Page 1 of Ruled By Fate

Chapter One: The Fox and the Phantom

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“Farewell, happy fields, where joy forever dwells: Hail, horrors, hail.”

John Milton, Paradise Lost

The golden quiet of the woods was interrupted only by the sound of feet rhythmically pounding the trail. White shoes flashed against the dark path as the girl ran in silence, crunching fallen leaves into the earth, each fleeting step echoing in the idyllic stillness of nature.

A trilling, high-octave wail blasted through the air, frightening birds from their branches as the latest pop hit declared that the singer didn’t want to go to Heaven without raising Hell.

She careened forward and stumbled over a rock, dropping her phone in the process. She spat a lock of hair and a good quantity of leaves out of her mouth as the song continued to blare at top volume.

“Well this was always going to happen,” she muttered, groping around on the path until she found her phone. She’d made the mistake of letting her best friend, Sherry, use it a few months back. When it was returned, she discovered her alarms and ringtones had all been changed to hilarious effect. Siri wouldn’t stop calling her “Sexy Beast,” and she hadn’t figured out how to change it back yet.

She glanced at the screen and groaned. It was her therapist. Again. He probably wanted to have another conversation involving the phrase, “So tell me again about this… light.” That was the thing she hated most — the weighted pause before the last word. It made therapists sound almost… patronizing.

She closed her eyes as she answered and tried to inject as much level-headed cheerfulness into her tone as she could muster. “Hi, Dr. Rogers. How’s it going?”

“Hello, Brianna. I’m glad you picked up. How are things going with you?”

Another classic therapist move — answering a question with a question.

“You missed your last two sessions,” he continued. “I was getting worried.”

“Oh, no need to worry. Everything’s fine.” She yanked off her shoe to remove a pebble, immediately falling backward off the decaying log she’d used as a seat. A blanket of moss cushioned the fall and her hand landed in something she very much hoped was tree sap.

“Brie? Are you there?” Dr. Rogers’ voice crackled through the phone.

“Yes, yes, I’m here!” she said, popping up again. “I’m sorry for missing our appointments. I was just, um… packing, you know. Super busy with the move.”

The move had been a constant source of discussion for the last few months. She remembered the day she’d told him, the way he’d paused in surprise beside the office aquarium, staring at her intensely, unaware that he was tragically overfeeding his fish.

“So, you’re sticking with your decision? You’re taking a step back from therapy?” he asked. He’d never say she was quitting. He’d never say she was walking away. Words were weapons, and he handled his with the greatest of care. It was a trait they didn’t have in common.

She tensed ever so slightly, wiped her hand on some leaves, then walked determinedly down the trail. “I prefer to think of it as a graduation.”

There was a long pause before he spoke. “Brie, let me be frank with you.” She heard the familiar creaking of his chair. She could picture exactly how he was leaning back and steepling his fingers to make his point. “I know you keep saying you’re ‘cured,’ but as I keep trying to tell you, grief is a journey, not a destination. There is no ‘cured.’ And the fact that you insisted for so long that what you saw was real—”

“I know it wasn’t real,” she interrupted flatly. “It was a grief manifestation. Something my brain invented to deal with the tragedy. I accept that. I accept that there was nothing supernatural about the accident. I accept that the man who came to save me wasn’t real. Just like I accept that instead of dealing with me himself, my dad hired you.”

Silence.

She cast a quick look to the heavens, cheeks flushing in shame. The man didn’t deserve her anger. The truth was, he’d been nothing but supportive ever since her father had decided he no longer knew what to do with her or her insistence that beasts made of shadow had attacked her mother and a man made of light had driven them away. Dr. Rogers had been patient and kind, and he never once said she was crazy, which she very much appreciated. Especially considering how often she wondered if she was.

But it had been years, and she was done rehashing the past. She wanted to look forward.

“Look, I’m fine,” she said, preempting his attempts to push the party line. “I’ve done everything you’ve suggested. I kept diaries, journaled my dreams, considered yoga—”

“Are you going to the waterfall again?”

She flashed a look up the trail before glancing suspiciously at her phone. What number am I thinking of?

“Brie?” he asked.

“No, I’m not going to the waterfall,” she said quickly, covering the receiver as her heart hammered away in her chest. “Haven’t you been listening? I’m done with all that. I’m at home now — packing. I’m listening to the soothing sounds of a South African rainforest on YouTube and considering getting an emotional support animal. A dog. Or maybe a ferret. I hear they come in ferret.”

There was a scarcely audible sigh. “You know I’m only asking because—”

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