by MJ Howson
“What? That’s so . . . .” Dr. Cole sighed as he stopped himself from saying the word crazy. “Unbelievable.”
“He said the doll would choose a new person and that the locket would transfer their soul when opened.” Jeffrey turned and faced the doctor. “If you believe in such things.”
“Of course not.” Dr. Cole, his throat suddenly dry and hoarse, asked, “Do . . . do you?”
Jeffrey paused and let his gaze wander across the room, almost as if he were searching for the answer. He looked at Dr. Cole and said, “No. But Andreas and his followers did. I can’t believe he got seven parents to follow him. And to murder their children.”
“It’s a good thing he only got seven.” Dr. Cole wiped the sweat from his brow. “Imagine if he’d–”
“He only wanted seven.”
“Only Seven.” Dr. Cole scratched his beard and asked, “Why?”
“When Andreas abandoned Saints of Christ to form Saints of Ascension, he also abandoned God.” Jeffrey clasped his hands together and leaned forward. “You see, Dr. Cole, his new church worshiped Satan.”
“This . . . this just keeps getting worse.” Dr. Cole found the entire story both disturbing and overwhelming. The warm temperature in the room only added to his discomfort. He wiped his sweaty palms against his pants.
“Andreas believed a new world would rise from the ashes,” Jeffrey said. “He wanted to be sure that world was filled with sin.” Jeffrey took a sip of whiskey. “You do know of the seven deadly sins, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Dr. Cole paused as he tried to recall them. “Lust. Greed. Gluttony. Uh, Sloth was one, right?”
“Andreas hand-picked those children. He looked into their souls to find the seven he wanted to be brought through the end of days so they could flourish in the new world.” Jeffrey lowered his head and stared into his glass. “He was truly mad.”
“How did it end? My wife said there was a raid.”
“Shortly after killing Eve and sealing the locket, the clock struck midnight. The end of days was upon them. The fourteen parents and the rest formed a circle around the seven dolls. Explosions soon echoed throughout the complex. Andreas and his followers knelt and prayed to the seven deadly sins they’d sealed, believing the Mayan prediction had come true. But the explosions weren’t the apocalypse. It was the FBI raid.”
“My wife said it was bad.”
“Andreas made his followers fight back. It became a violent, bloody mess. Half the place burned to the ground.”
Dr. Cole took a long slow sip of his whiskey. He closed his eyes as he tried to imagine the hell-scape that had to have ensued during the raid. He regretted not insisting Dawn bring the diary to his office. He wondered what stories it held that had so rattled her.
“How . . . how did you learn all of this?” Dr. Cole asked. “It’s almost like you were there.”
“I interviewed some of the survivors as part of my research. Many of the parents died in the raid. Andreas survived. Because he never killed any of the children, he ended up claiming innocence. A few turned on him, hoping to get some sort of plea bargain.”
“So, they told you what happened? Who did you interview? Any of the parents?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. If you’d read my book, you’d know that most of my sources remained anonymous. Two ended up in witness protection and feared retaliation from Andreas, should he ever get out of prison. I interviewed him, too. That psychopath wouldn’t shut up. Even in prison, with all those deaths behind him, he still believed he did the right thing.”
“I see.” Dr. Cole suddenly became gravely concerned about Dawn. If she’d read Eve’s diary, the damage to her psyche could be profound. He slowly slid his folder back into his leather bag. Dr. Cole stood up and placed his empty glass on Jeffrey’s desk. “I’ve taken far too much of your time. Thank you. This . . . this has been incredibly helpful. You know, I plan to write a book next year. Maybe I can pick your brain another time about being an author?”
“Sure.” Jeffrey motioned to the chair behind Dr. Cole. “But now it’s your turn.”
“Excuse me?”
“What brought you here? You said a patient knew the names of the children from the camp. How?”
Dr. Cole nodded as he sat back down. He shook his head and said, “I believe my patient came across one of the dolls.”
“Really?” Jeffrey sounded stunned. His eyes glazed over as he stared past Dr. Cole, lost in his thoughts. When his focus returned, he looked at the doctor and, with a cracked voice, asked, “Which one?”
