Dollhouse (15 page)

Her voice got raspy towards the end. I went to fetch a cup of water for her. Hesitantly, I stepped past the bed chamber—attempting to tell myself the clown and the Raggedy Ann were just toys. Thoughts stormed my head. Who was Jessamine to have the command to tell the girls what to do? And why did Ethan keep insisting Henry was directly responsible for Aisha’s disappearance? Was he hiding something—or someone—after all?

I returned to find Aisha and Ethan cuddling and muttering to each other. Ethan loved her—that’s all I knew. He’d given his all to find her, and I couldn’t allow myself to doubt him. I set the water down on a table near them and walked away to the library. Picking up a book about circus acts, I read in a corner by myself. The book contained step-by-step illustrations detailing how to safely move from trapeze swing to trapeze swing. The words and images began to smear together. I was tired—bone-tired—in every way.

I realized I’d been dreaming—of dolls and suffocating underground passages and growls and the bloodcurdling screams of an unseen owl.

I woke into a worse nightmare.

I was still here. Panic rose inside me. Why didn’t we pull back at the time we’d found the secret underground room below the shed? We could have had the police here yesterday morning. We had found Aisha—alive—but we hadn’t managed to save her. We were stuck now, just like her. And Lacey was gone.

Lacey
. Had she been returned? Did she sleep in one of the beds right now? I had to look for her now, while everyone was asleep. The clock’s hands said midnight—the dead middle of the night.

I stood awkwardly, stiffly. Sleeping in the chair—big as it was—hadn’t been too comfortable for my back and neck. The heat of the fire had seeped away and a coldness ushered in.

Aisha and Ethan slept together on the daybed, curled up into each other. The lights were still on. I guessed the lights stayed like this, all the time.

My muscles tightened. Something heavy scraped along the passageway. I knew that sound. The clown.

Was it coming to hurt us in our sleep?

I concealed myself behind a rocky column at the entrance to the chamber. Here my view of the passage was hampered, but at least I couldn’t easily be seen.

Jessamine, clad in her nightgown, stepped along the passage, holding a lamp out in front of her. I stifled a scream as I caught sight of what walked behind her. The doll and clown moved side by side—the doll’s legs plodding heavily and the clown dragging along on its wooden base.

The trio continued on, turning to walk down the unlit passage—and disappeared from view.

I pressed my back against the rock. How could any of this really be happening?
It was a nightmare—and I’d wake out of it and the nightmare would end.
What if I was actually in some kind of psychosis? Was I in a hospital ward right now—with my mother looking anxiously on, wondering when I was going to snap out of it?

I returned to the chair, my heart pounding against my ribcage. Ethan and Aisha slept on.
At least they had each other
. I was totally alone in this madness.

I didn’t sleep the rest of the night—the grandfather clock ticking off each second.

* * * *

The girls lined up in the bathroom, cleansing off the red cheeks and lips from the day before and reapplying it all new. Sophronia bent to apply the red circles to Philomena’s cheeks.

Lumpy porridge steamed in a huge cooking pot out in the kitchen. Sophronia tried to fix it as best she could—frowning with the effort of pushing the spoon through the mixture.

Sophronia and Missouri served the porridge. Ethan and I put our hands up to refuse a plate—but were given plates anyway.

Evil-looking black things spotted the porridge—dead bugs. The girls casually picked the bugs out and put them on the table. Aisha flicked a bug from her spoon. She briefly looked up at Ethan and me with a look of shame—as though to say,
this is how I live now
.

Ethan and I pretended to eat.

After breakfast, Jessamine announced it was time to sketch. She instructed that the guests were to join everyone else. The girls busied themselves in the chamber, getting paper and pencils from their desks.

I sat at a spare desk, pulling out paper and pencils too. I’d never been great at art, and sitting down to draw seemed like torture. And without breakfast, my stomach ached.

Ethan began sketching a drag racing car—fire pluming from the back of it.

I tried my hand at drawing an apple tree. It was the ugliest apple tree ever, but Philomena smiled when she saw it.

Aisha drew a winged unicorn flying over mountains.

