THE PUZZLE

 

The air feels different here. To me at least. I feel giddy and hopeful but scared too. I’m in a car, face out the window, driving by the sea. We don’t have this at home. The road bends to the right, leaving the sea behind, but the vista remains something out of a landscape magazine, the kind of beauty that makes one think about God and how sovereign He must be. It’s dreamy, until my driver makes a sharp right turn and enters the forest through a bumpy dirt road. I sit back and look ahead. The green slowly disappears, and all that is left ahead is a parched forest. It reminds me why I am here. The sinking hole deep within me begins to open up again and suck my joy away. I need to calm my mind. I need to ground myself before I have another panic attack.

The road remains bendy and full of potholes for over an hour. I can see through the trees, and from either side I do not see anything I expect to see. It didn't look like this in the pictures. I feel anxious. I did not travel 24 hours for this. Where are all the greens and waterfalls?

"Are you sure this is the place?" I ask the driver.

"You said Crossroads Creek, no?"

"Is this the only one?"

"Yes, ma'am."

As I live and breathe, this is not what I emptied my savings for. Ahead, I see a gate made of wood with a sign written in red paint. It is Crossroads Creek, alright.

"I don't think this is where I am trying to go. Take me back, please, take me to the nearest hotel."

"I can assure you, ma'am, this is the right place."

He keeps driving, and I can feel panic rising from my core. What if he is kidnapping me?

"And no, I am not kidnapping you, and you are not going to die, " he says.

He is looking at me from the rearview mirror. I meet his eyes in the mirror, trying the best I can to keep calm. I am definitely not the first he has driven here. He looks away and continues to drive. What if this is the end of me? I fumble for my phone. No service.

" Please stop the car. Let me out."

I am officially in panic. The sinking hole inside me has brewed all my emotions into hot lava. I can no longer keep the anxiety from my tone and face. He glances at me from the mirror, then slows down to a halt. I jump out before he fully stops, with my purse, and step right in the middle of a puddle. I want to scream. I pull myself out of the puddle, try to dry my boots, and when I look up, he is standing closer to the hood of the car, watching me. I search my surroundings. I am lost. The way back is long. Crossroads Creek is a minute away, but it's wrong. I didn't leave my wrong life to come to another wrong life. How unlucky can one be? I have nowhere to go, so I just stand here. I do feel better outside the car but not any safer.

"Who sent you here?" he asks.

"What?"

"We don't advertise online. You only come here when recommended by someone. Someone I assume you trust. Who recommended you?"

"They didn't tell me it was like this? And the brochure in the email was not this."

"Of course." He smirks and looks away.

“Of course?”

“This place is different for everyone, Ma’am. Whoever sent you here probably didn’t see it this way.”

"What do you mean? Is there another way?"

This gives me hope that maybe we have only taken the back entrance.

"There are millions of ways to get in. The experience is different for everyone. "

I shake my head and squint as if that will help me hear him better.

" I, I, I don't understand."

"Your map, ma'am, led us through this road, and your map is based on the test you took when you first registered for this retreat."

Why do I suddenly feel like I've signed up for some witchy magic here?

" I am very confused right now. "

" This is your path, Ma’am. Now, please get in the car. I do not have all day."

I look around and ahead of me, through the gate. The trees are as dried up as the grass. It almost looks like there has been a fire. There is red and black soil and nothing. It's dry, yet this road looks like it's been raining.

"What does it mean that my path looks like this?" I ask, but deep down I know the answer. This is my life.

"I should be asking you. Get in the car, Angela. I don't know how far your cabin will be."

I flinch at his firm tone. I go around to use the other door to avoid the puddle. We are at the gate before I can fully process this whole thing. He stops.

"Please go and open the gate?" he says.

First, he stops calling me ma’am, then..."I mistook you for a gentleman."

"Oh, that I am, but only you can open that gate."

I watch him watching me. If anything, this place may not look like what I expected, but it is already doing something to my brain. I climb out and walk cautiously to the gate. It's a waist-length gate with a simple hook. I open it, turn, and look at him.

"Really?"

He does not say anything. I go through and wait on the side. He drives toward the gate, but at the threshold I hear the impact. Like a car hitting a wall. He hits the brakes. I am trying to process what is happening. I check the car, and it has a scratch consistent with hitting a wall. Luckily, he drove in slowly, as if he expected it. Otherwise, this would have ended badly.

