Chapter 4 - THE BEANIE
By 11:00 PM, the house was dark and quiet.
Margaret had retired to her lavish bedroom on the ground floor, and Paige had driven her new luxury truck back to her apartment downtown.
I stood in the dark narrow storage pantry, waiting. The air was freezing, but I didn't care. I sat on the thin mattress, listening to the quiet creaks of the house settling in the night wind.
At 11:30 PM, the door handle turned softly.
Gwen slipped inside, closing the door behind her without making a sound. The room was illuminated only by the faint silver moonlight filtering through the crack beneath the door.
She stood there, clutching her arms around her chest, looking at me like I was a dream that would vanish if she blinked.
"Gwen," I whispered, standing up slowly so I wouldn't startle her.
"David..." she choked out.
This time, she didn't pull away. When I opened my arms, she collapsed into my chest, burying her face into my flannel shirt. Her body shook with violent, silent sobs. She didn't let out a single sound—she had clearly learned how to cry without making noise.
I held her tightly, feeling every rib against her back, wrapping my arms around her frail frame as if I could shield her from the entire world.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into her shoulder, tears stinging my own eyes. "I'm so sorry I was gone so long. I didn't know. I swear to God, Gwen, I didn't know."
"They... they took everything, David," she wept silently, her tears soaking through my shirt. "Every penny you sent. They forced me to sign the papers... they told me if I didn't, they would tell the military you were committing wire fraud and have you court-martialed..."
"Shh," I stroked her back gently. "They can't hurt you anymore. I'm here now."
"You don't understand," she whimpered, pulling back slightly, her wide, hollow eyes searching my face in the dark. "It's not just the money. They... they stripped me of everything. I was so sick last year, David. I was so dying..."
"Sick with what?" I asked, my heart dropping into my stomach. "Margaret said you were seeing Dr. Harrison—"
"Dr. Harrison isn't a specialist!" Gwen spat out the name with pure hatred. "He's Margaret’s corrupt cousin! He signed medical exemptions so they could keep me isolated in this house! They wouldn't let me leave, David! They took my phone, my driver's license, my car!"
"Why are you wearing the beanie, Gwen?" I asked softly, my hand gently rising toward her head. "It's warm in the house. Why are you hiding your hair?"
Gwen froze. Her hand shot up to grab her beanie, pulling it down tighter over her forehead.
"Don't," she whimpered, backing away toward the wall. "Please, David... don't look at me. I'm ugly. I'm ruined."
"You could never be ugly to me," I said firmly, stepping toward her. "Take it off, Gwen. Let me see."
"David, please—"
"Gwen. Look at me."
She looked into my eyes. In the dim moonlight, she saw no judgment, no anger directed at her—only the endless, unwavering love of the man who had survived four years of hell just to see her again.
Slowly, her trembling fingers reached up to the brim of the thick knit hat.
She pulled it off.
My breath hitched violently in my throat.
Her beautiful, long golden-brown hair—the hair I used to twist around my fingers while we fell asleep—was gone.
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Her scalp was covered in jagged, uneven patches of stubble, dark bruises, and deep, red healing scars. It looked as though someone had taken a pair of dull kitchen shears and violently hacked her hair off down to the skin, leaving raw cuts across her scalp.
"Paige..." Gwen whispered, tears streaming down her bruised face. "Paige did it three weeks ago when I tried to run to the neighbor's house to use their phone. She held me down on the kitchen floor and... and shaved my head so I would be too ashamed to go outside."
