Wonderland

by Jennifer Hillier

  “Right?” the girlfriend said. “It’s so wrong. Let’s get out of here.”

  “We have to pass through here anyway. Might as well take a couple pictures.”

  They perused the dolls slowly, taking their time. They read some of the plaques at random, snapping pictures here and there.

  “This one is from the eighteenth century,” the girlfriend said. “It was owned by a French duchess. That’s pretty cool.”

  “The life-size ones are just sick.” The boyfriend stooped to read the plaque on the doll right beside Ava. She was standing between two actual dolls, and she dared not move. Every muscle in her body was still. “This one’s name is Genevieve, and it was custom made in France for Evelyn Shaw, the mother of the founder of the park. It cost twenty-five thousand dollars. That’s a lot of money for a doll. Bree, come look. She’s as big as you.”

  His girlfriend stood beside him. “Totally sick,” she said with a nod. “I can’t believe somebody actually makes these for a living. What kind of person would do that?”

  “Probably the same person who mounts animal heads on the wall. People are all kinds of freaky.” The boyfriend reached over and squeezed her ass. “But you know, you would look cute in that doll dress. I wonder what she’s wearing underneath.”

  “Pervert.” The girlfriend giggled. She pulled her boyfriend close and they kissed. Ava couldn’t see whether there was tongue involved, as she wasn’t able to look directly at them, but she imagined there was as she could hear them slurping.

  They finished kissing and moved in front of Ava.

  “God.” The girlfriend visibly shuddered. “Sean, this one looks almost real. I swear it’s breathing.”

  “That’s because that’s what your brain expects you to see. It’s like when you’re on a broken escalator. It’s not moving, but you feel like it is because you know it should be.” The boyfriend leaned closer to Ava. His breath smelled like he’d just eaten a caramel apple, which he probably had. “See, I could have sworn she just blinked. But it’s all in my head. Man, that’s freaky.”

  “‘Custom made especially for Wonderland,’ ” the girlfriend recited, reading off the plaque that was mounted close to Ava’s elbow. “Her name is Ava. Sean, listen to this. ‘Look into her pendant, dear. See your face so clean and clear. Make a wish and do not fear, for what you ask is very near.’ It says seventeen wishes have been granted by people who’ve looked into the pendant.”

  Both of them leaned in, staring into the fake yellow jewel. Their faces were an inch away from Ava’s neck.

  “Hello,” Ava said in a pleasant voice, timing it perfectly.

  The boy sprang back about four feet, and the girlfriend screamed so loud Ava thought the glass displays might break.

  “Holy shit!” the boyfriend hollered. “It is real! Oh my god, I think I just shit my pants.”

  The girlfriend’s hand was across her mouth, her face a mask of horror even though the sound she was making suggested laughter. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god!”

  “I knew that could happen, I read about it online,” the boyfriend said, cracking up. “But still, that was fucking sick.”

  “Please exit through the doors on the right,” Ava said in her pleasant voice, still standing on her pedestal. She raised her arm and pointed, then let it drop back to her side. “And allow the guests behind you to enjoy the same surprise you just did. Thank you for visiting the Dollhouse. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  The two left giggling, and when they were gone, Ava relaxed her posture. The light in the corner turned red, and Ava stepped down, stretching her arms over her head. She never would have thought standing completely still would be so much work, but it was like a workout in itself. Ava was working the pedestal for the next half hour, and then her coworker Kristie, who was also dressed as a doll and who was greeting guests as they entered the museum, would relieve her. The two would trade off every thirty minutes until the end of the night.

  Oh, how she loved this job. This beat making hot dogs any day of the week.

  When Ava had told her best friend McKenzie in Seattle about her transfer to Elm Street, McKenzie had been really excited for her. Both agreed that working at Wonderland was one of only two perks to living in Seaside, the second one being the beach. But when Ava had told Katya about the transfer, her new work friend had seemed a little jealous. After all, Katya was still stuck at Teriyaki Delight, wearing the thick kimono and cooking with the steam in her face. Ava got to dress up in costume and scare the crap out of people. There was no comparison.

