by L Neil
My plans to pick the lock on my shackle were quashed when Stanley packed his suitcase and told me not to bother trying, that there is nothing I could use to jimmy the lock.
How did he know that was my plan? Or is it obvious that I would consider doing it?
I was just glad that he took away both Josh’s body and that horrible bucket. I lost count of the amount of loads he had to take away to empty it, only to fill it again. I never knew that the human body contained so much blood and... well, I don’t need to think about any of that anymore.
Before he left, he brought in a new bucket of my own, to use for when I need the bathroom.
Sam seems to be trying to cheer me up. He brought me a silver tray with a tea set on it and some biscuits and scones. As hungry as I am, I just can’t bring myself to eat it.
“Sam,” I mumble as my cheek is pressed on the lid of the piano, the loose paint scratching my skin, “I don’t want to be a doll.”
I know that this is my opportunity to try to trick him into setting me free – that I should be very creative with how to persuade him – but I seem to have lost all my fight. I think I may even be coming down with a cold from spending the night without any sort of blanket or protection from the winter cold. I was so drugged up, my body wasn’t registering the freezing temperatures, which I’m not even sure was a good thing.
I certainly feel the cold now.
He looks up at his victims and ponders. “Why not?” Peering back at me he says, “You can be young and beautiful forever, and no one will ever hurt you again.” Softly patting my hair, he continues, “And you will not be forgotten or tossed aside. I will always take care of you.”
“But you can take care of me while I’m still alive. I don’t need to be… you don’t need to kill me, Sam.” I sigh. “Besides, how am I supposed to play for you if I’m dead?”
He clenches his jaw in annoyance, as if I shouldn’t be asking that question but then he sighs himself. “Well, it will probably take a year for your hair to grow long again. So, I’d say we have until next Christmas to enjoy your songs - you will keep singing for me, won’t you?” The change in direction is maddening.
I lift my head. “But Sam, didn’t you enjoy our dancing and drinking at Medusa?” I chide, “We can’t do that if I’m dead.”
I deliberately remind him that he will be killing me, that I will be dead...D.E.A.D. I need to steer him away from this notion that becoming his victim would be glamorous.
“Oh, but we can still dance,” he winks at me and then I watch in horror as he strolls across the uneven tiles as if they were soft clouds and plucks the nearest woman from her shelf – a once twenty-something year old with long, fiery red hair.
He lifts her easily – I suppose having your insides scooped out would make you lighter – and twirls her around with one arm around her waist, holding up one of her hands in his. Her nails are painted pink and she wears a gown identical to mine.
He hums a tune and seems to become lost in his own world.
I am so doomed.
Later, it’s time for bed.
Sam had brought in a mattress and dumped it on the floor without much enthusiasm. It seems he isn’t too pleased with my sleeping arrangements either. Tonight, he promises he will finish setting up my room and it will be much nicer for me tomorrow.
When he dresses the mattress up with sheets, pillows and thick, warm blankets, he says good night and that he will see me in the morning.
I reach my arm out and grab a hold of his, stopping him from leaving. “Please,” I whisper, “don’t leave me here. I don’t want to be alone.” I need more time with you, to convince you not to kill me.
He smiles warmly and pets my head again. “But you’re not alone,” he says, motioning to his “dolls”.
“Sam...” I begin, exasperated. But then I find my cool again and continue, more timidly this time, “they won’t be able to help if he comes for me.”
Puzzled and concerned his brows furrow. “Who?” He whispers.
“The Taxidermist,” I whisper, child-like and afraid.
He sighs and turns in to face me, holding my hands. “Helena, he won’t hurt you. He knows that he isn’t to touch you, that it’s not time yet.”
Mustering up as much vulnerability as I can, I whisper, “Are you sure?”
He pulls me down onto the mattress, which is positioned so that I can both sleep on it and still be chained to the piano and says, “I promise he won’t hurt you.”
If I only had Sam to contend with, now would be the perfect time to attack him and then figure out some kind of escape plan. Even if that plan was to attempt to roll the piano out of the greenhouse and across the property to the road.
But the old man is still in the house, I’m sure of it. Or at least, he would be back by the time I get anywhere – if I got anywhere.
“How about I stay here a while longer, until you fall asleep?” His smile is so loving and caring and I just want to shake the madness out of him.
“Okay.”
The next couple of hours seem almost like any other sleepover that I had as a child. As the black night pressed against the glass walls surrounding us, we would take turns telling each other stories and random facts about ourselves and it seems so...normal. Well, as normal as it could be.
He tells me about who his victims were before he met them and “fixed” them. From what I gather, he never made much of a connection with them, only seeking them out because of their physical appearance. And when they proved to be too shallow, too bossy, too boring, too polite, he decided to make them “perfect” by turning them into dolls.
