by MJ Howson
The largest intact chunk of Eve was the upper right front of the doll’s skull. Dawn had found the bow upstairs and had poorly tied it to Eve’s hair. The plastic joints that linked Eve’s articulating limbs together rested in a separate pile beside one of her white leather shoes. Dawn carefully lifted the head and spun it in her hand, the doll’s eye clicking and clacking as she rotated it up and down. Other than Eve’s fully intact left hand, the rest of the pieces were no larger than a square inch.
“Damn you, Jacob.” Dawn’s voice sounded thin and empty. She picked up a bottle of glue and looked at Eve’s partial head. “Look what he’s done to you.” Dawn twisted the top of the glue bottle open. “I have to try, Eve. My . . . my sweet dear Eve. My Evelyn. There must be a way to save you.”
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” the voice assistant asked.
“Cancel!” Dawn tossed the bottle aside. She burst into tears and cried out, “Cancel! Cancel! Cancel!”
Dawn rushed to the living room and collapsed on the couch. She couldn’t stop crying. These past months had been a tangled web of happiness with Eve, haunted memories of her mother, stress over her relationship with Jacob, and nightmares about her miscarriage. The therapy sessions with Dr. Cole had never brought her peace. She had no patience for arguing with her smart home system. Dawn remained on the couch for a few minutes as she struggled to regain her composure.
Tears dampened the burgundy chenille pillow resting beneath Dawn’s face. She suddenly felt embarrassed by her argument with the smart system. Dawn sat up and gently wiped her tears away. She glanced up at the nearest overhead speaker and frowned.
“Evelyn, how can I change your name?” Dawn asked.
“What name would you like me to respond to?” the assistant asked.
“Is it really that easy?”
“I’m sorry, please repeat the name.”
Dawn chuckled and shook her head, amazed that after all this time wondering how to change the system’s name, all she had to do was ask. She said, “Cancel.”
Dawn walked back to the dining room and inspected the pieces of Eve scattered everywhere. As she stared into the doll’s single sapphire blue eye, Dawn briefly considered naming her smart system after Eve. She sighed and said, “No, that would lead to just as much trouble as using Ev–” Dawn smiled as she stopped herself. “No, I need something else. Someone else.”
The diary resting beside Eve’s remains caught Dawn’s eye. She ran her fingers over the faded leather cover. The book contained Eve’s life at camp. Dawn wondered if she should pick one of the children’s names. If so, which one? Dawn closed her eyes and thought back to the stories about Billy, Hugo, Suzie, and the others.
“Evelyn, I want to change your name,” Dawn said.
“What name would you like me to respond to?” the assistant asked.
A smile spread across Dawn’s face. She said, “Caretaker.”
“Please confirm Caretaker as my new name.”
“Caretaker.”
“Okay, I will respond to Caretaker from now on.”
Stress and angst drained from Dawn’s body. Something about linking her home to Eve’s past grounded her. She suddenly felt a strength and will that had been missing ever since Jacob threw Eve from the terrace.
Dawn spent the next hour meticulously trying to glue the pieces back together. The effort proved to be a difficult one. There was no easy way to hold the various parts together long enough to get them to stick. Furthermore, it became painfully obvious to Dawn that there were still too many missing pieces. The fragments were so small it was often impossible to know where they fit.
The upper half of Eve’s head and the doll’s left leg were the only two she’d found success securing. Her fragmented head sat on the table like an overturned coffee cup. Dawn had managed to get the assembly for the left eye attached, but had never found the other eyeball. The doll’s curly copper hair held most of the back of her head together and lay sprawled out like some bizarre hand fan. Dawn’s attempt at a bow barely clung to the filthy locks. As she stared at what little she’d accomplished, she sighed, knowing she’d done all she could.
“Can you hear me?” Dawn asked as she bit her lip. She leaned closer to the doll’s head. “Eve?” Dawn stared into Eve’s single sapphire blue eye and waited. Tears welled as the doll stayed silent. “I need to hear your voice.”
