The Dollhouse Asylum

by Mary Gray

  I remember the story pretty well. Tristan was sent in a boat to pick up Isolde and transport her for her marriage to his uncle. That boat ride was the beginning of something great. Tristan and Isolde fell madly in love, but Tristan’s uncle, King Mark, ensured their romance would never last. Of course, the story ended tragically rather than happily ever after.

  But that doesn’t mean that’s what will happen with Tristan and Izzy, and with the preparations I’m sure she’s made, she’ll be okay. While all of the stories seem to be centered around death, Teo has shown we can earn the vaccine, first with Romeo and Juliet, then me. So really, the killing part isn’t an eventuality, but a risk. And the bright look on Izzy’s face tells me she’s certain her preparations will pull her through. I believe it. With the miniature canal running through the room and the little wooden boat, Izzy’s living room makes the perfect setting.

  Remembering the sparring session Tristan and Izzy practiced this morning, I ask Izzy as she passes by me, “When’s the sword fight?”

  She pauses by me in my usual spot in front of the curving stairs. “Later!” Izzy whispers, handing me a milky-white drink. “We thought we’d mix and mingle with our love potions first!” She pops a piece of gum.

  Love potions. Izzy is brilliant. Isolde made a love potion for Tristan. I never would have thought to do that. Sipping the drink, I feel the tangy liquid coat my tongue. Pineapple and coconut. It’s good. But I need to know whether or not they found props for the sword fight or if they’ll pantomime everything. “Did you find any swords?” I ask as I take another sip.

  Izzy pops her gum again. “We have one, but for the other, we found something that should work.” She brings her finger and thumb up to her mouth and pretends to zip her lips, and I have to laugh. She practically bounces as she walks across the room toward Eloise and Abe, who are munching on their snacks by the snack counter. She’s got a handle on everything.

  Scanning the room for Marcus, I find him whispering with Cleo on the far side of the room. This time, instead of chaise lounges or benches, Cleo has him cornered on a futon pushed up against the wall. Hussy. Almost as if he’s connected to my every move, Marcus looks toward me and smiles, like he’s remembering our time together in the woods. There’s something warm and comforting in his eyes, but it’s much too fleeting, because he quickly glances away.

  I focus on my drink, pushing all thoughts of Marcus away. I need to plot how to get to Ramus’s and Bee’s bodies, and how to search Teo’s coat. Marcus needs to find a moment to leave to search for insulin, the vaccine, and a remote. But for now, I’m trapped. Teo’s chatting with Jonas by the front door. I’m stuck slurping up my drink, the ice tempering my throat. Maybe Jonas grabbed Teo to discuss a breach in the fence. That would be nice. Then, we could all slip through. Of course, if it was a breach, I bet it wouldn’t even exist long enough for Teo to know. Jonas seemed like the type who took action before it was required. Even with a breach, we’d be in the same place we are now.

  “You polished that off pretty quick,” Marcus says, suddenly standing by my side. I glance up, somewhat startled to find him on “my” side of the room. I lean back casually, letting the wrought-iron rails of the staircase dig into my back, blushing as I remember our two “almost” kisses. But, despite what one would think, wrought iron rails aren’t all that comfortable, so I lean forward.

  Desperately hoping I don’t look like an idiot, I try slurping another sip of my drink but end up only sucking up air. Nice. Why am I only smooth when Teo’s around?

  “Here, have mine.” Marcus offers his glass.

  “Oh, no,” I laugh his chivalry away. “That would make me a glutton.”

  “I don’t think that would necessarily be a bad thing,” Marcus says, locking his eyes on mine, which makes the stupid way I’m standing suddenly feel wobbly, so I straighten my legs.

  For some reason, I’m staring at Marc’s eyes again. Not the color, but the shape—how they’re open and honest, not needing to be clever or right.

  Cleo, ever on the warpath, follows Marcus from across the room. I watch her rock-hard calves flex as she steps over the moat; there’s not a hint of fat or anything. And I think it’s time to bury myself alive, because I’ve just caught myself checking Cleo out.

  “Why, Number Eight,” she says, eyeing Marcus and me, “you just go from one Richardson brother to the other.” Wow, Cleo’s just full of laughs.