  “Not sure why you’d want that job, anyway,” Katya said when Ava had told her the news. “That place scares the shit out of me. And I’ve heard things about the Clown Museum.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like, people have died there,” Katya said. “There’s some monster that lives under the museum and he’ll come out and snatch you.”

  “You’ve been reading way too much Stephen King,” Ava said, drawing a blank stare from her friend. She sighed. “Never mind.”

  “Well, you’re a braver person than me, I guess.” Katya’s expression was dubious. “I’ll keep an eye on Xander for you. I see him in the food court every day. Now that you’re not speaking to him, he’s always asking me for free teriyaki.”

  “Do you give it to him?”

  “Duh. Of course.”

  Ava was still upset about what happened between her and Xander in his dorm room, and she had to admit, she missed him. He’d always been supportive of Ava and her love of all things horror, and if he could see her now in her doll costume, he’d think it was cool. She was thinking she might want to be friends with him again—once she had a little time to heal her wounded ego, that was. But she’d never understand or condone his relationship with Bianca Bishop. Ever.

  “Hey there,” a voice said from the corner, and Ava jumped. She turned to see Carlos Jones standing there, a broom in one hand. She hadn’t even heard him enter the room. He’d come in through the door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, which was painted black to match the walls. And now he was approaching her, his eyes never leaving her face.

  “I’m working.” Ava spoke sharply. “If you talk to me and we’re seen, it will ruin the surprise.”

  Right on cue, the light in corner of the room changed from red to yellow. Flooded with relief, Ava pointed to it, and Carlos Jones shrugged and walked back through the door from where he’d appeared.

  Ava stepped back onto her pedestal, making a mental note to tell her mother about him. Maybe her mom could run his name or something. Not that the man had actually done anything, mind you, but there might very well be some kind of psychopath stalking the park. There was no reason why it couldn’t be creepy Carlos Jones.

  As the light turned from yellow to red, Ava couldn’t help but think how cool it was that her mom was the deputy chief of police of Seaside. If anything bad ever happened to her, her mom would never stop looking, and she’d bring the entire police force with her.

  The thought was comforting.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Under the Clown Museum

  If Blake had a pen and piece of paper, he would write notes to the person inside the cell next to his. He had so many questions for his dungeon-mate. What was their name? Were they a girl or a boy? How long had they been here? Had their captor ever said anything about letting them go at any point? And last—and this one was kind of important—how’d they get their goddamned television to work? Blake had called out these questions several times, with no answer, and could only assume that the other person wasn’t able to talk.

  Clearly his captor didn’t kill everybody, or at least didn’t kill them right away. Blake wanted to know what to expect. His dungeon-mate, whether the person realized it or not, was keeping him alive. Not so much because of the food sharing—Blake was much better at rationing his supplies now—and obviously not becau
se they were able to make conversation to pass the time, which obviously they weren’t. It was the simple knowledge that someone was there. Someone was close. Sometimes Blake talked for an hour at a time, and though his dungeon-mate never responded, he might hear an occasional tapping sound, as if the person was saying, “I’m listening.” It made all the difference in the world.

  Once, Blake had rolled over a mini Snickers bar inside the Camelbak thermos. He didn’t particularly like Snickers bars anyway, and thought it would be a gesture of goodwill, considering the person had given him five candy bars when Blake was in the throes of hunger spams. Awhile later, the thermos had come back to him with a Twix bar inside it. They had done that a few times now, trading Snickers bars for Twix, and he supposed that in itself was a form of communication.

  His captor had been back to replenish their supplies twice. Blake had still not heard the man’s voice. He was always dressed in shapeless black clothing, always wearing a ski mask, and in the dark of the dungeon, it was impossible to distinguish any physical characteristics. The only thing Blake was certain of was that he was a man. Once, Blake had thought his eyes looked blue, but it could just have been the way the light from the TV in the next cell was reflecting.