He wants to know why I quit studying music and I tell him about what happened with Tommy and my father’s involvement. I suppose, part of my plan was to let him know that I have been mistreated by people too.
“You really killed him?” He asks and his eyes dart away but back again several times. It seems he is very interested in my answer but is trying not to show it.
“Yes,” I say without any guilt or shame. “And I killed the cop too, the one who covered it up.”
He looks at me properly now, in awe. “You did?” He asks, excitedly.
“Yeah,” I smile. This, right here, is my way out. He needs to know that I’ve done bad things too. And I need him to like me more than he has liked anyone else – more than the people on the shelves, more than Stanley, more than his brother...
And I don’t even have to try hard. The next thing he says is, “When I was a kid, maybe sixteen, I heard my father talking to Leo about adopting you – which was ridiculous because you had a family – and it made me so pissed. I mean, he already had two kids who he didn’t give a fuck about... and yet he wanted to bring you in.”
“He came to his senses and abandoned the idea, of course, but afterwards, I wondered what it would have been like to have a little sister.”
I try not to show how his words affect me. I knew that Frank felt a much different way about me when I was a child as opposed to now but it’s still strange to think about.
Sam continues excitedly, “We could have had so much fun together! We could have written and performed songs and... played dolls and... braided each other’s hair...” There is a shine in his eye – one I certainly haven’t seen before.
God, I hope this works.
“...because, I had long hair once, when I was younger. I hadn’t seen my father in about a year and I just let it grow. Of course, once he saw me, he ordered his barber to cut it off and... well, it broke my heart. As you would know.” Is this why he is obsessed with long hair?
Touching my short hair, he says, “I’ll work on this tomorrow. I won’t take away from the length, but I’ll neaten it up for you.”
Somehow, the next smile I give him isn’t one hundred per cent fake. “Thank you, Sam,” I say.
What I say next is certainly untrue, however. “You know, I would have liked to have been your sister.”
He wraps his arms around his knees and his eyes slid
e sideways to look at me.
“That boy wouldn’t have hurt you, that’s for sure,” he says with much confidence. He tilts his chin up and informs me, “If you were my sister, I wouldn’t have let you be alone with him.”
I think about Manny and his tireless efforts to find Tommy and my chest aches. I will never see him again, will I? My baby brother will look for me until the day he dies, unless my corpse is discovered before then.
Using the emotion from this revelation, I wrap my arms around Sam’s body and hug him tightly. He tenses at first but then when he realises that I’m not trying to harm him, he releases his knees and relaxes into it, sliding an arm round me.
I know that he is just about ready to leave me and the thought of being alone is frightening. Still, I’m glad that I won’t be spending the night with Josh's corpse.
“Where did he take him?” I ask, still holding onto him.
“Hmm?” Sam mumbles, running his hand through my hair.
“Josh.”
“Oh,” he explains softly, casually, “to the freezer, to be freeze-dried.”
Jesus.
Okay.
“What did Josh tell you about me? You know, back when you were dating?”
“Oh honey,” he pauses for effect, “we never dated. And he certainly didn’t tell me anything about you.”
My stomach churns.
“Do you think my father would have let him live if he blabbered about you?” He laughs. “No, Helena,” he laughs again, as if it’s hilarious that I fell for his lies, “as much as I wanted Josh – and I wanted him in every way imaginable – he rejected me.
“I overheard a lot of my father’s conversations about you. His visit to your ex, Jimmy’s gambling problems... I was literally invisible to Frank... he had no idea that I was nearby, listening to his conversations.” He sighs, “Everything I learnt about you, I discovered on my own.”
While this sinks in, Sam draws soft circles on my back with his fingertips.
“Josh didn’t think I was invisible. He saw me... and he was afraid of me.”
Josh was running from Sam. And Frank helped him hide.
I led Sam straight to him.
The guilt deepens by the second and I suddenly don’t want to be in his arms anymore. But I need to remain calm and appear unaffected, so I take some steadying breaths and keep myself cuddled into him. I can do this.
“I think you should get some rest. We’ve got a visitor tomorrow,” he announces.
I want to ask who this visitor is but then he says, “You’re going to be my favourite doll,” and all my hope suddenly dries up and I am glad for him to leave me.
I can’t sleep. My mind keeps looping, going over all the mistakes I have ever made.
As a kid, I had the world in the palm of my hand but as an adult, I just messed up time and time again.
I failed Manny and Isabella by not being a present sister and aunt. I failed Becky and Jordon by moving away and losing contact with them.
I failed myself by getting into Tommy’s car. I failed every boyfriend I ever had – Luke, most of all by not helping him defeat his addictions.