Philomena drew the fuzzy outline of a girl with black hollows for eyes. Missouri gently turned her page over. Leaning across, she sketched a family of people on the page—the parents, a baby boy, a girl of about eight and a girl of about four. The sketch had the family surrounding the smallest girl, stretching their arms out to her.

Philomena studied the picture, tracing the faces of the people with her finger. The picture wasn’t well-drawn, but it didn’t need to be.

Jessamine stormed forward, snatching the drawing away. She tore the paper to shreds, letting the pieces fall to the ground. “I told you to stop drawing these pictures!”

Jessamine watched carefully then, as the girls continued to draw. She requested that Missouri draw a princess in a tower, and Missouri dutifully complied—but the princess she drew had a sour, mean face.

Jessamine wandered away and the girls visibly relaxed.

Sophronia snatched her drawing away as I looked over to her desk. What I’d seen of her drawing had been ugly—a giant eye—evil and reptilian. She balled the paper up in her hands—stepping over to the fire and throwing the paper in. The paper burst into a hot flame.

Philomena jumped onto the carousel. Missouri joined her. As soon as they mounted the horses, lights twinkled along the center column and the carousel began to turn. The old Greensleeves tune came mournfully from the speakers underneath the carousel roof.

Philomena giggled, jumping from her horse and running around and around the carousel—holding poles and leaning her head backwards off the edge. I’d always wanted to do that when I was a kid. Having to sit on a horse always seemed so constricting.

But it was hard watching this carousel move so freely when the other one wouldn’t budge.

Jessamine came skipping up to me.

“I have good news. Your friend—she’s been found—she’s with Henry!” Nodding, Jessamine searched our faces for reactions. “She’s having a nice visit with him, and she’ll be back with you in a few days.”

Ethan marched up to Jessamine. “What do you mean she’s with Henry? How do you know?”

Jessamine’s hand fluttered to her throat. “He told me, of course.”

“If he hurts Lacey—”

“Why ever would he hurt your friend?” Jessamine countered. “He’s not like that at all.”

“Well who hurt
you
?” I said. “Who made those marks on your shoulder?”

“I told you—it was the bad thing. I don’t wish to discuss it. It makes me feel dreadful.”

I held my palms up. “Okay. I won’t ask about it again. I promise.”

Jessamine composed her expression. “Refixerating what I was saying before, your friend will be brought back here quite soon. You and the boy need to prepare for your friend’s return.”

I guessed she meant to say,
reiterating
.

“What do you mean, we need to prepare?” I crossed my arms.

“She’ll be our guest of honor, silly. You have to dress for the occasion.”

“We’re not changing clothes,” Ethan told her.

“Then you won’t see her.”

“How do you talk with Henry?” Ethan moved in close to her face.

She tilted her head, annoyed at the question. “We send notes back and forth—with the food.”

I tried to think fast. “Will Henry be bringing Lacey down here personally?”

“Of course,” said Jessamine. “She won’t come unescorted.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “We’ll dress in whatever you want. But we want to be there when Henry comes down here—it’s a very special occasion after all.”

Jessamine led Ethan and me to the space next to the storage area.

I stepped over to the black dress on the headless dummy. “This?” I asked.

Jessamine's face whitened. “Oh no. You are never to wear that. That gown is completely off-limits for all of you—and please don't forget that.”

She gestured towards a large chair. A dress had been laid out over the back of the chair—kind of a sepia-orange in color. And a gray jacket and pants were folded below—I guessed those were for Ethan.

Jessamine left the room. She didn’t seem to realize that she’d left a boy and a girl alone to dress—in front of each other.

Snatching up the dress, I moved to a corner of the room. Ethan hesitantly picked up the gray clothing. He turned to face the wall.

I unbuckled my jeans and stepped out of them, then peeled off my jacket and t-shirt. A slip hung beside the gown—which looked exactly like the night gowns the girls wore—and I guessed I was meant to put this on first.

I pulled the slip on—it was too tight—but there wasn’t another one there to try. The gown was stiff and cumbersome as I wriggled into it. It was as tight and uncomfortable as the slip. I attempted to lace the gown behind my back.

