Felicity are standing. My insides squeeze together at the thought of what I must share. I grabbed Lucille by the arm and dragged her back to the changing room.
‘Should I go first?’ asks Felicity.
I start to say yes, but Harry holds up a hand. ‘No. Lucille must start.’
Lucille crosses her arms angrily. ‘I’m not saying anything!’ she says, her voice cracking at the edges. ‘Why should I? It’s all of you who should be feeling guilty about what you’ve done to me, keeping me locked up, not feeding me properly, not letting me shower or speak to my family.’
She pauses for a moment, swallowing and shaking her head. ‘I’m the innocent one! You have no idea how hard this has been for me.’
‘I know you don’t really feel like that, Lucille,’ Harry says gently. ‘I reckon you’re actually feeling pretty bad about how you’ve been acting.’
Felicity gives a little squeak of anxiety and I can tell she’s expecting what I’m expecting. That Lucille will completely lose it now.
But Lucille doesn’t say a word. When I tilt my head, I’m shocked. She’s trembling .
Harry’s eyes are fixed on her. ‘This has been hard for you, hasn’t it?’ he says softly. ‘Letting go of everything you thought was true. Finding out who you really are. We’ve all been through it too, don’t forget. We’re not mad at you.’
I am, I think.
‘We just want you back,’ he continues. He sounds sincere. Perhaps he is. We’re under a strict deadline to reintegrate her, after all.
Lucille suddenly lets out a low moan. It’s a shocking sound, something that seems to come from deep within her. I hear Felicity’s breath catch.
But Harry seems unfazed. ‘It’s okay, Lucille. What matters is that you accept the truth now. And you do, don’t you? You do accept that you are a Special One.’
Lucille chokes again and nods, her tears falling freely.
Harry moves so he is standing in front of her. ‘Poor old Lucille. You feel bad, don’t you? Bad about fighting the truth for so long.’
‘Yes,’ wails Lucille.
‘It’s heavy, isn’t it, that guilty feeling?’ says Harry quietly. ‘We’ve all felt it.’
‘It’s pushing me down,’ says Lucille, panicked. ‘I can hardly stand up!’
Harry places his hands on her shoulders. ‘Let it push you. Don’t fight it.’
Lucille collapses to her knees, head bowed, chest heaving.
I turn to Felicity. ‘Get the wheel.’
Felicity hurriedly fetches the box on the mantelpiece. She doesn’t look pleased exactly as she hands it to me, but she definitely doesn’t look as sorry as she does when it’s Harry who’s about to receive punishment.
‘You can go,’ I tell her, as I remove the wheel from the box and set it up on the floor.
‘No, let me stay,’ she pleads. ‘I want to see what she gets.’
I start to argue but Harry stops me. ‘Let her stay.’
I spin the wheel and Felicity crouches down beside me. Lucille remains where she is, motionless. Even her trembling has stopped. Felicity watches the spinning wheel intently. The candle on the mantelpiece makes the wheel form strange, amoeba-like shadows on the floor.
‘Cellar!’ announces Felicity, as the wheel finally stops.
Cellar. The worst one of all.
Lucille doesn’t react. It’s just a word to her at the moment. She’ll find out what it means soon enough. Harry and I go over to the rug and roll it up together, revealing the trapdoor in the floor. Harry pulls on the worn brass ring. With a shudder the cellar door lifts, releasing a whoosh of stale air from deep below the house.
Harry goes over to Lucille and holds out his hand to help her up. ‘Come on, Lucille,’ he says. His voice is so kind and patient. Almost loving.
Lucille looks up at him and, after a slight pause, takes his hand. I think for a moment that Harry is going to get down into the cellar too, but just at the edge he stops.
Lucille stops too and looks down. ‘I have to go in there?’ she says. She sounds very
‘Should I go first?’ asks Felicity.
I start to say yes, but Harry holds up a hand. ‘No. Lucille must start.’
Lucille crosses her arms angrily. ‘I’m not saying anything!’ she says, her voice cracking at the edges. ‘Why should I? It’s all of you who should be feeling guilty about what you’ve done to me, keeping me locked up, not feeding me properly, not letting me shower or speak to my family.’
She pauses for a moment, swallowing and shaking her head. ‘I’m the innocent one! You have no idea how hard this has been for me.’
‘I know you don’t really feel like that, Lucille,’ Harry says gently. ‘I reckon you’re actually feeling pretty bad about how you’ve been acting.’
Felicity gives a little squeak of anxiety and I can tell she’s expecting what I’m expecting. That Lucille will completely lose it now.
But Lucille doesn’t say a word. When I tilt my head, I’m shocked. She’s trembling .
Harry’s eyes are fixed on her. ‘This has been hard for you, hasn’t it?’ he says softly. ‘Letting go of everything you thought was true. Finding out who you really are. We’ve all been through it too, don’t forget. We’re not mad at you.’
I am, I think.
‘We just want you back,’ he continues. He sounds sincere. Perhaps he is. We’re under a strict deadline to reintegrate her, after all.
Lucille suddenly lets out a low moan. It’s a shocking sound, something that seems to come from deep within her. I hear Felicity’s breath catch.
But Harry seems unfazed. ‘It’s okay, Lucille. What matters is that you accept the truth now. And you do, don’t you? You do accept that you are a Special One.’
Lucille chokes again and nods, her tears falling freely.
Harry moves so he is standing in front of her. ‘Poor old Lucille. You feel bad, don’t you? Bad about fighting the truth for so long.’
‘Yes,’ wails Lucille.
‘It’s heavy, isn’t it, that guilty feeling?’ says Harry quietly. ‘We’ve all felt it.’
‘It’s pushing me down,’ says Lucille, panicked. ‘I can hardly stand up!’
Harry places his hands on her shoulders. ‘Let it push you. Don’t fight it.’
Lucille collapses to her knees, head bowed, chest heaving.
I turn to Felicity. ‘Get the wheel.’
Felicity hurriedly fetches the box on the mantelpiece. She doesn’t look pleased exactly as she hands it to me, but she definitely doesn’t look as sorry as she does when it’s Harry who’s about to receive punishment.
‘You can go,’ I tell her, as I remove the wheel from the box and set it up on the floor.
‘No, let me stay,’ she pleads. ‘I want to see what she gets.’
I start to argue but Harry stops me. ‘Let her stay.’
I spin the wheel and Felicity crouches down beside me. Lucille remains where she is, motionless. Even her trembling has stopped. Felicity watches the spinning wheel intently. The candle on the mantelpiece makes the wheel form strange, amoeba-like shadows on the floor.
‘Cellar!’ announces Felicity, as the wheel finally stops.
Cellar. The worst one of all.
Lucille doesn’t react. It’s just a word to her at the moment. She’ll find out what it means soon enough. Harry and I go over to the rug and roll it up together, revealing the trapdoor in the floor. Harry pulls on the worn brass ring. With a shudder the cellar door lifts, releasing a whoosh of stale air from deep below the house.
Harry goes over to Lucille and holds out his hand to help her up. ‘Come on, Lucille,’ he says. His voice is so kind and patient. Almost loving.
Lucille looks up at him and, after a slight pause, takes his hand. I think for a moment that Harry is going to get down into the cellar too, but just at the edge he stops.
Lucille stops too and looks down. ‘I have to go in there?’ she says. She sounds very
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