“Eve. And the diary.”
“Diary?” Jeffrey’s eyes widened. “You . . . have Eve’s diary?”
“No. I never saw it. My patient said she had it.”
“I . . . I see.” Jeffrey’s hands trembled as he stroked his shaggy beard. “And she has the Eve doll, too.”
Dr. Cole nodded and said, “I saw the doll. Creepy looking thing.”
“Porcelain?” Jeffrey’s voice quivered and his cheeks became flush. “Blue eyes? Red hair?”
“That’s the one.”
The two men sat in silence for several seconds. Jeffrey appeared to be in a trance. Dr. Cole glanced at his watch and frowned. He said, “I really should get going. After everything you told me, I need to speak with my patient. Soon. I . . . I fear the worst.”
“Oh. Okay.” Jeffrey shook his head to wake himself from his daze. He frowned, obviously upset that Dr. Cole didn’t want to stay longer. “Well, could we talk more another time? I have so many other questions.”
“Of course.”
Dr. Cole stood up and grabbed his messenger bag, sliding the strap over his shoulder. Jeffrey wheeled his way around his desk. He stopped by the bookcase and retrieved a book. Jeffrey handed it to Dr. Cole. It was a copy of Ascension to Madness – Inside the Mind of Andreas Engel.
“You might find this helpful,” Jeffrey said.
“Thanks.”
The two remained silent as they made their way through the apartment and to the hallway. When they reached the front door, Jeffrey said, “Those dolls were never found. The FBI searched the wreckage after the raid. They found the sacrificial room with the altar and the pillars. But the dolls were gone. Where did she get the Eve doll?”
“She never told me.”
“That’s unfortunate. When I wrote my book, none of my sources told me what happened to the dolls.” Jeffrey sighed and lowered his head. “But, as I said, I never interviewed everyone.” Jeffrey tapped his chin and frowned. “To think that the Eve doll and diary survived is astonishing. If this woman’s in possession of both of these items, I’d like to meet her.”
“I’ll be in touch. I can’t thank you enough. This has been very . . . enlightening.” Dr. Cole shook Jeffrey’s hand and walked out into the hallway. The cold air instantly made his skin feel clammy. As the door closed, he turned and said, “One more thing. You said the children were hand-picked to carry the seven deadly sins into the new world.”
“Yes.” Jeffrey anxiously peered through the partially opened door. “Why?”
Dr. Cole scratched his beard as a chill ran down his spine. He looked at Jeffrey and asked, “Which sin was Eve?”
“Wrath.”
Forty Four
Free
Dawn stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, her long straight hair cascading past her shoulders. Eve’s open locket lay against her neck–the flat ruby stone’s edges sparkling in the vanity’s bright lighting. Her normally pale complexion appeared rosy. Dawn slowly ran her fingers through her black and white hair. She snapped the locket closed, turned, and left the room.
Since bringing Eve home from Zuni, the back section of Dawn’s wardrobe closet had slowly become her go-to place for what to wear. Rediscovering her mother’s fashion collections from decades past had been an unexpected trip down memory lane. She wondered why she’d spent so long avoiding color.
Evelyn Easton’s 1995 spring collection, Love Unbound, had c
aused quite a stir upon its debut, sending the fashion critics into a frenzy. Vogue went so far as to call several of the pieces “uncharacteristically slutty.” The predominantly leather and lace collection made a significant impact on the industry, despite the mixed critical reception.
Dawn undressed and slipped on a pair of black panties and a matching bra. She took a moment to admire herself in the mirror, running her hands around her breasts, down her tight trim waist, and across her curvaceous hips. Eve’s locket bounced against her chest as she posed and spun around.
Dawn returned to her mother’s colorful options. A barely crotch-length sleeveless red lace robe caught her eye. She briefly considered wearing it but then remembered how cold it was this time of year. Dawn selected a full-length red silk robe with lace edging. After slipping the garment on, she cinched the thin black leather whip-like belt tight around her waist and took the private elevator down to the first floor.
