Face Off (5 page)

*   *   *

The McFadden Costume Shop was located on the lower three floors of an old brick building which used to house the largest magic show inventory in three states. As the great magic show era waned, the owner had begun renting out floors to other businesses. Now it housed the only two that had survived—the McFadden Costume Shop and Merlin's Magical Kingdom.

Suzanne and Jessie walked up to the old man behind the counter just inside the main door. “Excuse me, sir. My name is Suzanne Richards and I called this morning about renting a nun's habit. Did you find one?”

“Yah, yah, I set it back for you,” the old man said in a soft Irish brogue as he eyed Suzanne carefully. “I'm wondering, though, if you won't be a wee bit tall for it? We may have to let the hem down some. How tall are you now?”

“About five foot eight in my bare feet,” Suzanne answered. “And we really don't have time to wait for alterations. Don't you have any longer habits?”

The old man shook his head. “No, not in the order you want.” He smiled warmly at Suzanne. “You see, lassie, there is a play going on at the New Theatre Restaurant about nuns. They've near wiped me out! I just have the one, but it will only take my wife five minutes to let the hem down. Now wouldn't you be having that much time? And besides,” he said with a wink, “it will give me just a wee bit longer to gaze at two lovely young lassies, now, won't it?”

“Well, you old charmer!” Suzanne laughed. “How could we possibly say no to you after that wee bit of blarney?”

The old man made an elaborate bow then extended his hand. “The name's McFadden. Patrick Irl McFadden. And I have been accused, on occasion, of kissing the Blarney Stone. However, now, 'tis no blarney that I have before me two fine looking colleens. And
you,
lassie”—he reached across the counter and gestured toward Jessie's red hair—“you look like you could have stepped right out from County Cork! That's a grand head of hair you have there, now!”

Jessie could feel her face getting warm as she mumbled a thank you and thought to herself that she could hardly wait to tell Nicole about her “grand head of hair.”

Mr. McFadden gathered up the costume. “Nellie will have this for you in no time. She's a whiz, she is, and a darlin' woman to boot.” He disappeared into a back room.

“Well!” Suzanne pointed to the large sign hanging prominently on the west wall which said, In Business Since 1945. “I guess we know how Mr. Patrick Irl McFadden has managed to stay in business for over fifty years, don't we?”

Jessie grinned and nodded. “I know
I
sure wouldn't go anywhere else to get costumes. After all, no one else has ever told me, ‘That's a grand head of hair you have there, now.' About all
I
ever hear it called is a
wild mane!
”

Suzanne went over and fingered Jessie's hair. “Your hair is beautiful, Jessie. There are women who would kill for all those natural curls, and did you know that only about five percent of women have red hair—
real
red hair, that is?” As she said the words an image of another woman flitted across her memory. Another woman with red hair. Who? Her mother? She couldn't remember.

Mr. McFadden opened the back door and motioned for Suzanne. “Would you like to try it on now, lassie? Do you be knowin' how it all goes together, or do you want my Nellie to help you now?”

Suzanne turned to Jessie questioningly. “I guess I could just as well get dressed here, don't you think? It would save us going back to the apartment.” She went into the back room and met Nellie—a fine-boned, white-haired, wisp of a woman whose beauty had only slightly faded over the years.

Nellie extended a frail looking hand when Patrick introduced the two women, but then surprised Suzanne by grasping her hand firmly and shaking it. Her years of seamstress work had toughened the muscles in her arms and hands. Any frailness about Nellie McFadden was only in the eyes of the beholder.

“Are you going to be in a play, dear?” Nellie asked.

“No, no. I'm just, well, yes, I am.” Suzanne stumbled over her words, forgetting the carefully crafted lie she and Jessie had devised—something about a costume party.

“And what play would that be now?” asked Nellie.
“Nunsense?”

“Yes … yes, that's it,” Suzanne answered.

Nellie put down the black habit and looked squarely at Suzanne. “Now, child, Patrick and I have done all of the costumes for that show. We know every actress and every understudy. What is it you really need with a nun's habit? You aren't going to be up to any mischief with it now, are you?”