Ethan was dressed already. He looked a different person in the jacket and waistcoat. A mocking grin spread across his face at the sight of me in the dress. Taking my shoulder, he turned me around and laced the back of my dress. I could scarcely breathe in the strangulating attire.

Jessamine appeared at the door, her expression approving. She held out the red face paint to me. “You must look your best.”

Taking the makeup, I ambled across to the bathroom. I stuck a finger in the paint and applied it in a circular motion on my cheeks, and then rubbed some on my lips. The paint tasted waxy and old.

I looked ridiculous. Ethan seemed to have escaped having to put the paint on.

Dark orange ribbons had already been laid out on the bathroom dresser, along with a huge wooden hairbrush.  I dragged the brush through my tangled hair, plaiting it on both sides and then fixing the plaits at the top of my head with the ribbons.

Already, I barely recognized myself.

Aisha and the girls stared in open-mouthed surprise when Ethan and I returned to the ballroom.

“Announcing Calliope and Evander,” said Jessamine to everyone. She indicated that
Evander
should take my hand and I should do a twirl.

I did an ungainly spin.

Philomena clapped her little hands, giggling. “Cal-eye-oh-pee.”

Jessamine announced that we were to begin dance practice now—to prepare for Lacey’s return.

Ethan and I were to complete the first waltz. Jessamine had us bow and courtesy to each other—and then do a kind of skipping motion along the width of the floor—whilst holding hands. I was sure this wasn’t a real waltz and that Jessamine was making it up as she went along.

My body heated when Ethan held me against him for a slow dance. It felt comfortable, intensely sweet.

“Can’t wait to pound Henry’s head into the wall as soon as he steps foot in here,” Ethan whispered into my ear.

“I’ll be right beside you,” I said fiercely.

Ethan raised a lopsided eyebrow at me. “Go, Girl Wonder.”

I realized I didn’t look very convincing flittering about in dolls’ makeup and a frock.

He held my hand as I spun out and in again, melting against the hard frame of his body.

Aisha's face tightened as we waltzed past her. I moved away from Ethan, keeping him at arms' length.

Jessamine clapped her hands for the waltz to end, and I sat with a thudding heart, keeping my face slightly out of line of Aisha's gaze.

Ethan didn't get to sit down. Jessamine declared that each girl was to waltz with him.

Sophronia leant heavily on Ethan, dancing awkwardly for their waltz. Something seemed wrong with her body, as though her spine was bent or as though one leg was longer than the other.

Missouri blushed when he took her hand to lead her around the dance floor. I wondered how long she’d been here—she might never have had a boyfriend or even been kissed by a boy.

I was fifteen and had only kissed one boy—a neighbor back in Miami—a cute Puerto Rican boy whom I later found out had made a mission of kissing every girl over the age of twelve in our neighborhood.

Ethan bent down to waltz with the tiny Philomena next. She giggled through the entire dance, staring up at Ethan as though he was something magical.

Aisha's turn was last. Everyone stared as Ethan offered her his hand. She moved against him in an almost frozen dance, her eyes glazed.

The rest of the day was spent reading or doing needlepoint. Sophronia unpicked an intricate, beautiful needlepoint picture of a meadow—and began stitching the same picture again.

Aisha drew at her desk, raising her eyes every now and again to Ethan, as though she wanted to reassure herself he was really there. She risked a quick, thin smile in my direction—but her expression was guarded.

No lunch was given at any time—and dinner was something that resembled mushy vegetables and mince—all from tins.

Ethan and I ate the last of the food we had in our backpacks—hiding our feast from Jessamine. We didn’t know if something was being put in the food that made the girls so sleepy, or if it was just the tea. But we’d run out of our own food now—and our options had become limited.

Surely we won’t be here much longer. When Henry comes down here—then we’ll get away. Run to freedom.

Jessamine declared it bed-time an hour earlier than what she said was the usual.

I’d hoped to have a chance to talk with Aisha again—but she was being shepherded off to sleep already. Jessamine insisted upon Aisha sleeping in the bed chamber, and Aisha didn't argue.

The girls dutifully took their tea.