by A. A. Vacco
"Ah, Boss, you scared me," Billy grinned, shaking his head.
"Sorry about that. Here," RJ handed Billy a paper towel and proceeded to move toward the Keurig for an afternoon decaffeinated brew. "But seriously, how're things? You've been quiet lately."
Billy shrugged. Genie's boldness and manipulative tactics in Millerton flashed in his mind, followed by the recollection of her falling through the floorboards and how close they came to never leaving the Doll House. "She's fine. We're fine."
"Uh huh," RJ started the machine and coffee poured into his mug.
"I think I'm newer to relationships than she is," Billy continued. "I think she knows more about them than I do."
RJ chuckled. "Well, that's probably an understatement."
"I mean, she knows how to get what she wants, when she wants it," he paused, remember Genie roping Aubrey, Cassie, and him into the Millerton adventure. "Not just with me, but with everyone. She's smart, and she uses it to help others see things the way she does, and before you know it, you're doing something you wouldn't have even considered otherwise."
"Perceptive," RJ nodded and sipped his coffee. "Very perceptive, Bacon. Now, is this stuff bad stuff or just typical teenager stuff?"
Not wanting to divulge details about the Doll House, Billy shrugged again and smiled, "She's a typical teenager in a few aspects still, I suppose."
RJ shifted his weight and took another sip from his mug. He waited to see if Billy would expound further on that statement. When the silence started to feel uncomfortable, Billy added, "It's fine, really. I think I'm just a little more naïve than her, if you can believe that."
"I can."
"Thanks."
"It's not an insult, Bacon. You're no longer dealing with a kid on your team. If she's as mature as you say, then she also knows how to play the game a little. She doesn't sound like some innocent doe-eyed deer. She sounds like a bit of a firecracker."
Laughing, Billy nodded. "That's exactly what she is."
"Nothing wrong with it, but don't be stupid."
Billy smiled and nodded. "Yea, will do. Thanks, Boss."
Raising his mug as Billy left the break room, RJ said, "No problem," and chuckled to himself.
25
Another week passed. On Friday night, Aubrey dragged herself upstairs to her bedroom. She flopped onto her bed, face up, staring at the ceiling fan's slow, rotating blades. Without volleyball practice, she had more free time, but felt sleepier and more drained at the end of her school days. Her parents were downstairs. Probably making dinner.
Rolling on her side, she propped herself onto her elbow and started scrolling through her phone. There were a few texts from Genie, which she blew off with a "busy tonight. c-ya tomorrow" reply. She sighed and glanced around the room. "What the...?"
Aubrey sat up, staring at the doll seated on her dresser, facing her. The thing looked so real. How did it get there? She stood and approached the dark-featured figure. She didn't know what she found so startling about the thing, but she trembled as she edged closer to it. With one finger, she poked the doll in the midsection. Nothing. No movement, no signs of life. Aubrey sighed and laughed. "What, like I thought it would move?"
She shook her head and headed to the bathroom. Bubble baths were her latest addiction. She grabbed a bath bomb from the cabinet and started filling the tub with warm water.
Closing the door, she kicked her clothes to the corner of the bathroom. Dropping the bath bomb into the tub, Aubrey watched swirls of pink effervescence fuse with the clear water. Bubble gum and floral aromas rose with the steam. Once the fizzing stopped, she climbed in and turned off the faucet. Sinking to a spot where the water covered most of her body, she played with the pink bubbles a bit, and then felt herself drifting off.
When she opened her eyes again, Aubrey only saw the wavering outline of the bathroom ceiling, tinted pink. She felt her body, but couldn't move it. Was she still sleeping? Within seconds she also realized she was holding her breath, unable to let it out or draw in another. Panic gripped her heart as she struggled to come up to the water's surface.
Frozen and still submerged, her horror amplified as a figure passed in front of the shimmering view of the ceiling. When the water stilled, Aubrey recognized the dark hair and life-like appearance of the same doll she had left sitting on her dresser less than an hour ago. The wavering image appeared to tilt its head from side to side, but the rest of the body remained motionless. Unable to come up for air, Aubrey’s vision faded until nothing but the imprinted image of the doll’s silhouette burned into her mind. Then, complete darkness.
26
On Monday morning, RJ skimmed the paper at his desk as he sipped his coffee. A headline caught his eye: Local teen drowns: suicide suspected. He frowned and flipped to the story to read further. He saw:
Pinecrest Park, IL. 01.10.2015. Aubrey McDowell (18) passed away at 16:00. McDowell was discovered submerged in her home bathtub. Paramedics arrived on scene and transported McDowell to St. Michael's Hospital where she was pronounced dead. Police suspect suicide. No evidence of foul play or bodily detriment discovered on initial intake. Police will not comment on official cause of death until they receive a full autopsy report. McDowell, a senior in high school and member of the Pinecrest Park High School volleyball team was well liked in her community. She planned on attending junior college next fall to study communications. She is survived by her mother, father, and older sister. Arrangements for the services will be announced later this week.
