Chapter Nine

“Cynthia Taylor!” a guard yelled none too soon from outside the white bars. “You made bail. Let’s go.”

“It’s Tremaine, but whatever.” I leapt from the bench, relieved. Finally, the joke had ended. I rushed through the sweet door of freedom. Each clang of the bars brought me one step closer.

In the lobby, the cute limo driver waited, arms crossed, and a mean stare that indicated his frustration at having to be there.

Whatever, just do your job. I signed a paper on the clerk’s desk, then followed the driver toward the exit.

As he opened the door, I inhaled deep. Outside smelled of eucalyptus and the sea. I smiled, happy to be out. “Where’s my father?” I asked, as we crossed to the limo.

Henry held the car door open. “Who’s your father?”

No more games. “Um, your employer. Duh.”

Henry laughed. “I seriously never get your humor, Cindy. Come on, get in.”

Cindy? Too exhausted to fight, I decided to overlook his informal response. I crawled into the back and dropped prone on the seat. I closed my eyes and tried to block out the last six hours. What a traumatic experience. I might need additional therapy after this. First Dad, then the crazy lady, then jail. The absurdity of it all was too much. At some point, I passed out, but I sensed the familiar loop of our driveway and sat up again. The minute the vehicle stopped, I bolted for the stairs, ready for a shower and a twenty-four-hour nap. I climbed two steps.

The dumb driver blocked my path.

“Get out of my way, moron!”

“That’s harsh,” he said, but not budging.

“Seriously, get out of my way,” I repeated, then stepped to my left.

Henry mirrored my movement to his right. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to bed. What does it look like?” I zigged in the other direction. “That is, if you’d just move out of my way.”

He followed again. “You know you can’t use the main entrance. Mrs. Tremaine was very clear about that last week. The help always uses the back entrance.”

I glared. “Since when does Meredith call the shots around here?”

“Since she signs your paycheck.” He seized my arm and tugged me around to the side entrance.

“Paycheck?” I gasped, then tried to shove him off, but he just dug in harder. “What are you talking about, psycho? I don’t work for anyone.”

“Enough joking around, Cindy. I’m exhausted. Everyone has had it with your attitude. You’re lucky to even be here with a job still intact. You have no idea what it took to save your butt today.”

I yanked my arm back. “Has everyone gone completely mad? What job do you think I have?”

His gaze rolled down my body.

I glanced down at the maid’s uniform and sighed. “I can explain this.”

“Explain?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. What did I say? That my fairy godmother stole my clothes and somehow these just materialized on my body?

“I know you hate your job. But face it, you’re just a servant like the rest of us. Stop fighting it. You’ll just keep being miserable and making the rest of us miserable.” He reached for the door handle, swung it open, and waved for me to enter. “Please try to be good for once. Okay?”

Suddenly, the fairy godwoman’s words flooded back through my thoughts. This had to be a joke. I shook my head and stepped back. I pinched the side of my wrist. It stung, but I did it again and again. I had to still be asleep. No way could this be real. I had to be passed out in a bar bathroom somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time. I squinted. Pinched myself again and again until it started to bruise. I didn’t care. I wanted to wake up. I needed to wake up. Pinch, pinch, pinch.

Henry snatched my hand. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get out of this nightmare.”

“Come on, crazy.” He touched my back and guided me through the open doorway and into the servant’s hall.

Though I recognized the space, I hadn’t been in this part of the house since age nine or ten. Mainly, because the servants occupied this end, and I had no reason to be here. I considered turning around and running, but right now, I didn’t have enough energy to fight. Filthy, tired, and hungry, I’d sleep on the ground if it meant I could close my eyes for a little bit. So, I tailed him down the hallway, though the desire to bolt did not dissipate but increased with the dim florescent lights and narrow plain walls.

He stopped at a door, opened it, and stepped back. “Look, it took major convincing to stop Mrs. Tremaine from firing you last night. You were supposed to serve food at the birthday party, and when she found out you were locked up, she got pretty angry.” He shook his head and leaned in. “I begged her, and she gave you one last chance. It’s my butt on the line now, so do not screw this up.” He pointed to the room and stormed off.

