The dollhouse, p.19
The Dollhouse, page 19
Lord shrugged. “Maybe I’m helping wimpy kids get tougher, grow some balls. Maybe I am actually helping them.”
“Not true. I think you already know, monsters beget future monsters.”
Lord chewed his lip and focused on his paper.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
November 18, 2006
“You know, Alfred’s photo album isn’t all that big,” Bud said one Saturday. They were in various positions on the couch, watching a movie that wasn’t keeping anyone’s attention. Olivia was reading but looked up when Bud spoke. “And...? I swear you Evanstons are the most cryptic communicators I’ve ever met.”
Angel snorted at the tongue twister ‘cryptic communicators’ but agreed with Olivia’s assessment. “Yeah, Bud, what the heck are you talking about?”
He lowered his voice. “We’ve had maybe twelve or fifteen photoshoots, right? That little album is maybe an inch thick, and there’s only one picture per page. So there aren’t a lot of pages or photos.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. Having spent the last few months near her, Angel kind of hoped Lynn’s threat ‘your eyes are going to stick that way someday’ might actually be possible.
Bud blew out an annoyed breath. “Think, ladies. What happens when we’re done shooting the photos in the album?”
Ohhhh. Both girls were quiet as that idea sunk in. Angel swallowed. “Oh, shit.”
“Definitely oh shit.” Olivia seconded. “We need to find out how many photos are in that album to get an idea of how long we have.”
“More importantly, we need to get the fuck out of here!” Bud responded.
“We’re trying!” Angel said, irritated. “I need to get out of the house again.”
Olivia ticked off on her fingers. “Okay. Step 1: Figure out how many photos are in the album. Step 2: Get Alfred to send Angel— or someone—to the store again. Step 3: Get the hell out of here.”
What did that mean—“or someone”? Angel wondered angrily.
“The next time we do a photoshoot we need to find a way to look at the whole album,” Olivia said.
“How, though? He shows us the photo we’re recreating, and then moves us away from the table where the album is.” Bud said.
Angel chewed the inside of her cheek. “Sometimes when he’s setting up, he has you two help him bring stuff from the props area. If he does that, I can slip over and look real fast. I don’t usually help as much with setting up...” I’m about to get beat all to hell, she added silently.
“That could work, assuming he needs us to get stuff from the props. But what if he doesn’t?” Olivia said.
Angel shrugged.
“Someone will need to distract him, get him to turn his back long enough Angel can sneak a look.”
“Not again,” Angel whispered.
“We need to figure out exactly how many photos are left, no guessing,” Olivia said, ignoring Angel. “In this context being off by even a couple could be dire.”
Angel grabbed a cushion and hugged it to her. “Maybe once we’ve reshot all the photos he’ll have another project for us...”
Bud and Olivia looked at her, not saying anything. It was nice of them to try and pretend that wasn’t the stupidest thing she’d ever said. Even she knew that once they’d taken all the photos from his precious album he had no use for them.
“Maybe it’s not so bad that he wants that new kid, then. Until he has all the dolls he needs we have a little more time.” Angel said.
“Maybe.” Olivia agreed.
“Maybe,” Bud said.
Maybe, Angel repeated to herself. Maybe.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
November 20, 2006
This last game made it clear there was no way Angel could successfully get to a store, find the items on Alfred’s list, find a Movies by Mail envelope and get back to the blue house without being late if she had no idea how much time had passed. That was going to be the key to winning this “game”—finding a way to track time.
But how? That question was keeping Angel up at night.
First, she thought about counting. She could count to 600 for every ten minutes—1800 total seconds. Except she was pretty sure she’d lose track and get screwed up.
Back in science class in 3rd or 4th grade, they’d learned how to tell the time by the sun. That was a long time ago, though, and what if it was a cloudy day or raining? No good.
She thought about figuring out how long it took for her to sing the birthday or alphabet song, and calculate how many times she could sing it in a minute. But again, she was afraid she’d get distracted and lose count. And, they had no clock, so how would she figure it out in the first place?
One day she was looking at the CD cover for the album Jennifer had brought—the Brave and Crazy one—and noticed each song’s length listed next to it. She couldn’t keep count if she repeated the same song over and over, but... maybe if she memorized the songs... added up the total amount ... she could sing them in order and she’d have an idea of how much time had passed.
The whole album was too long. Angel kept adding and subtracting songs until she had just under 30 minutes. Seven songs, none of them too slow, because that could throw off her timing. She had to know each song inside and out, so if something interrupted her, she could get right back into the lyrics—even if she was just reciting them in her head—and stay on track.
The idea that it would drive Bud nuts, the process of her memorizing them, made her happy. He deserved it, the asshole. And someday, after they were rescued, she could say “In your face! All that singing saved your life!”
Now she just had to hope she could get it memorized before Alfred’s next game. And, hope that Alfred decided to play again.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
November 20, 2006
Bud was snoring, and Olivia was mewling, but Angel couldn’t sleep. Her mind was attacking her, coming at her from every direction.
