THE BELL RANG.

It was obvious the bell intended to be cheerful and welcoming, but it contrasted so dramatically against the dark, dull salon that it only dampened the atmosphere. An employee wearing an ill-fitting striped shirt looked up with weary eyes and a battered broom in his hand, evidently sick and tired of sweeping hair.

One of the florescent lights above flickered, but, like that employee, quickly gave up hope. Exflibberaguil stood in the doorway, unsure of Sodriew customs. Shouldn’t he be invited in?

He would have stood there for a long time, if Nick hadn’t giggled and said, “Jingle bells…”

Exflibberaguil felt eyes on him from various customers, sitting in tall chairs and wearing strange plastic cloaks. He blushed awkwardly, looking for a vacant seat.

Nick continued to giggle. “Jingle bells, you all smell…” she sang.

Exflibberaguil blushed deeper. He cleared his throat.

Thankfully, before Nick could embarrass him further, an employee distinguished by the striped uniform shuffled over to them and wordlessly led the two to another room. Exflibberaguil decided not to ask where he was going.

Nick continued to sing out of tune. “The horses don’t say neigh!”

Exflibberaguil, feeling that an explanation was necessary, looked apologetically at the employee. “She has a mild case of amnesia,” he said, “so she doesn’t remember much at the moment.”

The employee didn’t look surprised. His eyes said, I’ve had much, much worse.

They were led to the shampooing station, where the two were handed over to two other workers, soaking wet in black aprons. Exflibberaguil was instructed to lie down on a black chair, letting all his hair fall in a white basin. He didn’t like it way his neck was in a well cut into the wall of the large sink. It made him think of being beheaded.

Nick didn’t like it as well, but largely because she was instructed not to move. Exflibberaguil repeated his apology and explanation.

Despite Exflibberaguil’s feeling of vulnerability, however, he felt himself fall into a relaxed state once the washing began. He felt his scalp being massaged by professional fingers, sending a tingle down his spine that was strangely satisfying. For once, his neck didn’t feel like it was at the verge of snapping whenever he got his hair wet. However, he could feel the struggle of his unfortunate hair-washer, who attempted to shampoo and condition Exflibberaguil’s hair without tangling it too much.

He was soon instructed to climb off the chair, something he was dreading. The employee tried her best to wrap the enormous amount of hair in a towel. The weight was already making Exflibberaguil dizzy. It took all his strength to move to a chair, led by another employee, who buttoned the plastic cloak on him.

“I’m Lizzy,” she said in a bored voice, “I’m your hair dresser. How would you like your hair styled?”

“Shorter,” Exflibberaguil pleaded, “Much shorter.”

In a single, efficient stroke, the hairdresser released the burden Exflibberaguil had been carrying for so long.

Nick was seated to his right. The hairdresser in charge of her was evidently struggling to get a straight answer.

“Excuse me,” he tried, “but how would you—”

“I really want to go to space, but then I’ll have to pay-ay!” Nick sang loudly.

“I apologize,” Exflibberaguil said, leaning over, “she has amnesia. She would like her hair cut super short, and have the bangs dyed platinum.”

Lizzy the hair stylist looked over at Nick, who was flailing her arms under the plastic cloak. “Joe,” she said to the struggling hair dresser, “why don’t we switch? I have more experience with little children.”

Joe was relieved to step out of the difficult job. Exflibberaguil was equally relieved to have changed a stylist. For some reason, Lizzy felt unsettling. She seemed to have some hidden contempt with Exflibberaguil. Exflibberaguil tried to think where he had seen Lizzy before, but couldn’t seem to remember. Perhaps it was because of the memory wipe, but even so, someone with as many piercings as Lizzy should be easy to trigger a wiped memory.

Exflibberaguil shook his head, much to Joe’s displeasure. Never mind. I’m being paranoid, without Nick.

An hour later, two people left the hair salon. One was a boy with bright red hair with medium length hair styled in a sort of faux mohawk. The other was a girl with a pixie cut, the front of her black hair silver.

“NINE-ONE-ONE WHAT’S YOUR EMERGENCY?”

“I think I found one of your missing people.”

“Do you know who?”

“Well, it says here her name is Nick. Nick Lucifay.”

“Is there evidence?”

“We have a camera here at the hair salon. And I saved hair samples. Is that enough?”

“Thank you. Is there anything else?”

“Well, she looked drunk or drugged. I’m not sure which.”

“Can you describe it more in detail?”

“She kept on giggling and singing in weird tunes. And she didn’t seem to understand we were talking to her. I think she was drugged though. There was no smell of alcohol.”

“Thank you. What did she do?”

“She came with a boy, who claimed she has amnesia. I don’t think he’s telling the truth, obviously. The boy told her that she wanted a haircut.”

“What does she look like now?”

“She has short black hair with platinum bangs.”

“Can you describe the boy?”

“Um…his name was Bob, and he had really long hair. Now it’s sort of medium length and styling in a faux mohawk. It’s also the brightest red I’ve ever seen, and I’m almost positive it’s natural. Really strange. I couldn’t see any sign of dye. Hair that bright is impossible to achieve with anything other than chemical dyes.”

“Are you a hair stylist?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Can you describe him other than his hair? Eye color? Age? Height?”

“Oh, sorry. He had, um, blue-grey eyes, I think. And looked about fourteen? Very sharp features. Skinny too. Pretty tall, but I’m bad with exact measurements. Maybe almost six feet? Oh, and he also had the weirdest skin color. It’s pretty pale, but I’m almost certain it has blue undertones.”

“Anything else that was strange?”

“He paid with one-dollar bills. He had so many of them in his jacket. That’s it, I think.”

“Thank you again. Address?”

“Er, sixty-four Morlon Avenue.”

“We’ll be right there.”