Dollenganger 06 My Sweet Audrina (4 page)

Vera had done this on purpose! She knew Papa came to my room each night around this time.
"I'm going," said Vera with a delighted grin. She hobbled toward the door of the bedroom that adjoined mine, planning to escape Papa. "Don't you dare tell him I was here if you know what's good for you."
But on her crutches she couldn't move fast enough. Papa threw open the door and glared at the two of us. "What's going on in here?" he asked.
With the guilty evidence stuck to my fingers, I hesitated and thus gave Vera the chance to dump all the crime in my lap. "I found that bookbag in a closet, and since it was monogrammed with
her initials,
I thought
this
Audrina should have it."
Scowling darkly, Papa came to me and tore the clippings from my fingers. He took one glance and howled in rage; then, whirling around, he thrust out his arm and sent Vera reeling to the floor--and she was already broken enough. Like someone demented and dying, Vera screamed out her rage. "It's hers! Why are you hitting me?"
Papa picked her up and held her as if she were some stiff-legged puppy from the gutter. He held her over my bed. "Now pick them up!" he ordered harshly. "My first Audrina would no more look at that filth than she'd tar and feather you--which I'll do if you don't stop tormenting me! Now you have to eat them," he added when she had them in her nervous, pale hand. I thought he was joking; so did she.
"I'm going to scream for my mother!" threatened Vera. "I'm hurt! I've got broken bones! I could die! You let me go, or tomorrow I'll go to the police and tell them you abuse me--"
"Eat them!" he bellowed. "You've coated them with glue, they shouldn't taste worse than your mother's cooking."
"Pa . . pa," she wailed, "don't make me eat paper and glue!"
Snorting in disgust, he carried her out of the room. A few seconds later I heard her screaming as he applied his belt to her bare skin. I didn't truly know if he used his belt when she was naked, but ten to one she'd tell me he did. Vera could scream if a fly lit on her arm, so how could I know unless I got up and found out for myself? I never did because for some reason I was afraid what she said might be true.
Minutes passed while my heart raced. Eventually Vera's screams ebbed away, but still Papa didn't come.
Somewhere downstairs a clock chimed ten times, but that meant little. Every bone in my body ached, every muscle was tensed. I knew I'd have to sit in the rocking chair again tonight.
Finally, when I felt I could bear the suspense no longer, knowing I'd never fall asleep until I did what he'd force me to do, I heard a door close and soon heavy footfalls sounded in the corridor. Papa's tread was even, heavy, squeaking the old sagging floorboards.
Softly, he eased open my bedroom door and stepped inside. Quietly, he closed the door behind him. He loomed up in the night like some huge monster, casting a long shadow in the
^-
dimness of my moonlit room.
"S000," he drawled in his most beguiling southern voice, cultivated over the years from his clipped Yankee delivery, "now you've taken to looking at obscene photographs that will dirty your mind. That shames me, Audrina, really shames me."
"Not me, Papa," I said. "Vera brought them in here--but don't hit her again, please. You could break her other arm and leg, or maybe her neck. You shouldn't whip her when she's hurt."
"I don't whip her," he said harshly. "I just scolded her, and she started screaming that I didn't love her. God, how can anyone love someone who makes so much trouble? Even if Vera brought in those nasty pictures and gave them to you, you didn't have to look, did you?"
Didn't I?
"I thought better of you than that. Don't let Vera destroy the best that's in you."
"Why are boys dangerous for me and not for Vera, Papa?"
"Some girls are born to be what Vera is. Boys can sniff them out from miles away. That's why I don't bother about her. It wouldn't do any good. It's you I care about because it's you I love. I used to be a boy, and I know how boys think. I'm sorry to say most boys cannot be trusted. That's why you have to stay out of the woods, and close to home, and out of school, too. It's dangerous for a beautiful, sensitive girl like you. It's the kind of woman you'll grow up to be that will be the salvation of mankind. That's why I struggle to save you and protect you from
contamination."
"But, but. . Papa--"
"Don't protest, just accept the fact that parents worry. Adults are far wiser about the world, especially wise about their own flesh and blood. We know you are ultrasensitive. We want to spare you those unnecessary pains. We love you. We want to see you grow up healthy and happy, that's all."