I gaped at the closet-like chamber–dull, gloomy, old-fashioned. Ugly eighties flower artwork decorated the walls. A twin bed, covered in an olive drab blanket and a flat pillow, rested under a small window, and a cheap, press-wood dresser lay next to it. A pair of doors were inset to my left. I walked to them and folded them back to find the tiniest closet ever to exist. “A dog couldn’t fit in here.” Shaking my head, I faced the room and furrowed my brow. I could easily fit this entire space in my closet upstairs. What was this room anyway? Another prison?

“Welcome back.”

I looked up and smiled at the sight of the familiar waif’s face. “Ana!”

“It’s Eunice.” She frowned. “What’s wrong with you? Get cleaned up. You’re on the clock in fifteen minutes.”

“Clock?” I furrowed my brow. “Look, you have to tell someone there’s been a mistake.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not this again. Henry said you were dreaming about being a debutante again.”

My stomach flipped. “But I am—”

“Not,” she finished. “Now get ready.”

“My clothes are upstairs.”

The maid laughed. “Funny.” She pointed to another gray dress and white apron hanging on the rack in the small space. “Fifteen minutes.” She nodded and walked away.

I flopped back on the mattress, not sure what had just happened. Surely, I had crossed over into some hallucinatory state. Or maybe Freddy lurked close by, ready to knife me. I shut my lids, willing the image to change. Sleep should put things right. Despite the lumpy pillow and mattress, my body relaxed, and I dozed off.

A sudden jolt to my shoulder shook me awake. “What?” I mumbled.

“Cindy!” Eunice snapped.

I moaned and rolled away. “I’m tired.”

“Cindy, you’re already in trouble. You don’t want to do this. Trust me.”

“Tea with lime, please.”

“Cindy, I’m warning you!”

I peeked and saw the bare and sad surroundings. The nightmare continued. I pushed up and let out a deep breath. “What do you want from me?” Something soft hit my body. I glanced down. The ugly gray uniform lay in my lap.

“Last chance, Cindy. You can get dressed, get into the kitchen, or you can sleep in the street tonight. Your choice.” The maid spun on her heel and left.

Would I really end up on the street? The thought of that sent prickles of fear throughout my body. My pulse increased. What if this psycho hallucination was actually real? Not just a horrid nightmare? I gulped. If it was true, then I would be in big trouble. Maybe I should just play along for now, figuring out the truth before dooming myself to a worst fate.

I held the dreadful dress in front of my frame and glanced in a mirror on the wall. A part of me wanted to cry, the other part wanted to punch my way out of here. I didn’t understand how I stepped into this place or how to fix it. I needed to contact Dad. He would be so mad at Meredith’s actions. This had to be her doing. How hard could it be to pay off the cops and the servants to put on this ridiculous show? “Just wait, witch. Cinderella always destroys her evil stepmonster in the end.”

“Be good,” a voice echoed. “It’s your only way out.”

I glanced around. “Who said that?”

Silence.

I peered out the doorway to the empty hallway. Nothing. Obviously, they all believed this nonsense, but if they thought I would work here, they were nuts. First chance, I planned to run upstairs and grab all my stuff and call Dad. But until I could find a phone or computer, I would have to play along. I tucked the dress under my arm and walked down the corridor in search of a shower.

Two doors later, I found a closet with a small toilet, a tiny sink, and a shower no bigger than a coffin. This can’t be it? A child could not fit in this thing. I stepped back out and walked farther down, but I discovered this floor only had the one bathroom. How do people live like this?

I returned, twisted on the water, and squeezed into the minuscule hole. Despite its size, the warm water blanketed every muscle, as the germs washed into the drain below my toes.

Only minutes in, someone pounded on the door.

“I’m in here,” I yelled.

“Yes, we know,” came Eunice’s voice. “You’re using up the water. California is in a drought, remember? Ten-minute shower, tops. Now get out. You were expected upstairs a while ago.”