I failed Josh, obviously.
And I failed Frank.
He was the perfect husband, the perfect man. He gave me everything and made me feel so very loved and wanted.
Why did I fight him so hard on things? I mean, he was right about having a security team after all.
Damn it. I would give anything to see Dominic’s face right now.
There is no doubt in my mind that they are searching for me. But will they ever find me?
I use the bucket for the first time and my urine is dark from dehydration. I’m so thirsty and hungry that I give in and eat some biscuits from the tray Sam brought in and drink all the milk.
It takes more effort than it should to stop myself from looking at the wall of horrors.
Finally, I sleep.
“Helena,” a voice softly beckons me. “Wake up.”
It’s Sam and I deliberately ignore him. It’s just not right to wake up and be in a nightmare. You’re supposed to wake from them.
“Our visitor has arrived,” he whispers, and my eyes fling open.
I sit up quickly and find that I’m so very groggy.
“I used chloroform this time, so it shouldn’t take as long to snap out of. Sorry,” he adds, and it sounds like he’s apologising for drinking the last of the juice from the carton.
I squint at him, trying to focus my vision in the bright room. I’m not in the greenhouse anymore. I’m on a plush bed, in a very girly looking bedroom.
The bedhead is tufted with cream-coloured fabric and matching buttons. The blankets are white but the many pillows and cushions I had been resting on are soft pinks, creams and greys.
The walls are grey and peeling and I know that I’m back inside that same house.
“Who…” I clear my dry throat and swallow. “Who is it?” I ask, dreading the answer. I am not ready to face the older Mariano son. Not yet.
But then Sam moves, no longer obstructing my view of the room and I see the body laying atop the white, fluffy rug in the middle of the floor.
My world crashes down around me.
No! This can’t be happening.
I would rather take on a million psychopathic Mariano sons than this.
CHAPTER 22
The Imposter
“Sam, let him go. Please,” I plead.
But he only tut-tuts me, disappointed with my reaction.
Shaking my head, I beg him now without words.
“But he can keep you company,” he says in that tone that parents use when trying to negotiate with their reluctant children. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
He steps over Eddie’s unconscious body and squats down beside him. Lifting the shackle at the end of the chain, he fastens it to Eddie’s ankle, underneath his denim jeans.
The other end of chain leads to the white bars on the only window in the room, situated in the centre of the wall. A padlock joins the links together. My own chain is locked right beside his.
“There’s still time to get him out of here,” I urgently offer. “Quickly, before he wakes.”
I have never been so panicked and desperate before – and that says a lot because I have had some truly horrible experiences in my life.
Eddie stirs and my heart beats so frantically I’m afraid I may pass out.
His face is so serene and peaceful in his forced slumber. Fuck. I just can’t allow him to get hurt. It’s not fair. It’s not right.
How do I get Sam to agree that Eddie shouldn’t be here?
Trembling, I blurt out, “He tried to kiss me.”
For a moment, I worry that I may be hurting Eddie’s chances more than anything. But then Sam smirks and says, “Well I’m not surprised. He’s totally in love with you.”
He stands and stretches his arms up high, the grey turtleneck lifting to expose the very lower part of his firm stomach. When he lowers his arms, he pulls it back into place and says, “He was heavier than I thought he would be. Kid must have been working out to impress you.”
I want to yell at him, to tell him that this isn’t a game. But I know that it won’t get me anywhere.
“I don’t want him here,” I say as coolly as possible. “It’s awkward. I don’t like him that way. Please don’t do this to me.”
He looks at me like I’m being silly. “You do like him, though. And I did your makeup real nice so that you look extra special for him when he wakes.”
I touch my face and peer over at the mirror on the dresser beside the bed. Yep, he really did apply makeup. And it looks surprisingly amazing. How did he manage this while I was sleeping?
As he walks over to the doorway, I note that the door is missing. He leans against the frame and says, matter-of-factly, “I can’t not have him. You felt our chemistry - the three of us are like a set.”
“But he’s not doll material,” I say, pulling my gaze away from
my doll-like reflection. “I mean... You said that you only do this to people to make them perfect. Look at him...” I point to the most innocent man I have ever met, sleeping and probably dreaming about sweet things, “...he’s already perfect!”
“Well, nothing is set in stone yet,” he replies, condescendingly. “He’s still breathing. Perhaps he will never become a doll. Perhaps neither of you will. He may fall deeply in love with me yet and we can be a family.”
I want to ask, “How so?” but think better of it. Do I want to know what type of relationships our trio would consist of? Last night, it seemed he considered me as a sort of sister. And he is aware that Eddie is – or had been – attracted to me.