He came to sit on the edge of my bed as I lay on my back, frozen and trying not to breathe. Tightly I squeezed my eyelids together. My lids parted a bit to peek and see if he believed I'd fallen asleep, so deeply asleep I might even be dead, and maybe in death I'd gain the nobility of the First and Best Audrina and would never have to sit in her chair again. But he leaned closer. I seized hold of the sheet and pulled it up high under my chin. Papa's ironlike hands closed down on my shoulders. His strong fingers digging into my tender skin made my eyes pop wide open and clash with his. Our gazes locked, and in a silent duel of wills we fought until my mind went vague, out of focus, and he was the winner again.
"Now, now,"
he
soothed, beginning to stroke my hair, "it's not so bad, is it? You've done it before, and you can do it again. I know sooner or later you will catch the gift, if you are patient and keep trying. You can help me, Audrina."
"But--but," I stammered, wanting to make him stop.
But he went on and on, inundating me with his needs, which had to be my needs too.
I was afraid. Still, my love for him made me an easy subject, willing to be cajoled, flattered and won over to feeling I had to be wanted just for my "gifts" when I had them.
"And all you have to do is dream, Audrina, just dream."
Dream, dream. That was the one thing I didn't want to do. Was he going to keep it up until I was an old lady, or would I be able to seize hold of the First Audrina's gift and satisfy Papa? Pray God the First and Best Audrina's gift would help me end up differently than she did. Why didn't he ever worry about that?
"Dream, Audrina, my love, my sweet. Shakespeare wrote about it: 'to sleep, perchance to dream.' To dream and know the truth. Come back and give me your dreams, Audrina, and make all your father's hopes for the future come true."
I stared at him sitting there on my bed. His dark eyes were no longer glittering and frightening, only pleading and full of love--how could I keep on resisting? He was my father. Fathers were supposed to know right from wrong. And I did owe him a great deal. "Yes, Papa," I whispered. "Just one more time. Won't just one more time be enough?"
"Perhaps it will be," he said, his smile lighting up his face.
Appearing happy, Papa led me by my hand down the hall, to the very end room. Once there, he released me and took out a large key to unlock her door. I felt a cold draft that made me shiver. It was the first Audrina's grave breathing on me.
I looked around as I always did, as if I'd never been here before. I couldn't say how many times I'd been here. This room seemed to be the one thing that filled all the holes in my memory, looming larger than any other experience. Yet each time I came it was a shock to hear the wind chimes in the cupola be: n to softly tinkle, tinkle. Even in the dark, crystal-prism colors flashed behind my eyes. Perhaps I had seized hold of a memory--the memory of this all too familiar room. Perhaps I was beginning to benefit just from being here.
If it hadn't once been
her
room, I'd have wanted it for my own. It was huge, with a big tester bed under the fancy canopy. There were two giant dark armoires filled with all the pretty clothes that had once been hers, clothes they didn't want me to wear. Little shoes were lined up in neat rows, from one-year sizes to those a nine-year-old girl would wear. Some were scuffed and old, some were shiny and new. The dresses that hung above grew longer with each succeeding year.
Toy shelves lined the walls, full of everything any little girl could ever want. There were dolls from every foreign country dressed in native costumes. There were toy tea sets and dinner sets, picture books and storybooks, beach balls and bouncing balls, jumping ropes with fancy handles, jacks, boxes of games, puzzles and paint sets . . . oh, there was nothing they hadn't bought for the First, the Best and the Most Perfect Audrina--far more than they'd bought for me. On those dark and brooding shelves where the toys sat eternally grieving and waiting to
be
loved again were dozens of soft, plushy, pastel animals, all with dark button eyes that glinted and gleamed and seemed to follow my movements. Even baby rattles with small teeth marks were there, and worn-looking bronzed baby shoes in which she'd taken her first steps. They hadn't saved mine and had them bronzed, nor had they saved Vera's.
Beneath the wide windows covered by fussy white Priscilla curtains was a dollhouse. A child's toy table with four chairs was set and ready for a party that was never given. Fancy rugs were scattered about to make stepping stones across the room,
compartmentalizing it into rooms within a room, or mazes within a maze.
