The Wish

Regitze Isla Amelia Sorenson leaned back into her overstuffed recliner on the deck of her vacation treehouse. The treehouse was built 115 feet above the forest floor and located 75 miles north of the Bangor, Maine International Airport. Aimlessly, she began twirling the end of her signature long, natural golden blond and braided ponytail. Her nose twitched as she breathed in the crisp, cold, and refreshing mid-November air. Glancing toward the sky, she watched as fluffy dark grey clouds drifted on the mighty north wind. Having been born and raised in Denmark, she knew these were the signs of snowfall coming soon.

Her heart

fluttered as she felt the excitement of being in this fantastic place when the

snow did fall. At the same time, she felt the sadness of her vacation coming to

an end and her departure the next day.

She did not know a single 23-year-old like her who had the opportunity to spend seven incredible-expenses-paid days in the most elegant hotel in the world and her own private treehouse. It was the best experience she had ever had. She couldn't

wait until the Treehouse Hotel was officially launched in January. Once the

hotel opened, the shroud of secrecy would be lifted, and she could share her

experience with family and friends who did not know she was at the Treehouse Hotel.

Glancing at her watch, she realized it was almost time for the dinner call from Marla,

her dedicated staff member. Marla always called to inform her when a meal was

being sent up to the treehouse in the vacuum food chamber; even though her

treehouse had a kitchen with well-stocked cabinets, breakfast, lunch, and

dinner were always prepared by the hotel's gourmet chef. Tonight would be her

last dinner and her last night in paradise.

Regitze lamented that in 16 hours, Marla would ride up to the treehouse in the

Transport Pulley. Regitze would be waiting on the deck below for Marla to

assist her in getting strapped into the Transport seat. The Transport operator

on the forest floor would press a button that would quickly and smoothly lower

her 115 feet to the Maine forest floor below. Once unharnessed, she would get

into a sleek black chauffeur-driven town car and head off to Bangor Maine

Airport. She would return to life in Los Angeles in just over eight flight

hours. She would be back in her dorm room, back to university life, and back to

being the early shift barista at the Bengal Coffee and Tea House in Beverly

Hills.

Through the clearing in front of her, a flash of white caught her attention. Focusing

her deep blue eyes on the distant lake, she observed the bow of a massive

sailboat as it came into full sight. The sailboat moved gracefully despite the

whitecaps of Lake Minnehaha. Her mouth dropped open as the magnificent vessel

passed slowly across her view. For a few minutes, she was lost in the

magnificence of the moment. Her eyes were locked on the stunning image until

the boat disappeared behind the dense treetop canopy to her left, leaving only

an unforgettable memory in its wake.

The high-pitched whinny of the Downy Woodpecker stopped and started its call,

followed by the echo as he pecked on a nearby Red Oak, which caught her attention.

She reminded herself that she had work to do. Her long ponytail bounced as she

leaned over and retrieved a large white envelope from the end table beside her.

Regitze carefully removed the documents labeled "Confidential - The Treehouse Hotel, Test Guest Survey," which consisted of a thick clipped document from the envelope. Although she had already completed the survey, she wanted to review her answers. Per the attached instructions, she was to leave the envelope sealed on the dining room table before she left the treehouse the next day. Following the enclosed

instructions, she answered the 45 essay questions honestly and objectively.

After reviewing her responses, she felt they reflected her extraordinary

experience visiting the Treehouse Hotel.

Sliding the completed survey into the envelope, she felt her fingers grow stiff from

the cold. Her internal clock told her it would snow soon, maybe even tonight.

She could only imagine how magical living in the treetops would become. A

thought tickled her mind. Was there a way she could stay at the Treehouse

Hotel, maybe not as a guest, but as a staff member? Maybe she could help them

build the brand on an international level?

"Impossible," she said softly to herself. But the thought did not go away. It kept echoing in her head, how could she stay and work at the Treehouse Hotel?

"Impossible!"

She started to rise from the recliner, and then dropped back down, sitting ramrod

straight. "Marla," she whispered. Maybe Marla would help her get a job at the Treehouse? She rose from the recliner, gathered the white envelope

and her empty coffee cup, and walked briskly down the deck and into her

treehouse.  As she slid open the glass door, Regitze was engulfed in the warm air of the tree house, stepping in

quickly and closing the door behind her. The wall phone rang.

'Hello." Regitze's own voice sounded somehow different to her.

"Good evening Ms. Regitze, this is Marla." The voice had a hint of a foreign

accent and was, as always, light and cheery.

"Good evening to you" Marla." Regitze tried to match Marla's bright enthusiasm.

"I hope you had a lovely afternoon. I am calling to alert you that I am sending up

your evening dinner."

"Thank you, Marla."

"Ms. Regitze, I have requested a special going away treat just for you. I know you

love chocolate; I hope you are pleased."