Ten-minute showers? That’s absurd. I couldn’t rinse the conditioner out of my hair in that amount of time. If only this steam could cure the insanity of these people. I shut off the spout, dried my body, and donned the itchy gray uniform. Using the towel, I wiped off the steam from the mirror. The reflection exposed a stranger. The girl in the mirror had dark circles under her eyes, flat, lifeless hair, and no makeup, not to mention a small zit starting to grow on her chin. I refused to know her. “Meredith, you will suffer. Mark my words.” I opened the door and watched the steam billow down the hallway.

“Come on,” Eunice snapped from the doorway.

I plodded toward her and stepped into the back of the house. For some reason, I remembered the kitchen looking much bigger. Of course, I was a child last time I ventured in here. The industrial-size space had chrome appliances, stainless-steel counter tops, and Spanish tile floors. The smell of bacon and coffee wafted through the air, and my stomach rumbled. It had been a while since I ate, and I felt famished.

Rosa nodded at my arrival.

She had worked in this house since I was a baby and had always been nice, even when I treated her horribly. She could be my way out. “Hey, Rosa. Can you tell these psychotic people to treat me with respect or my father will have their heads?”

The elderly woman tilted her head. “I’m sorry. Who’s your father?”

Here we go again. Not you, too. “Your boss.”

The woman stared at me. Instead of responding, she seized a mop and shoved the pole in my direction. “Clean both the kitchen and the dining room. Once that’s done, dust the foyer.”

I stepped back from the long stick with crossed arms. “And if I don’t?”

Rosa raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “If you don’t, mija, you’ll be living on the street by noon. Your choice.”

“The street?” Why did everyone keep threatening the same thing?

“Where else would you go, Cindy? You got no one. Remember?”

Unfortunately, her words rang true. Without my father or his money, I had nothing and no one. I had no friends or support system. What else could I do? My only choice—to work my way out of this nightmare. Just until I saw Dad, and he fixed this. “Can I eat first? I’m starving.”

“Once you’re done, you may have something to eat.” She thrust the mop toward me again.

But this time I took it. “Don’t you think I’d work better with a full stomach?”

She clicked her tongue. “Breakfast was served two hours ago. If you wanted to eat first, you should have been up on time. Now, you can wait for our morning snack break like everyone else.” Rosa waddled into a walk-in cooler and out of sight.

Whatever. I sighed. The inside of a metal bucket bubbled on the floor to my right. I dunked the white ball of yarn into the sudsy water and twirled it around. Luckily, as a kid, I sat at the counter and watched the maids work. Usually, because the cook brought me cookies and hot chocolate anytime I visited. Back then, I played nice with “the help.” I joked with them and would have even called them “friends.” But that was back then, before Mom died, before Meredith invaded, and before I discovered my place in this world. My place? I still knew it. They didn’t. Seriously, I don’t deserve to be here acting like a servant, performing manual labor.

With each thrust of the mop, more rage seethed in my veins. This was such a ridiculous situation. I blamed my stepmonster—all of this had to be her fault. Somehow, she had convinced the masses to play along with this big joke on me. I had to give her credit for ingenuity, but she would pay. I imagined all sorts of ways to get even, like soaking all of her clothes in fabric dye, removing the toilet seats in the middle of the night, putting baby oil in her shampoo, or sewing all the arms of her garments together. Each prank idea made me smile just a tad more.

I finally finished mopping the floors and approached Rosa. “I’m done.”

Rosa handed me an orange, fuzzy thing that resembled a dead cat on a stick.

I stared at it, not sure of its purpose.

“Dust the living areas, feed the dog, then you can have some food.”

“Feed the dog?” I pivoted on one hip and crossed my arms. The dog. I vaguely remembered one of the stepsisters mentioning it. Now, it was my problem.

“Yeah, it’s on the back porch. The food is next to her cage.”

“I thought you said I could eat after I mopped?”

Rosa tsked and walked away.

