Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

As promised,when the door opened, Bradley was waiting there. My lower abdomen was cramping, but more than the physical pain, I was emotionally drained.

"I'm sorry," Bradley whispered.

"Why are you sorry?" I asked as I pushed the cart toward the end of the hall.

"I'm sorry that you think I'm not helping you, because I am, Demi. I'm just telling you the truth, and sometimes, it's the truth that hurts the most. But, the truth is also what will save your life here." He licked his lips and brushed his hand across his face.

"Okay." I nodded. He was absolutely right. This was a fight I couldn't do alone. Bradley was the one person I'd have to lean on and trust in order to escape. But I didn't want to just get out; I wanted to save those girls…

The way I couldn't save my older sister.

The memories flooded my mind. I wasn't raised in Gatlinburg. I wasn't born here. I could still picture it all. Us, boarding the plane from our small village in India with the strange men with light skin and hair I'd never seen before. My sister clutching a worn teddy bear, lacing her fingers into mine as our parents counted through stacks of money. They didn't even look at us; they didn't kiss us goodbye or shed tears of sadness.

Instead, they smiled. The paper in their hands brought them more happiness than their own daughters.

"Demi? Becca's waiting for you."

"Yeah." I walked in to the small salon-like space.

"I'm so excited to cut this off. You're going to fit in so much better and besides, then you won't have to wear a wig. The wigs get really hot and itchy." Becca clapped her hands excitedly.

"I love my hair." I sank into the chair and looked at the mirror, twirling the thick, frizzy strands between my fingers.

"Well, you'll love this look even more. And they will, too. Fitting in is the best!" She grabbed a brush and began to comb out all of my hair, then snatched up the scissors and cut it swiftly. The slicing of the blades hitting my hair just before it fell to the ground had me clench my eyes shut. I didn't want to fit in.

Four hours later, Becca had me turned the other way and spun me around. "Ta-da!" she exclaimed with jazz hands.

"Holy shit." My mouth dropped open as I stared at the girl in the reflection. I didn't even look like myself. My waist-length hair was cut short, and it was now bleach blonde. My hair clashed against my otherwise tanned skin, standing out like I was some kind of side character in a Marvel movie.

"Your lips are chapped horribly. See this line in the middle? Yuck." She pointed out the line that was embedded in my bottom lip as she tinted my lips in a creamy, nude lipstick.

But it wasn't from being chapped; it was from being sliced opened when I was seventeen and tried to run away for the fourth time.

"Now you'll have higher chances of sealing the deal as the favorite girl. Poor Misha…" Becca shook her head with a frown.

I spun around on the chair and looked at her. "She was murdered, Becca. In the peony garden," I spewed out, finding some strange kind of relief that Becca knew something had indeed happened to Misha.

"Mm-hmm… she was. But at least she's free. There hasn't been a favorite girl in years."

"I don't understand what being the favorite girl even means? Why aren't you trying to be that?"

"Me?" Becca tossed her head back, breaking into laughter. "I don't want to leave my home—" She covered her mouth as she quickly tried to silence herself.

"Home?" I questioned, completely stunned by her reaction.

"Demi, I was married to a man who beat me daily. He almost killed me multiple times, and I can guarantee you, had Daphne and Ian not taken me in and given me an entirely new identity, he would have found me and done it. This is home." Becca waved her arms around.

"But the… the caged girls," I whispered.

Becca's face lost its color as she slowly walked away from me, turning to her vanity and cleaning her scissors with an alcohol wipe. "The caged girls were drug addicts." She glanced at me through the mirror. "Drug addicts who were a burden on society. The Ivory family saved their lives. You just don't get it… They are saving the weakest women and helping to guide us toward a brand-new life. You should be grateful, Demi." She pointed the scissors directly at me with pursed lips.

"Drug addicts?" I whispered, completely confused. Was that what Dr. Ivory's experimental study was? But the all-white rooms, no sound, no visual changes, and all-white food…? How was that healthy? Those women were trapped in a colorless, soundless boxes. This wasn't rehabilitation… this was complete sensory deprivation.

"The favorite girl is the one who wants to go back into the bloodcurdling world and fly free. Dr. and Mrs. Ivory don't like it, but they have enormous hearts and only want what's best for their girls. The thing is… I've been hearing some whispers that they are trying to find a favorite girl who will eventually be the next Mrs. Ivory." Becca smiled happily.

"Why would Daphne… Mrs. Ivory be okay with that? Is she planning on divorcing Dr. Ivory?" I stood and shook the straggling hair from my body.

"No silly! They want the favorite girl to marry Conrad and eventually take over the estate and carry on their study. Dr. Ivory is starting to feel as if he can't carry it all out in the upcoming years. Besides, the wedding would be stunning! Can you imagine being the next Mrs. Ivory?" Becca clutched her chest and swooned over the thought of marrying Conrad.

"So, the favorite girl will be asked to marry Conrad and take over… all of this?" I asked curiously.

"Yes! Now you need to go and clean the pulchritudo floor. Mrs. Ivory has an event tonight; she'll want her room in the best shape."