RJ let out a low whistle. When Elle popped in, he tossed her the folded paper. She scanned it and let out a small gasp. "This is horrible! Why do I come to you to ruin my day straight out the gate?"
He shook his head. "Tragic. Drowning's one of the worst ways to go. I find it hard to believe a that kid would choose that route to end things."
"Right? Maybe she fell asleep."
"More likely, but I'm not sure I'm sold. In any event, figured you'd wanna know. Billy coaches at that school, one of us should probably tell him if he doesn't know already."
"I'm on it."
Before Elle turned to leave, Billy pushed by her and joined them in RJ's small quarters. "Billy, hey--," Elle's voice trailed when she saw his bloodshot eyes and untucked, wrinkled scrubs. "You heard?” she murmured.
"Yea," Billy sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Elle wrapped him in a hug before he could say much else.
"Need the day off, Bud?” asked RJ.
Elle felt Billy shake his head and mumble, "No, I'll be ok. Just, I can't believe it." He stepped back and grabbed a tissue from the box on RJ's desk. "Genie's holding up better than I expected. We found out last night. Guess Aubrey, uh, passed away Friday evening.” He took in a shallow breath, then continued with a shaky voice. "Genie’s mom found out from Aubrey's mom. Genie called me right after."
RJ stood and clapped Billy on the shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything," and stepped out to see his first patient.
27
The long Illinois winter kept its slow pace. Weeks passed after Aubrey's death. Police ruled it as a suicide, but her parents refused to believe it. However, because of the official ruling, no further investigation pursued. Genie felt the tension in her home continue to escalate. Her parents constantly argued, and she felt the need to escape whenever possible. One night, in the middle of the week, her father’s temper spiked again, and as usual, without any warning. Genie retreated to her bedroom, turned up her radio, and waited for the storm to pass.
A soft tap caught her attention over by her desk. She glanced toward the sound and saw her backpack hanging from the chair. Sitting up on her bed, she surveyed the rest of the bedroom. Everything on her desk appeared as it did when she came in. No open window, but why would there be, it’s January? Her closet was ajar with two weeks’ worth of laundry spilling out of it. Maybe the cat was in there playing with one of the shoe laces?
She stood to check. No cat. With a sigh, she turned back to her bed. Positioned e
xactly where Genie was sat the porcelain doll she’d snagged before leaving the mansion a few months ago. Genie shook her head and rubbed her eyes. The doll remained in its place; motionless but staring directly at her. Genie’s heart thumped faster. Her legs felt like their muscles were about to betray them. Maybe I had her next to me on the bed and she fell forward when I stood up.
Shaking, Genie lifted the doll and placed it back on the shelf near the back corner of the room, opposite from her desk and chair. She then sat on the edge of her bed, radio still blasting, and watched the doll. Several hours passed, and with each one, Genie slowly advanced into a position closer and closer to laying down and falling asleep. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, she slipped into a world of dreams.
One dream seemed all too familiar. She found herself in a vacant wheat field. Right after harvest season, she decided, as the crisp air brushed against her face, leaving her with a chill. She looked down and saw herself dressed in pants and a sweatshirt. Typical autumn attire, she smiled.
Looking around the vast land, she saw a wooden table stationed several feet in front of her with two chairs. She walked toward the table and took a seat, staring at the empty one in front of her. Suddenly, the figure of a young woman appeared. The woman had a slender build, with dark eyes and straw-colored hair. Her skin was white and smooth. “Just like porcelain," Genie said aloud.
“Yes," agreed the figure, “Just like porcelain.”
A breeze rustled through the stalks of wheat surrounding the two with a soft whistle. The figure remained expressionless, but it—she? She could speak. She didn’t do much more than that, though.
“This is where I belong," said the figure. “I was going home. You interfered. You must leave.”
Her gentle, melodious voice uttered each phrase like the start to a lullaby. Genie glanced around, puzzled. “This? This field is home? Where are we?”
The figure ignored her. “You took me farther away. I simply wish to return home.”
Trying again, Genie asked, “Well, where is home?”
“This is my home," repeated the figure in the same sing-song way.
Genie wasn’t even certain the figure had heard her question, although the response was appropriate. Genie was about to ask who the figure was, but noticed an embroidered name on the collar of the her faded dress.
“Lucy," said Genie.
The figure stayed still, except for her crimson lips, which parted only slightly when she spoke.
“Lucy? Is that your name?” Genie tried again.
Genie tried to stand, but found herself unable to move. Stuck. The only things moving on Genie’s body were the necessary systems to keep her body alive. Even her eyes were locked in focus.
“Your lungs. Those must stop," and as the figure sang this, Genie began gasping for air. She instinctively tried to clutch her throat, jump to her feet, anything. But, her body remained frozen.
As she drew in raspy breaths, unable to get more air, the figure chanted, “Your heart. It must desist.”
Genie felt the sick dropping sensation in her chest, like she was on a roller coaster. This time, however, the feeling never stopped. She felt the blood drain from her face. Her arms and legs felt limp, and her breathing desisted. The world grew darker fading at the corners of her eyes. With her ragdoll form and head now hanging to the side, the last burning image Genie Muller saw was the figure, seated across from her, and staring back. She heard, “And now, your mind must sleep.”
