Doll Face

by Sadie Grubor

  "Ruin the dress, ruin the doll," I whisper.

  Clenching my eyes and covering them with the stained gloves, I try to keep the memory from surfacing, but it forces itself into the forefront of my mind.

  "What have you done?" he shouts, gripping my arm and shaking me. "What have I told you!"

  Flinching, I sob, "Please, Daddy, don't."

  "Look what you did!" Using his free hand, he fists the material near the dark purple paint mark I'd only made worse by trying to wash it out in my bathroom sink.

  He drags me over to the hooks lining the wall and rips the dark blue smock down.

  Shoving it in my face, he demands, "What's this, Dahlia?"

  "Th-Th-The…" I stutter nervously.

  "The smock!" he screams, throwing it on the floor. Stomping on it, he continues, "Useless since you didn't use it!"

  "I'm sorry," I cry.

  "You know the punishment for ruining your dresses," he sneers.

  Shaking my head, my bottom lip quivering, I blink the new tears from my eyes.

  Leaning down, bringing his face close to mine, he bites out, "Yes."

  No crying or pleading ever works, but I still do it the entire way to the showcase room.

  Inside, he throws me to the center of the room. I land on my side, but quickly sit up to my butt. Eyes wide, I watch him pull the rope next to one glass panel and flip a silver switch.

  The dark blue curtain pulls back and light flickers, revealing Princess. The bright light causes her to body to jerk in awareness. Lifting her crown-wearing head, she slowly opens her lovely blue eyes. It also catches on the silvery blue color of her dress, casting multicolor spots on the wall. The same dress I'm wearing, that I've ruined with paint.

  They always move so slow. I wish they could play with me better.

  Princess's fingers twitch, her eyes following my father's movements.

  "Please, Daddy," I beg once more, pushing up on my knees.

  Dropping his head, he shakes it.

  "When will you listen and be a good girl." It's not a question.

  Removing a key from his back pocket, he opens the glass case, shoves the door wide, and climbs inside. Princess's eyes widen and her body twitches a little more.

  "What won't you do again, Dahlia?" he asks, moving behind Princess.

  At my hesitation, he repeats, "What. Won't. You. Do!"

  "Ruin my dress," I half whisper, half sob.

  Reaching behind his body, he yanks a large piece of plastic out and starts wrapping her head. Princess jerks harder, finally able to lift her arms to her face, her gloved hands slipping over the slick material.

  He wraps it tighter, the exertion showing in the red creeping up his neck, before circling it around her once more. This time, her neck. Next will be her shoulders.

  Princess tries to move her legs, but the ankle bracelets won't let her.

  The dolls don't like when Daddy puts them away.

  "What have you done?"

  The voice is so like Daddy's. I twist around, needle still in my hand.

  Andy's wide eyes focus on the doll behind me.

  "Dahl—"

  "She wanted to be me," I cut him off, glancing at the doll in the chair. "Now, she's exactly what I am." I move my eyes back to my shocked brother. "Inside," I add.

  He moves his gaze from Dolly Molly to the large embalming needle in my hand. Then his eyes move up my body to my face.

  Sadness, apprehension, then fear flicker on his face. His fear sends a thrill through me. Licking my lips, I take a step toward him. He backs away. Thrill morphs to power. A surge of it rushing over me.

  "I thought you wanted me back?"

  At my question, he straightens to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. With the lift of his chin, I can't help but focus on the necessary spot to use the needle in my hand next.

  "Molly was—" he starts.

  "Dolly Molly," I correct.

  He drops his eyes to the manic grin sliding over my lips and swallows hard.

  "She's your sister," he states, meeting my eyes once again.

  "Now, she's my doll," I counter.

  Closing the distance between us, I place my gloved hand on his folded arms.

  "And we already have the perfect place for her," I allude to the empty case in the barn.

  My eyes drop once more to his neck and I tighten my fist around the base of the needle. The urges rise up, tensing my muscles, preparing for my next strike.