"Marla, you are so kind." Regitze hesitated, wondering if she should mention her

desire for a job. Her thought was followed by the instant decision to wait

until they were face-to-face. She would be better able to judge Marla's

reaction to her request.

"Thank you, Marla."

"Ms. Regitze, your dinner is in the food chamber. If there is anything you desire

just give me a call. Tomorrow I will be up at 7:30 in the morning to assist you

in preparing to leave us."

"I'll be ready," Regitze heard the soft click as Marla hung up the phone.

Within a minute, she heard the bell chime, signaling her dinner had arrived. Regitze

removed the heavy food tray from the chamber and placed it on the small dining

room table. Not wanting to soil the white envelope, she moved it onto a chair

for safekeeping.

Regitze was delighted to discover Marla's chocolate surprise was a plate of three

sizeable warm brownies laced with black walnuts. Regitze's mouth watered and

she could not resist a taste. Breaking off a corner of a brownie, she popped it

into her mouth. The rich sweetness almost made her swoon; it was so…decadent. It was irresistible, and she immediately decided to do something she had never done: eat her dessert before dinner.

Reaching into an open cabinet, she selected a coffee mug and filled it halfway with

steaming brewed coffee from the electric silver coffee pot. With a mug in one

hand, she grabbed a napkin and the plate of the brownies and placed them on the

coffee table in front of the sofa. Sitting cross-legged, she grabbed a brownie

and bit vigorously into her treat. Closing her eyes, she slowly swirled the

brownie around in her mouth. She gave her taste buds time to taste the full

richness of the chocolate, the subtle taste of vanilla, and a hint of cherry,

ending with the crunch of the black walnuts.

"Bliss," she murmured.

After eating two brownies and feeling satiated, she stretched out full length on the

sofa, kicked off her heavy woolen socks, and pulled the soft yellow afghan from

the back of the sofa to cover her. Mindlessly, she began twisting the end of

her braid. Maybe she could work here for a year and then return to Copenhagen?

Rolling her head towards the coffee table, she debated eating the last brownie

reminding herself that she had not eaten any of her dinner. Dismissing her concern,

she reached over, picked up the last brownie, and enjoyed it.

Once the last sweet treat was consumed, she rolled over and ran through the list of

people who might help her. Her eyes lit up, and she sat upright, her bare feet

hitting the floor.

"Mr. Aber will help me!"

Her mind moved like a runaway train, recounting why Mr. Aber

would or could become her ally. After all, he invited her to the Treehouse Hotel as a

Test Guest. Mr. Aber had insisted; the flight from Los Angeles to Maine was too

far and too cold for him on the eastern seaboard.

Although it was never mentioned, she could tell from his expensive suits and the chauffeur-driven limo that brought him to and from the coffee shop that Mr. Aber was very wealthy. He told her he had lived in Bel Air, the most expensive real estate in Los Angeles, for many years. In his day, Mr. Aber had been a very popular and successful showman. He had been on Broadway for nearly thirty years. He had even been nominated for a Tony Award®  for his performance in the stage play

Rapunzel. It is where he told Regitze that he had met and married his first

wife, a stage actress in her own right.

Once in passing, he briefly acknowledged that he had loved his first, that is all he said before changing the subject. 

Ever curious Regitze researched Mr. Aber on the Internet. He had married one of his leading ladies. They met during the performance of Rapunzel on Broadway. A few months after they married she caught him in a supply room with the assistant costume designer. His wife immediately divorced him. A year later she was tragically killed on a movie set in Barcelona, where she fell or jumped from a cliff into the sea below. Some reports Regitze found claimed she died of a broken heart. Mr. Aber married and divorced three times after her death. His last wife divorced him ten years earlier.

Her face softened when she recalled the morning several months earlier when she brought Mr. Aber his coffee, he commented that she seemed frazzled. She shared that a strange man was calling her dorm room at night. She was sure he had followed her on campus and to her job. She had reported the incidents to the campus police. But they could not stop the calls or the constant uneasy feeling that she was being stalked.

Mr. Aber listened patiently to her concerns without interruption. He did not try to discourage her feelings. When Mr. Aber did speak, she remembered his deep, rich; baritone voice was low and powerful. He acknowledged his concern for her safety.

Wiping her fingers and mouth on the napkin, Regitze laid it on the now-empty dessert plate. Deep in thought, she finished the last of her coffee. She began to feel

the effects of consuming so much sugar in such a short time. Regitze began to

regret having eaten all three brownies in one sitting. Her eyelids grew heavy;

with great effort, she pulled an accent pillow from the back of the sofa and

put it under her head. She slipped into a deep slumber before her head hit the

pillow.

Regitze's dream took her deep into a heavy fog. A bevy of colors swirled and danced

around her spinning body; she had the sensation of falling and feeling her

heart pounding erratically. She felt her legs trying to run but going nowhere.