Nodding while every ounce of this insane information circled my mind, the door opened and Bradley was there. Ironically, I felt like a caged girl, too. Weren't we all? Locked in with no way to escape? Our wings damaged and paralyzed with no option.

"Wow." Bradley sucked in a breath as soon as he saw me, and immediately realized his reaction was out of character.

"It's horrific, I know." I looked away and gripped my cart.

"Nothing about you is horrific, Demi," Bradley said so quietly, I swore I had made it up in my head. I paused and looked at him. I wanted to smile. But as soon as I thought how kind the words Bradley said were, I thought about the magnitude of the dangerous situation I was in. Should I believe Becca? Were those women all former-drug addicts who would have definitely been dead by now, and this is just some outlandish medical experiment to help them with withdrawal?

I barely had an education, so I didn't have a clue about medicine. But Dr. Ivory was disgusting. He was on top of me in the middle of the night, threatening me. He was calling those women his ‘birds.' Rubbing my face, I knew I had to do something. I had to help these girls; I had to save them and myself. There were better resources out there for these women.

I just needed to sneak away and call the police.

We wove through hallways, and it seemed like a mirror reflection of each ‘wing.' Every hallway identical, even the decorations were duplicates. There was no color, and the walls and floors stitched together.

"I'm going to the Ossis floor to give… them food." Bradley looked at his cart. "I'll come pick you back up after. It'll take you time to clean Mrs. Ivory's room. She's very particular that you brush everything."

"Brush everything?" I raised my eyebrows and swallowed the saliva in my mouth that was coating my otherwise dry mouth.

"I'll see you in a little bit." Bradley shrugged and turned away.

"Bradley!" I called out behind him.

He flung around and put his index finger against his lips. "Shh!" he shushed me with fear in his eyes.

"What are they getting to eat today?"

"Plain rice and yogurt." Bradley's lips tightened into a straight line as he stared into my eyes. I could tell he wanted so desperately to say something else, but he didn't. He walked away and the door silently slid shut behind him.

The knots in my stomach grew tighter but then suddenly, the door slid open and I did what I knew best.

Survive.

Holding my breath, I walked through with my cart. Thankfully, the room wasn't stark white. Exhaling as I paused in the center of the room with parted lips, my breathing grew quicker as my heart started to pound harder.

When Bradley said my job today was to ‘brush everything,' I wasn't sure what he meant. But as I stood there in Mrs. Ivory's ‘special' room, I saw the endless wigs, neatly lined on shelves with spotlights over them.

My lips trembled and my body grew cold as I walked to the wall.

"No… Oh no, no…." I stammered as I blinked repeatedly. Tiny, golden placards were drilled into the shelves that held them.

Rows and rows of wigs; all blonde, with different styles and lengths. Squinting, I ran my finger against the engraving.

Jackie Indigo (Brunette, virgin)

Gabby Mian (Brunette, dyed)

Kealey Remington (Blonde, dyed)

Elise Moretti (Brunette, dyed)

Silvia Sully (Brunette, virgin)

Jessica Miller (Red, virgin)

Kori Wimberly (Blonde, virgin)

Erin Harlow (Brunette, dyed)

Paige Cooper (Dark-brunette, virgin)

Cristina Navy (Red, dyed)

Caroline Sage (Blonde, dyed)

Amanda Calloway (Brunette, dyed)

Kelly Shah (Blonde, dyed)

Allyson Montgomery (Brunette, virgin)

Rows and rows of names and hair colors? My chest tightened as I looked at each wig that was now platinum blonde. Closing my eyes, I tried to count the rooms I cleaned. Five? Or was it nine? It was too hard to remember when the shock was cutting through every ounce of my body as I robotically cleaned around a human who was in a room with a shaved head and everything was a blinding white, including their meals.

"Demi, have you even started brushing them yet?" I spun around to find Bradley shaking his head at me.

"Bradley… those… the caged girls… This is their hair?" I didn't know whether I was asking a question or saying my thoughts out loud just so I'd be able to believe them.

"They are Mrs. Ivory's precious wigs. You need to brush them. She's been extremely agitated since they couldn't find someone to do this job in quite some time," Bradley replied stoically.

"Where did these wigs come from? What are these names? Who?—"

"Demi, here. Boar brush only. Do it." Bradley shoved a fancy-looking brush into my hands and physically turned me toward the wigs.

I looked at the bristles and trembled as I reached for one of the wigs and head-shaped mannequin stand.

It was Gabby's. Who was she? Was she here? Was she trapped in one of those terrifying rooms? Those cages?

I began to brush the hair, cringing as the brush struggled to get through the knots. I couldn't hold back the fear pounding through my chest as I thought about how these wigs came to be.

"Bradley, how…" I started.

"Don't ask what you don't want to know, Demi. Just don't." He left the room, and I swore, as soon as the door slid closed, I could hear the girls who once had this hair on top of their heads… scream.

The room felt colder, darker, and more sterile when I was in it alone. My racing thoughts grew loud and echoed amongst the cries of the women who existed under this roof and were being forced to live like puppy mill animals.

But I stood there and brushed each and every wig, hoping that doing so would fill the time because I could no longer breathe here. I realized now that the air in this house wasn't pure or clean; it was plagued with death, just like a morgue.