Then darkness.
28
Kat only had a hazy, fragmented recollection, but even that much she wished she could erase. She replayed pacing around the house. An eerie, chilling stillness embraced her. Her mind had snapshots of the kitchen, the living room, all appearing as they should, but the feel--why did it feel so off? She felt her stomach knot and her heart launch into a gallop. The prickles that ran down her spine caused a violent shiver and she found herself sprinting...but where? And still, why?
Sprinting to Genie's room, skidding a little past the door and catching the handle to pull her back. She shook the doorknob and, in her haste, lost two finger nails. She then shouldered it down, even though it wasn't locked. Time froze. This snapshot she could revisit without the haze, without question, with full clarity. This picture embedded itself in her mind forever. The room was more disheveled than usual. Genie always liked things somewhat in order. Even in the dim light, Kat saw that several papers and books were knocked off the desk. The chair next to her desk was tipped back, and yesterday's previously folded laundry littered the floor. Kat's eyes followed the trail of clothes to the bed. The bed wasn't even made. The pillows were also tossed to the ground. The mattress laid partially askew and part of the comforter was torn. Lying face up on top of the asymmetrical wreck was Genie.
At least, Kat knew that's who it should be, but no other familiarity of her daughter lay there except the clothing and hair color. She later explained to Elle that it was her, but it felt empty to be near her, like she found Genie's shell. The shell exhibited two crystal blue eyes with an icy, distant stare. Her partially opened lips were tinged with a similar hue. Genie's right arm froze in an arch over her head and her left, across her chest. Both legs were stiff and straight. A blue tint started to take over her skin. “Cyanosis," Kat could hear Elle’s voice explain once during a medical show about postmortem changes.
In the next series of snapshots, Kat remembered only the plunging sensation of her heart into her stomach and her chills changing to sweat. She remembered her throat burning from screaming and somehow her legs carrying her over to Genie. Her hands attempted chest compressions and with shaky gasps of air, her mouth and lungs pushed oxygen into Genie's lifeless lips. There was a moment Kat actually thought she had saved her, but a vital Genie did not follow the eruption of vomit that her stomach expulsed. Kat's mind also must have had the sense to dial 911 on her phone at one point. She couldn’t remember that part at all, but it must have happened since her ears heard the front door clamor open as the paramedics entered the house. Kat's body met the medics as they rushed into Genie's room to revive the cold shell that so closely resembled her daughter. The following twenty-four hours beyond that, Kat retained no memory of.
Elle heard sirens as she and Cal sat down to a classy snack of Cheetos. The mac and cheese simmered on the stove and Elle secretly loved using Cal's cooking as an excuse for her favorite fourth grade foods, save the wine of course. Halfway through the bowl, the house phone that neither knew why they kept interrupted their absent-minded munching. "Yea? Whoa, whoa, slow down--Kat?"
Elle noted Cal's tone and immediately yanked the phone from his Cheetos-stained fingers. He lingered close to her as she tried to calm down her incoherent friend.
"Genie, oh god it's Genie, she's gone. She's gone! They took her. I want my girl!"
"Kat? Honey, slowdown, who took her? Where are--?"
"Ambulance. Blue, she turned blue! I knew it was bad but not this, not this bad. She'd never do it. Why would she-why would sh--sh--she do--,"
"Do what? Is Genie Ok? Are you at home?"
At this point, Cal sprinted out the front door toward the Muller home. He saw the ambulance loading up a stretcher and pulling away. Running back home and between breaths, he relayed this to Elle. She hung up and called Kat back on her cell as she and Cal jumped into the car and drove off to St. Michael’s Hospital.
29
RJ’s peaceful, postprandial stupor was cut short by the shrill sound of his cell phone blaring across the room. Spencer was long gone, likely playing video games in his bedroom. His quality headset blocked virtually any sound beyond those games from entering his head.
RJ rolled over on the couch, catching himself with one arm prior to succumbing to gravity’s full effect. He fumbled for the phone, and squinted to see Billy’s name light up on the iPhone’s screen.
“Bacon, what can I do ya fo—,”
Billy cut him off with gasps and what RJ believed to be muffled sobs.
“She—she—I can’t...I think she...she’s gone, Boss. She’s gone.”
“Who, Billy? Talk to me, what happened?”
At this point, RJ felt a linguistic analyst would have a run for his money attempting to decipher Billy’s tale, but RJ did his best to keep up. By the time he hung up the phone, he was in the process of putting on his coat and heading out to check on Billy. In route, he phoned Elle.
Elle sat in her living room with a glass of wine in hand. Cal sat across from her, elbows on his lap and chin resting in his hands. Neither had much to say, but they couldn’t sleep. Kat and Walt were back at their house. Elle and Cal felt it best they leave them be for the night. Elle’s ringtone broke the silence.
“Hi there," Elle whispered.
“Hey, Princess," came the familiar tone.
“RJ. Oh god. You heard?”