The Special Ones (7 page)

I stand up and sigh dramatically. ‘Fine,’ I say. ‘You win.’

I leave the room, locking it behind me, and go to the kitchen stove, where I scrape a little of the soot into a bowl. I bring it back to Lucille. ‘This is what’s left of them,’ I tell her.

The Lucille clenches her jaw like she’s trying not to scream. I’m surprised. Up until now she hasn’t held back on anything.

‘Please just let your soul settle, Lucille,’ I tell her. ‘The Special Ones and our followers are eagerly anticipating your return, but your soul needs to fit comfortably beneath your skin first.’

I leave her standing there and lock the door behind me. I’m growing tired of her childish behaviour, and I’m also getting worried. What if we never transform this girl? What then?

When I walk in the next day, I’m astonished to find Lucille wearing her pantaloons and petticoat, the corset in her hands.

‘How do you put this thing on?’ she asks, holding it out to me.

‘I’ll show you,’ I say, hoping she can’t see how relieved I am she’s given in, how close I was to despair.

‘It’s so uncomfortable,’ she complains as I tighten the laces.

‘You get used to it,’ I say, cheerfully. I’m pleased. The clothes fit perfectly. Harry has judged her size well.

‘What were you like when you first came here?’ she asks me, curiously. ‘I’ve been trying to imagine it – you at high school, or at the movies with friends – but I just can’t. How long were you locked up in this room for? Did it take long for you to – you know –
accept
it?’

I turn away, so she can’t see the tremble in my hands. ‘I have always been here,’ I say, as calmly as I can.

Luckily Lucille has already lost interest in the question and turned her attention back to herself. ‘Can I see myself in a mirror?’ she asks.

‘We don’t need mirrors here,’ I tell her.

She gapes at me.

‘The Special Ones watch only their
inner
selves,’ I explain. ‘The outer self – the glass – is irrelevant. Don’t you remember that from when you were here before?’ Lucille shakes her head. ‘Well, you will. And you’ll soon find that life is much more meaningful and rewarding when you’re not obsessed with trivialities like physical appearance.’

This is a classic Esther line. It’s also a lie. Lucille stands utterly still and silent as I help her into another petticoat and then her skirt and blouse.

I step back to evaluate my work. ‘You’re already looking a lot more like yourself, Lucille,’ I tell her.

Lucille snorts under her breath. ‘I bet I still look like me,’ she mutters.

Unfortunately, she’s right. There are many other changes required yet. Her hair, for instance. And her eye colour. Until the new Lucille looks just like the one in the photograph, I can see it’ll be hard for her to fully accept her new situation.

The queue of followers wanting to speak to Lucille grows every night. I keep assuring them it won’t be much longer now, hoping that it will be true. And then one evening I log on to find the followers buzzing with news – something we have heard nothing about.
He
has sent them all a message saying that Lucille will rejoin the house in ten days’ time.

My stomach lurches. The Lucille is far from ready. But time has run out. In desperation I actually consider tying Lucille up while she’s asleep and doing her hair that way. But I know that wouldn’t work. Lucille needs to accept what is happening. She needs to believe in it.

It’s a huge relief when I unlock the changing room the next morning to find Lucille fully dressed and, by the look of her face and hands, clean. Maybe that’s why the message was sent to the followers. Perhaps he sensed a change in the Lucille that we had failed to see.

‘How big is this place?’ she asks. ‘There’s a garden or something isn’t there? Where does it end?’

‘The farm is a few kilometres wide,’ I tell her, putting down her tray of food, which includes some tiny, very sweet strawberries that Felicity proudly presented to me yesterday. The guiding word is
growth.

‘Hang on. We’re on a farm?’

I laugh. ‘Didn’t you notice the animals outside on your renewal day?’

The Lucille shakes her head. ‘I don’t remember much at all about getting here. I’m pretty sure that guy drugged me. You know, because for you lot it’s bad to look in a mirror but it’s okay to spike someone’s mango smoothie.’

‘We have chickens and a couple of goats for milking,’ I tell her. ‘We had a cow too, for a while.’ I’m glad she doesn’t ask what happened to the cow. She’d probably never use the soap again if she knew. ‘Harry and Felicity grow all our vegetables and fruit out there too.’