“Evelyn, what time is it?” Dawn asked. She waited several seconds for a response. Soon a mischievous grin spread across her face. “Caretaker, what time is it?”
“The current time is 2:05 p.m.,” the voice assistant replied.
Dawn knelt beside her wine fridge, opened the door, and browsed through her options. She decided to stick with her wardrobe choice year and selected a 1995 Peter Michael Les Pavots.
“Caretaker, play 1995 rock and roll.”
“Playing 1995 rock and roll,” the assistant said.
U2’s Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me began to play. Dawn sliced the foil top from her bottle and proceeded to open the wine. She filled her glass halfway, tilting the glass back and forth to allow the deep red legs to cling to the sides. Dawn took a sip and made her way to her studio across the room, swaying to the music as she walked.
Every iteration of her unnamed hilly sunrise paintings covered the once barren walls. Some were done on black canvas, others on white. Each sported either a single hue or different combinations of colors. The shape, texture, and vibrancy varied between them. However, each one displayed the identical twin large hills with a smaller glimmering one between them.
Dawn’s earlier rejected works, wrapped in plastic, rested against the far wall. She placed her wine on the floor, grabbed the nearby palette knife, and carried it to the first group of paintings. Dawn sliced through the wrapping and removed the first canvas.
The abstract picture contained geometric images inspired by the sleek glass skyscrapers in nearby Hudson Yards. Using nothing but flat black paint, she’d leveraged different sized brushes to create varying depths of interlocking shapes.
“I used to think these had value.” Dawn flung the painting to the side and watched it hit the polished concrete floor. The wooden frame snapped and cracked upon impact. “But that was a lifetime ago.”
Another stack of paintings sat wrapped in plastic a few feet away. Dawn pierced the plastic apart and took a small step back to inspect her work. Prior to the geometric series, Dawn had done a collection of black and white florals on black and white canvases. The resulting group represented a series of negative images of different flowers, including lilies, roses, and orchids. She once felt they were her best work.
Dawn picked up the floral painting. She frowned and smashed it on a nearby table, causing the wood frame to snap. Dawn grabbed her palette knife and began slashing through the next painting. She picked it up and crushed what was left onto the concrete floor. The wood frame splintered, scattering fragments everywhere. Dawn went through her older paintings one by one, slashing and smashing them.
Dawn scooped up several of the destroyed pieces and carried them through the living room and over to the terrace door. She opened the door and flung the debris onto the patio. The wind caused the shredded sections of canvas to ripple loudly like sails on the open sea. It took a few more trips between the studio and terrace to get all the debris outside.
Dawn grabbed her wine and took the private elevator up to the top floor. The rock music continued to play within the car’s speakers as it ascended. Once in her bedroom, she went to the front half of her wardrobe closet and began to rip her black, white, and cream clothes from their hangers. Dawn collected as many as she could and brought them to the hallway, tossing them into the middle of the four stone pillars supporting the spiral staircase. The clothes spun and twirled, some still on their hangars, as they fell to the first floor. The garments came to rest beside the nearby stroller.
Once she finished clearing her colorless clothes from her closet, Dawn took a moment to enjoy her silky red wine. The song by U2 faded, and Van Halen’s Don’t Tell Me (What Love Can Do) began to play. Dawn went to her bathroom and searched through the cupboard until she found a bottle of nail polish remover.
Dawn left her bedroom and descended the stairs, carrying the remover and her empty wine glass. Several gowns had fallen on the steps, failing to reach the first floor. She kicked them the rest of the way downstairs. Dawn packed the clothes into the Silver Cross Kensington Pram carriage. She wheeled the stroller to the kitchen and stopped to refill her wine. While there, Dawn grabbed a lighter from one of the drawers before proceeding back to the patio door.
The wind whipped past Dawn as she shoved the stroller out onto the terrace. The temperature was a relatively balmy fifty degrees. The carriage’s wheels struggled to crawl over the broken paintings spread across the floor.
