Heal the Soul
Aviana
Whip Whoosh, Whip Whoosh.
The rhythmic slap of the wipers against the windshield echoed through the vehicle like a frantic drumbeat as Bill, my driver, and I moved down the gravel road. The afternoon’s darkness pressed in, its heaviness heightening the growing unease I couldn’t shake. Where was I going? This was supposed to be my summer vacation from teaching—a break I desperately needed. My friends had promised this retreat would be a sanctuary, a place to help me find inner peace and rebuild my confidence. Yet, as the rain poured relentlessly and the sky grew darker, all I could feel was a tightening in my chest, as if this was just another step into the unknown.
I remember sitting with Claire, Hannah, and Hannah’s coworker a few days ago, their faces lit with excitement as they gushed about how this retreat would be transformative based on the reviews on Yelp. Claire clasped my hand, her eyes shining with conviction, “Aviana, it’s exactly what you need. Trust me. You’ll feel like a new person when it’s over. You will have way more confidence.” Of course Hannah sat there and nodded in agreement “It’s a safe space. You deserve this for you.” But even as I heard them and agreed with them, part of me wasn’t convinced. I’d voice my doubts, told them I wasn’t sure if this was the right thing or right place for me, if I was ready to face whatever ‘healing’ meant. And now, here I was, second-guessing everything.
This campsite, isolated in the middle of nowhere, made me question my decision. What if Bill wasn’t the helpful driver he seemed to be? What if this was all some setup? What if he was luring me into the woods to hurt me, to leave me here with no one to find me?
The only confirmation that I’d reached the right place and I wasn’t going to be left in a ditch in the middle of nowhere, was a large granite sign that came into view on the corner, reading “.” This had to be it.
I fumbled for my phone, trying to pull up “Heal The Soul” on Google to research, but there was only one bar of service. I should’ve done more research before I came here and made sure it was exactly what I needed. Instead, I’d just trusted my friends’ promises. My stomach sank. What if something happened, and I needed help? What if Claire or Hannah needed to reach me for something important?
“Calm down, Aviana,” I muttered to myself, louder than intended. Bill glanced at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Excuse me, Miss, did you say something? It’s hard to hear over the rain,” he asked, his voice cutting through the low roar of the storm.
“No, sir,” I said quickly. “I was just mumbling to myself. I’m sorry about that.”
“Please, Miss, call me Bill. Your stop is just up ahead. I’ll get you as close to the door as I can,” he added kindly, his tone warm despite the storm.
“Thank you, Bill. That’s very kind of you.”
Whip Whoosh Whip Whoosh
Whip Whoosh Whip Whoosh
Whip Whoosh Whip Whoosh
The wipers kept their rhythm as we neared the registration office, which looked like a log cabin nestled deep within the mountains. It was larger than I expected, built from what looked to be large oak logs, exuding a sense of warmth and hospitality that didn’t quite match the chill in my spine. The natural beauty of the structure seemed to invite those who had made the long journey out here, but something about this place still didn’t feel right.
** *
Past
Age 8
?? “I am sorry, sir,” I whispered, my voice cracking with shame. I had burned his dinner—something so simple, but it was enough to make him angry.
“Be a good girl for Daddy Widlow,” he said, his tone abhorringly sweet, yet laced with a threat. “You know the rules. Everything must be perfect. You are perfect, right?” He knelt down in front of me, his gaze unwavering.
Trembling, I nodded, the guilt gnawing at me. “Yes, Mr…”
“Daddy Widlow,” he corrected, his annoyance sharp. “Call me Daddy, not Mister.”
Swallowing hard, I forced the words out, the apology still thick in my throat. “Yes, Daddy Widlow.”
“Yes, what, girl?” His tone was clipped, almost impatient, demanding the affirmation he expected.
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of my mistake pressing down on me. I had been careless, distracted, and now I had to pay for it. “Yes, Daddy Widlow. I am a perfect little girl,” I murmured, the words tasting bitter. The punishments had come more often in the past few weeks, and this mistake—burning his dinner—was only going to make it worse.
Shaking my head, my breath shallow and nervous, I braced myself. The open belt buckle in his hands was a clear warning. He pulled it from his waist, and before I could react, he swung it across my backside with force. The pain shot through me, sharp and immediate, making me wince.
I stood there, trembling, my hands gripping the edge of the table as he positioned himself behind me. I dreaded the second strike, knowing it would come.
“You know what good little girls get when they are perfect?” he stated. “They get to feel good. I know that belt on that pretty white ass of yours didn’t feel good, did it?”
“No, sir. I mean no, Daddy Widlow, it did not feel all that great if I am being honest. I know you like when I am honest. . . "
“ENOUGH! Enough rambling, girl. Do you want to be my perfect little girl and feel good?” his voice full of inquiry.
