The Dollhouse

by Stacia Stone

  "Okay. Bye, love you."

  "School starts really early," Momma said as she came back on the line. "If Lucy doesn't go to bed now, there's no way that she'll wake up in time."

  "That's okay," I said, trying to hide my disappointment. It wasn't until this moment that I realized how much I missed my family. "Is Luis around?"

  "He won't be back from work for another hour but I'll tell him that you called."

  "Oh, okay."

  "Anyway, I have to get Lucy tucked in before it gets too late. You'll call back soon, right? Whenever I try to reach you it goes right to voicemail."

  I ignored a slight pang of guilt at that. I hated the lies and the subterfuge. "Yeah, I can't always answer. They really keep me running here."

  "Well, don't spend too much on your feet. You'll get varicose veins."

  No danger of that, I thought to myself. Julian definitely seemed to prefer me in positions other than vertical. "I'll do my best, Momma. Love you."

  "I love you, too."

  I held the phone to my ear for few moments after she hung up, listening to the empty drone of the dial tone. I wanted to see my family. I'd already missed my little sister's first day of school. I hadn't been there to help her pick out her very first backpack or write her name neatly on all of her school supplies.

  I couldn't deny that Julian cast a nearly irresistible lure. But what was I being forced to give up?

  Naomi was in the dining room when I went downstairs, laying out one place setting on the table. She glanced up at me as I approached and set the last utensil down with an audible sniff.

  "Is it just me?" I asked.

  "Mr. Julian has always come and gone as he pleased," was her impassive response.

  "Must be nice to have that kind of freedom," I murmured as I slid into the seat that she held out from the table.

  Naomi set a bowl of yogurt and a plate of fruit down in front of me. "I've always found that women will insist on getting what they think they deserve."

  I glanced up at her. "You're going to have to explain that one to me a little better."

  "I mean that if you truly know what you're worth than you won't settle for anything else."

  "You sound like a motivational poster."

  Naomi picked up a cloth napkin and shook it in front of my face. "That doesn't mean I'm wrong. Men like Mr. Julian are used to taking what they want, but that doesn't mean you have to give it to them."

  I set down the spoon in my hand and stared up into her serious brown eyes. Even if I didn't understand exactly what she was saying, there was clearly a meaning behind it. "Are you telling me that I should leave?"

  She placed a hand on my shoulder and the gesture was so gentle that tears threatened in the corners of my eyes. "I'm saying it's just as important for you to get what you need, as it is for anyone else."

  "Thank you, Naomi." I brushed away the tear that threatened to fall and slide down my cheek. "I can't imagine what you think of me, carrying on like this with a married man. I swear I'm not a bad person."

  "Married man?"

  "I promise you that I didn't know at first. But I've seen his ring and it's not like he's hiding it from me. I never thought I'd be one of those girls, you know." I realized I was blathering but couldn't seem to stop. Somehow, Naomi had become my only confidante. "I've never wanted to hurt anyone and the thought that Julian's wife is back in Chicago waiting for him to come home just kills me, but I'm not strong enough to walk away."

  "You're worried about Mr. Julian's wife?" Naomi asked carefully.

  "Is she a wonderful person?" I asked apprehensively, not sure if I wanted that question to actually be answered. "Should I feel even more terrible?"

  Naomi cleared her throat and turned away, as if carefully choosing her words. "When I first met Mrs. Berkmore-Hathaway, I thought she was one of the loveliest people that I've ever met. That hasn't changed."

  My face fell. "Oh."

  "But," Naomi said, her voice careful. "The situation is more complicated than you seem to know."

  "Complicated how?"

  "It's not really for me to say. Perhaps you should speak with Mr. Julian."

  I scoffed. "I'm sure that conversation would go just perfectly."

  "Well you'll never know otherwise, will you?"

  "I have a gift for you."

  I barely reacted as the voice as smooth as silk and hard as iron floated over me. I set aside the book I was reading and looked up to see Julian standing in the door of the study. The lamp next to me — the only light in the darkened room — wasn't enough to make him seem like anything more than a shadow.

  "Is it a puppy?" I asked lightly. Enough time had passed that I was no longer surprised by his sudden appearances and disappearing acts. "I'm going to be disappointed if it's not a puppy.”

  "I think you'll get over it." He crossed the room with his hands hidden behind the back. "Lucky for you I don't like guessing games."

  He dropped a heavy white box wrapped in plastic on my lap. I flipped it over to read the words embossed on the other side. "Are you serious?"

  Julian raised an eyebrow, obviously amused by incredulity. "I am always serious."

  "This is a Macbook Pro!" I turned the box over in my hands, barely convinced that it was real. This laptop was one of the best that Apple made and was better than anything I'd ever owned before. "This is for me?"

  "It's all yours." He produced a glossy catalogue and tossed it on top of the computer. "The community college on the other side of the mountain has courses starting next week. I thought you might like to enroll in a few of them online.”

  "Online classes?" I picked up the catalog and slowly turned a couple of pages. "Why?"

  "Why not?" He sat on the arm of the sofa and looked down at the catalog over my shoulder. "Do you have something more important occupying your time?"