  Before I can act on my impulses, something flares in his eyes, and I think it's excitement.

  Andy drops his arms, saying, "Stay here."

  Then, he's gone, out of the room in a flash of movement.

  Turning to the large wooden table, I place the needle down and lean my palms against the top. My chest rapidly rising and falling, I try to fight the needs and longings pushing me to commit terrible acts, but there isn't enough time.

  At the heavy footfalls on the staircase, I push away from the table and steel my resolve.

  Andy rushes back into the room with one of my dolls in his hand. Before I can ask, he moves to my side. Grabbing my arm, he pulls me along behind him.

  "I have something for you," he explains.

  At a door in the far corner of the kitchen, he undoes a sliding chain, two bolt locks, and the lock on the knob. Excitement increases the force used to open the door. It slams into the wall, making me jump. Then, we're descending a narrow flight of stairs into darkness.

  Run, Dahlia! Don't go down there! a voice screams in my head. You'll never resurface from the dark. The words echo between my ears, making me stop on the last step.

  Andy releases my arm, and within seconds, bright white light chases the shadows of the basement away. But it's not a basement, I realize, scanning the large open space. It's a work room.

  Medical tables, trays, and machines clutter the space. Along with two metal tables. One's empty, the other holds a body shaped white sheet. A scream rises into my throat, but I swallow it down.

  "I was going to surprise you." His voice draws my eyes back to him. "Now, we can be the team we were meant to be," he explains.

  His hands come to my waist, lifting from the step and holding me close to his chest.

  Pressing my hands against his shoulders, I can't help the nausea churning and my instinct to push him away. Assuming I want to be put down, to explore, he sets my feet to the cement floor.

  I take three steps back, leaving my eyes on him.

  "Let me show you," he says, brushing against me as he passes by.

  No! I want to scream and run back up the stairs.

  "Here," he announces.

  Being truly twisted and knowing nothing he could show me is good, I still turn my head in his direction. Standing beside one of the metal tables, he throws back the white sheet.

  "She's just for you." The words drip with devotion.

  Then, he lifts the doll he retrieved.

  It's the redheaded farm girl doll. Ruby.

  Dropping my eyes from the toy to the redheaded woman on the table, a sharp pain slices through my chest. Recognition crawls across my memories and I rush to his side.

  No, no, no.

  Candy lies prone, motionless, her fair freckled skin fully exposed down to the small strip of red hair between her legs. Closing my eyes, moments of the past play behind my lids.

  Candy's bright white and wide smile. Candy trying to console me after Tricia's advice to hook up with a rich man. Candy with a text book on her lap in between performances, her glasses on the end of her nose and highlighter in hand.

  NO!

  "She'll be perfect," he coos, running a hand over her disheveled hair.

  "Don't touch her," I shout, slapping his hand away.

  "What's the matter?"

  The look on his face tells me he really has no idea.

  Dropping my chin, I take a deep breath and exhale heavily. Once again, the desires will not be denied. Looking at him from beneath my lashes, I curl my
lip and shove both hands into his chest.

  He stumbles back against the empty table and the rattle of the metal echoes around the room.

  Catching sight of the tray full of instruments, I slap my hand down and fist around the first one I can. Swinging my arm around, I run the sharp edge of the scalpel over his chest.

  "Stop," he cries out, surprised.

  Eyes locked to his throat, I prepare for my second strike. So focused on where the perfect artery lies pulsing beneath his skin, I don't see his movement. I don't realize what he's doing, until the barrel of the gun is pressed to my forehead.

  "Stop," he shouts. I drop my arms to the side and lean into the gun.

  "Please do it," I ground out. "Put me out of my fucking misery," I shout, tears streaming over my cheeks.

  "Why?" he chokes out, devastation creasing the skin around his eyes.

  "Why," I mimic, following it with a snort. "Because I'm Not. Your. Doll!"

  His jaw flexes and a muscle twitches in his left cheek.

  "You were meant for me," he argues. "He promised you to me!"

  With a defiant lift of my chin, I raise one brow.