Her arms flailed as she tried desperately to push the fog out of her path. She

opened her mouth to call for help, but there was no sound. On another plane,

she heard tapping. Her mind kept nudging her toward the sound of the tapping.

Regitze's eyes flew open; her vision was fuzzy, her head pounding, and her mouth was dry. Her head rolled back and forth on the pillows. She could hear the tapping

sound. Turning toward the glass wall near her bed, she saw a wayward branch in

sporadic contact with the outside glass.

"I have to get up," her slurred words were barely above a whisper.

"Marla is coming."

With agonizing slowness, she began to remember her silly act, the brownies. She had eaten three brownies. With great effort, she made herself sit up. Throwing back the soft pink cashmere afghan, she scooted to the side of the bed. Hearing the tapping, she turned toward the sound; annoyed, she put her face in her hands.

"Too much sugar, why, why, "her words muffled by her hands.

Jerking her head upright, she looked over her shoulder, picked up the pink afghan, and laid it back down.

"When did I get into bed?"

Looking down at her clothes, she saw she had not put on her nightgown, one of her nightly rituals. The thought returned that she had to get ready. Marla would soon

arrive to help her leave. Regitze tried to stand up, but her legs buckled,

causing her to drop back onto the side of the bed. She took a few deep breaths

to regain her sense of balance and stood up again. Her legs were weak, but she

forced herself to remain standing and begin inching forward.

She touched her left wrist, "where is my watch?"

Regitze stared at her bare wrist. Her eyes began skimming the hardwood floor for her

watch. In disbelief, she touched her bare wrist again to be sure the watch was

not there.

Stumbling to the kitchen counter, she saw her dinner tray and empty brownie plate, and her coffee cup were gone. Holding on the corner of the sink, she tried to

replay her actions from the night before. She remembered eating the last brownie; beyond that, she had no memory.

"The white envelope." Turning back towards the dining room table, she looked

for the envelope. It was like her watch had disappeared.

Fetching a cup, she poured half a cup as she reached for the wall phone by the sliding

glass door.

"Hello, hello, hello," her voice grew louder as she could hear the growing fear in

her own voice.

"Why is the phone dead? She stood holding the phone, her gaze going between the wall mount and the handset she held; finally, she hung up the receiver. Slowly, she

made her way to the glass door that led to the outside deck. Opening the door,

an icy cold blast instantly cleared her head. In her frightened state of mind

and without regard for her health, coatless and barefoot, she stepped out onto

the side deck and hurried toward the front deck facing the lake. She could see

the sun was about to set from her vantage point. Her mind surged with

questions. Had she slept all day? What day was it? What time was it? Where was Marla? What was happening and why?

Standing on the deck, the wind had begun to howl. It blew the light, falling snowflakes

in circles. The snow had begun covering every visible surface with a pure white

dusting. Regitze's ponytail whipped around her face as it caught the wind from

the approaching nor'easter.

Instinct told her to check the lower deck. She hurried to the back of the treehouse and rushed down the short staircase, stopping abruptly. She gasped. “The

Transport?" Her voice was soft as the reality of what she saw took hold of

her mind and body. All the gears and cables required for operation had been

removed and were no longer hanging securely from the underside of the top deck.

The only way up and down had disappeared entirely. She looked over the deck

rail through the swirling snowflakes, barely seeing the forest floor 115 feet

below her. Her stomach churned.

"I have to get out of here," her body began to shake, a combination of fear

and the biting cold. She could not feel her bare feet on the deck. Turning

back, she quickly and carefully climbed the stairs to the top deck level and

entered the treehouse. Checking her backpack she found her cellphone and charger

were missing.

She heard a strange hollow click; she whirled around and faced the center of the

treehouse.

"Is someone listening?" her voice a bare whisper as she spoke to herself.

A deathly silence hung in the room. Outside, there was inky darkness. The deck flood

lights had not come on as they had every night she had spent in the treehouse.

"Re…gi…tze," the calm voice drew out the pronunciation of her name.

Regitze, too frightened to move, stood stock still. Her eyes darted back and forth. Who was the voice? Had the stalker followed her, was he in the treehouse? Her eyes

scanned the room, looking for any movement.

"I have to get out of here," her voice was weak but still possessed a

minuscule modicum of defiance. She could hear a man breathing. As fast as she

could she grabbed her coat and gloves and slipped on her boots, she put her

hand on the sliding glass door handle.

"It's no use, my love."

She stood frozen in place, there was no place to run to, barely breathing; suddenly, she knew the voice. Mr. Aber, the realization and shock were too much for her brain to process; her eyes rolled back, and her breathing became shallow as she slid to the floor in a dead faint. The last thing she heard was Mr. Aber's baritone voice booming forth.

"Regitze, Regitze, let down your hair, for I now own the golden stair."

/