The dollhouse, p.1
The Dollhouse, page 1
The Dollhouse
A Psychological Thriller
by Sara Ennis
Copyright 2021 by Sara Ennis
All rights reserved
Published in the United States by TO BE DETERMINED
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-7367722-1-8
eBook ISBN: 978-1-7367722-0-1
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and businesses are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.
There are many people who have had significant influence
on this book getting into the hands of readers, but these three
require special mention: Tracy, who cheers me on always, even when she has no idea what I’m babbling about. Mike, the brother I never asked for but am mostly happy to have, whose praise was the stamp of approval I needed to kick me to the finish line.
And Pops, who gave me the writing gene, even if he wasn’t
around to watch it grow.
CHAPTER ONE
Our Family Photo Album
Photograph. A blonde woman sits in an armchair in front of a crackling fire; baby cradled in her arms. She is beaming. Her husband, dark-haired and handsome in a thick wool cardigan and pleated gray trousers, stands behind the chair, a hand on the woman’s shoulder, broad smile that makes his eyes twinkle. A five-year-old blonde girl leans into the side of the chair, expression pouty, tugging her mother’s hand to bring it to herself rather than the baby.
Note next to photo: Freddy’s first Christmas. December 14, 1976
CHAPTER TWO
August 19, 2006
“I’ll only be gone three days. There’s plenty of food in the fridge, but you can call Lynn if you need anything.” Sunshine Evanston, Angel’s mother, moved around the messy bedroom, gathering clothes like a squirrel gathers nuts, randomly but with intention.
Angel watched her mother toss each item into their household’s only suitcase, which was covered in labels—You are my sunshine, Rise & Shine, I’m in a sunshine state of mind, Shine on. The open mouth of the hot pink Samsonite reminded Angel of the Hungry Hippo game she’d loved when she was a little kid. Black bikini. Tank tops, orange and blue. Denim shorts, black jeans, favorite ‘going out’ dress. Hairdryer. Curling iron. Makeup bag.
Angel sat cross-legged on her mother’s bed and chewed at the cuticle around her thumbnail, making the dry, cracked skin sting. “Will you pay the cable before you go?”
Shine considered various pieces of jewelry from the top of her messy dresser. “You’re fourteen, basically an adult, and it’s time you understood being an adult is about choices, Angel. Without Junior’s child support, things are tight. You’ll survive without crime shows and music videos.” She grabbed a handful of foil packets from her nightstand and squeezed them into the side pocket. “There’ll be lots of stuff happening with the fair. The parade, and fireworks. I bet Lynn or Carl would give you a ride to the fairgrounds.”
Angel flopped backward onto the messy bed. The rough zipper of the suitcase caught her ear. She rubbed at the sting and sat up. “Bud will hang out with his friends the whole time. What am I supposed to do by myself?”
“You have a room full of shit. And that iPod thing Lynn gave you. Maybe this will encourage you to actually make a friend or two.” Shine shoved her feet into her sneakers and zipped the suitcase as far as it would go, but the teeth misaligned halfway around and refused to budge. This wasn’t a new problem; she pulled a black bungee cord from the side pocket and wrapped it around the suitcase, through the handle, and hooked the two ends together. Stickers and bungee cords were what kept the stupid thing functioning. “Where the hell did I put my purse...”
Angel dug it out from the mess of sheets and pillows and handed it over.
“Time to grow up, kid. You’ll be fine.” A horn honked, and Shine bent to kiss Angel on the forehead, calling behind her, “Love you, doll face! See you Wednesday!”
“Bye, Mom,” Angel muttered, putting extra emphasis on the last word. Shine hated being called ‘mom.’ She said it made her feel like an old cow. The dig didn’t matter, though. Shine was already gone, dust from Bonnie’s truck pushing through the old screens on the trailer. Some of the screens were kept together by stickers and bungee cords, too.
Angel’s nose twitched. Her life was jimmy-rigged and make-do.
