The Dollhouse (Paperdolls #1)

by Nicole Thorn

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “Seriously?” Layla whispered to Adalyn.

  Dr. Carpenter sat up straighter and looked at us expectantly. “Is something wrong?”

  Well… obviously. She wanted us to just start talking? We didn’t know anything about her, and we were expected to just start telling her about ourselves. At least with the cops, it felt like it was important when we told them what happened. I felt like an obligation here.

  “Yeah,” Layla said. “Something is wrong. Why should we have to tell you how we’re feeling? So you can say we should be pumped with pills and then write us off?”

  The woman sighed. “Layla, right?” Her eyes went to the open file at her desk before she looked up again. “I understand that you’ve all gone through some major trauma, but I’m here to help you.”

  I think I might have believed her if she didn’t stop glancing at the clock the entire time Layla spoke with her. Her fingers even twitched and tapped on her files. I don’t think the woman wanted to be here with us. If that was because of our attitude or because she had other things to do, I didn’t know.

  We played along as best as we could when she asked us to tell her about what happened to us. We didn’t give her any information that the police didn’t get because I, for one, didn’t want to repeat any of it. I didn’t want to relive what happened to us.

  But I didn’t get the choice.

  “You took a life,” Dr. Carpenter said. “Tell me what you think about that.”

  Really?

  I shrugged. “I don’t feel much about it. I did what I had to do, and I did it to a bad person. He was hurting us and I wanted to be free, so I killed him.”

  The woman nodded. “Yes, you did. But killing someone can change a person. Do you feel different?”

  I laughed lightly. “I’ve been in prison for seven years. I don’t remember what normal would be, so I don’t know if I’m different like you think I should be. What is it that you think I should be feeling right now?”

  She arched an eyebrow at me. “I think that it would be normal to feel guilt.”

  Layla snorted. “Really? She should feel guilty that she killed a monster? I suppose she should have let him keep violating us too, right? Maybe we should have been good girls and stayed still for our baths where a huge, terrifying man stripped us naked and touched us all over. You’re so right,” she sneered. “Murder is wrong.”

  The look the woman gave her was utterly patronizing. “I’m just saying that the event was traumatic, and some feelings about it are expected. Are you always so defensive, Layla?”

  My sister grinned. “Yes, I am when people are trying to make someone I love feel bad. What would you know about any of this? You can’t possibly put yourself in our shoes.”

  “I can try.”

  “No,” Kylie said. “You can’t. You’ll never know what it feels like to be treated like we were. You’ll never know what it’s like to wake up in the morning and want to scream, or run, or not wake up at all. You don’t know what it feels like to not fit in the world and not know how to fix it.” Adalyn took her hand, and she continued. “You don’t know what we feel, so don’t act like you can understand it, even if we managed to find words for it.”

  Dr. Carpenter sighed and laid her hands on her desk. “Girls, I do understand, even if you don’t believe me. I’ve spent my life studying cases like yours and talking to people who’ve been through similar things. I just need you to trust me here.”

  We all stared at her, and I think we all knew that wasn’t possible. But we were stuck here until she decided we were fine.

  So we played the game.

  We told her what she wanted to know.

  And we pretended like every word wasn’t agony.

  had seven cookies today,” my brother told me proudly. He sat on the edge of my bed while we shared some frozen chocolate chip cookies.

  “That sounds like a lot.”

  He finished chewing. “It was Gary’s birthday and he brought us cookies.” Welly looked over at the terrarium on my dresser and squinted. “Would Kermit want a cookie?”

  “I don’t think those are good for toads,” I said. “So I’d stick with crickets.”

  Welly smiled wide, and his nose scrunched up. “Can I give him one?”

  I got off of my bed, and he followed me to the dresser. The crickets were in a little container. Already dead, because letting Kermy kill them would have been sad. I put one in Welly’s hand and let him toss it in. Kermit looked at it like it was nothing more than a nuisance and he was put out to eat it.

  I let my brother have at it while I kept slipping into thoughts about that awful lady who wouldn’t let us stop talking. I had to go over every detail of the murder with her until she thought I’d gotten out all my feelings about it. In all honesty, I was trying not to care about what I did. It got us out, end of story.

  They said we would have to go back, and I was very upset about that. Mom said if I refused, then I wouldn’t be able to see my sisters anymore. So I was stuck having to go see a woman who couldn’t care less about us.

  “Go wash your hands,” I told my brother once Kermit was done.

  He scurried off, and I put the cookies in the mini fridge my parents got me.

  They were spoiling me rotten, and I knew why they were doing it. They didn’t know how to comfort me, so they took to making me feel comfortable instead. I got all new bedding and clothes. A bigger bed, actually. It was king sized, even though I was all alone. No more unwelcome bodies joining me. Just me and a lot of pillows.

  I’d been sleeping with the door open. I liked looking into the hall and knowing that it was empty. Once in a while I’d hear the cat stalking something. He liked to walk for a few feet and then pass out in the middle of the floor. The easy life of a cat.

  My brother didn’t come back, but my father replaced his company. Dad stood awkwardly and at a distance.

  “Can I talk to you?” he asked.

