by A. A. Vacco
"I don't like your tone, young lady," snapped Cara.
Cassie stood up and pushed passed her, attempting to leave the room. Cara caught her arm and guided her back to the bed. "I'll ask you again. I can do this all night, Cassandra. Where did you get the doll?"
Cassie pulled her legs toward her chest. She didn't have a clue as to where the creepy thing on the nightstand came from. It looked old and smelled faintly of mildew. "I swear to you, I don't know. I'm just as freaked out by it."
"Are you?"
"Mom, this is the first time I'm seeing it."
"You sure you didn't steal it? Those other kids are a bad influence, Cassandra. If you stole this or tried to--,"
"Tried to what? What would I have done with a creepy-ass doll from a jillion centuries ago? Huh?"
"Don't you raise your voice and for gosh-sakes watch your language!"
Cassie hugged her knees closer to her chest. She stared at her mom and waited for her to speak.
Finally, Cara said, "Alright, fine. If you won't admit to anything, the doll stays with you. Keep it in your room with your stuff, and in your sight. If I find it tucked away, I'll take it back out and you'll lose your phone for that day."
Cassie shook her head. "I just told you it scares me, why would you--?"
"To teach you to stop fooling around and that your actions have consequences!” she said, proudly echoing the words her mother once used to correct her.
She then turned to leave. As soon as she exited the room, the door slammed behind her and the lock clicked.
"Y-y-you won't get dinner tonight! You think a locked door can prevent further punishment?” Her stammering threats went on for another five minutes.
Cassie remained silent and glared at the closed door, fists clenched at her sides. Behind her, she heard a soft thud. Spinning to see the source of the noise, Cassie saw the doll now laying on its side. Its legs were still placed in a seated position with the arms stretched out in front of it. It looked like it was reaching for a hug, only sideways. Cassie climbed over the bed and repositioned the doll upright. She sat on her knees and watched the doll for a few more minutes. Outside the bedroom door, her mother's voice quieted and she heard her slamming dishes around in the kitchen. Cassie felt the urge to yell, "real mature," but decided against it. She knew when to pick her battles. Besides, if she kept her cool, eventually she could get her dad's defense, and that proved most effective.
The doll remained motionless. The dark eyes stayed in a fixed gaze and the arms and legs frozen in their placement. Cassie sighed and made her way over to her desk. She opened her physics book and started on her reading assignment. "James Prescott Joule," she murmured, scanning the introduction. "Conservation of energy...Einstein factored in mass as a form of energy...energy cannot be created or destroyed...," she paused to write down the equation.
Thud
Cassie whirled around again. The doll was back on its side without anything else out of place. Cassie's hands started to shake. She stood, half-expecting her legs to give out on her. She moved toward the door, and unlocked it. The doll's eyes seemed to follow her every move. Then, a blink. A blink? How? Her heart plunged into her stomach, then made up for the pause with rapid, subsequent beats.
Suddenly, the doll’s limbs began rotating in half circles, forward and back. This caused the doll to rock into a bear-crawl position and move forward with each semi-rotation of the arms and legs. It was a slow, but steady movement that allowed the doll to transition from the nightstand onto the adjacent bed. Seconds later, Cassie found herself staring at a doll on all fours, now at the edge of her bed, staring back at her. Cassie froze. Terror seized up every muscle in her body and she could not move. With a final motion, the doll's arms swung forward in unison, pushing itself back into a seated position. The legs once again stuck straight out and the arms reached forward. The eyes still stared, and Cassie stared back. Another blink from the doll and Cassie's fear-induced paralysis broke.
Keeping her eyes on the doll, she opened the door and backed out, closing it again behind her. Once shut, Cassie broke into a sprint toward the kitchen. She flew by her mother who tried yelling at her again. She stumbled into the rec room and grabbed her coat off the chair right before ducking out the door leading into the garage. Form there, she maintained a steady sprint to her grandmother's house. She'd have her dad pick her up once he finished work, and at this point, Grandma Cass's house looked like a good safe haven.