Shine lied. It wasn’t three days. Angel and Bud would be alone in the trailer four nights by themselves, and five days. Shine wasn’t counting today or Wednesday. That was Shine math... shave off a little here, add a little there, until you got the number that matched up to your purposes. Shine was lackadaisical (a favored word learned in English class) when it came to anything to do with numbers—days, quantities, money. Except Angel thought it wasn’t really laziness. Shine knew. Like, if she had money to go to Chicago, Shine maybe could have paid some to the cable company so Angel would have something to do.
Angel’s twin brother, Bud, was suspicious when Shine took them to the Diner this morning. The only time they went out for breakfast was when Shine had something to tell them that she knew they wouldn’t like. For instance, “Your idiot father has been arrested.” Or, today, “I’m taking a little trip to reenergize myself now that the nasty trial business is over.”
Of course, Bud was excited they’d be on their own for the weekend. He and Shine had been arguing a lot lately, ever since their dad, Junior Evanston, was arrested for robbing banks. Bud thought Shine should have stood up for Junior, instead of laughing at him for being ‘an incompetent idiot.’ Bud got really mad when Shine talked to a guy from one of the national news shows. He said Shine should be more loyal to the father of her children, instead of chumming up to the reporters. Bud had feelings, and made them clear. Angel had feelings too. She felt bad for her dad, but she kind of thought it was funny that ‘the fools’ had blown up part of a historic courthouse in their last robbery. It reminded her of some of the old-timey movies she sometimes watched late at night when she couldn’t sleep.
The more Shine was Shine, the angrier Bud got. The trial was a month or so ago, but they’d been poking at each other ever since. Angel spent a lot of time playing peacemaker.
“I don’t want you to go,” Angel had said, swirling one of Shine’s fries in ketchup. They were at the Daisy Diner, the only place they ever ate because Shine’s best friend Lynn owned it, and they ate free. The food was good, but Angel wished they could have tacos or a bucket of fried chicken every once in a while.
“Sorry, kid, but mama needs a little adult time,” Shine had told them and made a face at Bud as he scooped up hot fudge and whipped cream from a sundae bowl that held no ice cream. Lynn had put the Bud Sundae on the menu when he was six to make him feel special, but he was the only one who ordered it; most people preferred ice cream in their sundaes. Bud hated ice cream.
“You’re such a weird kid, Bud. How did you come out of me?” Shine muttered, rolling her eyes.
“I’d explain it to you, but that’s not appropriate lunch conversation.” Bud said, throwing her a smirk.
“Don’t be an asshole.” Shine kicked him under the table—well, tried to, but her foot connected with Angel’s leg instead of Bud’s, and Angel yelped. Typical. Bud acted up, and Angel got punished.
Now Shine was gone, and Bud was off with his friends, and Angel was alone at the trailer the three of them shared, and she was already bored. She considered doing the dishes and cleaning up. That would be a nice surprise for Shine when she got back. Bud would make fun of her for trying to make Shine happy when Shine didn’t really care that much if they were happy. Angel would maybe clean Tuesday morning, so Bud didn’t have time to mess it up again just to be an ass.
Lynn had given Angel an iPod shuffle for her birthday a few weeks ago because Angel was obsessed with music, and, unlike her own mother, Lynn actually wanted Angel to be happy. Lynn would have been a great mom, but she never got married, never had kids. Sometimes, like now, Angel wished Lynn was her mom.
It was stuffy in the trailer. Shine wouldn’t let them turn on the window unit unless it was above 90, and it wasn’t even close, only 82. If Bud was here, he’d say “Screw that!” and crank up the AC. But Bud wasn’t here.
Angel poured orange drink into a plastic cup and went out the trailer door to the patio. She could see the LaMarca’s minivan in front of their house and hoped Mr. LaMarca didn’t look out the window. He was kind of cute for an old guy, and she’d be totally embarrassed if he saw her dancing around and singing.
