We walked down the hallway. It was still much quieter than I had expected. It was a long, immaculate hallway with coffee-white tiled floors similar to the ones in her office and gray walls that resembled steel. I could see windowless double doors at the far end and thought we’d be passing through them, but she suddenly paused at a door on our right. She turned to me, and although she didn’t smile, she spoke in a softer tone.
“I want you to know that I do feel sorry about what happened to you, Kaylee. However, I have learned a great deal about your family and what you both have endured, so I feel sorry for your sister, too. You understand?”
“Yes,” I said. I didn’t want to share any sympathy with Haylee, but I did understand.
“She’s not here yet. I will have her brought. Don’t expect to see a monster,” she added. “She’s just as frightened about this visit as you are.”
I couldn’t imagine it, but I kept myself from smirking with skepticism. Remain as impassive as you can, I told myself. You’re being scrutinized almost as much as your sister.
“Okay,” Dr. Alexander said when I didn’t say anything, and she opened the door.
The room was as simple as she had described, with its metal table and chairs. However, the chairs had black cushions. There was nothing on the table. The floor was covered with the same large tiles that were in the hallway and her office. There was recessed lighting from above and a telephone on the wall that I imagined was for emergencies. I went to the chair on the other side of the table and sat. The one-way mirror window was to my left. I glanced at it and saw myself sitting there.
This morning when I woke up and got dressed, I had taken a long time to choose what to wear and how to do my makeup. Recently, my father had taken me shopping, and I had bought a new dress, which I was wearing today. When I was looking at the new fashions for the season, I couldn’t help but think the way Haylee would. She was always pushing me to get something sexier. Since Mother wouldn’t buy either of us anything the other didn’t like or want, even when we were teenagers, I usually agreed with Haylee’s choices. Otherwise, she’d be so unhappy and I would feel so terrible that neither of us could be satisfied with what was purchased for us. It was better to go along with Haylee’s selections.
When I had taken this dress off the rack, my father was standing behind me. He stepped forward as I held it up, and he shook his head.
“What?”
“There’s not much to it,” he said, and I laughed. Those words would have clinched the choice for Haylee.
He felt the material and shrugged. “I could fold it up and put it in a business envelope.”
“I’ll try it on,” I told him, and went into the dressing room.
The dress was a kaleidoscope print, in poly-blend stretch knit with a cap-sleeved bodice. It had a deep V neckline. Thanks to Haylee, I had just the right bra for it. The multicolor print was in shades of pink, teal, blue, and yellow. It fit me like a second skin. The banded waist topped a bodycon skirt that I thought was flattering, if not revealing, the way it traced every muscle in my hips and buttocks. The hem of the skirt was a good six inches above my knees. It was truly a Haylee dress.
When I stepped out of the dressing room, my father’s eyes flew wide open. He shook his head, a slight but fearful smile on his face. “I’m sure you need some sort of license to wear that,” he said.
I turned to see myself from every angle as I considered myself in the mirror. I surely felt like Haylee would feel, I thought. The dress was exciting on me, and I was happy I had gained back all the weight I had lost in Anthony Cabot’s dungeon basement apartment. There was no question; the dress possessed me. I could hear Haylee beside me whispering, Say you want this. Say it because I want it.
“I like it, Daddy.”
“Whatever,” he said. “What do I know about clothes for teenage girls today?”
Afterward, he bought me a pair of black suede platform heels to go with it. I knew just the earrings and bracelet I’d wear with it, too.
When I looked at the dress this morning, I envisioned Haylee seeing me in it. The very sight of me looking so healthy and sexy would be a vengeful blow to her ego. She was probably expecting to see a meek, terribly wounded person who could be nothing but ultra-conservative with her fashions now. Sexually abused girls would be terrified of lustful looks. But I wasn’t, and that would surely drive home how bad a situation she was in because of her own actions.
I couldn’t imagine they would let Haylee have makeup, so I put mine on a little heavier than usual. My hair had grown about two inches since my rescue, which was not enough, of course. My father had bought me three wigs by now, all in my natural hair color but in three different styles and cuts. The one I chose today was the shortest. I wondered if Haylee would realize it was a wig, and if she did, would she dare ask why I was wearing one? I’d tell her, I vowed. I’d tell her every detail about that.
“You’re wearing that to the institution?” my father had asked when I descended the stairway in the morning.
“I’m not going to look like a victim, Daddy,” I said. I saw the glint in his eyes. He knew what I was up to, and at that moment, he was happy about my choice and my reason for it.
But it was a moment he would regret later.
Maybe we all would.
3
I was holding my breath when the door began to open. I was anticipating that all-too-familiar smirk on her face the moment she saw me. Of course, I wanted to see her beaten down, defeated, even something that was so unfamiliar to her that she had trouble wearing it: a look of apology and regret. Instead, she was none of that. She was expressionless, almost indifferent, but I think what shocked me most was her hair.
It was as short as the hair on the wig I was wearing, practically the exact same length. Even though it was impossible, of course, I even wondered if Mother had called to tell her to have her hair cut. I still had the childhood fantasy that she could envision us both whenever she wanted to and wanted to be sure we were alike.
Haylee was dressed in a plain white short-sleeved blouse and a pair of dark blue jeans, with no socks and a pair of black slip-on sneakers. As I expected, she wore no makeup, not even lipstick. She was thinner than I had anticipated, and despite how long I had been in Anthony Cabot’s basement, in the hospital, and inside my house, she was paler than I was.
She hesitated and stared at me. The attendant who had brought her remained outside but closed the door, so we were now alone in the room, except, of course, for Dr. Alexander behind the mirror. Haylee glanced around and then looked at me without an iota of surprise, like I had been visiting her daily.