Puzzled and still irritated, Cara marched toward Cassie's bedroom. She found the doll at the foot of the bed, laying facedown. Cara sighed and muttered, "How very grown up, Cass. Just throw things around when you're upset. Very. Grown. Up."
She kept grumbling and returned to some unnecessary banging of pots and pans around the kitchen.
20
"Geenz, what's up?" Aubrey answered her phone as she flopped back onto her bed and stared up at the fan slowly rotating above her.
"We going out tonight?” Genie asked. "I gotta get out of the house, my parents are driving me nuts. They won't stop fighting."
Aubrey rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on both elbows. "Sucks. Yea, I'm around."
"Want to go to the movies?" Genie could hear her dad walking into the kitchen and closed her bedroom door. She knew what would follow, and really didn't want to hear whatever fight he'd pick for tonight's pre-dinner entertainment.
Aubrey said yes, and hung up. She sat up, but stayed seated on her bed. She saw something move from corner of her eye. She whipped her head around. Nothing. Well, nothing moving, she concluded with a sigh. Probably just shadows from the trees blowing outside.
She got up, closed the blinds to her bedroom, and headed downstairs to get some dinner.
Genie paused and pressed her ear against her bedroom door. She heard her parents talking, their voices increasing in volume with each passing moment. Genie felt her appetite wane. She slipped back to her desk and pulled out her iPod and headphones. Inserting the earbuds, she piled up a few pillows on her bed and slouched into them. Moments later, she fell asleep.
Genie took a couple of steps forward, surveying her surroundings. She saw a vast field filled with stalks of wheat and corn blowing from a crisp breeze. A cloudless, blue sky stretched as far as she could see. No buildings, homes, or silos; nothing but harvest-ready crops stretched before her. Genie took a few more steps, turning around, but not seeing a change in her setting. The golden rays of the sun created an orange tint to her scenery. Sunset, thought Genie, then noticed a table and chairs a few yards away.
She proceeded toward the furniture, curious what it was doing out in the field. As she approached the table set, she saw a small doll seated in one of the two chairs. Squinting her eyes and using her hand to shade her vision, she noted the doll’s golden curls and faded dress. The doll appeared larger and larger the closer Genie got. By the time she sat facing the figure, the doll no longer seemed like a doll. Genie tilted her head, noticing the milky white skin and dark eyes. The lips on the figure began to move, but Genie couldn't hear what they said. "What?” asked Genie.
Moving again, a whisper escaped the merlot painted lips. The rest of the figure remained motionless and the eyes locked onto Genie's. Genie felt her body relax and lost the ability to move her arms. She tried to look away but she realized her eyes remained locked in position. Heart racing, Genie tried to scream, but that part of her body failed, too.
"Genie!" Her father's voice echoed across the plains. She jumped, then her world shook.
"Genie! Get up. We've been calling ya for the last ten minutes," said Walt, giving her shoulders another shake to ensure she was conscious.
Genie gasped and gripped both of Walt's forearms. She felt her hair sticking to the back of her neck and face. Her dad released his grip once she did this. Genie glanced at her earbuds lying next to her on the bed. "H-how long was I asleep?” she asked.
"How the hell should I know?" grumbled Walt. "What I do know, is that you shoul
d be doing homework and should be making a prompt appearance when we call you for dinner. Not daydreaming like a--,"
"Walt!" Kat's voice sliced through Walt's rant and he paused, looking back toward the door.
Kat shouldered him away from Genie and pressed her hand over Genie's forehead. "My god, Honey, are you sick? You're soaked!"
"I'm fine," said Genie, trying to get to her feet.
Kat had her sit back on the bed and ran to get the thermometer. She pulled Walt out of the room so that Genie could change her t-shirt and fix her hair. Plus, she figured Genie had enough fatherly interaction for one night. Once Kat returned to Genie's room and checked her temperature, "cool as a cucumber," the two made their way into the kitchen. Walt was already on his second helping of beef stew. Genie took a few quick bites and returned to her room to finish up her homework. As she opened her math book, she heard her parents' voices again, volume increasing with each passing moment. She closed her eyes in hopes to tune them out.