Dawn grabbed Eve’s diary and sat at one of the dining room chairs. As she flipped through the book, she said, “Maybe there’s something in here.” Dawn reread the final chapter–Eve’s last night at camp. When she reached the end, she sighed and closed the book. “I don’t understand. I . . . I thought I was the one.” She leaned closer to Eve’s head. “You chose me. That’s what Janet told me. Why won’t you speak?”
Dawn stood up. She looked at the diary and then at the remains of Eve spread across her dining room table. Dawn smiled as a spark of hope filled her heart. She said, “The shop owner! Janet will know what to do.”
The black towel beneath Eve made it somewhat easy to collect everything. The delicately glued pieces of porcelain rattled as Dawn carefully folded the towel around the doll’s remains. As she carried the towel across the room, a part of Dawn knew the chances of making Eve whole again were remote. Dawn could only hope that Janet could help her. She placed Eve’s remains in the stroller beneath the stained, filthy white cotton blanket.
Dawn didn’t bother to shower or fix her hair. She quickly changed into a pair of black jeans with a simple white turtleneck top. Dawn, being in such a rush to leave, forgot to put on a pair of socks. After getting into her outdoor gear, she grabbed the stroller and proceeded downstairs and over to the High Line entrance on 23rd Street.
The crisp air was tempered somewhat by the lack of wind. Dawn, decked out in a full-length black mink coat, made her way south along the elevated walkway. The noon sun overhead felt warm on her cheeks, helping to remove the sting of the cool air nipping at her face.
Dawn smiled as she passed others by, her face mostly obscured by her sunglasses. Optimism now replaced her sorrow from last night and this morning. The shop owner had given her the diary, unlocking so many secrets. Dawn knew Janet would be able to help her save Eve.
The walk to Zuni seemed to take forever. The stroller made the trip’s progress all the more cumbersome due to the curbs and pedestrians along the way. Eventually, Dawn made it to the West Village and to Charles Street. The trees outside Zuni were barren and dark. The wind, absent on the High Line, felt strong and gusty on the narrow street.
Dawn stopped at the top of the seven steps that descended to the store and removed her Pradas. The carved wooden Zuni sign swung from its chains above the entrance. She tucked the carriage against the nearest tree. Eve’s remains felt shaky in Dawn’s arms as she scooped up the cotton blanket. Dawn went downstairs, relieved to see the Open sign behind the doorway. She opened the door, causing the brass bell to ring.
“Hello?” Dawn called out as she entered the store. Leo, resting on the counter, glanced at her briefly before going back to sleep. “Is anyone here?”
Janet emerged from the back room, the saloon-style doors banging against their double-hinges as they swung back and forth. She spent a few moments brushing dust from her long-sleeved gray smock. The smile on her face faded when she saw the look on Dawn’s face. She asked, “Are you okay? Something’s happened. What?”
“I . . . I failed.” Dawn burst into tears as the events from last night and this morning came flooding back. “It’s Eve. Jacob killed her!”
“What?” Janet couldn’t understand what Dawn was talking about. Her eyes darted between Dawn’s distraught eyes and the stained cotton blanket in her arms. A sadness descended across Janet’s face as she tried to piece it all together. “Show me.”
Dawn placed the blanket on the glass countertop near Leo, causing the cat to stand up. Her hands shook as she began to unfold the blanket and black towel, exposing the dress and shattered remains. She said,
“He killed her. He killed my baby.”
Janet reached over and helped Dawn finish peeling the coverlet open. The doll’s red dress and porcelain pieces popped against the dark black towel. Leo stood nearby, watching with intense curiosity. Janet gasped when she saw Eve’s fractured face with only a single eye staring back. In a hushed tone, she asked, “What happened?”
“I tried.” Dawn took a few steps back and stared at Eve’s remains. “You said I had to protect her. To keep her safe.” Dawn wailed and flung her hands to her eyes. “I tried. I did. But, I . . . I failed. And now she won’t talk to me anymore. I can’t hear her. Can you help?”
As Dawn cried, Janet leaned forward, lowered her glasses, and began to sort through the porcelain fragments. Janet picked up one of the plastic joints and studied the chunk of porcelain still glued to it. A frown spread across her face. She paid no attention to Dawn or offered any words of comfort.
