Wendy wished she had that confidence.
Chewing on the cap of the red marker, Wendy flipped to the page of her bullet journal saved with a ribbon. Across the top center of the page she had written Nursing, and on the next several pages were bulleted lists, dates, and calendars. After poring over the university website’s academics section, she had mocked up an entire four years’ worth of classes to graduate with a nursing degree. Wendy had used her collection of fine-tip Sharpies to meticulously map out potential schedules, all color coded with their respective credits. It had taken her weeks.
Everything was carefully laid out for her. If she followed these steps, she would have her nursing degree and be ready to enter the real world after graduation. She would have a steady job in a high-demand field.
But …
Wendy turned to a blank page. At the top in small, red letters she wrote Premed.
It was a crazy idea. Becoming a doctor took ages —four years of undergrad, four years of med school, and then a three-to-seven-year residency? That was a lot of time and a lot of money. She was relying mostly on grants and scholarships for college. How would she be able to afford going to med school?
Nursing was perfectly respectable. She’d earn a degree faster and make a decent living. Sometimes, she entertained the idea of becoming a doctor, specifically a pediatrician, but she was just toying with the idea. Realistically, it was too much of a risk and too big of a cost if she failed.
Being a pediatrician meant the wellness of children—their lives—would be in her hands. It made Wendy start to sweat just thinking about making the wrong decision, or messing up so colossally that she’d lose a patient. There was no way she could handle that sort of responsibility. She couldn’t even keep her brothers safe—how could anyone trust her with their children?
She pulled out the athletics brochure and busied her mind reading about the state-of-the-art training facilities on campus.
The acorn remained tight in her hand. I wish Peter were here, she found herself thinking as sleep began to lull her eyes closed. She would never admit it out loud, but he emitted a warmth that Wendy couldn’t help being drawn to, and she felt it when she was holding the acorn.
CHAPTER 12
Warning
Wendy shivered in the middle of the woods. The fading light of dusk tinged the trees a cold blue-gray. They were dense here, like they only got in the heart of the woods. There was a light layer of snow covering the trees and frosting the ground beneath her feet. Her wet clothes clung to her skin. The smell of moist dirt filled her nose. Wendy tried to remember how she had gotten there, but her head was in a fog.
It felt like she was supposed to be looking for someone. Or was someone looking for her?
Wendy wanted to call out for help, but something told her she needed to be quiet, to not break the dead silence that hung thick in the air, pressing against her ears. Craning her head back, Wendy searched the trees above, noting the silvery sky as it peeked through the boughs. She slowly turned in a circle, naked branches turning above her. When she stopped, Wendy found herself facing an old tree.
Its trunk dwarfed the others that encircled her. Its bark was an oily brown, and its branches twisted and curved above her, completely devoid of any leaves or needles. Its roots were thick and gnarled, knotting and tangling with one another before plunging into the frozen earth.
It was the tree. The tree. The one she had sketched a hundred times, just as crooked and eerie in person as it had been on paper.
Wendy’s heart thudded violently in her throat. Cold sweat beaded on her skin. Her nails bit into her palms. Harsh, ragged breaths billowed white before her. The trembling in her spine began to awake.
At the base of the great tree, the roots formed a small opening, like an entrance to a dark cage. Rotten leaves brushed past the gaping mouth and, just below the sound of their ruffling, Wendy heard quiet voices murmur.
She knew this place.
Everything in her screamed for her to run. Wendy needed to get out of there. She needed to get away from this tree. But it was like she had no control of her body, because suddenly she was moving toward it. The hushed whispers became steadily louder as she stepped closer, one foot after another.
They were children’s voices. Wendy could only watch as her own hand reached out toward the opening of the roots.
The voices grew harsh and urgent. The whispers turned to soft cries, then gut-wrenching wails, the kind that howled with unhinged fear. Wendy wanted to scream and drown them out, but her lips remained closed as she leaned in.
“I’d be careful if I were you,” a voice behind her said.