Moments later, Genie found herself face to face with the porcelain figure. This time, when the lips parted, Genie heard the words that left the maroon mouth. "Take me home.”
Genie glanced around but saw nothing beyond the crops and tall grass. The vacant horizon gleamed in the dwindling sunlight. "Where's home?" Genie tried to ask, but again found her body frozen. At least she could think. At least her mind stayed with her.
The chime of her phone snapped her out of the dream. The familiar dampness clung to the back of her neck. She fumbled to locate her phone. It was a text from Aubrey saying she'd pick her up in a few. Genie sighed and got up to change her clothes.
21
“Where’s Genie?” asked Walt. “I thought she was doing homework.”
“Out with friends," responded Kat from the bedroom. She sat cross-legged on the bed folding laundry while watching syndicated reruns. She couldn’t get enough of them, and she dared anyone to try and stop her from doing otherwise.
“Couldn’t pick anything better to watch?” Walt stood in the door frame, pursed lips and head tilted up slightly.
“Sorry, this is all we bought for the year. Besides, I left you the big screen to do with it whatever you want. Enjoy.”
“Why do you hate me?” Walt crossed his arms over his chest.
Sucking in a slow breath, Kat ventured with, “Hate you? I don’t hate you, Walt.”
“Really? Because every time I enter a room, or a conversation with you, I get anger laced with sarcasm. And it’s not the funny, dry stuff you usually throw out. No, no, it comes loaded with scorn and resentment.”
Kat paused with consideration. “Well said, Walt. That’s exactly how I intend stuff these days. At least it gets through to you.”
“Now, see, that’s not fair, Kat! I want a genuine conversation, and you’re doing it again. Why not get literal and just throw shit at me?”
“Because our ‘shit’ is far too valuable to waste on me possibly knocking your teeth in. Don’t get me wrong, I’d enjoy it, but afterwards I’d feel upset that my ‘shit’ would be broken.”
Walt took a deep breath. He was really trying this time, and for whatever reason, Kat seemed to give up on that tonight. “Ok, Kat, final shot; talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Presently, nothing.”
Walt audibly sighed with frustration.
“But that’s just it," she went on, “there usually isn’t anything, then suddenly out of the blue, you blow a gasket over something random. Or, at least it seems random to me.”
“That’s ridiculous, I never get upset over something unless it’s worth getting upset over!”
“Even still, it’s never a calm conversation, when a lot of times it easily could be.”
Walt looked thoughtful. “Give me an example.”
Kat despised this request, often because if she couldn’t produce a situation that he recollected, he’d dismiss the whole issue. If he could remember it, he’d often readdress the fight itself, rather than the big picture. “Childish, so damn childish," muttered Kat.
“What?”
“Nothing. Ok, how about the night when you screamed at Genie because the cat puked on the carpet?”
“Yea? What about it? She was right there. She could’ve prevented a mess and she didn’t. It’s her cat and her responsibility. You’re too easy on her, Kat.”
Kat sighed. She was too tired to deal with her frustration. It was always the same thing. He pushed her until she snapped, then he’d get upset that she was acting pissy, then he’d break down why she had no right to feel the way she did, and she’d end up being the one to apologize. Except for this time; this time her apology was dripping in condescension. “You’re right Walt, one day I’ll be great like you. But until then, accept my faults and know deep down, I’m striving one day to be perfect in your eyes.”
That did it. What happened next, neither is too sure of. What they both surmised after discussing the events later the following day, was that Walt took his forearm to their dresser standing to his left. He crossed his right arm over his body and in one move, flung all the contents on top of the dresser across the room. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a large room. Kat still sat on the bed facing the dresser. She did her best to cover her face, but the initial item Walt sent flying was an iron owl-shaped book end. This didn’t get much momentum, but it got enough.