  I give her a laugh of my own. “At least I don’t sit on their laps.” Slut. I have to bite my lip, because I really want to add that last part, but I don’t want Marc to think less of me. For some reason Cleo is his friend, and while I’ll never get it—except that maybe he’s in love with her curves—I decide to let my little line stand by itself and stare Cleo down until she squirms.

  But Cleo purrs right into Marc’s ear, “Shall we tell her about the fence?”

  Wait, Cleo’s in on the fence project, too? This has to be her idea, not Marc’s. She was, no doubt, searching the periphery with him, her caramel-colored skin camouflaging perfectly with the trees. Ugh. She’d better not be out there with him at night.

  Marcus opens his mouth like he’s about to answer Cleo, but Teo, dressed in his black suit as always, enters the room. Marcus and I missed our window for searching for the remote! True, Marcus distracted me anyway, but we would have made a little more progress if Cleo hadn’t decided to skank her way in. Striding to where I stand by the staircase, black fury exudes from Teo’s face. He doesn’t acknowledge the party, much less the little body of water slicing down the center of Izzy’s room. But he’s supposed to be happy, celebrating, because there’s a ring on my finger. We’re engaged.

  Glancing at my empty drink, Teo holds his hand out for his brother’s. “May I?” he asks, then immediately plucks the love potion from Marcus’s grip. Now that was downright rude.

  “Persephone,” Teo’s voice is uncharacteristically low, “tell me. What has the couple done to demonstrate their faithfulness tonight?”

  I take a deep breath to ground myself for my greatest tribute to Izzy’s and Tristan’s efforts. It needs to bolster his confidence, so I need to play nicely, but straight to the point. “You, Teo,” I say, “are partaking of their faithfulness this very moment.” Surely he’ll see that once he tastes the drink.

  Teo slowly drops his eyes to the drink, staring at the milky-white liquid for a moment. “And how is that?” he jovially asks, but he’s being sarcastic, which is so very far from how he should react. He should be smiling. Chuckling. Remarking that he’s never tasted a more delicious drink. He’s supposed to be in a great mood. We’re newly engaged. He should be bragging, showing off my new ring, and, of course, be oblivious to everything between Marcus and me.

  “This is a love potion,” Marcus says, and I’m so glad he’s here to defend Izzy now. I even like the way he’s standing. So confident—shoulders squared, and arms and chest maybe twice the size of Teo’s. “Remember?” Marc asks. “Isolde made it for Tristan?”

  Teo’s teeth show in an asymmetrical smile. “Ah, yes, thank you for that, Marcus. And how is your evening tonight?” Teo’s words weigh on me so heavily it’s hard to move. I don’t like how he’s gripping the wrought iron of the stairwell above my head, like he’s looming over everybody.

  Marc shrugs, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Cleo and I were just wondering how you bring in your food.” And now I’m wondering if Marcus wants to get into trouble, because Teo hates it when he stuffs his hands in his pockets—he never said so, but even now he’s narrowing his eyes at his brother. It’s like Marc’s trying to pick a fight with Teo, or maybe he’s searching for a hint about how Jonas leaves the subdivision through the fence.

  Teo’s eyes flash as he looks away from Marc. “I see,” he says slowly. “And is that your only question? Or would you like me to go over my budget, too?”

  Marc pales, and I think I might be paling, too. Teo’s sarcasm is coated pretty heavily. I imagine his budget isn’t som
ething he’d like to discuss publicly, what with the money he’s spent from their dad’s lucrative oil business and the cost it must take to run this place. I mean, I’ve never heard of a generator that could support an entire subdivision before.

  “I just wanted to know…” Marcus falters, “to see if you needed any help.”

  Teo turns to me as if in private, arms gripping the wrought-iron rails above my head. “Do you hear that, Persephone? My brother has offered his services. What a treat.”

  My fingers twitch at the close proximity of the remote in his suit, which has to be there. I should defend Marcus, but that might only make his position worse. I could pretend that I don’t hear Teo’s sarcasm and agree that Marc could be helpful, but I doubt Teo will believe that.

  “And you, Cleopatra,” Teo gestures toward Cleo with his drink, “do you offer your services as well?” Teo’s cold, hard eyes run over Cleo’s body. I clench my fingers tighter around my goblet, because even though I’m not still gaga over Teo, she does not have to draw every guy’s attention in the room.