“I tried to piece her back together,” Dawn said. “There are too many pieces. So many many pieces.”
Janet continued to ignore her as she removed each chunk of the doll, setting it aside on the towel. She tipped Eve’s partial head upside down, causing the eye to snap closed. The bow Dawn had so painstakingly put back in place fell off. Janet then held up Eve’s tattered red velvet dress, now free from the debris, and ran her fingers through the dirt-covered folds.
“Where is it?” Janet asked, her voice filled with concern. “The locket.”
“What?” Dawn’s gaze moved from Janet to the countertop. Her eyes shot back and forth across the bits and pieces spread out in front of Janet. “The locket?”
“Eve’s locket.” Janet dove her fingers deeper through the folds in the doll’s dress. Her brow tensed and then eased as she slowed her search. “I . . . I don’t feel it.” Janet flipped the torn dress inside out. “Or see it.”
Dawn took a small step forward and watched as Janet gently placed Eve’s dress back on the towel. She looked into the shop owner’s eyes. Dawn’s mind raced as she thought back to last night when she dug through the brush alongside the High Line walkway. Tears filled her eyes, and she said, “I . . . I don’t remember. I . . . I thought I got everything. Why? I brought you as much of her as I could. There must be something–”
“The doll was just a vessel.” Janet shook her head and sighed as she tapped her fingernail against the glass countertop. “The locket held Eve’s heart and soul.”
“The locket?”
“Yes.” Janet looked down at the collection of pieces and gently ran her hands over the doll’s wavy hair. “I’m sorry. But this . . . this here isn’t Eve. Not anymore.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Oh.” Dawn moved closer and stared at the remains. She looked up at Janet and asked, “Is . . . is there anything you can do?”
“No.” Janet’s face was despondent as she stared at the shattered remains in front of her. She fought back tears and, with a cracked voice, said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” What little hope Dawn had clung to all morning vanished in that very moment. “I’m the one who failed Eve.”
Dawn softly cried as she rolled the blanket and towel around Eve’s red velvet dress and scattered remains. She ignored the crunching sounds as she scooped it up into her arms. Dawn walked to the door, stopped, and without looking back, said, “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Janet slid her glasses to the top of her head and sighed. She brushed her knuckles against her damp eyes and allowed a small smile to escape. “Tomorrow would have been her birthday, too.”
“What?”
“Remember the date on the back of the locket?”
Dawn’s eyes burned, and her head throbbed. She briefly closed her eyes and pictured the front and back engravings on the locket. She looked back at Janet and said, “The twenty-second.”
“Yes. She . . . she would have been twenty.”
The news piled onto the despair already weighing on Dawn. She had nothing left to give or to say. Dawn lowered her head, opened the door, and went up to the sidewalk. She placed Eve’s remains back into the stroller. The wind felt especially cold as it bit into her damp cheeks. As Dawn pushed the carriage down Charles Street, she let the tears fall freely, and the world around her soon faded away.
Dawn took her time during the long walk back to the Spire. The sights and sounds felt like a blur, her sunglasses acting like a shield. Everything appeared to move in slow motion. Sounds were muffled. Even the wings of the birds flying by seemed sluggish. The once blue sky appeared gray and drab as if the entire world lacked color.
Before returning home, Dawn wheeled the stroller to where she’d found Eve late last night on the High Line. She stopped and knelt down at the pathway’s edge and walked to the adjacent train tracks. Bits of porcelain chips wavered in the wind as they clung to the grooved rails. Dawn ignored the stares from others as she sifted through the nearby landscaping. Her heart jumped as a glint of light sparkled from within some foliage. She reached in and discovered Eve’s other eyeball.
Dawn collected the few additional pieces she could find. The locket, sadly, was nowhere to be found. She slid what she had into her pocket and went back to the carriage. She looked inside at the lumpy stained blanket and said, “I’m sorry, Eve.”