  Footsteps approached once more and Blake sat up in the dark. He was probably sleeping sixteen hours a day at this point, maybe more. There was nothing else to do; there was no daylight to regulate his sleep cycle. He rubbed his eyes, and a moment later, his captor appeared with a box. Blake’s stomach growled at the sight of it. Candy bars were okay, but he was craving the turkey and Swiss sandwich he hoped would be inside.

  “Dressed in the usual attire, I see.” Blake made a halfhearted attempt to sound like his old self. “You really should consider wearing something other than black. I think blue is the hot color this season. If you let me out, we can go shopping, and I’ll help you pick some stuff out.”

  No answer.

  “I do like the mask, though. Are masks back in style now? I was thinking of getting one to cover my zit. Or do you think that’s overkill?”

  Again, no answer. Blake gave up. It wasn’t worth the energy.

  “Look, man,” he said. “I don’t know who you are, but everyone’s looking for me by now. You can’t keep me here forever. Eventually, they’ll find me. I have no idea what you look like, so why not just let me go?”

  No response. Instead, his captor started tossing in food, all the same stuff as last time and the time before, and soon there was a variety of junk food and sandwiches scattered across the floor.

  Blake walked slowly toward the bars and placed his hands on the cold metal. “There has to be something we can do to negotiate. Whatever you want, just ask me. Is it money? My dad’s got lots. He works all the time and he does pretty well. If you tell him what you want, he’ll find a way to pay it.”

  Again, nothing.

  “Or maybe it’s something you want from me, specifically.” Blake’s voice grew desperate. “If you tell me, maybe I . . . maybe I can give it to you.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. Who knew what sick things this psycho might make him do?

  A short laugh emanated from the man in black, catching Blake off guard. Lifting an arm, he pointed to the decaying body in the corner.

  “You know why he’s over there?” his captor said. His voice was so low Blake had to strain to hear him. It sounded like a normal voice, and just like the rest of him, nothing was distinguishing about it, either. “Because he talked too much. So keep talking. I know they train you to do that. All you Wonderland boys, you think you have so much to offer the world. You think you’re so young and so beautiful, that you’re special. It never occurs to you that things won’t work out as planned, and that you won’t get the things you want. Well, I have news for you. You’re not special, and there are a hundred other boys right above you, right now, who have exactly the same things to offer as you. So keep talking. Keep talking, and piss me off. See how that works out for you.” He pointed again to the dead body. “Ask Tyler how well that worked out for him.”

  He disappeared from Blake’s view, and a few seconds later, Blake could hear food being tossed into the next cell. And then his captor was gone.

  As he bent down to gather his food off the floor, he started to cry again. It was really fucking hopeless; he was never getting out. Not anytime soon. He didn’t know who Tyler was, but Tyler was dead, and eventually Blake would be dead, too. Nobody was coming for him, because nobody believed this dungeon really existed.

  The TV in the next cell went to commercial, and once again, for what felt like the hundredth time since he’d been here, the Wonderland jingle began to play. Welcome to Wonderland! Or as we like to call it, Funderland! There’s something here for everyone . . .

  Walking to the bars, Blake spoke to his dungeon-mate. “Turn it off.” His voice was thick from crying.

  The music kept playing. The lights from the TV kept flickering.

  “Fucking turn it off!” Blake screamed as loudly as he could, and a second later, the TV shut off.

  The silence, for the first time, was a relief.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Vanessa thought it best not to tell Tanner Wilkins that his missing son had been sleeping with Wonderland’s CEO, not until they knew definitively whether Bianca Bishop had been involved in Tyler’s disappearance. Jerry agreed.

  “Tanner’s mellowed out over the years, but he still goes from zero to sixty in three seconds whenever it has anything to do with his kids,” Jerry said to Vanessa that morning. She noticed he was rubbing the back of his neck, and guessed he had a knot in it because he’d slept on her sofa the night before while baby-sitting John-John. Vanessa hadn’t made it home until well after midnight. “If she turns out to be the doer, we’ll tell Tanner everything. If it was just a fling and nothing more, we say nothing, because if the kid had wanted his dad to know, he would have told Tanner himself. Damn, my neck hurts.”