The metal bird drove its beak into the corner of Kat’s eye. She screamed, both out of pain and fear and ducked for cover next to the bed. Once on the ground, she decided it best to hide under the bed. She could hear Walt yelling and launching things around the room. A vase smashed against the wall behind the bed. Another shatter sounded that Kat knew to be the glass from a picture frame. The destruction pressed on as Kat’s world darkened from a throbbing headache and the inability to keep open her weighted eyelids. That’s where things became hazy to Kat and clear to Walt.
Walt stood in the door frame with a bloody right arm along the side, where he had made contact with everything on the dresser. “Why does everything we own need to be metal or glass?" he growled.
He glanced around the room, looking for Kat. He noticed the trail of disrupted blankets leading down the side of the bed. He found her, barely conscious underneath it. “Kat? C’mon, wake up!”
Rage turned to panic. Walt dragged her out over broken glass by her arms and placed her on the bed. “Walt? What—?”
Kat’s eyes opened and her mind picked up where it previously left off. She screamed again, and Walt saw a fear in her eyes he never thought would be meant for him. She coiled and kicked him square in the chest. As he stumbled back, she rolled off the edge of the bed and half crawled, half ran out to the hall and into the kitchen.
Shaking, Walt stood up and followed her.
After convincing her to put down the butcher knife, and no, he really wasn’t going to hurt her, and dear god, should we go to an ER, the two sat across from each other with a glass of scotch between them.
“We need help.”
“Yea....yea I suppose we do," agreed Walt.
“What were you thinking? When you threw that at me?”
“I wasn’t. You infuriate me sometimes, Kat! I blank out and come back only when it’s over. And sometimes it’s just words you tell me I said later that I don’t remember evening saying, but tonight...shit, what if it gets worse?”
“It is worse. Much worse. I’ll tell you one thing, you lay a finger on my daughter, and we will be out of here before you come back to reality to realize it.” She meant every word of that statement.
“Our daughter, Kat, our daughter.”
“You’re really not in a position to argue.”
“No, but that is one person that I never intend to lose.”
Kat sighed and raised the chilled glass of scotch to her right temple. He missed her eye, and she was thankful not to have to deal with any vision loss.
“I’m calling Elle," said Walt. “You need someone to look at you.”
“Don’t y
ou dare," hissed Kat. “She cannot know about this.”
Walt looked bemused. “You tell her everything. Won’t this be the highlight of happy hour gossip tomorrow after work?”
“She’s off tomorrow, and no, I tell her most things, but I leave some stuff out. She doesn’t need to resent you.”
That stung, mostly because Walt knew the extent of his temper, and saw in full, the toll it took on Kat. Still, he blamed her for it.
“Ok, we will tell her you fell.”
“Oldest lie in the book. She’ll know what happened without either of us telling her. I’m telling you Walt, she’s a human lie detector, or something.”
“Ok, ok, but we need you looked at.”
They went back and forth for another ten minutes. Kat’s headache intensified and Walt finally shot Elle a text stating, “Kat hit her head and won’t let me take her to see a doctor. Will you come take a look at her?”
He half-smirked at the message. Genie would’ve given him hell for taking up so much space. “Why write a novel when you can send a message in less than five words?”
Of course, it did help to know what half those abbreviations meant. Kids these days.
22
Close to midnight, Aubrey realized they blew Genie's curfew. Genie already had a few drinks in her, as did Aubrey. Billy showed up somewhere in the last hour and Aubrey laughed at how un-hidden their relationship was once both of them had a little booze in their veins. Hanging over Billy's shoulder, Genie slurred something. When she repeated herself, Aubrey realized she was asking if she could sober up at her place. Aubrey's parents worked odd hours and Genie knew there was a good chance they could get away with it.
Billy gave her a kiss on the cheek and Genie turned to him, laughing, and returned it with a bigger one. Aubrey rolled her eyes and took her turn to bowl. Why they bothered continuing to play, she'd never know, but it was one of the few places in town that didn't check I.D. Besides, even if someone decided to, they could easily ask a nearby player to grab them a pitcher or two with the promise of a free drink in return. Split. Aubrey cursed under her breath and threw a gutter-ball on her next turn. Even with the new Friday night hangout place after the movies, she had yet to improve her game. "Double damn," she said.