the caffeine fuels helps to get her moving. She goes to her closet and puts on several layers of warm clothes including a hat, winter coat, and warm riding boots. As she dresses, she avoids looking at Patrick’s side of the closet--ignoring the dirty clothes he left in the hamper before he disappeared. She can’t bring herself to wash them because what if that is all she has left of him? She banishes the thought and heads to the backdoor.

The crisp air of a New England February morning bites at her knuckles. She remembers she has gloves in her coat pocket and begins to put them on as she walks toward the stable. The whole world is quiet at this hour, especially with the blanket of snow that cushions the sound of everything. The unforgettable crunch of the snow beneath her feet is all she can hear until she enters the stable and sees Frey, who exhales softly. “Morning, handsome,” Caitlin says. She has to look up to gaze into his eyes. His black coat looks like an oil spill against the snow. Caitlin gently guides him out of the stall and begins to tack him up for a morning ride.

Since Patrick has been gone, Frey has been her only real company. Sure, family would call and check in, but all they offered was empty platitudes that left Caitlin feeling more lonely than before. But with Frey, she didn’t have to speak; he never gave her false hope or feigned concern; she never had to be anything more than what she is. Frey would carry her whether she were laughing or crying or completely numb. She trusted him and he trusted her. Their morning rides were more meaningful than most of her interactions with people.

Caitlin finishes tacking up and climbs into the saddle using a step stool. Frey was far too large to mount without one. She strokes him gently on the back of his neck and says, “Let’s have a good ride today, bud.” They set off with a slow walk as they head toward the woods behind the house.

Caitlin and Patrick had inherited quite a few acres of land when Patrick’s parents died unexpectedly. Most of the land was heavily wooded forest which Caitlin preferred not to disturb. She and Frey would try to find a new way to weave through the trees each day. She dreaded the day she had seen everything, but that seemed to be a ways off.

Frey and Caitlin began their ride together while the morning fog was still dense. Caitlin let her mind wander old familiar thought patterns as she let Frey take the lead into lands unknown. He headed west into a denser part of the trees. As soon as they were beneath the canopy, the darkness of the forest was heavy. Caitlin didn’t seem to mind, still caught up in her own thoughts. Frey forged deeper.

Suddenly, Caitlin is pulled from her trance by the sound of a scream. A man’s scream. Patrick’s scream. Frey heard it too and tried to turn back towards the stable. Not letting Frey take control, Caitlin gave him a forceful command to lope deeper into the trees from whence the scream echoed. She heard it again, this time more clearly, “Cait!” Her heart rate must have been nearing 200 by this point, Frey galloping underneath her.

Abruptly, they reach a clearing. Open space, clear skies, an untouched blanket of snow, and a pond--a frozen pond unbeknownst to her. Everything was alarmingly silent. There were no sounds of wind, no birds, no rustling. Even Frey seemed to be holding his breath. Then again, “Cait!” There was no question this time. The scream was coming from the pond from underneath the ice.

Caitlin felt sick; her stomach turned inside out and melted. She scrambles to dismount Frey, and in the process slides the saddle down on his side. She falls into the snow causing a deafening thwop. Again, louder, “Cait!” The distinctive sound of someone screaming underwater was undeniable. Caitlin stands and tries to rush toward the pond, unable to lift her feet high enough above the snow to move quickly. The scream is so loud now it is as if she has in earbuds at max volume, “Cait!” Her brain rattles inside her skull. She tries to process what is happening, but her body is running fully on adrenaline and executive functions have been powered off.

Without even a second thought, she steps onto the thick layer of ice covering the pond. She sees him. From underneath the ice, Patrick gazes back at her, panic written on his face. He looks alive! They are both screaming now. She begins pounding with her first as hard and as fast as she can. Ice begins to splinter and her fists begin to bleed. The ice is turning pink around her. She is bellowing, thrashing and throwing herself down on the ice. He seems to be pounding back against the ice himself trying to reach her. Without warning, the ice gives a resounding crack like the world being split open. At first, she only feels the ice water against her face. She thinks, “This is it. I am finally waking up.” Falling head first into the pond she surrenders. She is swallowed by the ice.

As soon as the last inch of her is fully submerged, the pond begins to mend itself. Slowly, the creeping cracks quietly correct the damage she caused. The ice is licking its wounds, soothing itself. The work is tedious, but the ice is diligent. In nearly no time at all, the world is quiet again.

Then a scream, “Frey!” echoes from the clearing.