Chapter 2: Clown

My room was my haven. I could tell that Mr. Jerrick, as criminal as his actions, took great care to ensure that the room was expertly crafted just for me. It was as if he knew every detail of my life. Maybe he truly does just want to take care of me. I quickly shook of those thoughts. I refused to become a martyr to Stockholm syndrome no matter how flattering Mr. Jerrick might be.

I needed an escape plan, but I wouldn’t get that by sitting in my room. My first thought, “the window!” I hurriedly crossed the room to see if it would open “Damn, it won’t budge”.

My eyes glanced at the door. I felt a nervous shiver as I imagined what lay on the other side. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, preparing for whatever that may be.

As I stepped through, an elaborate bustling world lay at my feet. How big is this place? A long hallway stretched for what seemed forever. I could hear music and talking in the distance. Giggles of other women echoed through the walls. I began to tiptoe down the hall on high alert, hoping that none of the doors would open and reveal my presence.

This was no prison. No, the voices and music sounded quite joyous. I got to a staircase that overlooked a large room reminiscent of an old ballroom. It was quite astounding. Maybe I could enjoy myself here. I have always wanted to live in a castle. I often dreamed of being a princess as a child. It was my form of escape, the one way I could feel special when no one else was there to provide that feeling for me. Were my fantasies true? Maybe I was a princess, and this was my home. Maybe I had been abducted as a child sent to live a mundane life by a jealous stepmother. I never really did feel a connection to the parents who raised me. Who am I kidding? This isn’t real, and if it is, this isn’t my life. I will not shed myself to be what someone else wants of me. What is the catch?

Does he expect me to submit to him in ways that break me? I refuse. I am not his whore. I am not his plaything. I took a deep breath. No, that couldn’t be what he wanted, could it? I am just an average person, a little overweight if I am being honest. I am quirky and a bit obnoxious. Strawberry blonde hair lay on my shoulders surrounding my round face adorned with freckles. My eyes were probably my only forgiving feature; blue with little yellow pieces inlaid. I couldn’t be here for that. I knew that much. Someone of Mr. Jerrick’s stature could never desire such a thing.

Maybe he just really wanted to be a dad? I mean I am almost thirty and he appeared to be no older than forty-five so that too was an unlikely chance.

I made my way down to the ballroom where I stood gazing at the splendor that surrounded me. I seemed to be alone. I closed my eyes and imagined an elegant ball. I crossed my arms over my chest and started swaying to the music in my head. I opened my eyes and continued the fantasy. In my cheesy fashion, I stopped swaying and held my hand out in the air imaging the exquisitely dressed guests around me. “Leoni. Charmed to meet you ”. Pretending to have a gentleman kiss my gloved hand as they did in the movies.

Someone cleared their throat behind me. I quickly snatched my hand back embarrassed; my pale skin turned a bright shade of crimson. It was Marcella. She giggled softly.

“I am terribly sorry to intrude on whatever that was, but I am glad to see you are getting acquainted”.

“Oh, um…” I was at a loss for words.

“Don’t be ashamed. Please, be yourself. It is quite beautiful isn’t it?”

“I mean…” I couldn’t come up with words for how I felt at this moment. It was truly something otherworldly. I never imagined standing in such marvelous wonder. In truth, I thought these were just things in movie sets, but never actually existed. Wait…I thought to myself, that’s it! This must be a reality tv show or something.

“I know this is a tv set now let me go home. I did not consent to this”.

“What are you talking about?” Marcella asked confused. “I assure you; you are not being filmed. Mr. Jerrick wouldn’t have it. This is his home not a circus of freaks on display for the world’s entertainment. Don’t be silly Leoni”.

“Okay, so now are you calling me a freak? Is that what I am to him? Entertainment?”

“Leoni, you and I both know that is not the case. You wouldn’t be here if Mr. Jerrick thought you were a freak”.

“I don’t know anything honestly. I don’t know why I am here. For all I know I could be some research study”.

“I know I won’t convince you, but I assure you that Mr. Jerrick wants you to feel comfortable and welcomed. So, if there is anything you need, let me know. Mr. Jerrick will answer your questions tonight”.

“Why can’t he just answer them now? Why can’t you?”