  "You forget," I say. "He took your doll away in punishment," I taunt.

  "It wasn't my fault," he screams.

  The metal digs into my skin, and the pain is a welcome distraction from my crumbling sanity.

  "That's not what Daddy said," I continue to jibe.

  "Don't call him that," he screams, turning sideways and straightening the arm holding the gun. "I hate the way you call him that," he confesses. "You did from the very start," he continues. "And I could see the perverse light in his eyes every time you did.”

  "Do you want to be Daddy?" I ask, switching into sweet little girl mode.

  The hypocritical psychopath in front of me gets the same perverse gleam in his eyes. Bringing my empty hand up, I slip my fingers over his hand.

  Tilting my head, I ask, "Is that what you want, Daddy?"

  Curling my hand around his, I pull the gun deeper into my flesh.

  Dropping my voice so low, I practically growl, "Because I won't."

  Anger flares in his eyes and I glance away, focusing on his neck. With a wide arc, I bring the needle up, my target that patch of vulnerable flesh.

  He bats my arm away, knocking me off balance.

  "I did everything for you," he shouts, waving the gun in my face.

  "I never asked for any of it," I yell back. "Not from him. Not from you! I didn't even know you." He flinches at the words. Raising one brow, I continue to taunt. "You. Didn't. Exist. To. Me."

  Pain flashes in his eyes before rage contorts his features. Nostrils flaring and lip curled, he lines the gun up between my eyes.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you," a muffled woman's voice says.

  Light catches on a blade resting against Andy's throat.

  The gun wavers.

  No longer focused on me, I take two steps back and one to the left. Surprise and panic battle for dominant emotion the moment her face shield comes into view.

  As before, her shiny dark hair is twisted in a sleek bun atop her head. She wears solid black, from her neck down to her fingers and toes.

  Her eyes shift to me, but she continues to speak to Andy. "Thank you. I know someone who wouldn't be very happy if you had done that, and I fear he's more violent than you."

  "He's a criminal," Andy bites out, knowing exactly who she refers to.

  The Geisha nods, moving her eyes to him. "Oh, I agree."

  "If he tries to take her, I'll kill him," Andy threatens.

  With a sigh, she rolls her eyes back to me. "You're like a magnet for possessive sociopaths. Aren't you sick of it?"

  The question sends a jolt of agreement through my body. My hand tightens around the needle still in my grip.

  "You could end it all," she says, her words a low seduction. "Change your own fate."

  "I—"

  "No father, brother, sister…" She pauses. "Or Saint," she spits out his name like a curse, "to force their will on you."

  Sliding my eyes down her face, across her bent arm, I stop at the steel blade. The anticipation builds, wanting nothing more than for it to puncture his skin. Hypnotized by the possibility, I release the embalming needle and close the distance between us.

  Stripping the gun from his hand, I turn it on him.

  "That's it," she encourages. At the same time, her blade retracts from his throat. "You call the shots now," she says in a rush.

  "On the table," I order, nodding my head behind him.

  "Dahlia, we're fam—"

  "Now!" I scream.

  Snapping his mouth closed, he hops onto it. Legs dangling over the side, he crosses his arms over his chest in a silent challenge.

  "Here." Her voice next to my ear makes me jump, but the syringe she dangles in my face distracts me from her closeness.

  Snatching it from her hand, I take two steps toward my brother. My past. My captor. The nightmare that won't let me be.

  "Dahlia," he coos. "You and I—"

  Jerking my hand back, I stab the syringe into this thigh and press the plunger.

  "Are NOT going to be together," I finish for him.

  Hurt and anger twist his face. Making a grab for my hand, his fingers brush my knuckles. I yank it back, and instead of my hand, he pulls the needle from his leg.

  "What huhvvvv…" his words slur and body sways.

  Using the gun, I nudge him onto his side, then lift his legs onto the table and shove him to his back.

  Rounding the table, I glance around the trays and machines. My eyes find Candy and my step falters. I bump into a small instrument table. The metal tools clang as I use one hand to steady it.