As she rode the elevator to her penthouse, Dawn’s eyes studied the hand-sewn craftsmanship of the Silver Cross Kensington Pram carriage. She knew in her heart that the stroller would never carry a child again. The doors opened, and Dawn pushed Eve to her apartment door and stepped inside. The warm air welcomed her after the long walk home. She kicked her boots off and removed her coat. The tile floor felt chilly against her bare feet.
Dawn considered making a cup of coffee or tea to warm her insides. She briefly contemplated having a glass of wine. Instead, she carefully removed the stroller’s cotton blanket and ascended the spiral staircase to the second floor.
The door to the nursery was open. Dawn gently carried the blanket to the changing table. As she did, she suddenly felt a prick against her right foot. Dawn looked down to see a rhinestone from Eve’s dress. She dragged her foot across the carpet to remove the tiny jewel. Dawn took her time to fold the coverlet’s edges back until she could reach the red velvet dress and what remained of Eve.
Fresh towels and blankets filled the changing table’s drawers. Dawn removed a white satin blanket and placed it beside Eve’s remains. The nearby gel beads no longer gave off any scent. She moved the pieces of Eve over to the fresh blanket and then carried it over to the crib, gently placing it inside.
Dawn noticed Eve’s other white shoe resting on the floor near the rocker. She picked up the shoe and ran her thumb across the bits of paint covering the leather. Dawn placed the shoe inside the crib next to the dress. Dawn spent some time arranging the porcelain fragments to replicate, as closely as she could, Eve’s arms, legs, body, and head. The last main piece to insert was Eve’s left eyeball. With a gentle touch, Dawn clicked it into place.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” Dawn said. She kissed her fingertips and placed them on what was left of Eve’s head, her two eyes now open. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the one.”
Dawn walked around the end of the crib and headed toward the door. As she did, she felt something cold and hard pierce her bare foot. She stopped and winced. Dawn looked down, expecting to find another rhinestone or perhaps a piece of porcelain. Instead, she knelt down and picked up Eve’s locket.
Dawn ran her thumb across the brushed gold metal piece of jewelry. She squinted as she studied the detailed etching and the W engraved on the front. She flipped it over and stared at the 12/22 etched on the back.
“Today’s the twenty-first,” Dawn looked at Eve’s shattered body. “That was the last entry in your diary. I . . . I guess I’ll never know what happened to you.”
Dawn twirled the pendant in her fingers and carefully inspected the hinge. She bit her upper lip as s
he ran her fingernail along the edge. Dawn cautiously applied a bit of pressure against the clasp. The locket opened.
Forty Two
Eve
Dr. Cole paused as he reached the top of the stairs and placed his black leather messenger bag beside his feet. His heart pounded as he tried to catch his breath. The chilly air in the hallway burned his lungs. He glanced over the railing of the winding staircase next to him and regretted not taking the elevator.
The crumpled note in his hand, scrawled with his wife’s handwriting, read Bellows 620. Dr. Cole crammed the note back into his pocket and used the checkered wool scarf around his neck to dry his brow. He grabbed his bag and walked down the narrow, dim hallway until he came to apartment number 620. With a deep breath, he knocked three times and waited.
“Coming.” The muffled voice could barely be heard through the thick black wooden door.
Soon, a series of locks unlatched, and the door swung open, accompanied by a series of thumps. The air from inside greeted Dr. Cole with a warm embrace. He was surprised to see the man on the other side of the door sitting in a wheelchair.
“Mr. Bellows?” Dr. Cole asked. “I’m Winston. Doctor Winston Cole.”
“Call me Jeffrey.” Jeffrey presented a welcoming smile and motioned for Dr. Cole to come inside. The two men shook hands briefly as the doctor entered. Jeffrey closed the door behind him and said, “Follow me.”
Jeffrey’s appearance did not match the picture on his online author profile. That black and white photo showed a lean-faced man in his early 50s with a wavy receding hairline and trimmed sculpted mustache. In person, Jeffrey looked a decade older. A ragged unkempt salt and pepper beard covered his face and neck, and his balding scalp contained nothing but wisps of white hair. His clothes smelled like they hadn’t been laundered in several weeks.