Cut Me Free (3 page)

“Fine by me,” Lily mutters with a frown as she closes the tube and sticks it in her white bag. By the time she drops the bag into one of the baskets, she has a neutral expression back on her face, but there is something hesitant behind her eyes now.

I'm used to that. It's happened on buses across the country. As hard as I try, sooner or later people recognize I'm not as normal as I pretend to be.

Usually, I try to be gone by the time they figure that out.

Retaking my seat, I stare in the mirror to avoid seeing the look Cam and Lily are sharing behind me. Although my hair was blond before Lily got her hands on it, my eyelashes and eyebrows have always been dark. And if I can get by without poking devices near my eyes, I want to.

I can't hold back a tiny smile when I reach up to touch one of the little spikes of hair on my neck. Both the smile and the hair are foreign and wonderful. I watch through the dirty mirror as Cam drapes a sheet over a partition in the back of the room and faces me.

“I have two options for you.” He drags a chair out. Throwing one long leg over it, he sits down. “Do you feel more like a Suzanna or a Charlotte?”

I frown. “Neither. Are those my only options?”

“Yes.”

“I think she could pull off a Charlotte.” Lily dunks some scissors in a jar of blue solution and squints at me over her shoulder. “Yeah, definitely more than a Suzanna. I knew a Suzanna once. She was horrible.”

“Charlotte it is.” Cam stands, reaches into the bag, and withdraws some papers and a camera.

“Fine. Do I have a last name?” I stretch one toe down to the floor and push against the ground until my chair spins toward him.

“Yes, it's, uh…” He flips past the first page and examines the second. “Thompson. And good news, Miss Charlotte. You're now eighteen and have your GED.”

“Charlotte Thompson.” My new name feels like the lie it is when I say it out loud, but I'll get over it. After all, Piper isn't an official name either. When they had put me up in the attic I didn't mind at first. At least I got to eat there. The Mother never cared much whether I ate or not, she was always too focused on her next fix. But once we were with the Father, he wanted me to be stronger to withstand what he had in store for me. The Father insisted on calling me Girl. I was punished for saying my real name and eventually I forced myself to forget it, but I think it might have started with an A. When Sam was born, they just called him Boy. I'd picked the name Sam for my brother because it felt warm and we didn't have enough warmth. We'd used our secret names at night and in whispers, only when no one else could hear.

I'd started calling myself Piper after I read a page torn out of a fairy-tale book we had in the attic. We didn't have the whole story, so I'd made up part of it on my own. The page said the Pied Piper got mad at some parents and played his music to lead their children away. I pretended the parents in the story were bad, too—that the Piper was saving the children. I wished I could do that for Sam. I wanted to take him away. But I hadn't, and now it was too late.

The bad parents won in my story, but that wasn't the end. They aren't winning anymore.

One perk of them being paranoid hermits is that their house was in the middle of nowhere. No friends, no neighbors, no one to come looking for them for a very long time. No one else ever knew that Sam and I even existed except for Nana, and she'd only found out about us when her cancer set in and she came to live with the Parents before she died. I've wondered how life would have been if we'd lived with Nana before the attic. She never would have let the Mother take me away. She'd said so a hundred times and I choose to believe it was true.

One day when both the Parents were outside, I'd made enough noise that Nana had discovered us. I still remember the fury in the Parents' faces as she told them she'd called the police to report what the Parents had done. It was the first time I ever tasted hope. The first time anyone ever made me wonder if we could be worth fighting for. Before the officers showed up, Sam and I were gagged, bound, and secured to the attic floor. For added emphasis, the Father hit Sam hard enough to knock him out and made it clear that Nana and Sam would pay even more if I made a sound. I was too scared to do anything but cry in silence as I listened to the Father tell them Nana was dying of cancer. He produced a paper stating that her medication could bring on vivid hallucinations. The police chuckled with the Parents about how crazy the story sounded and told them to keep a better eye on Nana.

They did.

