Color had returned to Jeremiah’s face, so Sofia left his side and smoothly resumed preparations. She picked up an alcohol swab from her metal tray and tore it open. She patted my right leg until I relaxed, lying like a cadaver on her table. She wiped the swab across the pad of my right big toe. My breath hitched.
“The mark we wear on our toes is an homage to all that we’ve learned,” she said. “The three points of the triangle represent Wisewood’s three principles. The triangle plus trunk form an evergreen tree to remind us where our rebirth originated. And the triangular Q plus the F beneath it stands for ‘Quests of Fearlessness,’ the reason we’re all here tonight.”
It’s just a tattoo. I exhaled, thinking of the star on my temple—I’d gotten it the week after Mom died. Nat thought I was crazy then, and she would think this was crazy now. But how was q2 any different from a man branding his girlfriend’s name across his chest? A family commemorating the death of a loved one with matching angel wings? We wanted a way to express our commitment, a daily reminder of what we were working toward. All of this was pain with a purpose. Teacher often reminded us that pain was fear leaving the body. In our case, it was especially true. With every quest, we were one step closer to fearlessness. I didn’t know how to make Nat understand.
She’s not here, I reminded myself. Don’t let fear of judgment get the best of you.
If my sister were here, she’d say that I followed Teacher around like a puppy, with a head empty of opinions or reason, but she would be wrong. I knew Teacher manipulated me. I knew she played all of us against one another, keeping us closer to her than to each other. I knew she told me what I wanted to hear to strengthen her hold over me.
But I cared less about the reasons behind her actions and more about the actions themselves. Every wink, every compliment, every hug—they made me feel needed. Most of the time, it didn’t matter if she was telling the other students the same things. I craved her approval. Teacher telling me I was special was more important than whether it was actually true. I was willing to overlook serious flaws if it meant being loved. Who among us wasn’t?
I tolerated these manipulations because they pointed me in a direction I already wanted to go. Teacher wasn’t trying to force me to wear a skin that didn’t fit, to push for a life I didn’t want. She could be harsh but she was also right—fear was a monster of our own making. Fear held power over us only if we let it.
You’re a tidal wave, Kitten. You’re exactly what Wisewood needs.
“Sanderson? Raeanne?” Sofia said. The two of them rose.
Sanderson cleared his throat. “I’m not totally down with . . .” Raeanne grimaced at him. He swallowed and approached the table.
“You take her legs. You get her arms,” Sofia said.
Clammy hands clamped my ankles; a dry pair grabbed my wrists. I reminded myself Teacher had said touching was allowed for quests as long as we didn’t enjoy it. I willed myself not to think about how much time had passed since I’d touched another human being—besides her—in a non-classroom setting, but a number materialized anyway: six and a half months. I refused to think about my mother’s hugs or my last boyfriend’s kisses. I ignored the blasphemous thought that touching was a form of socializing, and socializing was what made us human.
I focused on lying still on the table, wondering if Raeanne could feel my pulse jumping out of my wrists. Sofia laid a comforting hand on my back as she talked about the importance of pain, how it made us stronger.
“Showtime,” she finally said. Her knees popped as she lowered her head even with mine. She dug her nails into my arms. “I want to thank you for doing this. For bringing her back.”
I peeked at the doctor. “Who?”
She pointed to a stool in the corner of the room. “Rosa. Whenever I feel most alive, like right now, when I can feel the blood zinging through my veins, my daughter visits me. You brought her here tonight.”
She was speaking figuratively, right?
Raeanne nudged Sofia out of the way. “Let’s get moving, Doc.” She took Sofia’s spot by my head, pulled the toothpick from her mouth. “Time to be brave.”
I rested my chin on the table and held Raeanne’s gaze. I would not think about the potentially hallucinating doctor about to put a needle to my foot.
“It’s gonna hurt a lot,” Raeanne said, breath rancid, “but only for ten minutes. Only for a hundred breaths in and out, and we’ll do them together. You ready? You’ll breathe with me?”
I nodded, unable to stop quivering. I had a frantic thought that I needed to know what was coming and glanced over my shoulder.
In Sofia’s hand was a cautery pen. The tip glowed red.
Raeanne brought my head back to face her. “Soon you won’t be afraid of pain anymore, I promise.”
I had been expecting a bunch of tiny bee stings, like with my star tattoo, but when the tip of the pen touched my toe, a white-hot pain sliced through me. I jerked and screamed.
“Hold her still,” Sofia said.
The pressure on my arms and ankles intensified. The pen kept moving. When the smell of burned flesh hit my nostrils, I stopped moaning. I could barely feel my foot anymore.
At last fear was leaving my body.
37
Natalie
JANUARY 9–10, 2020
I WAIT, CROUCHED under a spruce. Hail ricochets off the trees. When I’ve convinced myself the masked woman is gone, I dart down the same path she took, trying to retrace our footsteps. But she must have brought me out here on a roundabout route; none of my surroundings are familiar. Actually, all of it’s too familiar, one grove of trees identical to the next. I feel like I’m in a maze. The same eerie sensation I’ve had since first setting foot on this island settles over me: I’m being watched.
I scope the forest, chest thumping, afraid to yell for help.
“Hello?” I call.
No one answers.
What kind of guru leaves someone to freeze to death?
The weather’s not letting up. Snow falls thick as fog. My parka is warm enough for arctic conditions (thank baby Jesus), but my hair is wet, ears frozen. I pull up my jacket’s hood, cutting off my peripheral vision. I push it back down, scared of what I can’t see.
Why did I follow her out here? How could I be so stupid?
I’m about to call out again when I hear a cracking sound. I whip around but don’t catch anyone behind me. For a minute, maybe more, I stand there. Nothing but the endless deluge of hail. I hear the sound again, and this time I’m sure it’s the sound of knuckles cracking.
Is she fucking with me?
I turn a slow circle, the trees closing in on me. I listen for more cracking, but all I hear is the wind. I probably imagined the noise. I decide not to wait to find out.