No matter how frustrated I felt, the rumbling in my stomach propelled me forward. If it meant I could eat soon, I would do these stupid things. I thought about TV shows where people carried out horrid acts for money or food. I now walked that line. Sleep-deprived, hungry, and destitute, I suffered at my wit’s end, ready to do almost anything they asked me to do.

Wasn’t that conditioning? Like with soldiers in basic training, they were making me so weak I would do anything. It worked. Right that moment, I figured if it took a little manual labor to get to my immediate goal, I would complete it. I would even kiss the dumb puppy for a pastry. And I assumed the entire staff knew right where I rested—desperate.

They were so cruel. Perhaps they were doing this to get even. They conspired as a group to execute revenge for everything I had done to each of them, which infuriated me even more. But I had no choice, I had to go along with it, for now, but just wait. Revenge would come in a worse package. When this game ended, they would all pay dearly—all of them. I hoped they were eligible for unemployment.

I wiped the fuzzy cat along a bookshelf, the coffee table, a lamp, then turned to the fireplace, and choked on my own spit. I coughed, unable to register what my eyes viewed. The painting over the mantle used to be of Dad positioned behind a chair with Mom and a younger me in her lap. Now, Dad stood with his arms around Meredith and her two girls. I had not just been replaced but erased. Fear crept deep into my core. Could this be more than an elaborate prank?

I lost my appetite. I chucked the duster and sprinted through the living room, then up the stairs, to my old bedroom. I flung open the door and gasped and fell to my knees. A game room—complete with billiards, table tennis, and video consoles—filled the space. I crawled forward and nudged open the closet. It was empty. My bed, my clothes, all my valuables in this world—vanished, poof, gone.

First, the shock made my skin numb, then it was followed by a heavy weight of sadness. I gasped to breathe. I took another step into the foreign space, nauseous.

A cordless phone sat on a corner table under the window. I snatched it up and dialed Dad’s office. Surely, he would sort this out.

“May I help you?” his executive assistant answered in her usual smoky voice.

“Hi, Ms. Byrd. Can I talk to my dad?”

“Is this Charlotte or Gabby?”

My mouth dropped open. “Neither. It’s Cindy.”

“Mr. Tremaine does not have a daughter named Cindy. Nice try, dear. In order to talk to Mr. Tremaine, you must go through your talent agency like everyone else. Have a good day.”

The line dropped dead, as my heart plummeted to my stomach. Everything ached. I propped the phone back in its charger and sobbed. Any hope of this being a sick joke or bad nightmare now dissipated. What was this? How could my entire life just disappear because of a stupid birthday wish? Things like that weren’t real.

Skittles wandered around the corner. Comforted at the sight, I reached to pet her.

The tabby’s back arched, and she hissed.

I snatched my hand back. “Skittles, it’s me.”

Without regard for my feelings, she scurried away into the open closet.

No way could Meredith have set that up. Animals knew stuff. They couldn’t be coerced like people, right? My eyes pooled with tears at the possibility the fairy godmother was real—that this all might be real.

“What are you doing up here?” Meredith snapped from the open doorway.

The sight of her repulsed me. Furious, I seethed through my teeth, “You! How dare you.”

Her thick red eyebrows lifted. “How dare I what? I was ready to fire you last night, but I let you stay because the staff begged me to. God knows why? You’re awful to them. Now, if you don’t get back downstairs right now and finish your chores, I will fire you for good. I don’t care what anyone says. Do I make myself clear?”

The woman’s usual friendly disposition had evaporated, her stern voice sounding almost mean. Usually, she came off sickly sweet, but not now. Right this moment, I feared her. She clasped my life in her hands. If I called her bluff, where would I stay? I had no wallet, phone, or anything of value. All of it had disappeared somewhere between here and the jail cell, and the only hope I had left just vanished in a dial tone.

I stumbled past her and down the stairs into the living room. I reached for the discarded duster but didn’t use it. Instead, I folded to the carpet and wept. I don’t know for how long, but when I stopped, the sun had drifted behind the horizon.