“Here are my two pretty girls!” Mr. Fields said from his big chair. “What have you two been up to?”
“We played with Lauren, “Jessica told him. “But now we want to watch a DVD.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Mr. Fields agreed. “Why don’t you pick one out, and I’ll fix you girls a snack.”
Mama didn’t let Lucy and Hector have snacks. She said snacks would ruin their dinner, but Lucy thought it was really because they were expensive and sometimes they barely had enough money for regular food. She figured it’d be okay, just this once. Her mama wouldn’t mind if she had a snack at someone else’s house.
“Thank you, Mr. Fields.”
“Why, aren’t you just the cutest little thing?” he chuckled. “I wish Jessica was as polite as you are. And you’re so pretty, too. You’re going to grow up to be quite a beauty.” He ruffled her curls for a minute on his way to the kitchen, running his thick, heavy fingers through her hair until it started to make her uncomfortable. She didn’t want to be rude, though. Mama said she should always be polite to grown-ups. “How old are you, Lucy?” he asked while gently stroking her hair.
She wanted to pull away from him, but answered, hoping he’d stop. “I’m eight.”
“Eight? Well, isn’t that just something! You know, I think eight is just the perfect age.” He winked and played with her curls a little more, before finally removing his hand. “Climb up on the sofa, and I’ll be back in a minute or two.”
Lucy was glad when he moved away and went into the other room. She wasn’t sure she liked him very much, but he was Jessica’s daddy, so he was probably okay. She climbed up on the couch, careful not to let her shoes touch the fabric while Jessica popped in a DVD and joined her to watch the animated cartoon she’d selected. It was a new experience for Lucy, since she hardly ever watched cartoons, and they didn’t have a DVD player at home.
Mr. Fields came back with a plate of cookies, and two drinks. Each of the drinks was a different color and they were in plastic cups with lids. “So they don’t spill,” he explained as he handed her one. Lucy noticed the big sticky label on the side with her name spelled out in purple marker.
“Why’s my name on the cup?” she asked, wondering if other people always put labels on their cups. She was glad he’d used purple to write her name. Purple was her favorite color. Her drink was also purple, but Jessica’s was red.
“It’s so you don’t get them confused. You can’t be too careful about germs, and I wouldn’t want you to catch a cold or anything.”
That made sense. Mama always worried about her catching a cold or the flu, and did everything she could to make sure she and Hector stayed healthy. Lucy thought maybe part of the reason was because it was difficult for Mama to stay home and take care of them. It wouldn’t be good if Mama missed work; she could even lose her job if she missed too much.
She and Jessica watched the DVD. Soon, Lucy began to feel sleepy, so she snuggled a little closer to her friend and closed her heavy eyes. There was a fuzzy memory of Mr. Fields carrying her out to his big car and putting her in the front seat, reaching across her to buckle the seat belt before stroking her hair again. That was the last thing she remembered before waking up here.
It was very dark in this unfamiliar place. There was only a tiny nightlight with a blue bulb, and it wasn’t enough for her to see much. The blue glow made everything look weird. She moved her arms, discovering they were hooked to something which made it difficult. She felt the thick plastic bands around her wrists and discovered they were attached to something stretchy, like a big rubber band. It reached up to the ceiling. Looking up didn’t help her figure anything out, because it was too dark to see much and the ceiling was very high. Not sure what else to do, she stood up and took a step. The rubber band things attached to her arm made squeaky, sliding noises above her as she slowly moved forward in the dark.
After a few more steps, she bumped up against something metal. She reached out her hands to feel the new obstacle and the sliding sound came from the ceiling again. The cold steel objects in front of her were like the monkey bars on the playground at school, but instead of going across, these started at the floor and reached up high. The bars were too close together to allow her to squeeze through.
Being trapped in the dark was making her scared, so she decided to try to find a way out. Maybe this was just some kind of game or special test like they had every week in PE. Step by step, she moved to the right, stopping when she realized she wouldn’t be able to tell where she started. After thinking for a minute, she took off her shoes and laid them on the floor close to the bars. That way, she’d know when she got back to the same place. She started her progress again and counted the bars as she went. With each step, the noise came from the ceiling. Step—squeak, slide. Step—squeak, slide. When she reached her shoes again, she knew two things: there were two-hundred metal bars around her and there was no way out.