  “Everyone!” Teo shouts. “I think we should take a vote. There are whisperings that the mindless masses mean to harm us; this is not a time for frivolity or rudimentary devotion.” Wait, so there’s a breach in the fence?

  Pivoting from where he stands, Teo skulks around the group. He paces in front of Izzy, who’s made her way over to the futon where Marc and Cleo were sitting on the east side. “Who here believes our host and hostess pass?” Teo asks. “Has their love potion demonstrated their devotion to Elysian Fields? Do you, in fact, believe this to be a sufficient expression of their tale?”

  Of course it is. It reflects the story perfectly. Besides, he’s now down to his seven. That’s what he wanted all along, so we should be okay.

  Izzy chirps in. “But that’s not everything we have planned!” And she’s right. Teo will adore the sword fight. She gestures to Tristan, standing high up on the balcony, and when he reaches for a curtain rod resting against the wall, my chest caves. A curtain rod isn’t quite what I would say makes an adequate prop for a sword fight. Now, Lance’s Excalibur replica looks fine, but the curtain rod? Not good.

  The boys square off when Teo says what I’m thinking. “You’re fighting with those?” Though that’s not quite how I would say it. But the fact that they’ve planned a sword fight makes me think they should be okay. Romeo and Juliet only planned one activity with the ball—no, wait, they planned the skit at the end, too. So maybe Teo expects three links to the story. And swords that better resemble, well, swords.

  Sal, hovering by the windows, plucks his glasses from his nose. Polishing them on his shirt, he answers Teo. “If I’m correct, critics of Wagner’s masterpiece accused him of composing an opera too seductive, too wanton for dignified taste. ‘Tristan and Isolde,’ the play, was considered crass.” Sal is so not helping Tristan and Izzy right now. I could dig a hole and toss him in.

  Teo steps delicately over the moat toward Sal. Sal replaces his glasses and wipes a sheen of sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, but Teo merely smiles at Sal’s apparent anxiety. “And what do you mean by this?” Teo asks. “How does this help you rule for or against their demonstration?”

  “The love potion was only the beginning,” Sal says, breathing raggedly. “It was not the climax of the tale.” No, Sal. No, no, no. “Tristan and Isolde’s relationship was not merely a dalliance.” He waves a shaking hand. “They committed to one another.” But Izzy’s not merely dallying. She’s made her own love potion and concocted this action-packed scene. King Mark and Tristan really did fight in the story. I’ll bet Lance is planning on playing King Mark.

  “But we—!” Izzy gestures madly over to Lance and Tristan, but neither boy dares to move. Teo drops his head sideways and swivels it back and forth, which could be both a very good or very bad thing. He’s relaxed, which, for most of us, means he should be happy, but with Teo, oh with Teo, there’s really no way to know. A smile in someone’s direction could mean he’s pleased or that they are the next one to die. He turns, examines the others in the room—how Eloise, Juliet, and Gwen all huddle closely together by the snack counter, and how Ana’s frowning, her eyes darting back and forth between Sal and Teo. Teo lifts his gaze back up at Tristan. “What have you to say?”

  Please, Tristan, say something convincing. Say something eloquent, something that will make Teo proud.

  I take a few steps back so I can have a better view of Tristan high above us on the balcony. He moves to set the curtain rod back against the wall, but the rod slips, marking the wall.

  “Sorry,” he squeaks, setting the rod upright, and I’m having serious doubts about Tristan offering a sweeping speech. He clears his throat a few times, and actually takes the time to fasten his long hair into a ponytail with shaking hands. “We, uh, just wanted to do something that worked with the tale.” He whips a pink streak he missed away from his eyes and tucks it behind his ear.

  Teo turns his gaze back down to the couples with him on the first floor. “And you, Izzy?” he asks, facing Izzy on the other side of the moat. “Are you incapable of further commitment?”

  Oh, so he’s digging for a proposal now. Okay, Izzy should have this.