  I nodded, of course.

  Dad crossed his arms and sighed. “The police called again, wanting to know if you would like to be kept up with the investigation. I guess it’s still going on.”

  My shoulders tensed, and I had an instant tummy ache. “Do I have to hear about it?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Thank God. “Then I don’t want to. I doubt my sisters would want to know either.”

  Dad agreed with a nod. “Then your mother and I won’t tell you what we find out, but if you don’t mind, we want to be kept up.”

  I shrugged.

  He glanced at my nightstand and changed the subject to something less miserable. “Where did you get that?”

  He was referring to the iPod playing music. I didn’t know it could do that, but then Welly took it and did it with ease. It was odd, seeing a little boy be so good with technology. I guess he grew up with that kind of thing. But the music was playing, something from a musical.

  “Wilson Abbey,” I said. “You know him, right? He let me borrow it a couple days ago.”

  He tensed. “You’ve been spending time with Wilson?”

  “Not really. I only met him the one time. He seemed nice.”

  Dad looked back at me. “I don’t know about that. He’s… a little rough around the edges.”

  I laughed softly. “Daddy, I’m rough around the edges.”

  His eyes darkened as he watched me. “You’re just fine.”

  “Do… do you believe that? Do you believe that there’s nothing wrong with me?”

  “You’re my little girl,” he said too aggressively. He corrected his tone. “And you’re perfect.”

  My arms crossed, and I stared at the floor. “I don’t like that word. People can’t be perfect. Trust me on that one. It doesn’t matter how many years someone tries to perfect you, all you become is some flawed, broken mess of a thing. Barely human anymore.”

  It was like I’d offended him.

  “Don’t talk that way a
bout yourself, Riley. You’re home now, and that means that you’re going to be fine. We’re going to take care of you. One day, you’ll be able to get a normal job, meet some guy, and have a family of your own. You’ll get everything in life that you were supposed to get, and the time you were… gone will be nothing more than some horrible memory.”

  My lips parted as I sucked in a breath. “That was my life. That was the only thing. Don’t you understand? When we were there… it was everything. We didn’t know how long we were there, if it was night or day. We didn’t know if we were going to live or die, and we prayed for it to end any way it could. We weren’t daydreaming about flowers and babies. We were trying to find the will to wake up again when we knew what was coming for us.” I was crying, but it didn’t matter. I’d cried my own weight in tears over the last part of my life. Tears were nothing now.

  My father took a sullen step to me, pointing at my wrists. “Was that the only time?”

  I scanned the familiar scars on my wrists. The greatest disappointment of my life was when I woke up after I made the marks. They were bandaged, and the bleeding had stopped. I cried for hours.

  I didn’t answer Dad. What could I say to him? He didn’t really want the answer. No father wanted to hear about what was done to his daughter. Even if it was something she did to herself. He wanted to know just as much as he didn’t want to know. So I would grant him what I could.

  “It’s over now,” I said without inflection. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  The lie was weighty on my tongue. It was the only thing that mattered. It made up all that was left of me.

  Dad made a move that almost looked like he was going to hug me. He thought better of it. The last time I’d been touched was the night I got home. Welly let me hold his hand, but that was it. No skin to skin contact at all from my family. Even he was avoiding my touch. Was I repulsive, or were they just scared?

  “I should get to work,” he decided. I got a half a goodbye before he walked out of my room.

  I left to shower because alone seemed to work best for me. No one to have to lie to. Like my parents. Wilson. He knew. He saw me and knew. Each crack in my soul was shined on by a spotlight. He saw, and he still talked to me like I was just the weird girl next door. He even touched me, picked me up without fear of breaking me. I smiled thinking about it. For about five minutes, I didn’t feel fragile.

  Hot water was a fantastic thing. I’d gone so long taking cold showers that I forgot the comforting feeling of warmth coating my body. And to be able to shower in private. People took so many things for granted. I was alone, and the door was locked. It was wonderful.

  When I got out, it took me a long time to dry my hair. I had to do something about it soon. It was starting to bother me. Something needed to be different with me. I wanted freedom. I wanted my heart to beat, and I wanted to evolve past this paper doll shell I was wearing.

  I was in a dress today, yellow and purple stripes that I liked very much. It fell loosely almost to my knees, and I had tights that were black and purple. The top of my dress had short sleeves and six buttons, five of which did their job.

  After I slipped a piece of paper into my pocket, I headed down to the kitchen and found it empty. My mother’s voice carried from the hall, and it sounded like she was talking to herself. Angry about a box that wasn’t cooperating with her. After I took an apple from the counter, I went off to find her.

  She was in the little storage room next to the laundry room. All I could see was her hair from behind a stack of boxes. She was cursing up a storm.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Mom popped up and looked a little embarrassed. “Ah, didn’t see you there. Sorry for my mouth.” She straightened out and dusted off her clothes. “Me and the Halloween decorations are having a bit of a fight.”

  “Want help?”

  She smiled with victory. “I’d like that.”

  I put the apple in my mouth and went to help with the wedged box. There were four in total, and we got them all out to the living room in pretty good time. Mom started going through them while I worked on my breakfast.