Bud and Olivia were—different. She couldn’t explain it, exactly, she just knew that somehow today wasn’t the same as two months ago. They used to annoy each other, gripe, and complain about pretty much anything the other one did or said. Now if Bud said something dumb, Olivia would smile. If Olivia was mean to Angel, Bud would tell Angel she was being sensitive. It was irritating, the way they were now. It felt like they were a team she wasn’t part of.
It wasn’t all bad though. Bud was still angry, but not crazy-about-to-explode mad 100% of the time. Last week, after study time, Bud said, “Hey, sing for us.” And she did. Bud and Olivia sat on the couch and listened and smiled and then clapped when she was done and asked her to sing another.
It was weird, being paid attention to like that. It felt good. Like, they knew she was there, a real person, her own person, not just a Doll in someone’s twisted Dollhouse. But most of the time she felt—separate. Other.
It wasn’t just them, though, that felt different. Jennifer seemed on edge, jumpy even. It was clear she adored Bud, and she made sure the girls knew they tested her patience. For a while, she’d seemed to care, at least a little, about them. Not lately, though. Now she hardly ever smiled and didn’t want to hear much about their homework or art projects. Angel tried to pinpoint when things seemed to change, and the best she could guess was around the time Alfred began obsessing over getting another Doll. Jennifer had made it clear she had no interest in another kid. Was that why?
And Alfred, well, he was changing minute by minute, it seemed. Used to be he only got really scary if something pissed Jennifer off, or during photoshoots, if things didn’t go the way he imagined them in his head. But lately, like the times he sent her to the store, it felt as though he was going insane. Not every day bonkers, like Shine when ‘Aunt Flo’s in town’, but Stephen King clown-eating-children-with-a-side-of-pig-blood bonkers.
As if she’d summoned him by thinking about him, Alfred’s voice drifted down through the vent. “Why are you here?” He sounded angry and surprised.
A man’s voice Angel had never heard before answered. He didn’t sound angry at all. He sounded calm. Normal. “What’s happening here? You need to get hold of yourself.”
Angel wanted to wake Bud or Olivia, but couldn’t without making a loud noise they would hear upstairs. But wait, that might be good? Maybe he was a good guy? Someone who could save them?
Or, he could be a bad guy. Maybe Alfred had a partner they didn’t know about. Maybe this new guy was even worse! Angel held her breath and listened, wanting a clue, desperate to make the right choice.
“This new kid—what the hell is that about?”
Alfred snapped. “There are parts I can’t get right without the necessary props.”
The new voice grunted. “It’s not the props. It’s just not working. It feels like you’re falling apart, pal.”
“I’m falling apart? Who just murdered a kid? That was you, pal,’” Alfred said.
Angel’s gut tightened. Murdered a kid? Not a good guy. For sure not a good guy.
“That’s because Charlie was special. He was pure. He wouldn’t have understood. I had to save him from you before you did terrible things to him. You’re losing it, bucko. You need to get hold of yourself before everything goes to shit.” The kid killer said.
“You have your job, I have mine. You just worry about yourself.” Alfred snarled. Then it went quiet.
Something was changing. Everything was changing. Or maybe nothing was changing.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
November 21, 2006
Angel was practically bouncing on her bunk. She wanted to be completely sure Jennifer and Alfred were gone before she told Bud and Olivia what she’d overheard last night. Her hand had a mind of its own, tapping on The Complete Book of United States History with her marker.
“Would you stop, please?” Olivia ordered, glaring at her.
Angel put the pen on the mattress and focused on listening to see if there was any sound from upstairs. It seemed quiet, but she needed to be absolutely sure. Every once in a while Alfred would sneak down after Jennifer said goodbye, just to scare the crap out of them. Angel began to sing Hallelujah quietly to herself because it was four minutes long and that was long enough to know for sure it was safe.
“I’ve never heard you sing that before,” Olivia said, looking up from her reading. “It’s one of my favorite songs.”
“It was going to be her audition for show choir,” Bud said in a flat tone. Angel wondered if he sounded like that because he felt bad she’d missed trying out. She had never really thought about how she could sing and think about other things at the same time. She would’ve kicked ass at performing! Maybe she’d become a dancer, too, although if she was honest with herself, she was kind of a klutz.
When she’d finished, she grinned and made a flourishy mock bow, as best she could cabled to a bed. “Last night after you were asleep something happened!”
“What, did Olivia toot?” Bud teased, laughing.
Olivia gave him a sassy look but didn’t seem mad. Definitely something weird happening there. Angel would think about it later. “I heard a man’s voice upstairs.”
So...?” Olivia said, drawing out the word. Angel saw her roll her eyes and felt a jab of anger.
“It wasn’t Alfred! I mean, it was Alfred, but also a new voice. Nobody we’ve heard before.” Angel said.
That got Olivia’s attention, and Bud’s, too, because she felt the bed shake when he stretched to try and look up. Olivia snapped, “Why didn’t you wake us?”
Angel scowled. “Shut up for once miss know-it-all and I’ll tell you!”
Olivia looked surprised. More important, she shut up.