All the phones in the house were gone within an hour, outside locks were installed on every door and window within a day, and Sam and I didn't see Nana again for two weeks. Each night I'd gone to sleep worrying about what the Parents had done to her, and the laughter of the officers wouldn't stop echoing in my head.

But now, the Parents are gone, Nana is gone, Sam is gone. And even I am being wiped away, replaced by someone named Charlotte.

You will always be Piper.

Stacking the papers on the countertop, Cam twists to face me and tosses me a phone. I only catch it out of instinct.

“What's this?”

“It's a burner phone.” At my blank expression, he sticks his hands in his pockets and continues. “Prepaid disposable cell phone. So I can get in touch with you if I need to. You don't want a phone with a plan, and you don't want to keep the same phone for too long, at least not for a while, they're too easy to track. But don't change phones without letting me know.”

“What if I need to find you?” I flip open the small black phone and then close it again. I tilt my head to one side. “Do I need to keep leaving messages with that bartender? Lenny's Bar was kind of a dump. I'd rather not go back there if I don't have to.”

Cam laughs. “No. You're a client now. My phone number is already saved in your contact list.”

“Oh.” For some reason this makes me nervous. I lower my gaze just in case he can see it in my face. “Okay.”

“If you have any kind of trouble, contact me first, not the police,” Cam continues, and Lily yawns like she's heard this speech before and isn't interested in hearing it again. “Even if you think you're being careful and report something anonymously, they will still have your number and you'll have to ditch the phone. Otherwise the cops can usually find you if they want to. And I doubt you want them poking around in your life or your past. Keep your head down, don't cause any problems, and you should be fine.”

I nod, my eyes still on Lily's feet. My experiences with the police haven't exactly been pleasant. Contacting them isn't something I can picture myself doing.

Cam waits until I raise my eyes to him before speaking again. “So, do you think you can get used to it? You'll be Charlotte forever if you do this right.”

I reach up and touch the ends of my almost-dry hair. My voice is small in my ears when it comes out and I wish I sounded more confident. “Yeah, I can be Charlotte.”

“Good. I have to ask you a question.”

“Sorry. Five-minute rule, remember?” I hold my hands up like I'm helpless to break it and his jaw flexes. Lily is leaning against the counter across from me, watching us like it's some kind of sporting event. When I glance at her, she shrugs, but there's a tightness to her expression that wasn't there before. Reaching into my pocket, I grip my bolt tightly. I started prying it from the bars over the attic window on the day Sam was born. It had taken me nearly a month of pushing, pulling, and hitting to loosen it even a bit. A year, and more than a few scars on my hands later, I finally got this first bolt out. It is one of only two things I brought with me when I escaped. I'd never actually gotten out through the window, but it didn't matter. The bolt was the first time I started trying. It helps me remember things I can't afford to forget.

It reminds me I'm not weak. If I can escape the Parents, I can handle anything.

Cam's voice snaps me back to the present and I raise my gaze to focus on him.

“Relax, it isn't about the past.” Cam walks closer, his expression serious. “It's about the future. The five-minute rule doesn't apply.”

“Still might not answer it, but go ahead.” I scoot back in my seat, my fingers loosening their grip automatically.

“What do you plan to do with Charlotte?”

I stare at him. Not exactly what I was expecting. “Huh?”

“Your new identity.” He takes another step closer. “If you're careful and you take care of it—you know, stay out of trouble, pay your debts, lie low—then she'll last a lot longer.”

I meet his eye. “I'll be nice to Charlotte.”

Lily must've decided our conversation isn't interesting anymore, because she turns to her supplies and starts packing them in organized bundles and baskets.

“Good. If you trash this identity, I won't give you a new one.” Cam is frowning now. I'm beginning to wonder what kind of person he thinks I am. The skin on my arms crawls as I admit to myself that I couldn't answer that question if I tried. “I only deal with people who treat my work with respect.”

“Sounds fair.”