Suzanne dropped her eyes. “No. No, of course not.” For some strange reason she couldn't seem to lie to the old woman. “I need some information from a man in jail. We, Jessie and I, we think he knows where Jessie's sister is. But you mustn't tell anyone. Please! If anyone knew we were going to see him, it could result in the charges against him being dropped. Don't ask me how I know this. Just trust me that I know.”

“All right.” Nellie nodded her white head, making her mind up quickly. “I'll keep your secret, dear. 'Tis a fine honest face you have.”

Suzanne stepped into the long black habit, then attached the collar. “This is how it goes, doesn't it?” she asked.

Nellie smiled. “Yes, dear. And do you know what order to say you're from if you are asked?”

Suzanne thought of the convent where she had stayed for awhile when she was young. “How about the Doors of the Blessed Sacrament? Do they still wear the traditional habit, or have they gone modern, too?”

“That will work, I think. But if you run into a priest, you had better duck into the nearest bathroom. I'm afraid you couldn't fool one for very long.” She stuffed Suzanne's hair up under a white cap. “This is called the coif. It's always worn under the veil. It's tight, I know, but you need it.” She finished dressing Suzanne's head, then turned her toward a large standing mirror.

“Oh, my! I
do
look like a nun, don't I?”

“Wasn't that the point?” Nellie asked, smiling. “Now, where's your rosary? I'll attach it to the belt.”

Suzanne thought of the small jewelry box full of rosaries which had belonged to Miss Emily. It had been months since she had even had them out. “I didn't bring one with me,” she answered. “Do I really need it?”

Nellie smiled. “Yes, dear, you really need it. Just a moment” She crossed the room and retrieved her purse from a cupboard. She pulled out a small, beaded bag from which she took a beautiful jeweled rosary.

“Oh, no,” Suzanne said. “I couldn't possibly!”

Nellie nodded emphatically. “Yes, you can. There has to be a rosary hanging from the belt. Sure and if the duty officer is Catholic he'll know you aren't a real nun, and that's for certain, dear.” She fastened the rosary to the belt. “There! Now you look a proper nun!”

Chapter Five

Amy awoke with a start and checked her watch. Ten o'clock. How long had she slept? Was it ten in the morning, or had an entire day slipped by her?

There was only one way to tell, and even though she knew she should be used to it by now, she still had to steel herself to turn off the light. The horror of what it would be like if the lamp failed to turn back on, was always lurking in her mind.

Still, she needed to know. She had to know. It was her only link to the world. Her only hold on sanity.

She pushed against the rough cement floor to come to a sitting position. A wave of dizziness hit her and she steadied herself by reaching out to the wall. How many days had it been since she had eaten? Why hadn't she saved a few of the granola bars? Why hadn't she rationed them out?

She remembered her cotton undershirt and grabbed for it, stuffing a small section into her mouth and sucking. Good. There was still some dampness left in it.

Even though the cement was rough against her knees, she crawled over to the small lamp and spoke aloud. “Please, God! Let the light come back on. Just please let the light come back on.” Her hand shook as she turned the small switch which plunged her prison into blackness.

A few feet away from her, Amy could see the small shaft of light coming from the pipe inserted in the ceiling. Daylight! Quickly, she turned the switch to the lamp, and the room sprang back to life. She reached up to the poster with the pictures of monkeys on it and, using her fingernail, scraped another long line. Twelve days! My God, she had been in this hole for twelve days!

The man had left her six granola bars, a jug of water, and a Folgers coffee can with a roll of toilet paper inside. She had eaten the last of the bars four days ago, and since then had been tempted to finish off the wrappings.

Her water had run out as well, but luckily the previous evening she had seen a small puddle of water forming on the floor under the pipe, and realized it must be raining. She had thrown herself flat on the floor and sucked up the water, then held her undershirt under the pipe, trying to dampen her shirt so she could wash off her face and body.

Amy looked around the small, cramped room. “The water jug! You dummy! Put the water jug under the pipe!” She stood and walked on unsteady legs over to the plastic water bottle. The opening was small, but maybe if she positioned it just right, it would catch the drips. “If it ever rains again! If I don't die first!”

