Doll House

by John Hunt

  Olivia said, “Where the fuck did he go?”

  The sensor light on the side of the house didn’t even go on. She looked at the time stamp. The footage was twelve minutes old.

  Brutus yelped from her bedroom. A sound of terrible pain, similar to a scream. She didn’t know dogs could scream.

  . . .

  Even though the Jackal knew this night would entail all manner of risks he would have found unacceptable in the past, he still had made a plan. He expected police surveillance around both his girls’ homes and they had been there, just as recently as yesterday. He spotted the cops and wasn’t impressed. They appeared bored and disinterested and although they changed their positions with regularity, they were still easy to spot. You had to know what to look for and the Jackal had learned it well. He believed with some strategy and a little luck, he could take Olivia right out from under their nose. Wouldn’t that be a pie in the face? He got hard thinking about it. The headlines would be ferocious. They would be more critical towards the police and would spew terror from every TV and newspaper in the country. He would be a superstar! He would be right up there with Bundy except for the getting caught part. He would be the Jack the Ripper of this generation. For years people would wonder who he was.

  To slip in and out with both his girls and escape detection, he needed to note the position of the police before he parked his van and made his approach. When he got to Olivia’s, he couldn’t find them. No government issued sedans with bored men in ugly ties trying to fight off sleep. He checked all the places they were before and…nothing. Where the fuck did they go? Were they onto him? Following him right now with Lucy trussed up in the back?

  He checked his mirrors as though he could pick out the police by their headlights. He scanned every street he passed, careful to drive the speed limit. Sweat dotted his forehead and upper lip. Paranoia choked him. Tendrils of fear filtered through his veins. Had they somehow figured out who he was and were they waiting for him now to park so they could surround him and tear him bodily from the van? He knew dumb luck could ruin anyone. You can be extremely careful yet the stupidest thing can bring you down. A parking ticket did in the Son of Sam. Not every variable can be accounted for. Some things were out of your control no matter how much you may wish it to be otherwise. At least when he had the house, the chances of discovery were significantly reduced. If only that fucking Shawn Grady followed the rules! They were there for a reason! He wouldn’t be here now, driving the dark streets looking for police, waiting for them to swoop out of the sky and nab him. Remembering the man arrested outside Lucy’s house, another idea sprang to mind. Is it possible? Could it be? Did they pull the surveillance? Did they think they had arrested the Jackal? Could the explanation for no police around Olivia’s house be that simple?

  A smile flittered on his face, as tremulous as Jell-O as he was still unsure. It seemed too good to be true. He cruised the streets around Olivia’s house. No cops. He saw the flickering lights of TV’s in darkened windows with unimaginative people watching the screen and ignoring each other and wondering how much a divorce would cost them after the dust settled, or gossiping about their neighbours and worrying about their lawns. Or busy creating mini-versions of themselves so they can repeat the family cycle of get married-buy house-have kids-retire-die.

  He wondered what they would do if he walked in their house, grabbed a knife from their own kitchen and went to work on them. Gutting them and cutting them down till the carpets squished crimson. Would they even run? Would they scream? Would they try to save their own lives? He didn’t think so. They would be too shocked to react and by the time they’d think to, he’d be working on them with the knife. He had to admit, he was curious. And it’d be one hell of a diversion for the police and it would be entertaining, to say the least. From driving around though and not seeing one cop in the area, keeping an eye on Olivia, he could see he wouldn’t need a diversion because there was nobody here.

  He spent another thirty minutes searching the side streets before he decided to get on with it. He knew, at some point, the police would stop protecting Olivia at some point. Security like that was too expensive to keep going forever. Still, he expected them to last a lot longer than they did. Amazing. The police were going to get fisted by the media after he took Olivia. He gripped the steering wheel and bared his teeth and thought, not my problem. He parked his car on a side street making sure he could park without getting towed or a ticket but close enough to drive over and carry away his prize. Lucy lay motionless on the floor. Tied up as she was, she had no mobility. He had stuffed a rag in her mouth and taped it on so even if she screamed, it be hardly loud enough for anyone passing by to hear. Not that anyone would be passing by at this time of night. He grabbed his back-pack from the floor behind the seat and opened it. The eyes of his mask greeted him. He ran a finger over the brow. He moved it aside and double checked that he brought the equipment he needed. Yup. All there. A tingle started in his guts. Like he was nervous, as though he was going on a first date. This wouldn’t be his first date with Olivia but was sure, at the end of it, he would be going all the way. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and hummed Ava Maria.

  -39-

  “Fuck this,” muttered Olivia. She fished the alarm out of her shirt and depressed the button. Her hands shook, picturing the signal reaching out to the dispatcher at the police station, someone, maybe an older woman chewing gum with a headset on, recognizing the priority alarm and sending officers to her home, their sirens piercing the night. How long would it take? How close was the nearest cop? Would Brutus die before they got here? Her teeth chattered. She clicked the alarm on the chain again her ears straining to hear the faintest sound of a police siren.