  “I love that dress on you, honey,” she commented while she pulled out purple lights.

  “Thanks.” I pointed at the boxes. “You do this every year?”

  “Yup,” she said.

  She started pulling up paper decorations. Pumpkins and ghosts and things like that.

  “Daddy always does the lights, but Maxwell and I do the rest.”

  I didn’t ask the question I wanted to ask: when? I just started helping her out. We put little spider decorations all over the window. Webs and all. Welly came down too, telling me about his costume this year. He and Jude were going as Mario and Luigi. At least some familiar things had stuck around.

  When Welly left to get a snack, I stayed with Mom. I figured now was as good a time as any to ask. “Um,” I stammered while Mom pinned a happy pumpkin to the wall. “You have the numbers for my sis—friends’ houses?”

  There was clear nervousness in her look. “Yeah.”

  I picked at the plastic skeleton in my hands. “Can I call them? I was hoping we’d get some more time together. It’s just kind of weird… not seeing them.”

  Mom wouldn’t look at me as she spoke. “That might not be such a bad thing. You girls went through something awful, and you need some time apart. Find out who you are without them.”

  But… they were the only real things in my life. When I was there, they reminded me of the fact that I used to be a person, that I wasn’t all alone.

  And now I wasn’t allowed to see them.

  I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was trapped. Trapped in this life, this house, in a world I didn’t fit into anymore. I saw the truth in that second. It stung, but there was an odd peace to it when I figured it out. That little girl died the day I was taken. No. That was wrong. She didn’t just die; I killed her. I slit her wrists, and what woke up wasn’t the same person. That little girl was gone. Now, I was just a body. Everything functioned, but I wasn’t alive.

  I set down the decoration in my hands, and I went for the door. It was half open when my mother called to me. “Wait. It’s raining.”

  I shook my head, swallowing hard. “I need to be outside.”

  “Riley—”

  “Let me be outside,” I said, halfway out the door.

  Thunder and lightning exploded in the black sky, but I didn’t care at all. The cold rain that fell down on me felt like liquid rapture. It was alive, and I was not, but I could forget as long as I felt the sting of cold against me.

  I made it to the driveway before I sat down. I was soaked in about a minute, but it was a relief. I wanted to be part of the world no matter how ugly it was. My eyes closed, I tilted my head up to meet the rainfall. Thunder cracked above, and it made the air feel alive. Electricity crackled in the sky, and the sudden spurts of light were powerful enough to show through my closed lids.

  How could I have ever forgotten what that felt like?

  Outside was good. Inside bad. Outside good. Outside was open and free. No walls. Just air and rain and life. The sound of bugs buzzing, or animals. Kids playing. Outside was real. I could feel life when I was here. Couldn’t be part of it, but at least I could see it.

  I heard a sigh from beside me. I looked up in time to hear him speak.

  “You’ll catch your death out here.”

  It was a mocking voice, thankfully. Grandpa Wilson.

  He was in his dark clothes, but today he was protected by an umbrella. His eyebrows were raised at me, and I guessed it was my turn to talk.

  “I needed to be outside.”

  His hand was in his pocket, and he looked down at it. “Can I get you to reconsider?”

  I shook my head.

  Wilson sighed yet again. “All right, I guess this is happening.”

  He sat beside me, dropping with very little grace. It made me smile. He held the umbrella so that it covered the both of us,
and I was too much of a coward to tell him I didn’t want it. He looked disappointed when he looked me over.

  “You’ll ruin your pretty little stockings and dress.”

  “I’m already ruined.”

  He didn’t say anything for a while. A few minutes maybe. Then his eyes fell on my mouth. “Christ, your lips are blue.” He shrugged out of the jacket he was in, black leather. It went over my shoulders. “Please don’t die.”

  Too late.

  The jacket smelled like him. His soap and the faint smell of smoke. I didn’t care very much at the moment. I felt warm as I pushed my arms through the sleeves. Heat soaked into me, taking over the cold.

  “Why are we out here?” Wilson asked.

  My eyes stayed forward. “Because there aren’t walls.”

  When I looked at him he was nodding, feigning understanding. “Did something happen? Today, I mean?”

  I pulled my knees to my chest, rested my head on them in his direction. “How much do you know about me? Because I know it’s something.”

  Without shame, he told me. “I know that you were taken when you were twelve, and that you weren’t too far away. And I know that the police are fucking idiots for not finding four kids until one of them was quick enough to kill the monster that took them.” I flinched, and his expression changed. “Oh,” he said.

  There was a long bout of thunder that bought me time before I had to say something to him. My voice shook with my hands, and my nails bit into my skin. “I had to. It needed to be over.”

  He nodded again. “I’m glad you did it. For what he did to you.”

  “You don’t even know what he did.”

  His eyes went to my exposed wrist. “He did enough.”

  My legs went flat against the concrete, and I kept my hands on my lap. “My parents want back the little girl he took from them. They want someone who’s not broken, and they think I can get back to that. They don’t know. They don’t understand that I’m someone else now. I’m not just older. I’m…”

  Nothing. I am nothing.

  Wilson considered me. “Do you want to be that little girl again?”