Lucy called out in the darkness, “Hello! Can anyone hear me?” There wasn’t any answer, so she tried again. “Hello!”
“Shhhh!” a voice hissed from somewhere in the room. “We’re not supposed to make noise. If you make noise and get caught, you’ll be sorry.”
Lucy was both startled and relieved to hear the other voice and hugged her arms to her chest. “Who are you?” she asked softly.
“Beth. My name is Beth.”
“I’m Lucy.” There was no answer, and so Lucy tried again. “Where are we?”
“I don’t know, but in the daytime, a little bit of light comes through the window near the ceiling. I think we’re in a basement.”
Lucy wasn’t exactly sure what a basement was, but thought it was some kind of underground room. “Why are we down here? And why are there bars?”
“I don’t know why we’re here,” Beth answered. “But I’ve been down here a long time—almost two weeks.” She was quiet for a minute and then urgently whispered, “We better not talk anymore! We’ll get in trouble if we talk too much.”
Lucy had a lot of other things she wanted to ask and still didn’t know what the bars were for, but Beth sounded pretty sure they should be quiet. She felt her way back to the cot then lay down in the darkness and wrapped her arms around herself. She thought of one more thing. “Are we the only ones down here?” she asked in the tiniest whisper.
“No,” another voice—not Beth—answered. “There are four of us, now that you’re here. There used to be seven, but some of them went away and never came back. I’ve been here the longest.” After another moment, the voice in the dark said, “I’m Andrea.”
Andrea sounded older than she and Beth, and that made Lucy feel a little better. Older kids were supposed to look out for younger ones, just like she looked out for Hector. “Who else is here with us?”
This time, it was Beth who answered. “Lauren, but she can’t talk anymore. She can make noises, but it’s real hard for her now. She doesn’t even try much because it hurts.”
“Why?”
Neither of them answered for a long time.
Finally, Andrea told her, “You’ll see.” Her voice sounded scared and sad, and not so much older any more. “In the morning, when they bring us food, you’ll see what happens if you don’t do what you’re told. Just try not to make any noise—no matter what. Promise you’ll try. Otherwise, Puppet will get mad.”
Lucy shivered on the cot. “Who’s Puppet?”
After what seemed like forever, Andrea answered. “Puppet’s in charge of us. Promise you’ll try not to get in trouble.”
Lucy couldn’t understand how a puppet could be in charge of anyone. She’d been to a puppet show before, and her mama told her they were always pretend—kind of like a cartoon. She hoped her mama was right, because this sounded like a scary puppet. That would be bad. “I promise,” she answered, because Andrea made it sound very important. It was quiet in the big, underground room again, but once in a while, she heard a whimper from somewhere in the dark. Sometime
s, it was better not to know about bad things in the dark, and anyway, if you ignored them they usually went away. She covered herself with the thin blanket to try to sleep, but realized she had to use the bathroom—bad. “I need to pee,” she whispered.
“There should be a pot under your bed,” Andrea answered quietly.
Lucy took the blanket off and got down from the cot, reaching under the bed until she felt the edge of a big metal bowl. She wasn’t sure what to do and was embarrassed the other girls would hear her. Deciding she had no choice unless she wanted to wet herself, she stood up, lifted her skirt, and quickly pulled down her panties and squatted down. She closed her eyes and concentrated, and could feel her cheeks getting hot. To her relief, none of the girls said a word. Once she finished, she stood up, careful not to bump the bowl. After rearranging her clothing, she knelt down and pushed the bowl back under the bed, hearing the liquid slosh against the side. There wasn’t anywhere to wash her hands and no paper of any kind, so she wiped them on the side of the cot, then climbed back up and pulled the blanket over herself again.