The old maple tree shaded the patio at the base of the stoop. Angel set the cup on the table under the tree and clicked the iPod tucked into the pocket of her t-shirt. Lynn had loaded the iPod with music she knew Angel would like. Her current favorite was Beyoncé’s album B ‘Day. Before they cut the cable off, Angel spent hours watching the video for Irreplaceable, memorizing some of the gestures. She particularly loved swinging her hips and pointing during the “to the left, to the left” part. One day a boy would want her, and she’d send him packing, singing and dancing to send him away.
CHAPTER THREE
August 19, 2006
Jennifer put the field glasses down on the bench seat, reached across to open the glove compartment, and withdrew a small leather bag. She unzipped it and pulled out a syringe and small bottle. She filled the syringe with care, tapping to remove air bubbles, then replacing the safety
It was a warm, sunny day, not exactly what Jennifer had been hoping for, but one had to make do. The sun wouldn’t set for another four hours, but it had moved off to the west, casting long shadows. Jennifer guessed dinner time was around five in these parts, which suited her fine.
She had parked on the side of the road under a low-hanging copse of trees. The window was cracked just enough to hear road noise and to enjoy some lovely spring country air. She leaned back into the Jeep seat and carefully used a file on her short, red-painted nails. Twenty minutes since the rattling pickup truck pulled up in front of the trailer and honked, then took off with the mother in the passenger seat, the piece of junk kicking up dust from the gravel drive. She would wait a few more minutes... she didn’t want to risk Shine coming back because she forgot her toothbrush.
She could easily see the trailer. It was situated back forty feet or so from the road, with a big red barn off to the right and nothing but woods to the left. The nearest house was a few hundred feet past, and the van parked in front of it hadn’t moved all afternoon.
As close to perfect as she was going to get. If conditions stayed prime, she’d make her move soon.
The door to the trailer thwacked open, the screen smacking loud enough that she could hear it, then swung back to closed. Jennifer lifted her birdwatching glasses to see better. There she was! A pretty blonde girl bounced down the steps, her blue T-shirt and denim shorts showcasing slender, tanned limbs. Jennifer saw her glance at the van down the road, then set a drink on a fading green plastic table. The kid pressed earbuds into her ears, clicked something in her pocket, and began dancing, at first a little stiff and self-conscious, then with enthusiasm as she forgot herself. Jennifer cracked the Jeep window down more and could hear the girl singing loudly and quite well. The song wasn’t something Jennifer recognized, but the music that appealed to a fourteen-year-old wasn’t likely to be the stuff Jennifer preferred.
She swung the glasses, looking for any sign that Bud had returned. But she hadn’t seen him after the trio left lunch at Daisy’s Diner, where none of them had noticed the out of town woman sitting in the booth opposite them, taking in every word of their conversation. After they discussed Sunshine’s plans for the weekend, mom and daughter got a lift home from the Diner’s owner, and Bud jumped on his bike and raced the other way. Jennifer thought the boy would take full advantage of the lack of parental supervision. He seemed the headstrong type. He was not part of her plan.
The girl was perfect. Pliable and obedient and polite... well, as polite as fourteen-year-olds were these days. She’d pouted when her mother shared her intentions but hadn’t had a tantrum, which was good. Jennifer wouldn’t put up with a bad attitude.
As good a time as any. Jennifer turned the key in the ignition, and the Jeep stirred to life. The girl didn’t notice, earbuds keeping her attention. Still, Jennifer moved slowly out from under the trees and onto the road. She’d given herself enough distance to get up to speed before pulling into the gravel drive, in case the girl happened to see her coming. One last quick glance at the house with the van confirmed no movement. Perfect.
The girl had her back to the road as she wiggled and shook and snapped her fingers. Her singing voice was quite attractive. Jennifer parked the car at an angle in the U-shaped gravel patch so that she was pointed back toward the road, the rear hatch nearest the girl, and stepped out.