The curved patio spanned over 400 square feet. A small four-seat bistro and two lounge chairs with side tables were spread across the terrace. Dawn picked up a few pieces of shattered wood and jammed them into the buggy. She opened the nail polish remover and poured it over the wood, canvas, and clothing. Dawn flicked the lighter, cupping the flame with her hand.
“Goodbye, Dawn.” Dawn held the lighter beside a soaked piece of canvas, causing it to catch fire. She extinguished the lighter and smiled. “I won’t miss you at all.”
Dawn tossed a few more pieces of shredded artwork into the carriage. The flames grew in intensity, the paint-covered canvases quickly igniting. She turned and went back inside to get her glass of wine. As she crossed the floor, her cell phone rang. Dawn went to the kitchen and grabbed her phone. The screen showed the call was coming from her doctor. She grinned as she answered the call.
“Hello, Dr. Cole,” Dawn said. “How are you this afternoon?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” Dr. Cole said, sounding out of breath. “Are . . . are you doing okay?”
“Never better.”
There was a long pause before Dr. Cole finally said, “I’m in a cab on my way to my office. I must see you. I know you said you were done with therapy, but–”
“How’s four o’clock?”
“Four?” The doctor’s confused tone revealed her proposal had taken him by surprise. “Today?”
“Yes.” Dawn poured more wine into her glass. “Is that soon enough?”
“Uh. Yes. Yes, that would be perfect.”
“Great. See you then.”
Dawn ended the call, took another sip of red wine, and said, “Caretaker, can you reserve two tickets for the Vessel at Hudson Yards today at five?”
The music stopped. After a few seconds, the voice assistant said, “Please hold.” Dawn took the time to head back to the terrace door, bringing her wine and cell phone. Caretaker soon said, “Reservations confirmed for the Vessel today at five p.m.” The music resumed playing.
Dawn’s phone buzzed, showing a notification confirming the reservation being added to her calendar by Caretaker. She smiled, opened the patio door, and stepped outside. The carriage was now ablaze–the sides and hood having ignited. Dawn tossed more pieces of her shattered artwork into the fire. The fragments quickly became inflamed, many falling to the floor. She rang Jacob on her phone, placing the call on speaker. After four rings, the call connected.
“Dawn?” Jacob asked. He spoke in a soft, stern tone as if he’d stepped out of an important meeting to take the call. “Are you okay?”
&n
bsp; “Is this a bad time?” Dawn replied.
“Actually, it kind of is. Sean and I are moving into a new apartment.”
“Oh? I didn’t know you were planning to move.”
“I wasn’t. It’s a long story.” His voice became louder and filled with annoyance. “Look, can I–”
“I’ll keep this short, Jacob. Two things. First of all, I wanted to thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“When you threw Eve from my terrace, you told me I’d thank you tomorrow. Well, you were right.”
“Oh.” Jacob paused for an uncharacteristically long time. When he spoke again, he sounded relieved. “I didn’t mean that literally. But, um, okay. I’m glad you figured out that stupid doll was doing more harm than good.”
Dawn tossed a few more pieces of wood and canvas into the fire. The heat radiating from the blaze felt good on her skin.
“What’s that noise?” Jacob asked. “Are you outside?”
“I’m just doing some house cleaning.” Dawn took a moment to run her thumb and finger across the locket around her neck. “The second reason I called was to repay you.”
“For what?”
“For the money that you spent on me.”
“What? No. No, that’s not necessary.”
“But it is. I insist. You spent so much money on me. It couldn’t have been easy for a man of your means. The pregnancy and all that happened afterward were, well, were things you never signed up for.”
“Look, Dawn, I don’t–”
“I tricked you. With the fertility pills. You never wanted children. That wasn’t right. Let me make this up to you. I insist.” Dawn waited for his answer. She tried to imagine what was going through Jacob’s mind. “I won’t make this offer again, Jacob. Tell me to hang up, and you’ll never hear from me again. It’s up to you.”
Dawn took a sip of wine, again surprised at how long it was taking Jacob to respond.
“How . . . how much?” Jacob finally asked. “How much are you offering?”
“Name your price.”
“Name my . . . . Are you serious?”