Doll House

by John Hunt

  “Fuck you, asshole!” She spat at him.

  From behind his back he drew the knife and put the point towards her eyes. She pulled her head back, away from him and squeezed her eyes shut. Pain flared in her scalp as he yanked her towards him by her hair, a thousand complaints tingling from her roots.

  Cold steel touched the lid of her right eye. The touch turned into pressure and she gasped and pulled her head away but he wouldn’t let her move. She imagined him plucking out her eye, gouging it out of her head so she could feel the scrape of the steel on her orbital bone before he dragged it out. She didn’t want to plead. The words left her mouth without permission.

  “Please! Don’t do that. Please, please, please.”

  The pressure released and a cry escaped her throat.

  He stood and grabbed her by the wrists. He dragged her along the floor, taking her back to the bedroom. As her face slid along the hardwood floor, every pull on her wrists intensified the pain in her shoulder joints as though they were separating from the sockets. Her cheeks burned with friction from the floor and she turned her head so her hair would act as a buffer. He grunted as he dragged her into her room with that stupid song playing on her radio. Did he bring his own iPod and plug it in? Of course he did. He was a dramatic bastard.

  He released her by the closet. His heavy tread walked around the bed and the music stopped. Wouldn’t want to leave his iPod now would he? Nope. Not that. The light from the hallway spilled a yellow rectangle on her floor. Brutus’ body lay under the bed and a dark trail marred her carpet. Blood coated the floor under him. He must have dragged himself under her bed after the Jackal hurt him.

  She cried. Sobs that wracked her chest and forced snot from her nose.

  “Brutus…my poor Brutus.”

  His tail twitched. Feebly and without any real energy. How much time did he have left? Would he die here on the floor, alone, like her dad? Was her dad still alive? When would someone bother to check on them? She shimmied her way towards him using her hips and legs to squirm over until the Jackal stepped over her and into the closet. What the fuck? She heard a thump, like boots hitting dirt. Where the hell was he doing? Brutus whined. She inched closer to him, she wanted to touch him, wanted him to know she loved him and so she said it, “You’re a good dog, Brutus. I love you boy.”

  She peered into the closet, wondering where the Jackal went and what he was doing when gloved hands popped out of the darkness, grabbing her feet. He spun her onto her back and she gasped at what she saw. The light from the hallway didn’t reach far enough to illuminate him in her closet but she could see enough of him to know that what she saw didn’t make sense. He seemed as shadow mostly, a dark outline in her closet but the light carpet in the floor of her closet disappeared at his chest. The lower half of his body was in, no, under the floor! How could that be? His upper body moved further into the light as he reached up her body to drag her towards him. The shaggy head of his mask and the long ears gave him an otherworldly appearance, like a cruel Egyptian god dragging her to the underworld. She screamed and he yanked her towards him until she bumped into his waist. He lifted her legs and with a fistful of her hair drew her knees to her nose bending her in the middle so she resembled a ‘v’. He moved back and then he dropped her into the dark. A breathless moment as she fell thinking this was it, there was a hole in the earth and it would swallow her up and then she hit the ground with her back. It knocked the air from her. The restraints dug into her wrists and her shoulder blades tightened the skin across her back, stretching and straining. Her feet still stuck up out of the hole. She saw the shape of them above her with the feeble light outlining her toes with a golden glow. Dirt puffed up when she hit the ground. She tasted dirt in her mouth and spit it out. She was under the house. She didn’t know how it was possible but she had been dropped into a hole in her closet and hit the earth. She regained her breath and looked at the Jackal watching her. How had he done this? She would have heard him cutting into her floor at some point. None of this night was possible. The light from the hallway silhouetted him and she saw the long ears, the hair sticking up in crazy tangles and with a full body chill she understood. Monsters are real. That wasn’t a mask he was wearing, it was his real face. And now he would take her back to his cave and she would disappear and this time there would be no escape and no one to save her. She didn’t think she’d be able to save herself, not again. And even though she had escaped once, it wasn’t when the Jackal had been there. No. He wouldn’t have allowed that. The Jackal would have quashed the uprising with a cruel fist and a liberal use of his knife and gardening shears. Anger and despair swirled within her. She wanted to give up. Disappear into that inner world where he couldn’t touch her. Push away the terror and the fear and give herself over to surrender. The idea held attraction for her. And then she remembered Jen. Her distant stare. The way she would be there and not be there, as though she lived on another plane, pushed there by a cruelty she couldn’t fathom. The Jackal snuck into Jen’s home, killed her mother and then murdered and mutilated Jen just so Olivia would know, all of them would know, that there was no escape. This monster who created Jen and emptied her of her inner self and pushed it into the corner like a terrified child had now invaded her home to do the same to her. Not the same though. He had tied her up to take her with him. He wasn’t done with her. He had murdered Jen. She feared him, that’s for sure, but she also hated him and wanted him to feel fear, feel pain and to die at her hands so that way, she knew he would never come back for her. She wanted to tear the stupid mask off his face and jam it down his throat with a knife. Olivia tasted blood in her mouth and it reminded her of the Gorilla and what it felt like to rip into his throat so she could be free. Why should she make it easy on him? Fuck him. Let him take her eyes, take whatever the hell he wanted but she wouldn’t make it easy for the bastard. He would have to fight her all the way. She would make every inch a struggle for him and if she saw the moment where she could kill him, like she killed Grady by ripping out his neck with her teeth, then she sure as hell was going to do it. If he put a finger near her mouth, he would lose it. Even now, why the hell should she lie here and let him take her? She still had her voice didn’t she? Let’s wake up all the neighbours, hell, the whole world, with her screams. Let her feet kick and take him in the groin, shins, knees wherever but in no way should she lie down and give in.

