Broken Glass (The Mirror Sisters 2)

He made another one of his perfectly trimmed and cut-up sandwiches with ham and cheese and brought it and a glass of orange juice to me. I sat up and ate slowly, closing my eyes with pleasure as each bite dissolved with my slow chewing and swallowing. The juice was delicious. I could feel my strength returning.

He stood back and watched me proudly, the smile widening on his face. “Beauty returns,” he said. “Just like in the fairy tale, after a kiss.”

He leaned over to kiss me and stood back, beaming. In his mad mind, he actually does love me, I thought. When I finished my sandwich and juice, I lay back and closed my eyes. I felt him take away the tray and then fix my blanket. I kept my eyes closed but sensed him hovering closer and closer. He kissed me on the forehead and cheek, patted my hair, and walked away. I opened my eyes and watched him cleaning the dishes. I fell asleep and didn’t wake until I heard him moving around the basement apartment, picking up things and mumbling to himself. He was dressed only in his underwear. My eyelids fluttered, and he stopped. He seemed to hear them, as if he could hear the flutter of butterfly wings, and turned to me.

“Figured you’d be awake by now,” he said, walking over to the bed. “I’ve got your warm bath ready. No shower tonight. You need to soak them sores and bruises some.”

He pulled back my blanket, unlocked the ankle bracelet attached to the chain, and easily lifted me.

“You’re a feather,” he said, carrying me comfortably in his arms. “A feather of beauty.”

He started out with me. I glanced back and saw Mr. Moccasin leap off the bed to follow us up the stairs. When we reached the top, Anthony kicked the door to swing it open and then turned left and took me to the bathroom. An old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub was filled with water. He lowered me to the floor gently and took off the bathrobe.

“Hey, I didn’t realize you washed this old rag. Good job.” He dropped it onto the floor beside me. Then he lifted me again and lowered me into the tub. The water was just a few degrees less than too hot. He stood back and looked at me. “You did lose some weight,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll fix that. Good desserts every night, snacks in the middle of the day, and vitamins.”

He reached for a bottle on the shelf to the right of the tub and opened it.

“My mother’s bath oils. She had them made special for her by this lady who concocts miracle stuff, guaranteed to keep your skin young. Not that you hafta worry about that,” he said. “I just want you to feel good. This will do it.” He poured some in and then reached for the washcloth on the rack. “You don’t need to do anything. I’ll do it all.”

I was probably as helpless as when I was first born. I couldn’t push him away. There was no point in screaming. The best thing to do was close my eyes and try to imagine that I was somewhere else.

He began on my neck and back and then worked over my shoulders and down the sides of my torso, reaching around to wash over my breasts and my chest. I thought that was it, but he hooked me under my arms and lifted me until I was standing in the water. Holding me around my waist with his left arm, he began washing below my waist, around my legs, and between them. I started crying, or at least I think I did. I didn’t sob aloud. But he didn’t notice or care. He lowered me again into the water and started to wash my hair.

Suddenly, he stopped and was silent. I held my breath. What was he planning now?

“Just a minute,” he said, and walked out of the bathroom. When he returned, he had a good-size pair of scissors in his hands.

This time, there was no question that there were tears streaking down my cheeks. I uttered a cry and held up my hands to keep him away.

He went around and behind me. “Don’t get so upset,” he said. “Your hair is so bad that washing it won’t help. We’ve got to start over.”

I gasped and struggled to get out of the tub, but he forced me back into a sitting position and began cutting away, close to my scalp, and dropping clumps onto the floor. Too weak to do much else, I gave up, closed my eyes, and waited until he was finished.

“I’ll clean this up later,” he told me, as if I was worried about it.

Or maybe he was telling someone else.

He lifted me out of the tub and began to dry my body. I stood helplessly and waited. Then he lifted me in his arms and carried me out and down the stairs, placing me on the bed and covering me snugly.

“Get some sleep,” he said. “I’m going to get you something nice to wear when you wake up.”

When he had walked away, I felt around my head. He had cut my hair so unevenly that there were areas where I was almost bald, but there were also other areas where I had half the hair I’d had before. It was shocking but really not much more shocking than anything else he had done to me. I was far too tired and defeated to cry about it now.

Mr. Moccasin crawled up beside me. I thought the cat looked sorry for me. He closed his eyes and opened them and then lowered his head to sleep. That was becoming the only solution either of us had to deal with unpleasantness and entrapment. For the first time since I had been brought here, when I closed my eyes, I wished that I would never open them again.

15

Haylee

Twice during the week that followed, Ryan came over as soon as he got out of school. If it wasn’t for him, I would probably have gone as bonkers as Mother, or else I would have given in and returned to school earlier than I had intended. Each time he came, I sneaked him up to my room without Daddy, Mrs. Lofter, and especially Mother knowing he was there, and we made love. It was funny how guilty he was each time afterward.

“Stop looking like you raped the farmer’s daughter or something,” I told him. “You’re supposed to enjoy it.”

“I can’t help it,” he said. “We’re having fun and pleasure, while your sister . . . who knows what terrible things are happening to her? And your parents, your mother just a little ways down the hall, suffering. Practically every time my mother looks at my little sister, she starts to cry, thinking about your mother. So yeah, I think I’m taking advantage of you sometimes.”

“You can’t think of it that way,” I said. “It’s just the opposite. You’re helping me. I’m suffering, too, you know. You can’t imagine how it is here for me until you come to see me. I practically hide from my mother. She is getting worse, and my father is simply overwhelmed. Kaylee would never believe it, but I made dinner three times this week. That nurse wanted to help, but I told her to concentrate on my mother. That was what we were paying her to do. I know that sounds mean, but I can’t help it. It’s hard to be pleasant. I’m not even pleasant to myself.”

“It’s not mean. I understand. You’re so strong,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d be like if my little sister was abducted.”