It was late the following afternoon when Hotch heard the door to his cell being opened. When he looked up from the book he was reading (The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne), he saw 483 standing in the doorway accompanied by a tall, slender, dark-haired woman dressed in khaki shorts and holding a beat-up navy blue gym bag.
"Well, 751, it seems you have a visitor," 483 announced. "And this one comes complete with a beauty kit."
"Quit that, you!" the woman nudged 483 with her elbow. "It's just my hair cutting tools. Nothing exotic."
"I wasn't aware that you made house calls," was the immediate reply. "Maybe next time I need a haircut you can drop by."
"Where – In the men's dorm?" the woman asked. "No Way! You can make an appointment and come by my chair the way everyone else does. Except for you, of course," she smiled at Hotch. "And that, I assume, is subject to change."
"You are here to give me a haircut?" Hotch ventured a guess.
"Right the first time," the woman declared cheerfully as she breezed into his cell, deliberately ignoring the chain and manacle on his leg. "And, not to worry – I am a certified hair stylist, educated, licensed, and everything." She put her bag down at the foot of the cot.
"You're certifiable all right," 483 told her from his post in the doorway.
"That's enough from you," the hair stylist told him. "Now, bring a chair for 751 to sit on and then get out of here so I can concentrate."
"And don't worry," she added. "I don't think 751 here is going to try anything. He's not really a violent person, just frustrated."
"How do you know that?" 483 demanded.
"I can tell by his hair," the stylist replied as she ran an experienced hand through Hotch's thick thatch of dark hair. "You can lie with your mouth but your hair never lies."
"I'll get you the chair," 483 told her as he stepped back from the door. "But, I'm staying. I'll leave the door open and sit right outside in the hallway - Just in case."
"Now that he's gone," the hair stylist told Hotch after the man had disappeared. "Let's get acquainted. I already know that you are 751; I'm 658." She expertly draped a cape she had extracted from her bag around his neck.
"And, it appears that I'm going to have to dry cut you," she added as she took a spray bottle out of her bag. "Close your eyes." As Hotch squeezed his eyes closed, he could feel the cool mist hitting his head.
"If you could cut it short - ," he began.
"Short?" 658 echoed. "This hair? That would be a crime against humanity! This hair is crying for a layered cut. Trust me – You don't want short!"
"I have always had - ," Hotch tried again.
"Then it is time for a change," was the immediate response. "And, you can't see what I am doing so you are just going to have to trust me." She was running a comb through Hotch's hair and squinting at it.
"Here's your chair," 483 was back with the requested piece of furniture. "And, remember, I am right outside." He left the room.
"All right, let's get you situated on this so I can get at all sides of you," 658 helped Hotch move over to sit on the chair.
"Okay now, here goes," she brandished a pair of scissors and then began cutting.
"You weren't born on the island, were you?" Hotch asked. "Where do you come from originally?"
"Here and there," was the casual response. "Although I did get my hair dressers' license in the state of North Carolina and that is where I was living before I came here."
"Would you want to go back there?" Hotch was fishing for an ally to help him escape.
"No Way!" was the emphatic declaration. "I had an abusive husband along with nosey in-laws who saw nothing wrong with his behavior and I could see that all of them had the potential to become abusive to my daughter. Not a situation I would care to return to."
"You like it here?" Hotch asked curiously.
"Of course!" was the immediate reply. "I don't have to deal with the physical and/or verbal abuse and I have help with my kids. If I were back there I never would have had more than my first one."
"You have three kids," Hotch guessed.
"Four," was the cheerful reply as she continued snipping at Hotch's hair. "I always wanted a lot of kids and with the help I have here on the island I can do that. I do miss the shopping malls and the television and the video games, but the kids and I are probably better off without them." She took a step back, squinted at Hotch, and smiled.
"Okay." She handed him a mirror. "What do you think?"
"I think," Hotch held the mirror out so he could get wider view of his head as he turned it from side to side. "I think I like it."
"Another satisfied customer," the woman chortled as she whisked the cape off his shoulders. "Now, after you're done with your shower, just run your fingers through it and then shake your head. It should fall right into place."
"However," she looked down at the floor. "I think I am going to be leaving quite a mess behind me on the floor here."
"Don't worry," 415 appeared in the doorway. "We'll get it cleaned up."
"Do you do shaves too?" Hotch asked, running his hand over his stubbly chin.
"Maybe next time," was the cheerful promise as the hairdresser began packing up her tools. "Right now I think you need to get ready for your visitor. I brought her with me from Farm #2 and she's really nice."
"You were at Farm #2?" Hotch asked curiously.
"Oh Yes," the woman told him. "My haircutting skills are frequently needed at one or another of the other farms, so I travel between them. I get to meet everyone on the island - and their hair," she laughed.
"Enjoy your evening," she called out cheerily as she breezed out of the room leaving Hoch alone to listen as the lock on the door clicked shut.