She wondered if she’d see her mama soon and hoped Hector would be okay in their room without her. Maybe Mama would sing to him in Spanish like she sometimes did when they were sick or scared. It was the only time her mama spoke Spanish. When Lucy asked her why, she told them that she was in America now and that they would only speak English in their home. If only Mama was here to sing to her. She was scared, but thought maybe it was okay—even though she was eight years old and a big girl, old enough to stay by herself without being afraid. At least Beth and Andrea were here with her, and somewhere in the dark was Lauren. That comforted her a little, but it was a long time before she fell asleep.
Beside her on a small table, unseen in the dark, was a plastic cup with a large sticky label affixed to the side. Written in purple marker was a name. Lucy.
CHAPTER TWO
Toby punched the button on the blaring alarm and struggled to sit upright in his bed. Through the small gap in the bedroom window drapes, he could tell the sun wasn’t up yet, and he groaned at the realization. Shivering as he placed his feet on the wooden floors, he reminded himself how much he despised early mornings and especially hated cold early mornings. Spring certainly didn’t seem to be in any hurry to arrive this year.
He grabbed his bathrobe off of its hook beside the shower and shrugged it on, then turned on the water and adjusted the knob. He took care of his morning business while waiting for the water to heat. As the first wisps of steam began to float up over the glass door, he took a quick look in the mirror, grimacing as he carefully touched the side of his mouth. “Still looks like hell, but I think the swelling has gone down a little,” he decided. He pulled his lip down a bit and leaned in closer to examine his injury. “Aren’t you looking handsome today, Toby?” He grimaced and ran his fingers through his messy hair, searching for signs of the other minor injury he’d received the day before. “At least the bump’s gone, although it’s still kind of tender.”
Deciding there wasn’t much he could do about either his lip or his head, he untied his robe, letting it drop to the floor. He twisted his body around to take stock and eventually decided that, apart from a few minor bruises, it didn’t look like he’d suffered much damage from yesterday’s training session. In fact, he looked pretty good—all things considered. He was paler than he liked, and it seemed like it had been moths since he’d had any real sun. At least Jon Chiang’s extensive training regime had packed a few well-toned pounds onto his frame, and the extra definition in his upper body helped balance his strong runner’s legs and firm ass. Twisting as he studied himself in the mirror, he decided he’d probably never have a gym rat’s build, but what he did have wasn’t too shabby. Lean and mean and—at least without clothes—he looked just a tiny bit dangerous. He assumed a martial art’s pose and felt the skin of his lip pull as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle his grin. “Toby Bwailey…Pwivate Eye.” The slight sharp stab of pain didn’t do a thing to lessen his chagrin when he realized he still sounded like a badly written cartoon character. “Don’t waff!” he sternly told his reflection. “I’m dangawous.”
Directing one last menacing look at the mirror, he turned and stalked to the shower, shivering again as he stepped under the hot spray, grabbed the bar of soap and lathered up. He gingerly shampooed his hair, treading carefully around the tender spot. He rinsed his head and grabbed his razor and the can of shaving gel. After applying the foam to his face, he leaned in to the small shower mirror to shave. He touched the triple blade to the skin of his cheek, then stopped. “Hmmm…” Making a decision, he modified his approach and quickly finished. After a quick pat-down with the towel, he opened the door and padded to the counter. The room had warmed up nicely, and a thin layer of steam covered most of the mirror.
He wiped away a circle of fog and regarded himself again. He ran his hand lightly over the faint hint of stubble on his jaw and above his upper lip. It wasn’t much yet, but the tiny bristles of hair glinted in the overhead light. Toby squinted his eyes and imagined what it would look like in a few weeks. “I wonder how long it will take Melba to notice?” Jon Chiang probably won’t comment, and Madame Zhou probably wouldn’t do much more than raise one slender eyebrow and peer at him curiously from behind her thick-lensed glasses. “Mitchell on the other hand…”
Toby stopped that train of thought before it got out of the station. Mitchell wouldn’t notice, because he wasn’t around. Mitchell wouldn’t say a word, because he wouldn’t have the chance. Mitchell wouldn’t give him any grief, because Mitchell wasn’t a part of Toby’s life anymore. Mitchell had Bradley, and was probably just now waking up next to his dream man—the same man who hated Toby’s guts. For a brief second, Toby allowed himself to return the feeling. Then, he hung up his towel and robe and focused on getting ready for the day. He needed coffee, and he needed it fast. Caffeine might be the only thing that got him through the morning.