She had been talking to herself since the third day of her confinement. Some of the time she talked to God, some of the time to her parents or Jessie, but mostly, she just chatted to herself, trying to keep a hold on her sanity.

For the first several days, she was more frightened of the man and the things he said he was going to do to her when he returned. She had cried, losing precious moisture from her body. She was sorry now that she had wasted tears on him.

Her greatest fear was the light failing. She could even face death now, if only she could do it with the light on. What was the life expectancy of a light bulb? Should she be trying to conserve by turning the light off for periods of time? No. Amy knew she couldn't do it. To be buried in this room was bad enough. She would go completely crazy without the light.

Her other fear was that the pipe would become blocked and she would slowly suffocate in her prison. Sometimes she stood on her tiptoes and placed her mouth over the pipe opening in order to get a really good breath of air. Or maybe that was only her imagination. It was hard to tell anymore what was real and what was not.

“Jessie! Why haven't you found me?” She yelled the words. “I know you can do it, Jessie! Please. Please come for me.” Even as she spoke the words, she knew it was hopeless. Jessie was hundreds of miles away in Colorado. And even if Jessie realized she was in trouble, she wouldn't have any idea where to look for her. The man had drugged her, so even if Jessie could pick up on her thoughts, Amy couldn't direct her. She had awakened in this hole, located God knows where, and the only sound she had heard for twelve days was her own voice getting more and more desperate, more and more weak. For the first few days of her imprisonment, she had screamed until her throat was raw and bloody, hoping someone would hear her. Finally, she had quit screaming.

*   *   *

Suzanne and Jessie pulled into the parking lot of the police station at 1125 Locust.

“I need a cigarette,” Suzanne said. “We should have stopped before going for this costume.”

“Oh, sure! And why don't we get you a can of beer to hold in your other hand?” Jessie answered. “I'm sure no one would suspect a thing, right?”

“Oh, come on. Give me a little credit. I'm just grousing. I wouldn't really smoke a cigarette while wearing this habit. Sister Mary Elizabeth would skin me alive, and somehow I just know she would find out!”

“Who is Sister Mary Elizabeth?”

“That book you read mentioned I had spent some time at a convent, right?”

“Right. When you were little.”

“Not too little, I was eight years old when I first went there. It was really an orphanage run by a group of nuns. I lived there for almost two years, but during those two years, I was often in the company of Miss Emily, a spinster lady who was the sister of the nun who was in charge of the orphanage, Sister Mary Elizabeth. Miss Emily wanted to adopt me, but back in those days single women were not allowed to adopt. And anyway, Miss Emily was in her fifties, which would rule her out altogether.”

“So what happened?”

“I'm not certain. No one adopted me for two years. I was tall for my age, gangly and clumsy. Not too many people want a kid that's already half-grown. Then one day Miss Emily came to pick me up and she said I was going home with her. For good. She said Sister Mary Elizabeth spoke with the bishop and special permission was granted. All I cared about was that I was going to live with Miss Emily. I loved her, and there wasn't a doubt in my mind that she loved me. We were happy together until her death four years ago.” Suzanne didn't mention the horrible nightmares where she awoke screaming and Miss Emily would hold her, rocking back and forth, crooning comforting words, trying to help her forget whatever demons had been unleashed in her early childhood. She was in high school before the nightmares finally went away.

“What about Mary Elizabeth? Is she still alive?”

“Yes. She retired a few years ago and lives in a retirement home in Michigan. I go see her whenever I can. She's almost ninety now, and getting frail.” Suzanne used the sleeve of the habit to wipe perspiration from her face.

“I'd better get going. I'm going to be soaking wet before long.”

In front of the station there was a statue of a police officer holding a baby. Suzanne looked up and gave a small salute. “Wish me luck.”

*   *   *

Almost the minute the car was empty, Jessie's head snapped back and her hands began trembling. She grabbed hold of the car seat to steady herself, then squeezed her eyes shut tight. “Amy! Amy, is it you?” she whispered the words.