“I was listening, trying to decide if I should wake you. You may not know this but you both sleep like the de- are deep sleepers. It’s not like I could whisper your names and you’d wake up. I’d have to be loud, and I was scared they’d hear me and then know I could hear them.”
Olivia started to say something but Angel held up her hand like a crossing guard at a stop sign. “For a minute I thought that would be good, right? Maybe this guy could save us!” She paused, because she was feeling a little dramatic, and also a bit resentful. “But then Alfred said something to the guy about him killing a kid.”
“Alfred? Or the other guy?” Bud demanded.
“Alfred said the other guy had killed a kid. So I stopped thinking about waking you up and kept very quiet.”
Olivia thought about that, then said, “Maybe you misunderstood.”
“I didn’t.”
“Okay.”
“Did the other guy seem to know about us?”
“Oh, he definitely knew about us. And he also knew Alfred wants another doll.’”
“Shit,” Bud said.
Olivia chewed her lip.
“That means there are at least three. Maybe more?” Angel said.
“Holy hell,” Bud grunted. “We’ve got to find a way out. It feels like...”
Olivia’s voice was flat. “Time is running out.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
November 21, 2006
Angel noticed the stack of pads sitting on the back of the toilet and frowned. The only good thing about getting her period was that she was allowed to sleep with adult diapers to avoid ‘making a mess’, Jennifer said. Jennifer must track her periods because she always put pads out a day before Angel needed them. It was weird having someone know your body better than you. But Angel had just finished her period last week. So if these weren’t for her... “Did you start your period?”
Olivia nodded and leaned toward the pretend mirror to apply mascara.
“Why did it take so long?” Angel knew she sounded rude but didn’t really care. She was tired of being nice all the damn time.
Olivia shrugged. “It’s not like I have never had them, they’re just rare. Back when I was training for the Olympics, my doctor said that much physical activity can sometimes affect menstruation. I guess the lack of activity here caught up with me. Jennifer pointed it out this morning when she collected the sheets.” She finished her makeup and turned to Angel. “I’m not sure what the fuss is about. I didn’t even notice.”
Angel bit her lower lip. She’d had periods since she was twelve, and sometimes they were so painful she could barely stand. It figured Olivia would have an easy time of it. Just another way Olivia was tough and Angel was a baby.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
November 22, 2006
On days Lord Michael’s father forgot to pick him up from school, Lord and Matty rode the same bus #16 home.
Rumor had it that on this particular day, Lord and his pals decided to have some fun with Matty.
Rumor had it that on this particular day, Lord and his pals dragged Matty to the back of the bus. Then they tore off every stitch of his clothing, and threw each piece out the bus window, one at a time, so they were yards apart, and there was no way Matty could collect them, even if he managed to get off the bus on his own.
Rumor had it that several students, male and female, then wrote on Matty’s naked body in colored Sharpie pens, the way someone might sign a cast. The words were cruel. Nasty. Hateful.
Rumor had it, once the bus passed through a busy business center, Lord and friends frog marched the naked boy from the back of the bus, past dozens of other kids and a bus driver who conveniently happened to be a friend of Lord’s dad.
Rumor had it the driver was deeply engrossed in the dirt under his fingernails.
Rumor had it the boys shoved Matty off the bus, yelling “So everyone can see who you really are!”
Rumor had it Matty found himself completely naked in an unfamiliar part of town at 3:30 in the afternoon on a Tuesday in November, not a warm month in Casper, Wyoming.
The last part was fact, not a rumor: Thirteen-year-old Matty Thompson hung himself, with a bathrobe tie, from the rod in his closet. His body was found hanging between unpacked boxes. He’d been in Wyoming exactly eighty-four days.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
November 23, 2006
Alfred tipped the remainder of the bottle of zinfandel into his glass and yawned. He was ready for bed but wanted to catch this one last news story before closing up for the night.
“We’re here with Marnie Hartling, the aunt of the little girl who is currently trapped in a well 30 foot deep in the yard behind this house.” The reporter tipped his microphone toward a lovely young woman, maybe twenty-two, her appealing features haggard with worry. “Marnie, what would you like to say to our audience?”
“We appreciate everyone’s prayers and efforts to get Beth out of there,” the woman, Marnie—what a pretty name!—said. The cameraman panned back, expanding the frame to include a small girl, three or so, clutching Marnie’s hand. “My daughter is the same age as Beth. I can’t imagine how terrified she would be.”
“How is your sister, Melissa?”
“She’s a mess. How would you be? She hasn’t left that spot,” Marnie nodded her head behind the small house, “or the wonderful emergency workers, talking to Beth while they work on getting her out.”
“I’m sure she’s glad to have family around her,” the reporter prompted.
“I don’t think she even knows we’re here, to be honest. I wouldn’t if this were happening to my Grace.” Her hand clutched tighter at the girl’s.
Little Grace plopped her thumb into her mouth and tilted her head back to look up at Marnie, blonde curls circling her face like the oft-painted cherubs of olden times. Clearly, the girl understood something was going on, something bad, but mommy was holding her hand so it would all be fine. Her other hand clutched a brown, floppy dog. It appeared to be balding in spots.