  And so Olivia screamed. Screamed so her throat burned raw with the force of it, could feel the fibres vibrate and when her air ran out, she sucked in another glorious mouthful and let loose with a yell a Banshee would envy.

  The Jackal put his hands on the side of his head. Not up by the fake ears, but by the side of his head where his ears would be and Olivia thought, just a man after all and screamed some more.

  He raised his foot and she saw it, clenched her muscles to prepare for it yet still kept up her screaming. He booted her in the stomach and she felt her ribs bend with the force. She folded, drawing her knees into her chest. Tears squeezed out of her eyes. Her entire midsection throbbed, thrummed with pain. She could still feel the imprint of his foot. Did a rib crack? Her voice cut off and she found herself struggling to drag in air. As she gulped, her mouth a round ‘o’ knowing she looked like a fish out of water, the Jackal removed another item and she heard a tearing and knew what it was. He brought tape. The fuck-stick was a regular boy scout. Prepared for everything. She couldn’t draw a breath and she wondered what she would do if he sealed that tape not only over her mouth but her nose too. Would she buck on the dirty ground as he stood over her watching her with implacable indifference?

  He dragged her closer to him and knelt so his head and neck protruded from the floor. He knelt onto her stomach and put his weight on her. Her arms and shoulders ached and her ribs throbbed. There didn’t seem to be a spot on her body that didn’t hurt. He was stretching the tape out to
cover her mouth when she saw a dark blob merge with the Jackal’s head and Olivia, squinting, tried to discern what it was. Light from the hallway gave it a faint outline. It was furry and it growled.

  . . .

  The Jackal stiffened aware something wasn’t right, something had changed and before he could turn his head, Brutus’ open jaws clamped around the Jackal’s neck and his teeth crunched into flesh. The Jackal tried to stand but was jerked off balance by Brutus, using whatever strength he had left to tug and pull and shake the Jackal. Olivia tucked in her legs so her knees brushed her nose and guessing where his knees might be, she shot them out. Crack! He fell and he gurgled a scream. She never heard such a beautiful sound. Grimacing, she kicked out again and her foot sank into softness and his gurgling scream was cut off. Brutus didn’t let go. He growled and although Olivia couldn’t see it from her angle on the floor, she imagined Brutus pushing against the floor with his forepaws as he tugged at the flesh on the Jackal’s neck. Brutus was doing everything he could to help her. She wanted to cry, she wanted to scream and get out of this hole to help him. Something wet and warm splattered on her face. She closed her mouth into a thin line. The smell of copper filled the small space. It was a familiar scent to her. Blood.