  "Obviously not." My fingers stroked over the box, marveling at how even the packaging seemed expensive. I'd never actually owned a computer before. The school had given me a used Dell laptop as part of my financial aid package but I'd had to return it when I dropped out. "Thank you. This is amazing."

  His fingers stroked down my cheek, making me shiver. "Anything for you."

  Not anything. I wondered if he said things like that to his wife. If he plied her with gifts and sweet words before he betrayed her trust in the worst possible way.

  "I didn't think you'd be back tonight."

  The fingers on my cheek moved lower to trace the curve of my bottom lip. "Do you wish I'd stayed away?"

  "No." I couldn't lie to him even if I'd wanted to. "It just seems like a lot, going back and forth all of the time. Especially considering how much you hate to fly."

  He grimaced in apparent agreement. "Unfortunately, the company won't run itself."

  "But people must miss you when you're gone."

  He shrugged. "That's unlikely."

  "There must be someone." My gaze fell to the hand that rested against his knee, where the gold wedding band glinted darkly in the dim light.

  His fingers gripped my chin and tipped it up so our eyes met. "If you have a question, then ask it."

  "Does your wife know about me, about this?"

  The fingers on my chin tightened until I let out a small pain sound. "I've asked you not to pursue that.”

  "But—“

  "And now I'm telling you," He released the iron grip on my chin. "Disobey me again and you will bear the consequences."

  I stared down at my hands as they clenched together on top of the ridiculously expensive computer that rested on my lap. "You don't understand what this is doing to me."

  "I do understand." His voice had softened but still contained a core of steel. "And I need you to trust that there are things I understand that you do not."

  I closed my eyes against the overwhelming wave of emotion that threatened to overtake me. I couldn't speak and just shook my head as tears blurred my vision.

  "You wanted to submit to me, Dalea.
You promised to repress your will in favor of mine." His fingers slipped into my hair and caught against my scalp until he cradled my head in his hand. "I know it's difficult to surrender to things that you don't understand, but I know you're capable of it."

  "Please—“ The word was barely a whisper.

  Julian stood abruptly, leaving me cold. "Look over the catalogue and then give me a list of the classes that you'd like to take. I'm going to get in the shower."

  He left the room without another word. I sat there silently in the dark, staring down at my lap. The computer still sat next to me on the sofa and I pushed it away, feeling angry and despondent.

  Is this really what I wanted — to be controlled and owned like a favored pet who was rewarded with caresses and treats in exchange for good behavior? Was Julian worth this horrible feeling of guilt?

  I heard a rustling sound and looked up to see Naomi standing in the doorway. The housekeeper's face was impossible to read in the dark but I could make out the grim set of her mouth.

  Without a word, Naomi reached into her pocket and pulled out something small. Her hand moved to the low table by the doorway and set the item down on the top. I heard the clink of metal against the wood.

  She silently retreated back into the darkness of the hallway, leaving me alone. I surged forward off the couch and quickly crossed the room.

  A key sat on the table, silver and small on the dark surface. I used my fingernails to pry it up and held it in my hand. Naomi didn't need to explain herself, not really.

  She knew as well as I did that there was only one locked door in this entire house.

  My footsteps were soft as I walked down the hallway. Julian had once again been gone when I woke up for the day, but my nerves still jangled with anxiety.

  The door at the end of the hallway beckoned me like a lighthouse beacon. I had no idea what I would find there, but knew that Naomi had given me the key for a reason.

  I was almost certain that Julian was out of the house and he didn't usually return until the late afternoon or evening. But there was always a risk that he'd turn up without warning. It wasn't as if he made a point of sharing his schedule with me.

  If Naomi knew what I was up to, she'd wisely chosen to maintain plausible deniability. I hadn't seen her all morning.

  It was bright outside but this part of the hallway was dark. I looked up and noticed that the lightbulbs at this end had gone out and not been replaced, which was almost certainly intentional.

  I felt like the tragic heroine in some Gothic romance about to discover the secrets hidden away by the Byronesque master of the house. Of course, I was choosing to ignore the fact that things almost never ended well for the female characters in those sorts of books.

  When I reached the door, a thrill shook down my spine. I was really doing this, really about to uncover something that Julian clearly didn't want me to see.

  He never said that you couldn't, a sly voice whispered in my mind.

  I pushed the key into the lock and the knob turned easily underneath my hand. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door.

  The smell of must and stale air hit me first. I sneezed several times, stirring up a cloud of dust. Everything in the room was coated in a fine layer of the stuff, so clearly nothing in here had been disturbed for quite some time.

  It felt like I was stepping inside of a museum exhibit as I walked into the room. A rocking chair sat in front of the window and next to it was an old-fashioned cradle, the kind with bows and bells carved into the wood at the ends and high-slatted sides.

  A small dresser sat against one wall. I pulled a drawer open to find neatly folded onesies, jumpers and socks. My fingers left prints in the dust as I pushed the drawer closed.

  This had obviously been a nursery. I didn't understand where the big secret was in that. Julian had said this had been his family's house for generations, maybe this nursery had been his.

  Why would it need to be locked?