After nodding and rubbing my backside, he sat down on the couch in the living room, telling me to follow him and lay down on the couch on my back with my feet in his lap. His hands started rubbing circles around my arches and heels and then further up until he was at my inner thighs. His hands lingered, his “massages” turning into something darker. The humiliation, the pain—I escaped into a song Mommy used to sing when I was sick. It was the only thing that kept me from breaking entirely.
My little baby, not feeling well?
Your nose is running, Mommy can tell
Rest little baby, I’ll care for you
You’ll get well soon, I’ll make sure you do
If I dared cry, he would take the belt to me again. I knew that from the first two times, when he tickled my thighs and I begged him to stop. The memory of those moments still stung—his hands pressing down, never going further, but lingering on my skin long enough to make me feel trapped. Each time, I had hoped that maybe this time would be different, but each time, it wasn’t. His grip would tighten, and the unbearable weight of his touch would remain, holding me still until I learned to stay silent. I had learned quickly that any show of emotion would bring more pain, and I hated myself for that, but I knew better now.
***
I was jolted from my memories as I heard a voice nearby. “Name, please, miss.”
“Miss,” another voice calls out, gently tapping me on the shoulder. “please, move up to the desk and give them your name.”
I made my way to the folding table that served as the registration desk, greeted by a woman who handed me what looked to be a pamphlet. “Name please.” She cheerfully says.
“Aviana Rendrop.”
“Reddrop. Got it.” She smiled at me, but I noticed the confusion in her eyes .
“No, I’m sorry. It’s Aviana Rendrop , R-E-N-D-R-O-P.” I corrected, spelling it out, hoping she’d understands.
“Oh, my apologies, hon,” she said, looking embarrassed. “Rendrop, here we go, Aviana! We’ve got you in Cabin 5,” she said, handing me a key, a name badge and a map.
I turned to leave but collided with someone. Looking up, I was taken aback by how handsome he was. His hair was a perfect, soft charcoal wave, and his dark chocolate eyes shone through the glasses perched on his nose. His facial hair was carefully groomed that matched his polished look.
Great, Aviana. Of all people to bump into, you had to hit the most gorgeous guy here, I thought to myself, frustration mixing with embarrassment.
“I’m so sorry,” he said, stepping back with a surprised look.
“Oh, no, it was all me,” I quickly apologized. “I should watch where I’m going.”
He chuckled, holding out his hand. “Cade. Dr. Cade Brenner. Camp therapist. And you are…?”
I looked at his hand and back to his face, then quickly snapped back to reality, realizing I had been staring.
“Aviana Rendrop,” I said, my voice shaky.
“Ah, yes, I think you are one of my patients while you are here. I believe I saw your name on my roster.”
“I’m so sorry, Dr. Brenner,” I blurted out, my face burning with embarrassment. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
He raised an eyebrow, his tone casual but with a hint of curiosity. “What won’t happen again?” he asked, his gaze steady on mine.
I felt my cheeks heat up even more as I stammered, “I-I mean… bumping into you. I didn’t mean to… I promise it won’t happen again.”
Another chuckle escaped him. “Well, considering I’m your therapist, I think we’ll be bumping into each other quite often.”
I turned even paler, mortified, as he offered to escort me to my cabin.
Thankfully, the rain had stopped by the time Dr. Brenner grabbed my bags. He opened the door and gestured for me to follow.
“Which cabin are you in or should I guess that?” he playfully said.
“Cabin 5.”
“This way then to Cabin 5,” he said, leading me down a path. “There are 25 cabins on this stretch of land. Ten of them are for staff members, though not all are full this season.”
Curious, I asked, “How many people stay in each cabin?”
"This is usually a busy season, being the summer so it is odd we aren’t full. But that makes my job easier with fewer patients. I get to know them on a more personal level.” He continues, “Typically, we fit three to five campers in a cabin, though some of the cabins are smaller. This isn’t your typical retreat with large hotel rooms.”
We walked in silence, passing more cabins on our way to mine. The cabin was modest, with three rooms—a main area, one bedroom to the left, and another to the right.
“Pick a room,” Dr. Brenner said. “Your roommates don’t seem to be here yet. Each room has two beds, so you may end up sharing a room depending on how many roommates you have.”
“Thank you,” I said, pointing to the left of the door. “You can leave my bags there, and I’ll sit down and figure out this pamphlet of information.” I felt uncomfortable choosing a room with him still standing there.
Dr. Brenner lingered in the doorway, clearing his throat. “Don’t worry, Aviana. Men aren’t allowed in the women’s cabins. Take your time to unpack and explore. Dinner is at 5:30 PM in the lodge where we just came from,” he added before stepping out and closing the door behind him.
I sat in silence, letting the stillness of the cabin settle around me. Would this place truly help me heal? Or was it just another step in a journey I wasn’t ready for?