Quietly as vandals we left the doorway and stole inside that room that breathlessly awaited us. My bedroom slippers were left in the hallway outside, as were his, to show our respect to this room where the perfect daughter had once reigned. The very way Papa had taught me to bow my head and lower my eyes and speak in reverent whispers once I was in this room instilled fear in me. Expectantly, he kept his eyes on me, as if waiting for her specialness to jump into my brain and fill my Swiss cheese memory with the First Audrina's gifts.
He kept watching me, waiting for something to happen, but when I only turned in circles, staring at one thing and then another, he grew impatient and gestured toward the only adult-sized chair in the room--the magic rocking chair with the lacy calla-lily back and the rose velvet cushion. I inched toward it reluctantly, holding my breath as I forced myself to sit. Once I had stiffly settled myself on the seat, he came to kneel at my side. Then began his ritual of kisses rained on my hair, my face, even my arms and hands, all meant to tell me that he loved
me
best. He murmured endearments in my ear, his breath hot and damp, and before I could protest, he bounded to his feet and raced from the room, slamming and locking the door behind him.
He'd never left me alone in here before!
"No, Papa!" I screamed, panic in my voice, terror all around me. "Come back! Don't make me stay in here by myself!"
"You're not alone," he called to me from the other side of the door. "God is with you and I am with you. I'll stay and wait right here, watching through the keyhole, listening, praying. Nothing but good can come from rocking in that chair. Believe that, Audrina; nothing but good will fill your brain and replace your lost memories."
I squeezed my eyes shut and heard the wind chimes clamoring louder, much louder now.
"Sweetheart, don't cry. There's nothing to be afraid of. Hold onto your faith in me and do as I say, and your future will shine more brightly than the sun above."
Beside the chair was one of the night tables that held a lamp and a Bible,
her
Bible. I snatched up the black leatherbound book and held it close against my heart. I told myself, as I'd told myself before, that there was nothing to be afraid of. The dead couldn't harm anyone. But if they couldn't--why was I so terrified?
I heard Papa's soft voice outside the locked door. "You do have her gifts, Audrina, you do. Even if you don't believe, I believe. And I'm the one who knows. I'm sure the reason our previous efforts have failed is because I stayed in the room with you. It's my presence that ruins your chances at succeeding. I know now it's solitude, loneliness, that makes the process begin. You've got to wash your mind free of anxieties. Feel no fear, no joy, no confusion. Expect nothing and everything will be given. Feel nothing but contentment to be alive, to be where you are and who you are. Ask nothing, receive everything. Sit there and let go of whatever makes you afraid or worried. Let contentment loosen your limbs and relax your mind, and if sleep wants to come, then let it come. Do you hear me? Are you listening? No confusion. No fear. For Papa is here."
All his words were familiar. Same old thing about not being afraid, when fear was almost choking me. "Papa," I wailed for one last time, "please don't make me . . ."
"Oh," he said heavily, sighing, "why do I have to force you? Why can't you just believe? Lean back in the rocker, put your head against the high back, hold the chair arms and begin to rock. Sing if it helps to wash your mind clean of fear, of worries, of desires and emotions. Sing and sing until you become an empty pitcher. Empty pitchers have room for many, many things, but full pitchers can hold no more . . ."
Oh, yes, I'd heard this before. I knew what he was doing. He was trying to turn me into the First Audrina or maybe I was going to be the instrument through which he'd be able to communicate with her. I didn't want to be her. And if ever I was her, I'd hate him, hate him. Yet, he kept soothing me, cajoling me, and if I didn't want to stay in here all night, I'd have to do as he said.
First I stared around at the room again, memorizing again every detail. Little tickling sensations began to whisper, whisper, that I could be her, I was her, the dead Audrina, who was only bones in her grave. No, no, had to think the right thoughts and give to Papa what he had to have. I told myself this was only a bedroom filled with old toys. I saw a huge spider spinning a web from doll to doll. Momma didn't like housework, even cleaning this room. Though it appeared a spotless spic-and-span shrine, it wasn't anything but surface clean. For some reason that made me feel better--Momma was paying what Papa called "lip service" to reverent cleanliness. And Aunt Ellsbeth refused to clean this room.
Unconsciously I began to rock.
Into my head filtered an old, almost forgotten tune. The music and the lyrics played over and over again. The words lulled me, while the melody tingled my spine and slowed my pulse. Peace was coming unbidden to heavy my eyelids. .. and then vaguely I heard my frail voice singing: