The Dollhouse Asylum

by Mary Gray

  So I guess I’m not the only one. A silence falls between us, and it’s so uncomfortable I want to put my hands over my face and sob that I am so sorry I was wrong. But his shoulders are sagging. He’s feeling guilty, too. Maybe he should, maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe we’ve both done wrong, but I refuse to make excuses for us. I won’t explain away the truth.

  Marcus tentatively touches my arm, saying, “I need you to do something for me.” When Teo touched me, it was electric and thrilling, but unsure; with Marcus it’s all of that at once, but wrapped in a layer of calm, something steady and solid. And all from touching my arm. “I need you to pretend you love Teo still,” he adds.

  I step away from him, disgusted. Teo is sick. Marcus tousles the front of his hair again, pulling it down the side of his eyes. He does that when he’s uncomfortable, I’ve noticed. “You’ve seen my brother when he doesn’t get what he wants,” Marcus says. “He’s chosen you. Unless he chooses someone else, you have to pretend to love him back.”

  I shake my head to let his words fall away. I don’t want Teo to have chosen me. I don’t want to pretend. I want to go back to yesterday, when everything made sense. “You think he might choose someone else?” I ask with a flicker of hope. It’s a selfish wish, but maybe it’s just what I need. He could like Cleo, for instance, and that would make me free.

  “You never know with my brother,” Marcus says, running his hand over his stubbled face. “Sometimes he can be faithful, but other times it’s like he feels entitled to help himself.”

  Before, I thought I could do anything for Teo—fly if he asked me to. But now that I know who he is, the responsibility weighs me down. It’s like I’m holding twelve-ton crates, and I’m tired, and it’s only been one night.

  Marcus seems to see the weariness in my face, because he says, “Just keep doing what you’re doing. So far, it’s worked great.” He doesn’t meet my eyes, and I wonder if it’s because my feelings for his brother sickened him before. I wish he knew that I could never love a man who kills.

  But now that I know who Teo really is, Marcus and I will hopefully see things more eye to eye. This morning, which seems like an eternity ago, we didn’t, but thinking about our constant disagreement reminds me of when we argued over how everyone got here, so I have to ask, “Why did you bring fourteen other people here when you knew your brother was like this?”

  Marcus opens up his palms defensively and takes a step back on the hardwood floor. “It was that or be killed by the Living Rot. It’s more widespread than Beijing ever got. It’s taken all the southern states since we arrived here, so it’s lucky we’re safe.”

  My heart jumps to my throat. I can’t believe we didn’t know any of this was going on. How was Teo so ready when we didn’t have a clue? And how long until it took the whole US? “I didn’t see that footage…”

  Marcus nods. “Cleo has a few other tapes. Teo left them with her since everyone tends to pay attention to her house.”

  They pay attention to her tight-fitting dresses and implants, he means. I may just need to mutter a few profanities of my own.

  “Not that I’m into her,” Marcus stammers, looking sideways at me. “She’s a little too obvious for me.”

  I raise my eyebrow; Marcus was flirting with her last night. But it doesn’t matter, so I let the comment pass. If he likes her, he likes her. That’s that.

  Marc’s eyes are all over the house—the benches, the plants and painted arched windows, the cracks on the walls. He’s looking anywhere but at me. “About my brother,” he says, staring at the closest stringy-looking plant on the floor, “don’t beat yourself up about him. Everyone’s susceptible to his charm. But when he left you outside today, I don’t know. I kind of snapped.”

  Something inside of me melts, and I stare at the plant, too. Not that snapping seems that irregular of an occurrence for Marcus, but the fact that he wanted to snap, makes me want it, too. Even though I’m not entirely sure how.

  Grabbing the handle of the back door, Marcus looks back at me. “Promise to pretend to love him back?”

  I nod, wishing I could see an end to this madness. But what if we’re trapped here for the rest of our lives? What if Teo expects me to do things with him?

  Marc’s eyes flash like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. His hand reaches toward me and pulls up my chin. There’s that crackle of electricity again, jolting through me. He lets go quickly. Too quickly. “Don’t worry,” he says to me, a gentle smile resting on his lips, “you’ll only need to put up the act until we find out how to grab the vaccine and leave this place.”

