Broken Dolls (9 page)

“Yeah,” Gabby chimes in, her voice melodic betwixt the distress. The professor’s eyes dart to and fro like he’s watching a tennis match. “Grandpa, what we’re about to tell you is a little discon… disconcerting, I think the word is. You know Lisa, that goth doll, right? Yeah, well, she pretty much vowed to destroy Ella last night. She was coming at her all psycho like, so Ella ran to get to you, but Lisa pushed her down the stairs! I came out because I heard Jupiter meowing, so I rescued her. I was going to get you, but… well, you’ve been tired lately, and I didn’t want to wake you. So I figured we’d tell you in the morning.”

The professor sweeps back what’s left of his hair that’s stuck to his forehead. He walks up to us, arms outstretched, and plucks me out of Gabby’s hands. “But you’re both okay?” He asks a full minute later. When we nod, he reciprocates. “Good. Do you know where Lisa is now? I haven’t seen her since I activated her.”

“No,” Gabby and I say in unison.

“Well we need to find her!” The professor’s voice rises. “She’s found a way to get out of the attic, which means she could be anywhere! Close all doors and windows and do
not
let her escape! If you find her, let me know.”

Gabby scratches her nose. “Ella said you’ll deactivate her for the whole attempted murder thing.”

The professor looks down at me fondly, lightly tapping my head with his finger. “All things have a purpose, whether it be to create chaos or bring hope. I wished that Lisa would be my bundle of hope, but she’s nothing more than hopelessly chaotic.” He pauses. “She must be stopped.”

Despite the fleeting relief, I can’t help but dread the moment when Lisa is deactivated. She’s not evil–just troubled.

Does anyone who causes trouble really deserve to die?

o what do we do exactly?” Gabby presses the record button. She kneels next to me, leaning in to speak into the microphone. “This thing is like a billion years old! I should give you my tablet.”

“A tablet? No thanks, pills wouldn’t work on me anyway,” I decline kindly. “It’s imagination time.” I clap my hands together. “It’s where anything can and anything
does
happen! Sometimes I pretend I’m a spy infiltrating the attic to find the mysterious stone or… or I’m in the jungle riding a saber-toothed tiger!”

“So what are we imagining today?”

“That we’re traveling gypsies with magical powers,” I whisper, widening my eyes. “I’m Trixie, and you’re Kali! We’re sisters on the run from the demonic witch, Victor!”

Gabby grins. “That sounds like a book!”

“It’s a work in progress.” I giggle. “Okay, let’s start!”

“Wait! What are my powers?”

“Pretty much anything. You’re stronger than me because you’re connected to Victor.” I breathe in and begin to imagine Gabby and myself in carnival clothes with colorful corsets and laced boots.

“What’s the go with Victor? Like, why is he after us?”

“Because he hates that he doesn’t have power over us,” I say quickly, annoyed that we’re not jumping straight into the fun. “He’s trying to control us with magic. He hates Kali the most because she’s strong-willed and fights against him. She lives a life of her own and is happier for it. Trixie is the softer sister, who isn’t as powerful. Victor completely brainwashes her into doing his bidding.”

Gabby frowns and awkwardly scratches at her elbow. “That’s intense. Is it just me, or does he sound like Grandpa?”

My beautiful carnival disappears. The corsets fade. Gabby’s platinum pigtails return to her unkempt style. All I see is the attic, grey and dusty. I remain silent, Gabby’s words ringing in my head.

“Ella? Ella, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it! It was just an observation!” Gabby tilts her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing.

I shake my head and press the pause button on the recorder. “It’s okay. We should probably get ready for the ballet, anyway.”

“No! I want to play imagination time. Look, I’m a gypsy! Woosh, go my magical powers!”

“You should brush your hair,” I say quietly, staring at the dead flowers in the corner of the room that the professor never removed.

Gabby chews the side of her lip, a concerned or guilty look on her face–I can’t figure out which. She stands and leaves, her walk slow.

I sit alone, wondering about my story. I never had a title for it, but one just popped into my head.

Brainwashed.

The dress is more beautiful than anything I could ever imagine. I almost look human in it. Its full length covers my hinged knees and stick-thin legs. Unfortunately, it only seems to highlight my missing hand, but that’s fixable. The professor will get a new one for me tomorrow.

I twirl in the mirror that the professor wiped down for me. The dress lifts and floats down, like a feather.

It is a good distraction from the foggy, plastic box the professor has put over the chest. He said Lisa won’t be able to infiltrate it and I should be safe while they’re at the ballet. I hate the stupid box! My voice sounds muffled in here, and I can barely see through it.