  She peered out into the hall, her breath hot and choppy. Her fingers hurt from clutching the knife so hard. She stared at Harry’s closed door. Should she call out to her dad? Would she want him waking up and stumbling into the hall, eyes heavy with sleep? Brutus whined from her bedroom. His pain squeezed her heart. The Jackal was here. Somehow, he got into the house and he was waiting for her in her own bedroom, wanting her to come check on her dog. Using poor Brutus as bait. Fuck! She hoped they had caught him when Davis called but at the time, didn’t she know? Didn’t she say as much to Harry? He couldn’t be caught like that. It was too easy. How can this be happening! Poor Brutus. A pawn in the sick fucker’s game. Was he bleeding out on her floor while she sat here?

  Just calm down. The cops have to be here soon. No need to go all hero right now. From her bedroom, the song of Ava Maria issued. Although she knew the Jackal was here, in her home, the song cemented the belief and made it firm in her mind. She ground her teeth and gripped the knife. She toyed with the idea that this was some strange fucking mistake. Something that reason could account for and explain away the shadow creeping outside her house and the terrible sounds of pain from Brutus. The Jackal couldn’t be here, in her home, could he? The song, though. That fucking song removed all doubts. He was here in her house. He was in her bedroom, maybe smelling her pillow or whatever sick fucking thing that got him off. Tonight, she would be fighting for her life. Where were the goddamn cops?

  “Olivia?”

  Shit. Her dad’s shadow popped into the hall.

  “What’s wrong with Brutus? And what’s with the music?”

  Brutus whined at the mention of his name.

  The light from the office shone golden in the hall while the dark of night claimed everywhere else.

  “Olivia? You in the office?”

  Shut up, dad, she pleaded. Just shut up! Go back to your room. The cops will be here any minute. She peered out. Harry was a dark outline in the hall. She waved a hand towards him motioning him back, to get away, but his gaze was on Olivia’s door.

  Harry took a step out of his room. His weight creaked
on the boards.

  Go back to bed! Please!

  His hand reached out for the hallway light switch. The light clicked on and he squinted from the brightness. In the moment he blinked to acclimate to the light, her nightmare moved into the hall. Swathed in black clothing he moved with incredible swiftness. The long ears of the mask brushed the underside of the doorway as he closed the distance to Harry. The Jackal’s broad back filled the hallway. Harry jumped back against the wall. Harry’s eyes bulged, standing there in a white T-shirt and boxer shorts with penguins on them. He had time to raise his hands before the Jackal was upon him.

  The Jackal straight-armed Harry in the forehead with his left arm and in his right a knife blade caught the hallway light before it arced in under Harry’s outstretched arm and plunged into his soft middle. One, two, three times it sank into flesh. Ruby drops splashed the floor when the knife came out. Red bloomed on Harry’s shirt as he stepped back and then his hands caught the Jackal’s wrist as they struggled in the hall. Blood from Harry’s wounds gushed to the floor and the pattering drops sounded like rain. Olivia’s mouth unhinged and a shrieking wail burned her throat. Dimly aware of the sound, recognizing that it was her making it, she watched her father slip on the blood pooling under his feet and with the weight of the Jackal on top of him, he hit the floor, hard. The back of his head bounced off the hardwood floor, a clunking sound, like a bowling ball bouncing down the lane thrown by a careless hand. He stopped moving.

  “Dad!”

  The Jackal’s head turned to her. His back heaved under the coat and his breath sounded forced through the mask, the only evidence of his struggles with Harry. Where was her strength now? All this time, she had wondered what she would do if the Jackal turned up suddenly and now she knew. She would freeze and watch in horror while he tore her world apart again. Is this how it would end? With her dad dying on the floor and Brutus, a dog she rescued just to get him killed, sacrificing himself for her?

  She ground her teeth. Tears burned her eyes. Her nose burned and her lip lifted in a snarl.

  Olivia said, “Fuck that!”

  It wasn’t happening that way. He wouldn’t take her from here. He wouldn’t touch her in any way ever again. The sounds of Ava Maria stoked her anger. He meant to scare her? Petrify her into submission and make it easy for him to take her away and dump her into another hell hole? He wouldn’t kill her like he did with Jen. His mercy didn’t extend to her. For some warped reason he believed there was intimacy between them. He would spirit her away so he could renew his vows of cruelty. No one would ever see her again.

  She wouldn’t be locked in a cage to suffer that ever again. She wouldn’t let him do it. If the cops didn’t get here soon, she would finish it for them both, one way or another. She clutched the knife in her fist and crouched at the entrance to the office. Perspiration dampened her skin and her muscles trembled. If he wanted her, he would have to come to her.

  The Jackal stood. Blood shone on the arms of his coat and darkened the legs of his pants. He stepped towards her.