  A photo album sat on a little table next to the rocking chair. I picked it up and it fell open to the middle as if the album had been opened to that place repeatedly.

  A beautiful brunette woman smiled into the camera as she leaned against the railing of a balcony that overlooked some tropical beach. She was obviously pregnant and one hand cradled the large curve of her belly. There were several shots of her in different poses and different stages of pregnancy.

  I smiled briefly, but the smile faded when I turned the next page. There was a huge 8x10 of the same woman, but this time she wasn't alone. Julian posed in the picture with her, his face smiling and more relaxed than I'd ever seen it before.

  Is this her?

  I flipped quickly through the pages. There were more pictures of the two of them together, happy and relaxed as if they didn't have a care in the world. I traced the curve of her belly in one picture, where they both stood in front of a farmhouse, her arms around him.

  And there's a baby.

  The thought of it made me feel ill. I had to turn away from the photo album for a minute to remain calm.

  I'd never imagined Julian as a father. I couldn't picture him ferrying a kid back and forth to soccer practice or cheering from the stands at a swimming competition. Everything about him was the opposite of domestic.

  And did that make me an even worse person than I imagined? Was I responsible for not only coming in-between a marriage but keeping a child from his father. The thought of it made me hate myself.

  I knew logically that Julian was responsible for his own choices, but that didn't keep me from being culpable as well.

  Towards the end the album, I expected to see pictures of the baby and at least a few photos of the three of them together. But the photos abruptly stopped and the last few pages were blank.

  I set the album back down where I'd found it, feeling unhappy. More questions swirled in my mind than answers. What had Naomi hoped that I would find, besides more proof that I was a horrible person?

  It was then that I noticed the slip of brown paper sticking out from the back of the album. I carefully pulled it free. It was newsprint, worn and thin under my fingers.

  The paper was actually a folded news clipping and old enough that it threatened to rip at the neat creases if I didn't handle it gently.

  I read the headline in dawning horror:

  Pregnant wife of local entrepreneur found dead in apparent suicide.

  "Oh my God," I whispered involuntary, the shock of it literally pulling the words from me.

  My gaze was hyper-focused as I read, as if each word would fly off of the page and disappear if I didn't give it my utmost attention.

  Cynthia Berkmore-Hathaway was found dead this morning in the bathtub of the residence she shared with her husband, local entrepreneur Julian Berkmore-Hathaway. The city coroner's office has tentatively ruled the death a suicide with full autopsy results and cause of death still pending.

  Berkmore-Hathaway was found unresponsive by the couple's housekeeper after an apparent drug overdose of sleeping medication. A suicide note was discovered near the body that has not been released to the media.

  According to the victim's mother, Berkmore-Hathaway was approximately eight-months pregnant with her first child at the time of her death. Her mother also went on to say that Berkmore-Hathaway had no history of mental illness or suicide attempts and that this comes as "an absolute shock and tragedy."

  Julian Berkmore-Hathaway was not available for comment at the time of writing and has not released a public statement.

  I set down the news article with shaking hands. Thoughts rushed through my mind at a pace that made it impossible to focus on any single one. Emotions warred within me. I didn't know what to think and I didn't know how to feel.

  There was nothing else in the photo album, no other news reports or mementos. I had obviously found the only thing that Julian had chosen to keep to remember his dead wife.

  His wife is dead.

  This must have been what Naomi w
anted me to find. But it didn't make sense, why wouldn't she just tell me the truth instead of letting me make a fool of myself obsessing over a person who no longer existed.

  Because he wouldn't let her, a tiny voice inside of me whispered.

  Which made perfect sense. Julian was the type of person to want to control every aspect of his life, and the lives of those around him. He had kept this information from me on purpose. That much was obvious, even if I didn't understand the reason why.

  I had spent so much time agonizing over the fact that Julian had a family at home waiting for him, and now I discovered that he's a widower. He let me suffer over the idea of contributing to the betrayal of a person that no longer existed. The deception didn't make sense. What could he possibly have had to gain?

  Except, there was no future in a relationship with a married man. While I agonized over thoughts of his poor wife, I paid no attention to what our relationship could mean or where it could go. What a tidy little system that he'd set up. I couldn't ask for what was already committed elsewhere.

  You can't wear a ring that's already on someone else's finger.

  The thought of it made me so angry that it was nearly impossible to think straight. He had manipulated me so easily, allowing me to obsess with my internal struggle, while he took from me exactly what he wanted.

  Cynthia. I finally had a name and face to the specter that had haunted me. And not only had she killed herself, but she took her baby along with her.

  What could possibly have made her to do that? They looked so happy in the pictures and she had a fairy-tale life spread out in front of her.

  Had he driven her to it? Julian was clearly manipulative and prized his own desires over everyone else's. The article said that the housekeeper, Naomi most likely, had found her body. That meant that Julian had been out of the house when it happened.

  The woman in that picture had loved him. I could see it in her eyes. Whatever else she had felt, love had almost certainly a part of it.

  Had he kept her sequestered, forced to live alone while he was off doing whatever it was he wanted? Was his relationship with me an all-too familiar pattern — control instead of companionship and possession instead of passion.