  Still focused on Candy, rage boils anew, my darkest urges running along my spine and beneath my skin. The rush feels like a high, making me dizzy.

  Dropping my head, I inhale and lock my gaze on the injection tubes, long needles, and forceps.

  Fingering each of them, I close my eyes.

  Don't do this, the voice in the back of my mind instructs. You'll never come back from this.

  "I suppose," The Geisha interrupts my internal struggle, "you could just go on playing happy little family with brother dearest." The way her voice carries from different parts of the room, I know she's moving. "Or you could go back to your murdering criminal to be kept like a good little pet," she taunts. "Then again, what will he think when he sees what you did to your own sister."

  Snapping my head in her direction, I glare.

  Raising both hands, palms out, she says, "Now, now, don't point your needles at me. I'm quite impressed with your work."

  "It's not my work," I correct, snatching the twelve-inch-long, wide gauge, stainless steel needle from the tray.

  "Why deny what you are?" she counters. "Huh?"

  "You have no idea what I am," I inform, turning from the tray to my prone brother.

  "Are you so sure about that?"

  "Yes,” I answer, but look at Andy's face.

  His eyes are open with an occasional slow blink.

  "Dah—" he tries to speak.

  "You're not a victim," The Geisha continues.

  "Why are you still here?" I snap.

  "You're not a doll either," she says, her voice giving away her amusement. "Though, the dresses do suit you."

  "What do you want!" I scream, raising the gun and leveling it at her.

  Her cheeks rise, giving away her grin.

  "I want—no, I'm not like those who wish to own you, possess you, and tell you what you are. I would just like," she stresses the word, "to see you in black."

  Snorting, I drop the gun and set it on the table next to Andy's head.

  "This is pretty drastic for a recruitment." I can't keep the disbelief or sarcasm out of my words.

  "You…" Andy's lazy word draws my attention. "Mine," he breathes out.

  His face blurs, then morphs into my father, and my past replays in my head. Dolls,
dresses, punishments, solitude, perfection, touches, caresses, lessons…

  "You've only ever known possession," she continues her campaign. "I'm offering you freedom, true independence, and family."

  Closing my eyes only makes my memories more vivid.

  Picking up a scalpel, I bring it to Andy's neck and slice through the skin. I drop the blade on his chest and probe the opening with my fingers.

  I use my thumb and first finger to part his flesh. With my other hand, I bring the needle to the opening. Letting it hover there, I lift my eyes to The Geisha. I don't miss the flash of fear in hers and quirk an eyebrow.

  "Second thinking your offer?" I ask.

  Lifting her chin, she narrows her eyes on me.

  The Geisha doesn't like being read the way she does to others.

  The longer she stares, the more familiar her eyes become. Something in the harsh, cold glare makes goose pimples rise along my arms.

  "Of course not," she snaps, her brows lifting in challenge.

  She's a fool. The urges have gone too far. The memories are too real. Dahlia has taken over.

  "How about now?" I ask, shoving the needle into Andy's exposed artery.

  There's a quick spurt of blood from the open side of the needle before a slower stream begins.

  His mouth opens on a gargle before the next words fall from his lips.

  "Wel…come…home…Doll…"

  My lungs seize. I can't breathe. Releasing the needle, I shake my head and back away. Tears stream over my cheeks as a sob wrenches free. Clawing at my chest and pulling at the collar of my dress, I fight for air.

  The Geisha steps forward, her mouth moving, but all I hear is the sound of my heart. A deafening thump between my ears.

  Opening my mouth for more air, a scream finally breaks through the thumping in my head. Then, I realize the scream is mine.

  "Mei." His voice silences everything. "What did you do to her?" he accuses.

  "Of course you found her," The Geisha says, ignoring his question.

  "No thanks to you," he barks.

  Reaching out, I grip the edges of the metal table. My fingers slip on the blood running over the edge.

  "Mei?" his voice softens. "It's okay," he assures.