  He’s right. We’ll play along until we earn the vaccine. No, we can do better than that. We find the medicine, then bolt. If we’re lucky, we can skip out earlier than I thought. I’m feeling lighter. “So, what’s stopping us from leaving tonight?”

  “We can’t,” Marcus reminds me. “There’s some type of fence. But don’t worry—we’ll figure it out. I think it’s electric or something. Ty—I mean, Romeo, says he saw some type of control panel in Jonas’s house. Maybe it’s just a matter of turning it off.”

  “But the Living Rot—maybe they knocked the power out.”

  “Oh.” Marcus frowns. “Teo has a massive generator with some sort of underground wiring that connects us to the regular power grid. He told us before. He also said to enjoy the produce since it’s not like we can get any more.”

  I’m gaping at him, not believing he’s talking about produce in a time like this, and then I’m bowing my head, unable to utter a word. I can’t register this. I can’t be stuck here forever with him and—

  “Cheyenne.”

  I look up, and suddenly Marc’s eyes are planted firmly on my own, which makes my chest tremble, not from fear, but because it’s nice to have someone looking at me with so much warmth, like hot chocolate in a snowstorm. But the warmth is fleeting, because Marcus looks away. He must be remembering how I loved his brother. He must think I’m so stupid for loving him.

  Marc’s shoulders hunch as he opens the back door. He’s leaving, and I don’t know what to say.

  “Study your books,” he tells me, but I want him to, I don’t know, walk over to the bookshelf with me and help me find the right books. Not because I’m incapable of looking by myself, but because I like this feeling between us—warm and comfortable. Not just hot chocolate, but a snug, downy quilt.

  Marcus closes the door behind him, and as I listen to the soft crunch of the grass as he moves away, I can’t push away the thought that I don’t want him to leave.

  10

  I’ve been reading Greek mythology for over an hour now, and I feel like I know what I need to know about my character. Persephone was just a girl who was abducted from her mother by the god of the Underworld, Hades, who tricked her into eating a pomegranate seed. Anyone who ate or drank anything in the Underworld was required by the Fates to stay. Because she ate several, she had to return to the Underworld for a season every year. Wonderful.

  Not that Teo would want me to leave. He would never want me to face the sickness. Marcus desires to go; I do, too, but maybe it’s safer inside. If we go out there we’re definitely dead—and in here we’re maybe dead. The odds almost seem equally weighted.

  Someone knocks. Please, God, don’t send Teo over to me this early. Tossing aside the book I’ve been studying, I run to the door, open it a crack, and look outside. But God is kind to me this morning. It’s not Teo, but a girl. I open the door wider and see her smile, her blonde hair. Gwen or Izzy. I don’t remember which Doublemint girl is which. Not that it matters.

  “Breakfast,” the platinum blonde says, pointing to a basket on the ground. Plucking it up, I invite her in, and while we walk to the kitchen I peek inside. Muffins. Cranberry orange—my favorite. Digging beneath a red cloth, I find something else—lime yogurt. Again, my favorite.

  “I brought your invitation,” Doublemint girl says, waving what looks like a roll of aged paper in her hand, and I’m completely lost as t
o where she’d find something like that. “You forgot to check your mail, but then I remembered how last night it looked like you were zoning out.”

  I hold out my hand—she was watching me? I’ll need to be careful not to let Teo see me blocking him out.

  She hands over the scroll and I notice the wax seal, like the invitation comes from royalty. “Whoever hosts the party sends out invitations,” she says. “I don’t think you were paying attention when Teo asked Romeo and Juliet to host the next soirée.”

  Okay, I really need to start paying better attention when Teo speaks. Even if the words coming out of his mouth are worse than cockroaches—fire ants, maybe.

  Staring at the aged scroll in my hands, I slip my finger under the wax and break the seal. Opening up the parchment roll, I find an invitation written in calligraphy.

  “Wow,” I muse. It looks like Romeo and Juliet are off to a good start, with the flourishing writing and perfectly phrased prose.