  She held up the alarm for him to see and said, “The cops are coming dick-wad! Better get the fuck gone!”

  He shook his shaggy head and with the knife-free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a device. A red light flashed, an eye blinking in the darkness.

  “Cool. You have a remote control. Amazing. Now fuck off!”

  He stepped closer, his boots leaving red prints on the floor. That was her father’s blood on his boots.

  He waved the knife back and forth, like you would wag a finger and held the device up again.

  What’s so fucking important about it?

  “You know, if you opened your mouth and spoke, I might know what the hell you’re trying to communicate here.” But as soon as she finished the sentence she knew.

  He had showed her the device right after she held out the alarm, telling him the cops were coming. Why would he do that and not run off? Because he knew the police weren’t coming. The Jackal had thought of everything. That thing in his hand, the black box he was so keen to show off to her was a signal jammer. It had to be. That stupid thing had blocked the alarm from being sent. She had read about them on the internet when she was researching her alarm system. She craned her head, hoping for the sound of a siren or catching a glimpse of flashing lights indicating the police were on their way and hoping she was wrong and the Jackal was just another crazy asshole the world seemed littered with. He was crazy, only a different kind of crazy. Not the gibbering, salivating insane person who doesn’t know right from wrong or what the consequences could reasonably be from their actions. The type of person who might cut off their mother’s head because they believe she had been replaced by an alien. No, the Jackal knew what he did was wrong and took great pains to hide himself from view. He blended into the background, a tree in a forest of trees. Knowing this, she knew the Jackal brought the jammer to get into her house and out with his prize with no one being the wiser.

  She grabbed the alarm and depressed the button frantically, wanting to be wrong about the jammer. She wasn’t wrong. The clicking of the button competed with Ava Maria in the relative silence of the house.

  He stopped a short distance from her and although the mask hid his face, she knew he smiled under it. She could feel it and was overwhelmed by the hate it arose in her. Acid in her veins commingled with the fury pumping her heart. An ugly grin distorted her normally kind features. Behind him, Harry’s stomach rose and fell. Slow though, too slow for Olivia’s liking. Blood pulsed from the wounds with every exhale.

  Her grip tightened on the knife. She would love to run it through the bastard who stood in her hall, taunting her as her dad lay dying on the floor and her dog, poor Brutus may already be dead in her room. He was a destroyer, this masked maniac. Relentless. He would never let her go. Not as long as he was alive. Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid games!

  “This fun for you, you sick, small pricked bastard! Is that why you never touched me? Didn’t want me to laugh at your tiny cock? Would I need a magnifying glass to find it? Maybe some tweezers?” She stood and he stepped back. She had made him step back. Was it fear he felt? Do monsters feel fear? Whatever it was, it satisfied her right to her core. Made her cheeks stretch into a smile lacking any humour. She stifled a giggle and a thought flittered through her head, this is what crazy feels like, and you know what? It feels good. Real good. She charged with a growl.

  . . .

  All thoughts of safety and self preservation left her. She wanted the Jackal’s head on a pike and if there was any justice in this world, she would have it. She could mount it on her wall above the dinner table and she and her dad could laugh about how silly the stupid man had been, thinking he could take her. She wanted to kill him and without hesitation she ran at him, knife raised, an animal snarl vibrating bass in her chest. She didn’t see the Jackal remove something from his pocket, a black tool fitting into his hand perfectly. If she did, she would’ve been alarmed and maybe even stalled her flight to gut him. She did halt, somewhat, maybe the atavistic, primitive part of her brain alerting her to danger made her pause when he moved towards her and not away. It wasn’t a knife he held. It was something else. Her knife reached him first. It slit a tear along his right arm and dug a furrow in his flesh. Then the tool he held hit her in the chest and she heard a clicking noise, like a breaker in a fuse box and pain infused her, invaded her. It stalled her muscles, tore into them with hot current and her legs failed her as she collapsed at the Jackal’s feet. A Taser. The fucking bastard brought a Taser. The knife fell from her hand and clattered out of reach.

  In practiced movements, the Jackal turned her over, held her wrists together and secured them together with a zip-tie. He moved down to her feet and sat on her legs. Her body began to respond to her comm
ands again yet felt clumsy and disconnected. She tried to separate her feet and his weight settled on her hard, crushing her knees against the hard floor. The ties secured her ankles together causing the bones to grind together. Once done, he stood pushed her over onto her side using his foot. He knelt and his knees cracked as lowered himself to her level. Trussed up with ease, it brought back the first time with the Gorilla in the back of the van when his weight had crushed her and she learned what helplessness meant.

  She groaned, “Not again.”

  She craned her head up. The shadows of his eyes studied her. He ruffled her hair like you would a kid after they scored a goal or did well on a test. His heavy breathing echoed in the mask. God, she fucking hated him!