I feel Lucille’s sharp gaze on me. ‘Is there a fence?’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘A really solid one with barbed wire on top. Only Harry can go through it, when it’s opened by
him
.’

‘I guess it’s a high fence, right?’ says Lucille, her eyes dulling.

‘Oh yes,’ I say. ‘We are very well protected in here.’

The last Lucille tried to climb the perimeter fence. I’d just dozed off one night when I was woken by screams – the sound of someone in extreme pain. Then there was the sound of Harry thundering down the corridor. I waited in my room, heart thumping, until I heard Harry return.

‘Esther!’ The tone of his voice let me know that this was one of those
special circumstances
when it was okay to leave my room during the night. I ran down the corridor to find Harry standing in the kitchen holding Lucille, hysterical and covered with blood.

I moved around briskly in my nightgown, grabbing my herbal ointments and making bandages from old sheets while Harry soothingly told the Lucille that everything was fine, everything would be all right.

But everything wasn’t all right. The very next morning, the Lucille’s renewal notification arrived.

‘Do we ever get to go out?’ asks Lucille. I turn and fold up her nightgown – a replacement for the shredded one – so she can’t see my face as I answer.

‘No,’ I say. ‘There’s no need. Only Harry goes out sometimes.’

‘What makes him return?’

It’s startling to hear her voice the exact question I’ve had in my own head so many times. ‘He returns because he belongs here,’ I say, Estherishly. ‘Just like you belong here. Our four souls are intertwined.’

‘Well, I definitely don’t belong in this awful room,’ says Lucille, looking around the tiny, dark space with hatred. ‘When can I go into the rest of the house?’

My heart leaps – she’s never shown the slightest interest in doing this before – but I must be careful not to share how desperately we need her out there.

‘Once you’ve finished your transition,’ I say, firmly. ‘Then and only then.’

Lucille pulls a face. ‘You mean dye my hair, don’t you? And wear those clothes?’

‘That’s part of it.’

‘So once I’ve
transitioned,
’ she says, rolling her eyes, ‘then I can go to the farm, right?’

I shake my head. ‘Only Felicity and Harry are allowed into the farm. Your territory ends at the garden gate.’

Lucille’s face creases into an expression of resentment and annoyance that is becoming all too familiar. ‘But that’s not fair! Why don’t
I
get to go to the farm?’

‘Because your area is the house and garden.’

‘But I want to go wherever I like!’ She pouts. I half-expect her to stomp her foot.

‘Want has nothing to do with it,’ I shoot back. This girl should be happy that she at least gets to go into the garden. My territory ends with the verandah.

Lucille sulks for the rest of the day.

‘Leave her be,’ says Harry, when I tell him. ‘I think she’s close to coming round.’ He doesn’t mention the countdown for Lucille’s expected re-entry to the house, but I am sure he’s thinking about it just as much as I am.

I am not so optimistic, but when I take in her evening meal, she asks me what Lucille is supposed to be like. ‘I need something to help me remember,’ she explains.

I hurry to the bookshelf in the parlour and bring back Lucille’s leather-bound remembering book. My hand is shaking a little as I open it to the section covering the sorts of questions Lucille takes during evening chat sessions.

Each question is accompanied by various Lucille-esque responses to select from, depending on the nuances of the situation.

Lucille flips through the section, the gilt-edged pages glimmering. Then she looks up at me. ‘Am I expected to learn all this off by heart?’

‘Yes,’ I say and wait for the inevitable eye-roll or face-scrunch.

But they don’t come. Instead, Lucille simply stretches out on her bed, the book open before her.

Later, when Harry asks me how the day has been, I tell him that I think Lucille is starting to accept who she is. I can hear the surprise in my own voice.

‘That’s fantastic,’ says Harry, clearly relieved. It’s not just that Lucille is expected back in the house in only a few days. We’re also overdue for a verification, and when that comes Lucille will need to be perfect.

The following morning when I go to the changing room to give Lucille her breakfast, I’m almost excited. How much of her remembering book will she have read?