***
It took every ounce of willpower Melba possessed to refrain from wiping away the bead of sweat hanging precariously from the very tip of her nose. The damned thing had been perched there for the last five minutes and now, she was dangerously close snapping. She could see it if she crossed her eyes, but so far, she hadn’t dared do anything else lest she attract the attention of the evil little Chinese lady who was standing a few feet away. Once or twice, Madame Zhou had even given her the barest hint of a smile—almost like the old dragon was daring her to move. Who would have ever believed standing absolutely still took so much effort?
Melba had walked into the training studio—grumpy and a bit foggy because of the early hour. She’d forced a spring into her step and tried to convince herself this morning’s meditation session wasn’t going to be a huge waste of everyone’s time. She’d parked her car in the small corner lot and hefted her bulging purse over one shoulder, envisioning some sort of tranquil music, soft cushy yoga mats, and an hour or so spent focusing on breathing. She just hoped they weren’t going to be expected to chant. Chanting was not an option as far as she was concerned.
She was a few minutes early and was the first person through the door. Toby hated early mornings almost as much as she did and was probably hiding out in his warm apartment, having one last cup of coffee. After removing her bulky coat and stowing her purse in one of the cabinets arranged on the far wall, she was cheerfully greeted by Zhou and Jon as they entered the studio from the connecting door to Green Dragon. Some folks were just too damned cheerful at this hour of the day. A few minutes later, Toby burst through the front door as if he were trying to escape something more dire than the unseasonably cold weather. He skidded to a stop and blew out a huff of air while untucking his hands from beneath his oversized sweatshirt.
“I’m not wate, am I?”
“No, Toby. You are certainly not late, although I appreciate your concern,” Zhou Li assured him. “As you are well-aware, I believe punctuality is one of the higher forms of respect.�
��
Toby nodded in relief, and Melba forced back a grin as his pale blue eyes met hers for a brief moment. They were all very familiar with the lady’s position regarding promptness. To Melba’s surprise, a moment later, the door crashed open again and a very flustered Lindsi joined them.
“I know you warned me not to be late, but the bus wasn’t on time,” she informed them breathlessly. “I got here as fast as I could.”
“That is quite all right, Lindsi,” Zhou Li waved a small hand in the air as if the young woman’s tardiness was of no concern. “There’s no need for you to apologize. Although I do encourage timeliness, I understand there are things beyond our control. Why don’t you stow your things and join us here?”
Once Lindsi tugged off her puffy jacket —cramming it into one of the empty cabinets before joining them in the center of the room — Madame Zhou continued, “Now that we are all assembled, I suggest we get started. There is no sense wasting any time, and I anticipate this morning’s session will be rather intense. Toby, would you please help Jon gather a few things we will need?”
Toby met Melba’s eyes again and raised his eyebrows quizzically, before giving the tiny woman a respectful bob of his head. “Suwe, Madame Zhou.”
After retrieving five small, rolled bundles—which Melba soon discovered were bamboo mats and not at all cushy—Jon and Toby arranged them in a rough semi-circle according to Madame Zhou’s instruction. She nodded in approval and asked them all to take a seat. Jon solicitously took his Aunt’s arms to help her settle down onto the floor and then followed suit, taking his own seat on the mat to her right. Toby settled himself on the mat to Madam’s left and crossed his legs underneath him. Lindsi took her place next to Toby, which left Melba with the mat positioned almost directly opposite from their instructor for the morning.
Melba was perversely disappointed that there apparently wasn’t going to be a single note of music. Other than that, everything was starting exactly as expected, except for the mats. The minute Melba’s butt hit the floor, she knew it was going to be a long morning. The thin slats of the mats bore absolutely no resemblance to the comfort she’d imagined and anticipated. She wiggled around a bit, hoping to find some padding for her middle-aged buns, until finally giving up and crossing her legs like the rest of Madame Zhou’s odd collection of students. She took a quick look around the room—exchanging a smile with Toby and a nod with Jon—then settled in to wait patiently for whatever came next.
Skin Puppet Page 4