“I am not privy to all of Mr. Jerrick’s reasonings so I cannot give you the answers you seek. Mr. Jerrick is a busy man. You should be honored to be invited to his table this evening. When you are done exploring, go get cleaned up and meet down here at six pm sharp. Do not make Mr. Jerrick wait”. I stood there in a stupor, unable to move as she walked away. The shock overwhelmed me as I realized that I may not have a choice. I felt out of control; the way an emotionally abusive lover gaslights you into believing you are the crazy one. Am I crazy? Is this normal? Had I been on heavy drugs?

I forcibly shook myself out of the daze and did a survey of the room around me. Various halls line the room like a labyrinth of corridors. Was Mr. Jerrik a real-life Jareth? Steeling women instead of brothers. I mean, the name is pretty similar. No, Not that. I shook my head at my utter stupidity. Now I am delusional. No one can live up to the sensation that is David Bowie. I buckled down and like the immature twit that I am, played “Eney, Meeny, Miny, Moe” to decide which of the various halls to brave.

Under the double staircase there was the stereotypical door, you know, the one that usually leads to a hall of suits of armor followed by either the kitchen or an elegant dining hall. Yeah, that one. I had an idea of what to expect so I went with this one. To my surprise, that was not it at all.

The smell of leather and soil smacked me in the face. A library even too proud for as an illustrious reader as Belle. The Beast had absolutely nothing on this library. It appeared to be right out of my dreams. Maybe that is what this is. Does one dream while in a coma? Maybe I hit my head really hard. I do tend to be quite clumsy.

The red walls were filled with espresso shelves filled to the brim with leather-bound books of every century. Something that played homage to the highly civilized of the Victorian era. The rear of the library donned sunrooms filled with luscious greenery. I had decided at that moment that if I could not physically escape, I would come here and escape into the hundreds of stories.

I found a chair in the sunroom and made myself comfortable. I could see the sublime courtyard more closely now. Meticulously trimmed shrubs and flowers surround the exterior in a sort of colorful barrier. My thoughts seemed to slow into gentle waves and reminders of the reality of the life I have been so determined to return to.

Maybe I had been working too hard. I had been forgetting to care for myself. The whole of my effort was given to those around me, and none was saved for myself. A common theme of escape had crossed my mind. If I so fantasized of fairy tales and castles and vintage libraries, why am I trying to run when one is staring me right in the face? Why, when all I have ever wanted was to be seen for who I am and accepted, cherished, and loved, am I so opposed to welcoming it?

I remembered Mr. Jerrick and his devouring eyes. They ate away at me leaving me with nothing but trepidation and primordial hunger. The unknown was something I was not comfortable with. Routine is key but what was worse was the lack of control. I felt the angst crawl up from my stomach as my hands tightly squeezed into fists.

A moment passes and I am able to compose myself, unaware of the time that had passed just staring into the landscape, I remembered that I needed to prepare for dinner. The brat in me wanted to be stubborn and outright refuse attendance.

Or should I go and pretend I am a princess? It would be nice to live out this fairy tale for a while. It could be like a role-playing vacation from my awful reality.

Another facet of myself wanted me to be as gross as possible. Maybe if I did this, Mr. Jerrick wouldn’t want me in his house any longer.

I thought about this for a moment. If I behave, what will happen? What “rewards” will I receive? Will it even be something I want, or will it be what Mr. Jerrick wants? Will I get to go home? I doubt it, nothing is ever that easy.

I made my way back to my room and searched the suite’s bathroom for anything that could make me look or smell dirty. Since I didn’t know how to get outside, I had to make do with what I’ve got. This may not be the perfect plan, but it sure sounded entertaining. Would Mr. Jerrick kill me? Probably not. He seemed a bit possessive for that. I wanted to see what lie beyond his professional stature. I want to see him vulnerable. Bringing out our rage exposes our humanity.

I searched every inch of my room for something I could use to make myself unpresentable but, I wasn’t having much luck. There wasn’t even a speck of dust to be found. I remembered my belongings on the nightstand. I knew I had some makeup in there. That was it! I would adorn myself with clown makeup and rip my clothing, so they were tattered. I would tease my hair into a huge bee’s nest. There was no way he would be fond of this. I gave myself one last quick glance in the mirror and wished myself luck. This had to work.

As the clock struck 5:57, I made my way back down to the ballroom shaking with anticipation.