Chapter 24 - The Mercy Cage

Something is set in motion.

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Prologue // Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9 // Chapter 10 // Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 // Chapter 13// Chapter 14 // Chapter 15 // Chapter 16 // Chapter 17 // Chapter 18 // Chapter 19 // Chapter 20 // Chapter 21 // Chapter 22 // Chapter 23

Anne - 1899, New York City

      I could just hear the jibes of the crowd as if through a bubble. Why is there a crowd? I feel as if I’m back at the dance hall about to perform. I stare, bemused at how close they stand, but how far away they seem. Is it- oh, what do they call it, that new discovery the bartender told us about- epinephrine! Is it the epinephrine that causes this fog? Or possibly, probably, exhaustion. They sound so far. I’ve been led by Sister Gertrude and sat atop a hard stool down the front drive of this hell house. It is my first time seeing it. I scoff at how pretty it seems from the outside. A big, beautiful tomb. 

Sister Gertrude’s tendril fingers clamp my jaw and twist my head towards the other side of the crowd. Why is there a crowd? And holds it there, beginning to chant or call to them, I’m not truly sure which. I’m still in my bubble. My crowd. I find my mind tumbling back from my eyes and scanning the dance hall crowd. My hair piled high in curls, not tickling my neck as it falls in chunks from my scalp. I blink- the crowd is back in front of hell. This I don’t think I can bear. I accidentally lock eyes with a man- he wears a different expression from the rest. That’s curious, I think. But my lids blink, and I get to be back on my swing. I’ll stay there for now. While I can. 

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The Reporter - 1899, New York City

       Her eyes sent ice water down my back. Grey and distant- no, so much more than distant. Deeply devastated. I saw those eyes in my mother when we lost Amos, my younger brother. He was only weeks old, barely had a chance, and he didn’t make it. When ma came home from the hospital she wore those eyes, and for months after. I was barely eight years old at the time, and didn’t quite understand it. Now I do. I would see them on her again on and off through the years, just when I’d thought they were gone for good. Sometimes just a flash, but there. 

Word around the office was these godly women were leading so-called ‘incurables’ towards salvation. A good story, so thinks my boss. When he asked me to make the trek up to Inwood to see what it was all about, I obliged, and mentioned my concern with where all these “incurables” that apparently keep the laundries running were supposed to have come from. “They get them everywhere. Some get dropped off, some wake up there. Keep that dry.” And he sent me on my way. ‘Some wake up there’, I roll around my head. I made a point to keep my notebook in my bag, I don’t want to draw any attention to myself yet. I am just here to suss out if there is even anything worth writing about. If not, I’ll do the story my boss wants: the church working to reform troubled young women. But just in case…I’ll just watch today and come back another time for an interview. 

“Today I’ll just watch,” I hear myself mumble as the girl blinks and my mom’s eyes are gone again. When she opens them again they stare ahead with no focus, no life. Her hair starts to cascade down and I realize the nun is tearing her hair away in chunks with a straight razor. She doesn’t jerk or fight her at all. If she didn’t slowly blink every so often you might think she was a doll whose owner was getting rough with the scissors. There are specks of red and a drop trails down her cheek near her ear. I feel my nostrils flare and I clear my throat instinctively- I look away to make sure I keep my lunch. I am usually alright if I’m expecting it, but out of nowhere the sight of blood can make me heave. I scran around and spot a teen to my left, and try to distract myself with some conversation. Maybe I can get some idea of what the girl is being punished for. “She must have been asking for it, eh!” He jumps a bit in surprise, then looks around him. I blink back, and he realizes that he and I are the only two not cheering along. “Oh, um, I wouldn’t know sir.” And he falls silent, jamming his hands into his pockets. That is when I take a better look at him. He is coated in dirt, but not in a lack-of-regard way. Soil- he must be a gardener. The house sits on a beautiful property with lush gardens and well-kept lawns. Pretty surroundings while this girl gets her hair ripped off. “I’m sorry, do you work here?” I continue. He responds, but keeps his focus forward this time on the girl. “I do, sir. My father and I man the grounds.” “It is a lovely property, you do well.” He responds with a nod and a hum. I take a step toward him and close my back to the nun in the center, making him look at me. “All the screams and excitement…Would you say it is always this- lively- at the house?” Out of my waistcoat’s pocket I pull a cigarette and offer it to him. He looks at it hungrily, back to me, then takes it carefully. “It’s rare to be this lively here, sir,” I nod and begin to turn away, then he continued, “but there’s always screams.” I snap my head back to him, and he was lighting the cigarette off a crumpled book of matches. He looks me squarely in the eyes as he takes a deep drag. His deep-set eyes, wrung with purple, too tired for his age. Eyes that have lived and seen. I nodded in acknowledgement. “I may be back, do you know when a good time would be to catch one of the sisters to ask them a few questions?” “As long as you come between morning and evening prayers you should be fine.” He exhaled smoke and looked back to the girl again. I could swear as he did those eyes flashed grey.