  Chewing her gum wildly, Izzy sputters, “I don’t know if I know exactly what you’re saying. If you mean to ask why we haven’t talked about marrying, well, I guess I have to say we’re pretty young. I mean, we’re only seventeen! And I like your little neighborhood, Teo, but it doesn’t even have a gym—”

  Izzy cuts herself off, visibly aghast that she’s spoken this grievance out loud. I don’t know if I should start looking out for Jonas with that stun gun, or help defend Izzy against Teo. Izzy’s looking from Teo up to Tristan, then back again, her eyes darting madly between them, no doubt scrambling for what to do.

  “I’m sure we can think of other ways to prove our worth.” She’s stalling. “I mean, you haven’t said much in the way of what we should be doing during the day. I could help out with that.”

  Silence washes over the room as the little boat in the moat knocks gently on the side of a fake rock. I stare at the boat, wishing I could grab Izzy and whisk us away. Then we could create her version of Elysian Fields where every house is connected to its own personal gym.

  When I find the courage to look up at Teo, I flinch to find his jaw slack and his eyes more yellow than black. Without warning, he lurches back over the moat, grabbing Izzy by the wrists. He flings her empty goblet into the moat, but it smashes into the rock, shattering.

  Someone by the snack counter takes in a sharp breath, followed by someone shushing them. No one wants to face Teo’s wrath.

  Teo spins to face Tristan, but he’s much too high on the balcony. Teo’s eyes dart about the room before shouting, “Assistance, now!”

  At that instant, Jonas darts from the front door. Two or three steps at a time, he sprints up the stairs, straight for where Tristan stands at the top. I watch, helpless, as Lance sees Jonas coming and lifts up his sword—the Excalibur replica—like he means to deter Jonas and his stun gun. But this can’t be happening. It can’t. Because I remember the last time Teo let Jonas loose on a couple. They didn’t live.

  “No,” someone mumbles, but I’m too terrified to look who. Someone shouts, halfway mumbles, but I can’t look, I can’t move.

  Jonas jukes effortlessly around Lance, who’s lifting the Excalibur high above his head. In one swift movement, he connects his stun gun to Tristan’s chest. Tristan jolts, his loose pink streak jerking madly about his face, and a strangled voice somewhere behind me whimpers. I’m hyperventilating, because this can’t be happening again. I can’t even predict it, because this is nothing like what happens in Tristan’s and Isolde’s tale. Shouldn’t Teo see this?

  Izzy shrieks and runs toward me by the stairs, but she should be running the other way. Abe takes a step forward, but Eloise pulls him back, whispering frantically to him. I want to scream, Run, Izzy! But what can I do?
If I show my disgust, Teo might massacre everyone in the room. Cleo knows it, because every vein in her face looks like it’s going to pop, but she stands there, because she knows retaliating can mean her death.

  I look to Marcus, who’s already running for the bottom of the stairs, when Jonas pulls out a dagger from a strap on his leg. Lunging forward, Jonas plunges it straight into Tristan’s chest. Izzy and I shriek and Abe’s hand balls into a fist, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t move, no doubt knowing if he does, he’ll be killed next. My heart’s in my throat as I watch blood spurt from Tristan’s mouth, his pink and green streaks fluttering as he falls to the floor.

  Lance spins wildly for the stairs, his blond hair trailing behind him in a wisp. But he plows right into Marcus, and both boys, thrown off-balance, tumble down the stairs—Marc rams headfirst into the wrought-iron railing, and Lance flies straight down to the floor.

  But the boys are a distraction, just a distraction, so I snap my head up again, only to see Jonas pulling the dagger out of Tristan’s crimson-colored chest.

  This is a life! I yearn to shriek into a megaphone, to launch my body onto Teo and pound his head with my fists. These are people and he’s killing them, simply choosing who should live. And Teo’s friend, Jonas? I want that dagger to plunge into his chest. I want to sprint up those stairs, slice up his intestines, and force Teo to feed. Teo says he’s saved us from the Living Rot? No, Teo can go to hell, because the Living Rot is right here.

  I stalk toward Teo, forming the words I’m desperate to say. You are done as our leader. You want to hurt someone? Hurt me!

  My footsteps are glacial—almost laughably slow. I see the distance between us—he, on the other side of the moat by the windows, and me, trudging from the side of the stairs. But I’m getting there. I’m going to convince Teo to make sense, when a whir of white flashes right by me, and it takes me maybe only half a second to realize it’s Jonas, his maniacal, mud-brown eyes now fastened on Izzy.