  She didn’t want any of his blood in her mouth. She wanted nothing of him to ever get inside her. She didn’t know the moment when the breath returned to her but she found herself yelling, “Good boy, Brutus. Eat him up! Eat the fucker up!”

  The Jackal punched at Brutus over his shoulder, tried to get his fingers in between his jaws. Brutus wouldn’t let go and the Jackal’s efforts grew weaker. Brutus growled and tugged. Blood pattered on the dirt and on her face and into her hair. Soon, the Jackal’s hands flopped into his lap. Brutus let go and fell onto his side. She couldn’t see him anymore but she could hear him and it scared her. His panting was so loud in the quiet aftermath.

  She had to move. She had to get free and get help for her dad and Brutus. Her eyes watered and she shook them clear. No time for that now. She bent her legs in tight to her body and shimmied her hands under her butt to clear the bottom of her feet. It was hard work. She grunted and her muscles along her shoulders stretched and bones popped in the joints. She cringed with the effort and the strain it put on her body. She was so close to the Jackal and the area she had to work in was tight. When she had her hands in front of her she got to her knees. She wanted the knife in his pocket so she could cut the ties off. She would have to search his pockets. Her hands hesitated on the front of his dark jacket. She peered at his mask. Too dark to see anything, just vague shadows, lumps of darkness. Brutus whined and she jumped.

  “I’m hurrying boy. I’ll get us help.”

  She fumbled her hands into his pockets, looking for the knife.

  “C’mon, where is it?”

  In horror movies, this is the part where the madman would grab her wrist and say something witty. She glanced at him, wary, because after all she had been through, the idea didn’t seem ridiculous at all.

  Nothing in the first pocket. She reached over him and searched the other. Her hand closed on a hard edge. She pulled it out. A red light blinked at her. It must be the jammer.

  She ran her thumb along the outside, feeling for the off button. She found a switch and slid it to the side. The red light extinguished. Biting her lip, she reached for the chain on her neck and pressed the button, once, twice and a third time just for the hell of it.

  “Help’s coming buddy. Hold on.”

  She needed the knife. It would be so much easier to climb out of this hole with her feet and hands free. Her hands moved along his waist and she grunted as she tugged him a little forwards so she could get to the back. Her heart thudded in her chest and the smell of his blood was stronger, more cloying. She coughed and kept working. Her fingers found a handle. She grinned in the dark. She pulled it free and sat back, taking a quick breath before she turned the knife and worked at the ties. She would have to be careful. In the dark she could easily slice open her wrists. She giggled. Thinking how stupid it would be to survive all this only to die because she cut open her own veins trying to break free.

  Harry. Brutus. Remember them? Quick fucking around. She inhaled through her nose and released out her mouth. She visualized the knife, imagining how to turn it so the sharp part of the blade faced up and she could saw through the ties. She frowned in concentration and pressed the blade to the hard plastic and sawed. A shiver passed through her. No, not a shiver, more like a body-quake. So violent, she fumbled the knife and almost dropped it. She gripped it tight and the Jackal grabbed her wrist.

  She screamed, a quick bark and his grip ground her knuckles together. She held onto the knife and then the Jackal spoke. She kept a tight grip on the knife and was turning the blade towards him but he stopped her, holding her in place. He spoke broken words between breaths, “I love…you…Olivia. I just wanted…you…to know that.”

  His hand lost strength and slid off her wrist.

  Olivia said, “Go fuck yourself!” And she plunged the blade into him. Again and again. Not in a furious motion. More like a piston. Plunging it in and twisting it out with rhythmic regularity, the knife becoming slick in her blood soaked hands. She stopped when she heard the wail of sirens.

