Page 26 of The Quiet
Jolie, to Baker’s surprise, never said anything about Marnie’s new, vibrant hair color. No one else had either. Baker was shocked, considering how absolutely stunning it was, but as those first days had turned into weeks, she began to learn that Marnie was in many ways invisible, much like Baker had been. They were invisible together and she loved watching Marnie prepare her hair and sing in the evenings. Baker didn’t understand how anyone could not see Marnie, and yet she was grateful to have her all to herself.
“Come on, sit,” Marnie said, patting the place beside her as Baker watched her wrap her hair up in cloth. She inspected herself in the mirror as Jolie changed clothes and left.
“This suits me, don’t you think?” Marnie asked. Baker looked at her and then the mirror before Marnie reached for Baker’s hair. “Let me do yours,” she said, combing it through before Baker could protest.
Baker sat patiently with her legs crossed in front of Marnie, watching herself in the mirror now and making comparisons to Marnie’s beauty.
Marnie continued to hum, taking a break every minute to share something about herself. “You know,” she said at one point. “I had a little niece who looked just like you. Her name was…what was it? Ella, maybe? No, that was my sister. My sister’s name was Ella.”
Baker relished the feeling of thinking that she was perhaps related to Marnie, and that became her new tale. She spun it lavishly in her mind, and her imagination was free again. This time, she was not a soldier under Valentine, and did not wantto imagine anything about the ROSE, but she was a princess separated from her loving sister.
Marnie patted Baker’s hair once she finished it. “You look so beautiful. Let’s do our evening rounds.”
Baker imagined that they were adrift in a foreign kingdom as Marnie took her hand, guiding her through the Bleeding Grin. The Bleeding Grin was King Death’s castle, and they were its beautiful prisoners, patiently plotting their escape.
Marnie did not see the darkness in the world. She floated through the halls, cleaning with porcelain fingers that made every subtle gesture look like the wave of a wand. She radiated life, and Baker tottered behind in a dress two sizes too big, her hair too wild to let loose. Even when Marnie braided it, it eventually found a way out, hundreds of tiny little strands creating a halo of frizz around her head.
Marnie demanded that Baker stay close by her side as they cleaned. “It’s fancy this week, it looks like. Not sure what you’d call it,” Marnie remarked as they made their way over the white marble flooring. Massive chandeliers hung from the ceiling that was higher than any ceiling Baker had ever seen. “Next week I bet the floors will be tatami mats. My guess is that the log cabin style will rotate back soon too.” They walked into different living spaces, all of which were empty. There was one room with a large fireplace, another with a pool for swimming, another with vaulted ceilings and rows of seats.
“Here next,” Marnie said, dusting off a window. Baker pulled her sponge from the water, ringing it out delicately over the bucket like Marnie had instructed. She had taught Bakerthe importance of being delicate, something Baker had never learned from Valentine.
“Come, come,” Marnie urged her and Baker began cleaning the dust from the windowsill.
Every day they did this, and after a while Baker had begun to realize that the Bleeding Grin was always the slightest bit dirty. She’d never heard the other slaves mention it, but it seemed to be that the dirt came back overnight, as if their job in cleaning it was not a duty but a daily ritual the Grin required.
A Strike turned the corner and Baker nestled close to Marnie who continued cleaning as if no Strike were there at all.
Baker recognized Strike Halib, having learned all of their names and positions in the weeks she’d been here. Halib was one of the newer Strike, and like many of them, perused the halls with little expressiveness. These Strike were all well fed, and Jolie had once likened the younger Strike to sharks.
“You can swim with sharks,” she’d said once. “They are docile and relaxed when they aren’t hungry, just like any other fish. Avoid showing strong feelings, and they won’t even notice you.”
Baker had always remembered that comparison, and Jolie, though she seemed to have a heavy spirit and dark disposition, did sometimes share small nuggets of useful advice.
Baker tentatively watched Halib as he passed, his dark eyes staring at the wall ahead. His brown hair was rich and beautiful. His skin radiated as if filled with a soft light. All of the Strike were beautiful to her, but made her heart race with fear. Jolie had once remarked that Strike configured themselves toattract stares, beautiful but with bright rings in their eyes that draw your gaze into them. When you looked into them, they’d see everything in you, designed that way like predators giving themselves more and more opportunities to select from their human menus. This strange mix made her eager to watch them from the shelter of Marnie’s dress.
They had finished their rounds when Marnie began walking toward a steep staircase. Confused at first, an alarm signaled in Baker’s mind when she realized where it led. She grabbed Marnie’s dress, tugging her back. Marnie glanced down at her and seeing the concern on her face, looked forward. As if only just recognizing the staircase, Marnie sighed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I don’t know what just got into me.” She laughed with her easy smile, her dimples and bright, white teeth almost luminescent. “Glad you’re here.” She patted Baker gently on the head like she often did and began to walk in the opposite direction.
Baker watched the staircase, eyeing the yellow banister that identified it as a Strike-only passageway. A slave’s chances of encountering the older Strike greatly increased if they spent too much time near the yellow gates, identified by their yellow banisters, door frames, and knobs.
Baker followed Marnie back into the slave’s quarters, Marnie growing exceedingly nervous as they sat down to eat. Jolie walked by, greeting Baker before glancing momentarily at Marnie who pulled her bread apart with trembling fingers.
Marnie startled when she at last noticed Jolie standing there.
“Oh, oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you standing there.” She put the bread down, having only pinched off tiny pieces. “Did they clean that thing off the wall in the hallway?”
“Yes,” Jolie replied coolly.
“And found who did it?” Marnie asked, dropping some crumbs on her plate and then picking them up again but not eating them.
“Ray is missing, so I’m assuming it was him,” Jolie replied with indifference.
Baker had heard them discussing the incident that morning. Someone drew a rose in blood on one of the higher floors. The use of blood was not shocking. Baker had seen so much of it by now that it seemed as useful a writing tool as anything else. A few weeks ago someone had drawn a lamb. Amiel had eaten that person too.
What shocked her was how easily and anxiously Marnie had brought it up. Incidents like these happened from time to time, but usually were only discussed by slaves who either hated anything related to the ROSE or who eventually became perpetrators themselves. Marnie usually acted like nothing of the sort ever happened, and Baker marveled at her dramatic change in disposition.
Jolie watched without empathy, a stoniness in her face. She was a harsh woman, Baker unable to resist resenting the judgment she frequently saw her expressing.
Jolie looked over at Baker. “You don’t leave here. No more shadowing today,” she demanded.
