Hollow Dolls, The (11 page)

Froth
formed around the corners of her young lips, her blue eyes raged. Highway
sixty-one buckled, tossing cars and semi trailers like mice into alternate
universes. The woman’s face remained obstinately locked straight up toward the
sky, unflinching and blank.

A
hand whipped out from the girl’s side like a snapping turtle from its shell,
clutching the woman’s hair, yanking her face closer. The woman’s wrinkled mouth
mechanically formed into a in a sex doll ‘O’. Her lips were clabbered with
thick cherry-red lipstick that had cracked and crumbled down her cheek landing
onto a red mound of old, dried lipstick flakes on the blanket. Discarded
rotting banana skins lay beside the woman’s head. Hundreds of flies made rounds
from the skins to the woman’s mouth crawling in and out of it, then her nose,
looking for a comfortable place to lay their eggs. The circuit of flies between
her face and the skins continued like a drag race.

The
young girl turned to reveal she’d transformed into a white rabbit.

“Bananas,”
said the rabbit politely.

Daintily
separating a banana from the bunch beside the woman, it smiled at the woman and
peeled the top of bananas one by one, repeatedly sliding them into the woman’s
‘O’ shaped mouth. The ‘O’ stretched wider and wider to an exceptionally large
cluster.

“There
now,” said the rabbit, gracefully brushing it’s paws. “There we are.”

The rabbit
patted the woman on the head causing her deep-set eyes to come alive. They
turned pure black and glistened like marbles with no irises or whites. In the
center of each was a reflection of the rabbit smiling from ear to ear.

Three
days in and Vancouver already sucked.  

“I’ll take the red one plus a hundred-dollar card please.”

Mel pointed through the glass to a prepaid cell phone at the
7-eleven. Hers was missing in action. The suitcase she’d just humped down the
stairwell of the hospital stood beside her.

Thanks a lot, Munindar.

She’d woken up in the hospital. Stripped everything off; neck
brace, monitors, and intravenous—got dressed and left.

Mel towed her bag, rolling it another block down to The Sandman
Suites. She had a reservation for a one bedroom with an open kitchen and a bank
of south windows. The view looked straight down on Davie Street, Vancouver’s
gay village main drag, then across Kitsilano, the ex-hippie, yuppie zone, up to
the University of B.C. Endowment Lands and the horizon.

She checked the cozy kitchenette fridge. Yes! Two full cases of
bottled water; Georgy probably sent them. She gulped one straight down and
opened another like she’d been deprived. Luckily the hospital didn’t take her
Pez. She didn’t want to loose Darth. The oxys in the suitcase made it through
customs. All was well, sort of. She swallowed a canine, sat back on the couch
and drifted off. The room turned. Mel shuddered and sat up. She felt a cool
sweat all over.

Out on a walk mainly to stay awake, a woman said a quiet hello and
gave her ‘the look’. Mel smiled back. On weekends, Davie was a street show
promenade. She’d had her share of the life back in London. Even down here when
she was a kid.

At English Bay Beach fish and chip stand she thumbed through her
wallet for cash and  found a business card. She gave it a glance: ‘Julie Spears
R.N., Psy.D.’. Probably a shrink nurse at VGH slipped it in her wallet. Pussy
hound no doubt. She tossed it in the garbage next to the stand and paid for her
fish and chips. Sitting at a picnic table on the beach, she fed half the anaemic
chips to the seagulls. London chippers were sorely missed. She wound her way
back to The Sandman trying to remember the flight over. How many days had
passed?

On the way through the lobby, the desk clerk signalled her.

“Excuse me, Miss Willow. You have a guest waiting for you.”

“Guest?”

“In the lounge. She wouldn’t leave a name, just asked if you could
join her there.”

Mel walked across the lobby and stood in the doorway of the
lounge.

There it was—the brown mop. Once again, the universe had
conspired. She was in one piece and sporting the latest in lovely racoon eyes. Inside
was a honey badger. Mel was the only one who knew the badger, the only one
living. Winnie slouched while reading a newspaper, her leg crossed like a guy,
a pint of beer half-gone in front of her.

“Hey. Can I buy you a real drink?”

Winnie looked up.

“Hi.” She tossed the paper. “I snuck away,” she said, sounding
shaky.

“Snuck away? What was that Alejandra business? Win, you look like
death. A pretty version though.” Mel was blubberingly excited to see her.

“I’ve been to the island.”

Winnie looked up at Mel. The corners of her mouth curled a bit.