  She sawed through the ties on her hands and then stood, her knees cracked and her cramped muscles shot pain through her thighs. Olivia cut through the ties on her feet and when she was done she stuck the knife in the Jackal’s chest with a grunt. The adrenaline dump shook her frame. Her shaking hands touched Brutus. His chest rose under her hand. A sob broke from her throat and she climbed out of the hole and said to Brutus, “I’ll be back boy. I got to check on my dad.” Her voice broke, “I’ll be back.”

  Leaving Brutus behind as she hobbled into the hallway, she recalled the Jackal’s last words and his voice. She knew that voice.

  -40-

  At the hospital, Olivia waited for Davis and the doctor. She wanted to know about her dad and no one had told her anything yet. Although the way the paramedics glanced at each other as they lifted Harry onto the stretcher spoke more than words could she still wanted to know, she wanted to hope. Brutus had been taken to an emergency vet. Driven there by a police officer, a young guy, looking panicked as Olivia yelled at him as he loaded Brutus into the back of his cruiser, telling him to hurry the fuck up and be gentle or I swear to god! His eyes round and his movements hurried, he got Brutus out of there real quick. After he was gone, another officer sat in the ambulance with her while another police car, lights flashing and sirens screaming, followed behind. When they got to the hospital, they said her dad had been rushed off to an emergency room. A doctor approached her and with her eyebrows raised said, “Who’s blood is that?”

  “Not mine. Well, not all of it.”

  The doctor glanced at the officer and said, “Has she been seen by a nurse or a doctor?”

  The officer shook his head.

  “Can you bring her to triage? She needs to be assessed.”

  Olivia didn’t want to be away from her father and said, “Look. I’m fine-“

  “You’re not fine. You’ve been injured and your colour doesn’t look good and really, I’m surprised you haven’t collapsed from shock. Shock can be deadly if not treated.”

  Olivia opened her mouth to answer and she continued, “No. You need treatment. It’s not a request.”

  So the officer escorted her to triage and the nurse, nice and efficient, called for a stretcher after reading the results of her blood pressure and she was transferred to a bed in another room and forgotten. At least that’s what it felt like.

  An hour had passed since she first arrived. In that time she put on a gown and the nurses did their best to get most of the blood off her. They
scraped as much as they could from under her nails and she submitted urine and blood. She waited for news about Harry. She asked and she was told to wait for the doctor. Olivia frowned at them and demanded someone tell her about her dad. She yelled it and the nurse fled from the room. Olivia crossed her arms on her chest thinking if they wanted a fight she would give them one but no one came back to see her. Machines beeped and footsteps padded past her door. She looked at the call button on the cord and was tempted to keep clicking the damn thing until someone came. Someone would have to answer her. She fought off a serial killer, actually no, she had killed two serial killers! After that, nurses shouldn’t present her with too much trouble. She thought of going out there herself to talk to someone and was mad enough to do it. She slipped the covers off her legs and was swinging her feet to the floor when the phone beside her bed rang. She answered it. It was the vet.

  “You’ve got a brave dog, here.”

  Olivia said, “I know. Can you tell me how he is? Will he make it?”

  “Yes. He’ll make it. There was some nerve damage. He won’t be able to use his right back leg and he’ll be here for a while. I want to monitor the stab wounds near his intestines and make sure we got the bleeding controlled but I feel good enough to say he’ll make it.”

  Olivia cried in response. The relief overwhelmed her and it took her some time to speak. She thanked the vet with a thickened voice and continued to cry. All the crying was hurting her stomach. She found she couldn’t stop. Her wonderful dog was going to make it.

  A passing nurse heard her crying and he poked his head in and said, “You alright?”

  “My dog will live.”

  The nurse furrowed his brow and he presented a confused smile before continuing on to wherever. She guessed he thought she should be happy. And she was. Problem was, how could she celebrate without knowing about her dad?