Free Uncovering You 10: The Finale by Scarlett Edwards Page A

eye.
    A beard trimmer.
    “No,” I begin to tremble. “No, please don’t…”
    Esteban ignores me. He holds up the photograph of me in the paper. “Pretty girl,” he says. “Such lush, beautiful hair.” He motions to one of his men. “Cut it off.”
    “No, no, no. NO!” I scream. The blades cut into my skull. I begin to cry, to sob, as long locks of hair fall around me.
    Esteban forces the camera into my face. “You see?” he screams. “You see what you made me do?”
    I’m shaking when it’s all over. Tears blur my vision and stain my cheeks.
    Esteban grabs hold of my head. He twists me toward the camera. Then he leans in beside me and smiles.
    “Not so pretty anymore, is she, Mr. Stonehart?” he asks. He regards me for a few moments. “No,” he says, almost to himself. “Something’s still off. Oh!” He snaps his fingers.
    “Her eyebrows. Shave those too.”

     

Chapter Fifteen
     

     
    I’m thrown in my little white dungeon. Once the door shuts, I collapse on the floor.
    At least they didn’t rape me again. At least—
    No. I can’t. As my shaking hands explore my shaven scalp, I succumb to a torrent of sobs. I know, deep down, that there is no saving grace in my situation. No positive. No tiny shred of hope I can cling to.
    My hair. My hair is gone. It was such a vital part of me, of my identity.
    I rub my hands, over and over and over my bare scalp.
    My eyebrows, too. I crawl to a corner and trace the spot where they had been with a finger.
    There’s nothing there but smooth skin.
    A pitiful sob full of longing and despair surfaces from the depths of my chest.
     

     
    Day twenty .
    Almost three weeks. I’ve been here three weeks, and nothing’s yet changed.
    After making me bald and hideous, it’s almost as if they all forgot about me. The door opens only when someone brings me my meals. Nobody speaks a word to me.
    I have no idea of their intentions. I have no idea of what’s going on in the outside world. My pleas for information are met with silence.
    I want to know where Jeremy is. I want to know if he’s seen the video. I want to know what he’s doing. What he thinks. That he’s trying to rescue me…
    Is he trying to rescue me? Gripped by the depths of despair, I can’t even find certainty in that knowledge.
     

     
    One month into my stay, Esteban enters the room.
    “It seems your Jeremy Stonehart is an unyielding negotiator,” he tells me. Then he shrugs. “Ah, well. We will make him see the light.” He holds the door open and beckons me forth. “Come. Please.”
    I comply.
    I follow Esteban out of the room.
    “Whatever you want,” I say, desperation taking hold. “Jeremy can give it. I know. Please. I know. Just let me speak to him. Tell me what you want. I’ll ask him and you’ll get it. You’ll see.”
    “Little girl,” Esteban laughs. “Why are you so certain that Jeremy has what I want?”
    That comment stops me dead in my tracks.
    Esteban glances back. “Come on,” he tells me. “It’s bad manners to be late.”
    Late? I wonder. Late for what ?
    I pick up my step and follow Esteban past the entrance to the operating room, farther down the hall to a place I’ve never been before.
    It’s a long, oak dining room. An enormous table stands in the middle. Everything is dark, stained wood, like the dining halls at Yale or Annenberg at Harvard.
    There are only two chairs, situated across from each other. A man sits in one. He wears a wide-brimmed, brown top hat that shields most of his face.
    Esteban gestures to the empty chair. “Please.” He motions. “For you.”
    Apprehension gnaws at my insides as I plod around the table to my seat. The other man in the room has his full attention on the plate of food before him. He does not glance at me, or reveal his face from under the broad-rimmed edge of his hat.
    I sit down. Then he looks at me, and I nearly faint.
    “Hello, Lilly,” he says.
    It’s Hugh .
    Esteban laughs out loud. I swallow air like a