  “It’s the sofa, it’s old,” Vanessa said. “I’m sorry you got stuck playing nanny to my kid, Jerry. Can I at least pay you for last night?”

  “Girl, please.” Jerry looked about as offended as she’d ever seen him. “Your kid is the coolest kid I know. We watched the Avengers movie, ordered pizza, and made popcorn. Best night I’ve had in a while. If you need me to watch him again, let me know.”

  “He’ll be okay, he’s got a sleepover tonight with his friend from day camp.” Vanessa still felt bad. “But this isn’t why you came here. You came to Seaside to help me solve Tyler Wilkins.”

  “Yeah, and that’s exactly what I’m doing, isn’t it?” The private detective grinned. “I’m helping you with what you need, so you can work your ass off solving this thing. In the end, it’s all the same. Besides, the progress you’ve made since I’ve been here shows I’ve taught you well, Grasshopper. So go succeed where I couldn’t. If I leave here knowing Tanner finally has his closure, I’ll have peace of mind.”

  “Thanks, Jerry.” Her guilt alleviated somewhat, she managed a smile.

  “By the way, I ran a background check on the name you gave me, the creepy janitor Miss Ava complained about. Carlos Jones.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. Clean. No arrests, not even a parking ticket. I managed to sweet-talk someone at Wonderland HR to look into his employee file, and he’s been a janitor for two years at the park, never late, works overtime when asked, never even takes a sick day. He’s gotten merit raises both years. Some people are just weird. But she was right to check if she didn’t feel right about it.”

  “That’s good to know. I’ll tell Ava.”

  Vanessa had also tried apologizing to Oscar for being so busy, but that was hard to do when the man wasn’t responding to any of her messages. She was starting to feel like she’d been dumped. It didn’t take a relationship expert to tell her, “He’s just not that into you.”

&n
bsp; She didn’t know what she did or didn’t do, and suspected it wasn’t anything in particular, other than allowing herself to be caught. Men loved to chase. They loved the hunt, they loved the sex, and when they were certain they had you, they left. She’d sent him three texts, two more than she was comfortable with, and all had gone unanswered.

  Okay, then. Fuck it. That’s what she got for letting him in.

  Of course, it was always possible that he’d just used her to get details on the cases involving the park. Even though Oscar was leaving Wonderland—assuming that was even true—he was surely still loyal to it, and would want to tell his CEO as much as he could about Seaside PD’s investigations. Vanessa tried not to think about the fact that his office was right down the hall from Bianca Bishop’s, whose plush space she was sitting in right now.

  Donnie Ambrose hadn’t been able to track the woman down the day before, and in hindsight, it was probably for the best. It was really Vanessa’s job to put Bianca Bishop on the spot, because once Earl Schultz found out about today, heads would certainly roll. Earl had been wrapped up in city council meetings and gala planning all week, which Vanessa had taken advantage of, as having her boss distracted allowed her to do her job without feeling micromanaged.

  Bianca sat primly across from her, hair in a bun, blouse buttoned up to the chin, appraising her with green eyes that revealed nothing. During Vanessa’s time at Seattle PD, she’d interviewed prostitutes, gang bangers’ girlfriends, abusive mothers, and a woman who’d drowned her newborn baby on purpose. And yet she’d never met anyone like Bianca Bishop.

  She’d read an interesting book a couple of years back called The Psychopath Test, in which the author, Jon Ronson, suggested that as much as 4 percent of all CEOs could be classified as psychopaths. Psychopathic traits included narcissism and a lack of empathy for others. In that regard, Bianca Bishop appeared to fit that definition fairly well. Wonderland’s CEO seemed completely self-absorbed and emotionally distant. And charming, when she had to be.