  The girl—I’m still not sure which Doublemint twin she is, so I stare at her for a moment to see if anything pops. Big eyes. Yes! This girl definitely has large, green eyes. The bug-eyed girl is Izzy, I’m pretty sure.

  Smiling confidently with a piece of gum sticking out between the side of her teeth, she points out the time. “Seven o’clock. Teo’s particular about no one being late.”

  “Thank you,” I say, wondering slightly why she’s helping me. I haven’t a clue, but maybe I can return the favor. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Izzy pats my hand, her green eyes bulging. “I just wanted to chat,” she says, prancing into the living room. Her green dress skims the floor behind her as she runs, and I haven’t the slightest idea why she’s running farther into my house. I just want to eat my muffin.

  “That’s so unfair.” Izzy frowns at the two benches that form an L in the great room. “Where’s a girl to lie down?” She glares at the benches like they’re made of old socks, then flippantly turns away from them, causing her ponytail to slap her in the face.

  “So… Izzy, right?” I ask, wondering why she’s staying now.

  She nods, petting the chocolate-colored hardwood floor, and I’m wondering if she’s lonely or something.

  “You know,” I say, because I don’t have anything else, “if I were you, I’d go by Isolde.” Tristan and Isolde—one of my favorite tragedies of all time. The way Isolde tended to Tristan’s wounds, so far away from everybody…

  Izzy smacks her gum. “You so did not call me that.”

  “I’m sorry?” What could be her problem with the name? I’ve always loved it. I like the spelling, too.

  “Is. Old.” Izzy folds her arms across her chest, chewing her gum loudly. “I’m only seventeen.”

  This is what I call missing the point of the story completely. One of the great things about the old tales is how they let you forget your own worries and put yourself in the characters’ heads. “Isolde,” or “Iseult,” is an Irish name. Much cooler than Persephone.

  Izzy stretches across the hardwood to touch her toes. It’s a common enough stretch, but she does it with such ease, such enthusiasm, I have to ask, “Cheerleader?”

  A large smile spreads across Izzy’s face. “How did you know?” Even her green eyes are popping now.

  “Just a random guess.” I plaster a winning smile across my face. But just because Izzy’s a cheerleader doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Maybe if I show her something about the stories, she can embrace her name and we can get off to a better start.

  Reaching for the book I was studying before, I thumb through, find a picture of Isolde, and hand it to her. “Just so you know, there’s a reason two men fought over the original Isolde.”

  Izzy leans over, her platinum ponytail staying perfectly intact. She scrunches her forehead up in thought, then looks to me, green eyes shining. “She’s way cuter than me.” Okay, not exactly the let’s bond over Tristan and Izzy moment I was looking for, but her vulnerability is almost something. Better than Cleo, at least.

  I lean over and pat her hand. “Izzy, you’re gorgeous,” I say. “You have nothing to worry about.” I mean it. Marc’s school was quite the opposite from mine; the math team at my school, Khabela, didn’t know about breath mints or tweezers, but Marc’s school, Griffin, must have drafted supermodels.

  Dabbing at her mascara, Izzy hands me back the hefty book, and I set it next to me on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she sniffs. “I can’t tell you how difficult it is living in this place. I mean, there isn’t even a gym!”

  “You’re kidding.” And now we’re back to square one.

  “I’ve been on the squad since fifth grade,” Izzy says, mauling the gum in her mouth, “and I need my exercise.”

  Because the rest of us don’t?

  Izzy leans forward, eyes wide. “Don’t you think Tristan’s smokin’ hot?” I’m pretty sure Tristan’s the one with the pink and green hair—I think I’d spend too much time worrying about it rubbing off on me. So, no, I don’t really think he’s “smokin’ hot,” but I smile encouragingly anyway.

  “And for the life of me,” Izzy flips her ponytail, “I keep thinking I should call him Kyle, since that’s his real name, but I gotta tell ya, I like ‘Tristan’ better. His mom lives in Florida, and he flies out there every summer. He teaches surfing and snorkeling and even swam with sharks. Not to mention his break dancing…”

  I tune out Izzy. Snorkeling and sharks. If Ramus and Bee were killed by a lion, what does that mean for the rest of us? Teo, no doubt, has hidden deadly animals or weapons relating to all of our tales all around the property.