The door clicks closed, and I freeze, then rush towards the bed and wrap the blanket around me, fearful that the professor will not be satisfied until I explain why I’m in such a lovely dress.

“Ella?” An outline of Gabby shows through the plastic. She lifts it up and frowns. “Why’s it so dark in here? I can’t have this!” She leans over and turns on the flashlight in the chest, illuminating the small area. She looks immaculate. The professor has let her wear red lipstick to match the red, flowing skirt. The top half of her dress is covered in silver sequins, the straps hidden by her curled hair.

“He’s letting you go to the ballet? How did you convince him?” I jump onto my bed. “You look very pretty, by the way.”

“Thank you.” She twinkles. “It was actually pretty easy to guilt him into it. All I had to say was I’ve only got one week left to enjoy the small things in life, and he folded.”

I cringe. It bugs me, how blasé she is about her terminal illness. Most of it is probably an act, but it’s almost like she doesn’t appreciate being human.

Gabby reaches for her handbag and opens it. Excluding the gold strap, it fits her outfit to a T. “Okay, get in!”

I climb up the ladder and look down at the purse. There’s not going to be a lot of room for me in there. It looks so dark and tight, it reminds me of my traumatic experience in the mouse hole.

“Gabrielle? Where are you?” The professor is outside.

“Crap! Hurry, hurry!” Gabby waves for me to get in the bag.

I close my eyes and dive into the darkness. The opening clicks shut behind me the moment I land. I barely have time to get used to my surroundings before Gabby begins to walk. “Coming, Grandpa!”

The door screeches, and we’ve left the attic.

I’m not excited about the ballet. To be honest, the dancers have barely crossed my mind. I’ve been far too preoccupied with the possibility of getting into trouble. I shift so that I’m on the flat of my back. Luckily, Gabby didn’t put anything else in the purse–only a handful of coins.

“Where were you?” the professor asks when Gabby reaches the bottom of the stairs.

“Saying goodbye to Ella. I said I’d take notes for her so she can practice new dance moves.”

I shake my head. How can she lie easily to her grandfather?

Keys jangle, and Gabby and the professor step outside.

“I love my little broken doll,” the professor says. I can’t see him, but a smile warms his voice. “She would’ve loved the ballet.”

“Why not let her come, then?” Gabby throws the purse into the car before following suit. I bounce around and readjust my position.

The professor closes his door and starts up the engine. “Can you imagine what society would think if they found a walking, talking doll? She’d be taken away from us.”

“Couldn’t she pretend to be a real doll? You know, inanimate?”

It’s odd, hearing people talk about you when you’re not supposed to be there. It’s both flattering and nerve-wracking that at any given minute, you’ll hear something you won’t like.

“And what kind of life would that be? Pretending to be something you’re not?” the professor asks. The car rocks as we swerve out onto the road.

“Probably better than a life where nothing happens,” Gabby mumbles. “Seriously, Grandpa. It’s kind of ridiculous not letting her ever leave the attic.”

“Gabby, you don’t understand!” His voice is tight. “It’s what she wanted!”

No way! I assume Gabby is as stunned as I am because she doesn’t reply. Just as well. I wouldn’t know what to ask him. He has to be lying. Who’d want a lonely eternity in the attic?

The silence is broken when the radio comes on. The music is calm and sweet, with a slow beat and soothing bass. It must be what gives Gabby the confidence to speak.

“Why do you call Ella a broken doll?” She picks up the purse and sits it on her lap. How does she know I find being in people’s laps comforting?

“Because that’s what she is.” The professor is harder to hear over the music. I really wish he’d learn to speak through his diaphragm.

“But how?” Gabby presses. “She’s missing a hand, sure, but she’s not broken.”

“You didn’t know her when she was human.”

Gabby doesn’t respond. Instead, as the music picks up, she clips open the purse and glances at me with a confused expression. I shrug and mouth ‘I don’t know’. I never met myself as a human–whom am I to tell if I wasn’t a completely different person?

The streetlamps blind me as we pass them. Gabby notices me squinting and closes her purse, once again leaving me in what feels like an eternal void.

The car slows, and Gabby leans to the left when we turn into, assumingly, a parking lot. The engine’s purr abruptly cuts off, and Gabby and the professor hurry out.

People murmur nearby as the car lock engages, and the bumps that accompany Gabby’s bouncy way of walking tell me we are going inside.

“Sure is busy tonight,” Gabby says, and the professor responds with a disinterested grunt.

Very slowly, a stream of light pours into the handbag as Gabby unlatches the lock. I crouch and peek over the rim, noting their tenseness.

It’s not fair that they’re fighting over me. Maybe, I shouldn’t have come. At least, this way I wouldn’t feel guilty about their quarrel.