“Excuse me,” Jennifer said, from a few feet away. No response. Just in case that boy was actually in the house, she didn’t want to move too quickly. “Hello?” Still no response. But nothing from the house, either.
She gently touched the girl’s arm, and she spun, her mouth open, then giggled in surprise. “Oh! Sorry! I didn’t hear you come up!” She turned a bit pink as she realized Jennifer must have seen and heard her performance.
“I’m so sorry I scared you! I am hopelessly lost, I’m afraid, and I saw you here and decided to swallow my pride and stop and ask for directions.” Jennifer waved an arm at the sparsely populated road.
“My brother says I’m a wimp, but if I am, it’s because he makes me jump all the time. Where are you trying to go?” The girl pulled the earbuds and let them dangle from her the iPod.
“Kokomo.” Jennifer smiled. “Such a funny name.”
The girl nodded and smiled back, open and guileless. She’d be a beauty someday. Without realizing she was doing it, she followed Jennifer as she moved to the Wagoneer’s rear and opened the hatch. What appeared to be boxes and boxes of books filled the back of the Wagoneer. Once the door was up, with the girl at her side, Jennifer pointed back the way she’d come from. “Do I go that way?”
The kid turned her head to look and started to say “No,” but before the word was out, Jennifer wrapped her arm around the girl’s slim neck and tightened it into a chokehold, careful not to press too hard, just enough for the girl to pass out. As with everything in life, there’s a fine line between enough and too much, and she didn’t want to cross that line.
The girl slumped against the bumper of the Jeep, and Jennifer smiled, holding her up with one arm, reaching for the handcuffs in the pocket of her hoodie. She clicked a cuff around one of the girl’s wrists, let the girl rest more heavily against the boxes of books in the back of the vehicle, and slid a false panel sideways, exposing a three-foot-wide compartment. Jennifer adjusted the girl’s body so she could navigate her head first, face-up, into the tunnel, then snapped the second cuff around her slim wrist. She rolled the girl onto her side to avoid hurting her arms or hands and carefully pushed her until only the well-worn soles of two sneakered feet were visible.
And then Jennifer heard a banshee whoop and turned just in time to see the boy careening toward her on his bike, pedaling as if powered by rocket fuel, easily navigating fallen branches and stones and other yard debris between the barn and the trailer. She didn’t have time to get in the car and leave, so she turned toward him and stood her ground, waiting as he slid to a stop and hurled himself at her.
Jennifer reached out with one hand, strong fingers encircling and then tightening around his neck, and said calmly, “I gave your sister a drug. If I don’t give her the antidote in a very short time, she will die. Do you want her to die, you little fuck? No, you don’t. So calm your ass down.”
The boy’s eyes were wide as he struggled to breathe against the large hand around his throat. Finally, he managed to nod, and Jennifer relented, just a bit, but not enough to encourage any acts of bravery. She used the hand around his throat to guide him to a stand at the hatch of the Jeep. Little fuck. He was making her perfect plan less perfect. She could just kill him and leave him behind the trailer.
But... there might be advantages to having them both. Alfred would be pleased. Fine. Not everything in life had to be planned.
Jennifer moved quickly, spinning him around so she could apply the same careful chokehold she’d used on his twin, and he slid limply against her body. She only had one pair of cuffs. There was a tube of zip ties in one of the boxes that covered the hidden compartment, and she grabbed three. It would be better to put the cuffs on him, but she didn’t have time. She’d rearrange them at the next stop. For now, this would have to do. She zip-tied his hands twice, then squeezed him in next to his sister, who was, thank God, very slender. It would be cramped quarters for them. To be on the safe side, she also zip-tied his feet. He was a fighter. She didn’t want to take risks.
Once she saw the soles of four sneakers at the compartment’s base, she slid back the panel and inspected the rear of the SUV. The back of the vehicle looked just the way she intended, filled to bursting with boxes of neatly organized books as she returned to her home from a book show on the east coast.
A little spontaneity was good for the soul. And she hadn’t had to use the syringe. Success!