  Taking in a breath, Izzy leans in, not realizing my mind is somewhere else. “And you wouldn’t believe what he says he shaved.”

  Whoa. I feel my eyes widen. “Hey, Izzy,” I say, thinking fast, “what do you think about this place?”

  “We’re alive,” she says, blowing a bubble and letting it pop. “Give me a gym and I’d be great.”

  “But…” Isn’t she scared by what happened last night? Or maybe working out was her coping mechanism. Like if she ran a couple of miles, she could take Teo down. But I’m not sure anyone can take Teo down. Not when he has someone like Jonas around.

  Izzy leans toward me, shooting me that bug-eyed, conspiratorial look again. “Look,” she whispers, “I know what you’re asking. Teo fr-reaks me out, but I can’t show that face. If the others hear about it, they might tattle. Remember what he said? We’re to report anyone who doesn’t live by his rules. We all wanted to leave. Trust me. But nobody’s willing to try anything now after what happened with that lion.”

  I shiver, thinking of Bee. Izzy’s right. The others might turn us in if they catch wind of any type of revolt. Maybe if I understood more about who they are, I could learn what it’d take for them to go from protecting themselves to protecting each other.

  Leaning back again, Izzy examines her nails. “Pity your manicure didn’t hold up as well as mine.”

  “Just tell me,” I keep my voice low, praying there aren’t hidden cameras, “who likes this place? And who doesn’t?”

  Izzy wiggles her manicured fingers on her lap. “A few of the guys tend to waffle back and forth, but Cleo, Ana, and I wanna get out. Ever since Bee…” Her smile falters, but she quickly picks it up. “I have to keep up a good front—especially if I’m ever gonna snag Tristan. Can’t you just see us making out?”

  But I’m back where she listed the girls who object to Teo’s world. “That means the others like it?”

  “Unless they’re faking,” Izzy says, inspecting a hangnail on her thumb, “but who knows if they’re acting? From the beginning, Teo has been pretty good at shutting us up.”

  I wait for her to explain, and Izzy doesn’t bat an eye. “You weren’t here,” she whispers. “You didn’t see how he lit Gwen’s dress on fire for crossing to the men’s side of the street.”

  “He—what?” My stomach roils. Why didn’t anyone tell me about that?

  �
��The dress was fire retardant,” Izzy says, shaking her head. She swallows. “But Teo lit her up to prove a point. ‘Never disobey me,’ he said. Needless to say, we shut up pretty fast after that.”

  I’m reminded of how Bee seemed so somber at Cleo’s party when she told me about getting here. No doubt she was sparing me these details. Oh, Bee. You should have told me.

  “But enough of that.” Izzy pats my hand. “Let’s get back to that acting part. It was pretty clear last night, after what happened to Ramus and Bee, that you don’t quite feel the same way you used to about Teo.”

  She can say that again.

  “If you wanna live, Persephone, you’d better put up a good act. I’ve decided to be the cheerleader!” She pops her gum again as she stands. “Now you need to decide what part you’ll play.”

  I blink. Oh. So how much of this conversation was an act? Izzy seems like she is naturally energetic. Maybe she isn’t typically so enthused. I slouch. She said I can’t act. I know I can’t act, but I couldn’t have been that bad. “Was I really that obvious?”

  Izzy nods gravely as she stands above me, her eyes never looking so huge. “Afraid so. But there is a secret to covering up your real feelings when around a less than desirable guy.”

  I don’t ask, pretty sure I don’t really want to know.

  Popping her gum, Izzy tells me anyway as she walks to the front door. “Kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.”

  11

  “Welcome to Verona!” Juliet beams, filling my wine goblet with sparkling apple cider. I study the wide smile plastered on Juliet’s face and realize it’s a nutcracker’s smile: enormous and, much like everything here, completely fake. One real fact is that I can breathe a little better—Teo and Jonas decided to hang back by the front door before entering the room. They may be plotting which weapons to use with whose murders, but at least for the time being I can enjoy standing by these wrought-iron stairs without him.