Nearly two weeks from the day that Michael had died, William hadn't spoke much about the incident. He felt as though some things were best left in the past, back in the old part of his mind that he'd worked so hard to break free from. He told himself every single day that he had the lantern light within him. It wasn't always clear what that truly meant but it was more than just a thought; it was a feeling that resided in every atom of his body. The realization that not everything was worth holding onto had hit him like a truck.

"Let the good memories push you forward."

Yes, those were types of thoughts worth holding onto. Knowing that he'd soon be released from jail and into the unknown was frightening and yet it filled him with joy. He smiled ear to ear every time he heard Angela Boone say those words.

"Pretty soon, you'll be out of this dump and on your own, really living."

Those were words from a friend that he truly held close to his heart. She was good to him and he'd never forget it. She offered him a place to stay with her and he refused it for a few days before finally agreeing that it would be best. The fear that echoed to him from the back of his mind was there and probably never truly going away. Was Michael telling the truth? Would they find him and take him again? But he knew that he had to live with it and, eventually, die with it.

The news of the trafficking ring that had plagued the town for so long undetected spread like a flame to a hay bale. Before long, it was national news and a search had begun for what could be dozens, if not hundreds, more all over the country. His entire life had been a lie, until he searched for the truth. Sometimes, the truth scared him more than the facade he suffered through. The thought that so many more people were being kept as slaves to a bunch of lunatics got to him and made it hard to sleep some nights.

Even the lunatics were crumbling from the weight of it, as Michael had well proven. Memories of his mother would hover in William's mind, too. Had she been starved and brainwashed into becoming a Broomstick like all the others? Did she ever get to hold her son? Or was he taken away as soon as his skin touched light. After so long of thinking he had been taken from society, only to realize he was born and raised so far from it, was hard to bear.

But he found peace in the answers, as terrible as they were, long before he had left the small room with a high window. He never wanted his story to be about the turmoil but of the discovery of purpose. What would he do next - that's what mattered to him most of all. Every question he had could never be answered. Every possibility before him could never be explored. But he dreamed of what they could be. Some doors opened to snow and ice cream, some to an angry Father, and some to a forest filled with bushy grays and flying reds.

Although the jail cell he was in was small, it felt to him like the biggest residence in Lavaca. He ate when he got hungry. There was someone to talk to when he felt lonely. His wounds were healing instead of new ones being added. He could hum and talk without worry for his life. The cot was even big enough for his entire body to rest on. Then, there was the window. He could see outside of it and feel the air against his face, eyes closed and his nose sucking in the smell of pine and soil.

Even though he knew that more places existed like the one he had escaped from, it was clear that time would run its course for all of them. Nothing lasts forever, least of all a prison of desperate souls. He pictured others like himself or Paris, confused and hungry. He pictured them finding their way out and finding their own freedom. Perhaps they'd all meet one day, ready to truly live.

William sat down on his bed and looked out the window at the trees. There it was, a hole in the wall yet it was his air conditioning. It was his contact with the world outside and the beautiful calendar that told him, "every day is Sunday." It was the way in and the way out, his grandest dream. He watched the trees dance and listened to the chatter from the people out there. Some would talk about the weather or the traffic. They talked in such a relaxing way that even William felt calm as a bystander.

"Talk low, talk slow, and don't talk too much."

He waited patiently for a bushy grey or a flying red to come along but with no luck. What he did see, however, was the wind pushing leaves into the air like a private show made just for William. The leaves fluttered around and moved across the landscape, out on a journey to make room for new life to sprout in their place. Some were red and others were yellow. A brown one caught his eye, though. It was flying higher than the rest of them, swirling in circles and cutting its own path. It soared closer to William, floating over the cars and bikes that were chained to their posts. Like a lonely creature in need of a new friend, the maple leaf drifted towards the window and William stood up from his bed.

He walked to the window and reached out his arms towards the leaf as he smiled. It began to descend, its pointed edges bending with the wind as if to say, "hello." William's hands unfurled, waiting for the world to land within them.