Cam extends a hand to me. As I look at it, he waits patiently for me to take it. Dread makes my gut clench, both at the idea of him touching me and the knowledge that I don't deserve to be touched. My breath quickens and my fingers squeeze the black bit of metal in my pocket. It takes all my control not to sprint past him and out the door. Running can't be the answer, not anymore.

Instead, I draw a slow deep breath, get to my feet, and step around him with a shake of my head. “I … I really don't want anyone to touch me. It isn't personal.”

Lily freezes in the middle of packing a group of combs. I notice her roll her eyes at my words, but Cam doesn't seem bothered.

“Not a problem, I kind of gathered you felt that way yesterday.” With a shrug he gestures for me to walk toward the curtain. “But it's time to smile for the camera.”

 

3

We climb the stairs to the fourth apartment on Cam's list. Unlike the first two, this one is on a well-lit street in a safer section of town. Unlike the third one, there isn't a dead cat on the fire escape.

When I'd objected to the awful smell from the poor cat, Cam rolled his eyes and said I was too picky. Lily decided she was done apartment hunting and went home. She kissed him on the cheek before she left and then waved at me when she saw I was watching. I'm relieved she's gone. I know that kind of affection is supposed to be normal, natural even, but I still haven't gotten used to seeing it.

The building's manager, Janice, unlocks the apartment and steps aside. She's fifty-something with a fuzzy jacket and fuzzier hair. The apartment is on the third and top floor on Lombard Street. It comes furnished, which is good since everything I own would fit in the cabinet under the sink. The space is smaller than the first two apartments, but clean—and all the apartments are bigger than the attic. Through the large window I can see a playground across the way and several nearby rooftop terraces. There is a slightly worn, brown leather couch facing the window, and a tan armchair tucked into the corner. Two walls are exposed red brick, and for some reason they make me feel warm inside.

So open—not like the attic. I can breathe here. I can
live
here.

Cam sits at the oak dining table, waiting and watching as I walk through. Janice sighs a few times, and after she starts tapping her foot Cam shifts forward.

“Do you think you could give us a minute to discuss?”

“Sure.” Her smile for him could melt butter. “I'll be in my place. Let me know when you're done.” She gives me an appraising and wary glance as she walks out, and I put on the sweetest expression I can manage. Cam chuckles after the door closes.

“What?” I glance at him as I run my hand over a brick that is a slightly darker red than the rest.

“Just your face. You look like you're in pain.” He inclines his head toward the door.

I drop my hand back to my side and turn to face him. “I was trying for trustworthy.”

“Yeah, maybe you should work on that.”

“Being trustworthy?” Raising an eyebrow, I wait for him to show signs of discomfort, but he doesn't. He knows what I'm doing. Maybe I didn't need to hire someone quite
this
smart.

“
Looking
trustworthy.”

I move to the bedroom. There's a queen-size bed with a gray blanket and matching curtains on the window. I stare at the gloomy expanse, imagining the empty floor beneath the bed. It is so big. Such a waste of space when sleeping on the floor is more comfortable. Beds are too soft.

I open the closet and peek inside. It isn't huge, but it's well organized. One half is set up for shoes and has several shelves; the other has a bar for hangers and open space below for storage. Everything about this place is right. It feels like home already, or maybe what I think a home should feel like. I'm realizing how lucky I am to work with Cam. Getting an apartment like this without having to do a background check would be impossible without his connections. Even if it does come with a bump in the rent for what he calls the “anonymity bonus.” I step back and brush off my jeans before I close the closet door.

“This will work.”

“Okay, then sit down.”

I walk back to the table but don't pull out a chair. “Why?”

“Because I have more questions for you.”

“No. Those two at the park are the only ones you're getting. Do the words ‘five-minute rule' mean nothing to you?” I groan with a quick shake of my head and turn away. I have the door open and I'm halfway into the hall before he stands and speaks.

“Janice trusts me, not you.”

I lower my chin and stare hard into his eyes. “And I don't really trust either of you, so what's your point?”