"What just happened?"

"This is where my journey ends. Come and take your bags," he says as he assesses the car and then goes around to take out my suitcase and my purse.

Where the hell am I? He does not look fazed. He holds out my bags just outside the gate.

"Where am I?" I ask before I take my bags.

"Right where you are supposed to be."

I take my suitcase and purse. He turns away.

"Wait, where am I supposed to go?"

"Follow the road and follow the instructions you find. All the best. I hope you make it."

"Why? Could I not make it?"

"Goodbye. See you when you leave."

He gets in his car, then gets out again with a box the size of a small pizza box.

“I almost forgot. This is for you.”

He hands it to me. It is a plain white box with lightweight contents that move freely. Sounds like puzzle pieces or something.

“What is it?”

“I have no idea,” he says as he climbs back into the car, reverses, U-turns, then drives away.

I watch the car disappear, leaving me in the middle of nowhere, alone. This is beginning to feel like a dream. I put the box inside my purse. Wheels down, I tow my suitcase, following the path from the gate. It remains bendy. I keep going, feeling the weight of the suitcase with every pull. I am thankful for the weather: No rain, no sun, just a cool afternoon. I stop to check my phone frequently, checking for service, but I remain separated from civilization. Finally, ahead I see something that is not a dry tree. There is what appears to be a one-room cabin. I should be relieved, but I feel tested. I rush toward it. Before I reach it, the first drop of rain hits my arm. I look up, and the clouds are gathering in dark sheets. I jog to the cabin, and it begins to pour before I reach it.

The door opens with ease, and I am standing inside a small room, lit by the daylight through a small window. It is dark in places and smells like wet wood. It has a low roof, concrete floors, a three-quarter bed, and a wooden chair. That's it. There is nothing else. The window has no curtain. It is closed but clicks and moves back and forth with the pressure of the rain. The rain is loud against the roof. I set my suitcase on the side, purse on the bed, and take off the wet boots. I hang my wet jacket on the chair and try to breathe. I sit carefully on the bed to determine its comfort, and I am relieved it feels like my childhood bed. I lie back and listen to the rain. I don't feel myself falling asleep, but when I wake, it's the middle of the night. I turn on the torchlight on my phone and discover I've slept with the door open. I dash to kick it closed. I look at the window. I have no solution for it. As I try to think, the door creeks open and startles me, breathless. I whip the torch toward it, and there is nothing there. I close it properly with my hand this time and realize it does not fully shut, and there is no key. I drag the chair and put it behind the door, then return to the bed. I am hungry. What is this place? What kind of retreat is this? I miss my apartment. I pull my purse close. The first thing I see is the box. I go ahead and open it, and as I have predicted, it’s puzzles, but without a sample picture. I throw them aside and dig into the purse for food. There is a 500-gram bag of chips, 2 chocolate energy bars, and gummies. This is all I have. I need to get out of here. I eat half a chocolate bar and the bag of chips, then return to bed. I can't sleep anymore, and as always, my mind begins to wander off to my past, to all the traumas I am running from. I shake it off, find some offline music on Spotify, and listen.

I run the torch up on the roof. Tucked on the side of a wooden pallet, I see a piece of a puzzle. I get up, stand on the bed, and retrieve it. It seems odd. It has no clear picture but bluish clouds and a piece of a branch on one side, and the words, ‘not close, and’ on the other side. It does not make sense, but it is obviously a part of a larger text. If no one has ever been here, where did this come from? Somehow, from the travel exhaustion, I fall asleep again and wake up in the morning.

The window brings in good morning light, and the door crack brings in some light too. I get out of bed and remove the chair. The door opens on its own. The rain has stopped, and it smells like wet soil. There is no polluted air, but I cannot help feeling depleted, like the sinking hole inside me has become this place. I feel sad, so sad. If I could cry, I would.

I put on my boots and jacket and step further out of the cabin to look for any sign of life.

On my way, I keep finding puzzle pieces like breadcrumbs marking a trail. I put them in my pockets and continue going. There is no sign of life, save for a stream of water that feels like a ray of sunshine. I drink from it and wash my face. It has come to this. I'm in survival mode now. For a moment, I am not panicked. I feel calm. But it does not last long. From the corner of my eye, as I get up from the stream, I see movement. I look slowly, and there stands a dog. In a place like this, I don’t see it as a pet. I move in reverse slowly. I see it approach more slowly. I can barely breathe. I have no weapon and no help. The cabin is more than 3kilometers away. I am dead. It’s a black and grey Doberman breed, but wild and strong in stature. It looks almost furless from here. Behind it, a branch creaks. It turns quickly towards the sound. I keep moving back as it turns its hunger toward whatever is there. I do not wait to see what it goes after. I run through dried branches that seem to be thirsty for my blood. This place feels like a nightmare, one that is more terrifying than my trauma. Every sound makes my heart beat a little faster. I can barely see where I am headed. I fall over a log.

“Jesus!”

I get up quickly and limp forward. I don’t think I am being chased. I scan the forest, and I don’t see anything. I keep running until I get to the cabin. I push the chair to the door and place my suitcase over it for more security. I am not safe. I rip my jacket off and hang it over the railing on the window. It’s too dark in here, but rather the darkness than risk being seen. Where the hell am I? I sit on the bed, in the dark, and listen. It is quiet until it is not. I hear what sounds like careful footsteps. I think it is the dog, then a sudden scratching over the door. I stand erect in horror, watching the door slowly creak open.

As I reach to push the chair back, I hear a deep growl. I think I am going to pass out from fear. Then there is silence again. I wait, quietly, listening. Where was I going? How do I manage to make the wrong decisions with everything? I am shaking. I came here seeking God, seeking healing, seeking peace, and all I get is this. I’m exhausted, hungry, and out of my mind afraid.

To keep awake, keeping watch lest I get eaten in my sleep, I find the puzzle box and begin to put them together on the floor with my flashlight. I am at 33% battery life and 100% power bank battery life. At least one thing is going for me. I finish the piece of chocolate to raise my sugar level. I have never put together a puzzle without a sample image before. With limited lighting, it’s taking longer to get two pieces to make sense. Both sides of the puzzle have something, which makes it even harder to know which side goes where. I push the puzzles to scatter all over the floor in exasperation. I am frustrated. Why am I here? Tomorrow I leave this place. I sit helplessly on the floor, trying to think of how to get out. The only way I know is the way I came.

The outside is quiet. I am tempted to peek, but I am afraid. My eyes shift to the scattered puzzles on the floor, and I notice a clue. The puzzles have one side that has some writing in italics and another side with tree branches and clouds and maybe silhouettes. I start putting it together again, focused on stringing together words. It is harder than I anticipate, but unlike the image on the other side, the words are in a language I know. I keep going.

From the outside, I suddenly hear the tip-tap of feet. It sounds like something on its fours. I hold my breath until it’s quiet again, then continue the puzzle. This puzzle is keeping me from overthinking about what is out there and how I’ve travelled so far to be in a prison. Some dark side of me thinks this might be what I deserve.

Pieces begin to come together from the corners, almost leaving a giant gap in the middle. From what I can read so far, it sounds like a letter. I find a piece that fits next to the ‘Dea,’ at the top, and I gasp in horror when it completes the word dear and spells out half of my name. I search for the last letters of my name, and there it is. This puzzle is a letter to me. Now I cannot go to sleep. I have to finish it. Maybe it is my way out of here. All night I put together the pieces until there are none left. But a gap remains in the middle of the puzzle. I check the box. Empty. I check my bag. That is empty too.

“Damn it. Why can’t something just be easy for once,” I hiss quietly.

I feel beyond frustrated. Out of desperation, I check the puzzles I have collected on my way and realize they are a different colour, but they have the same graphics. I begin to fit in the words, and they seem to fit. What are the odds? Now I pray I have found all the pieces because I am not going back out there. When all is done, there is one piece missing. I do not remember where I put the puzzle I found on the roof. I look around, then focus my attention on the puzzle. I am nervous, but I can read this.

Dear Angela

Welcome to Crossroads Creek. If you are reading this, then you are halfway through your journey and if anything, I do hope this puzzle has proven to you that you can live without knowing the future, one puzzle piece at a time. Life is meant to be a mystery. The moment we try to be God, we lose the essence of what life is meant to be.

I realise I cannot read it right without the missing piece, so I get up to look for it with the flashlight, and there it is. Under the bed. It fits perfectly, and I am failing to process what this letter is saying.

Your window is open, and your door does not close, and that is not a good place to be. Heal, Angela. Above all, surrender your life to the one who has the full picture of your life and let him guide you toward every puzzle piece of your life. Stop trying to do it yourself.

Go outside, meet the dog, and give him a name. He will be your companion until you leave.

All the best. We wish you healing and lots of love in your life.

Crossroads Creek

I look at the window and the door. So they know about this and did nothing about it? What does it have to do with my healing? What kind of monsters run this place? I lay back, facing up. For some reason, in the silence I begin to think about the driver. “Only you can open that gate,” he’d said to me. What did he mean? Something had kept him from coming in here with me. I sit upright and read the letter again and again. Your window is open, and your door does not close...

“And that is not a good place to be.” I process out loud.

“Heal, Angela.”

The meaning begins to change. This is not informing me or apologizing for the inconvenience. It’s a mirror, and for the first time, I can see myself clearly. I begin to cry before I can stop myself. It shocks my nervous system into convulsion in the struggle to let it out and hold it in. It is just me here. I let go. I cry my lungs out like I’ve never cried before. Heal, Angela. It all sounds easy in words, but what do I do? How do I stop feeling? How do I stop needing to medicate in the only way I know? How do I erase the violation of my innocence? If I close the door, I will be completely alone. I do not have anyone who knows my pain. No one knows the real me. No one will be in the room with me. I fear the prospect of being alone in this darkness with the curtains closed.

“God, do you want someone like me?”

Do rape victims share in the table of holiness?

The scratching begins again at the door. I go quiet. I believe it is the dog. I have been running from it when it was trying to be a friend to me. The accuracy of my reality in that is no longer surprising. I slowly remove the suitcase and pull the chair. The door opens and lets in the early morning light. He stands at the door and comes right at me as soon as the door is wide enough. I hold my breath. He rubs his face over my leg softly, and I breathe. I reach for him and rub his back. I sit down on the floor again, and he sits with me, like an old friend. I feel safer, relieved, and less alone in a way that matters for the first time in twelve years. I sit there in silence and think of all the places I’ve been, all the things I have been through.

“Did I really deserve it?”

I lie on my back and breathe.

“Did I ask for it?”

Tears run down to my ears.

“Was it my fault?”

I get up and go through the letter again and remember that the other side of the puzzle has an image, so I flip it carefully. The pieces are locked in so tightly, none fall off. I need a future that steady, and for the first time, it almost feels like a possibility, like I could deserve something good that wouldn’t last a single night. On the flip side is an image of the landscape of this place. I am in the picture too, standing by the side of the river, in the same black outfit I have been wearing, with the dog. I caress the dog, and he snuggles closer.

“Hello, River,” I say.

During the day, I walk the grounds with River. There is nothing, still no life, but with every step I find peace. However, I am starving. River keeps running before me, showing me new sights. It is as if he has lived here longer. For his sake, I hope not, because that sounds lonely. He takes off, and I follow.

“River!”

He suddenly stops and wiggles his tail. I get to him breathless and notice he is standing under a huge fig tree that looks dry, but surprisingly, it has figs hanging on and on the ground.

“River, you are my angel.”

I pick one and eat it. It is the sweetest thing I have ever tasted. I fill my pockets with figs and head back. I guess that is what I will be eating here. Within a week, I cover the grounds. It is just River and me, and some crawling creatures that River chases often. I bathe and drink from the river. I tried to follow the river, hoping it leads me somewhere, but it ends at a cliff. There is nothing beyond here, and I have no idea when I get to leave. Do I want to leave? I don’t know.

River is a happy dog, and his happiness is contagious. As usual, he suddenly bolts, barking like he is chasing something. I run after him and lo and behold, by the river, where the grass used to be brown, now sits a bed of green grass. I look around me and the trees have begun to bloom. When did this happen? On my way back to the cabin, I notice all the little greens, the changes, wildflowers blooming. This could not have happened overnight. I simply was not paying attention. I have been here almost two weeks and it feels like a few days.

After dinner, I go to sleep. I sleep better lately, longer than I’ve done for twelve years, and my dreams are pleasant. In the morning, as usual, I awaken to kisses from River.

“Good morning, River. Thank you.”

I lay awake, facing the window. It still has no curtain, and I have never seen those before. There are hooks on the rail.

“Huh!”

I get out of bed and remove the chair from the door. The door does not automatically open. I stare at it and open it, then close it. It clicks shut, and on the floor I see a key. Wait, did someone come here while I slept? No way. River would have attacked or something. I step outside, and I finally understand. Like rain has watered the land in the night, everything has bloomed.