“Jesus! Let’s get upstairs,” said Mel.

Winnie leaned on her in the elevator as it lurched up. Mel’s
stomach shrivelled, her heart thumped and her throat had that lump again. Georgy
said she might be feeling love.

“So I guess I’m in love with you after all these years,” she said,
tossing it out.

Winnie just leaned and moaned, “We can’t love Mel. We’re hollow.”

She got her inside the room onto the couch. “Here, drink this.”
Mel handed her a water.

“I’ve done whatever the Man-Rabbit asked,” said Mel, and took a
guzzle of water. “I’ve made three kills already. Still he said, ‘You must learn
to love, Mel, back in your realm.’ How do I even know what it is?”

“Mel! You’re pacing...”

“Shit, Winnie! Never mind, you’re the one going off the deep end.
What are you even doing over here? Tell me the truth: Alejandra, and this July
first experiments thing—did you make it all up?”

Winnie sat looking dazed, straight out ignoring her hollow doll
style. Mel grabbed Winnie and pulled her up off the couch.

“Mel, you’re making me dizzy! Quit it.” said Winnie.

She pushed Winnie toward the table, sat her down and poured some
scotch for them. “Here, have one of these.”  

Winnie stopped the tumbler sliding across at her. Mel walked back and
stood by the window looking out at the darkening sky. She tried to calm
herself. The cars were bumper-to-bumper on Davie Street below. She sat back
down.

“Win, you used to be glowing and sweet.” Mel’s stomach twisted and
turned.  She really had no idea what to do or say.

“Dammit! What is going on?” She slapped the table with her open
palm.

“Mel?”

Mel put a canine on her tongue, rolled another across the table.

Winnie made a paw at the table like they do in Vegas for another
card. Mel shoved her another one. They both sipped.

“What are you using?” said Mel. “You need to stabilize Win. You’re
a wreck.”

She ignored Mel’s questions. “Listen to this,” said Winnie. She
lowered her voice. “She took me the next morning, to a camp.”

“Alejandra?” Mel was whispering now too. Winnie nodded.

“Are those experiments for real?” said Mel.

Winnie’s phone rang.

“Hello?” Winnie’s face dropped. She hung up and put the phone
away.

“She’s watching,” said Winnie.

“What?” said Mel, bewildered.

She got up and headed for the door. Mel followed and stopped her.
Winnie turned and kneed Mel in the stomach, then shoved her hard back into the
cupboards. She bounced and fell to the floor, dishes raining down around her. Barely
conscious, she watched Winnie’s feet cross the floor back and forth. She wondered
how she’d learned to kick so hard... Oh, right, she’d taught her...

Winnie whispered, “Sorry,” in Mel’s ear.

She’d already passed out.

Next morning Mel sipped the complimentary instant coffee. Her head
was pounding to the splitting level and she was thinking about a CT scan.

She called Cara.

“Alejandra is in Canada,” said Cara.

“No fucking kidding.”

“Mel?”

“What?”

“Lilly told Alejandra she wants you back pronto, by force if
necessary,” said Cara.

By force? Her mind went to Hattie.

“What does Alejandra look like?” said Mel.

“Here, I’ll send you a shot,” said Cara.

“Well, she’s here, I know that. And she’s got Winnie.”

“Who’s Winnie?”

“I tried to tell you before. Shit! Never mind.” Mel flashed on her
days of devotion to Cara feeling now how childish she’d been.

“There were some cops around the club,” said Cara. “Investigating
Phillip’s murder. They said it was linked to two other’s in Chalk Farm Road.
They’re looking for a serial killer!”

 “I’ll have to warn my friends on Facebook,” said Mel. She spoke
in her anonymous tone.  A reflection cast out on the water; her and Cara for
years, stretching out across a lake and disappearing. Mel borrowed the phantom
melancholy again, as if she could be sad about it all.

After she hung up, the picture of Alejandra came through.

Mel looked at Alejandra and saw herself with her long dark hair! She
remembered Georgy’s office and the picture he’d mentioned during their
appointment. It felt like years ago. He said that he used to work with her in
the military. Mel stared at the photo. It was as if Cara had somehow gotten a
picture of Mel in her apartment, with her dark hair on. She felt a little
embarrassed. Did Cara know? Then she took a breath and looked away from the
phone. Of course she didn’t.

New kid in town: Alejandra.

Cara had been replaced. Totally.

A dog bark sound byte from her laptop meant an email had just
arrived. Mel changed her computer sounds and phone ringtones often; the
familiarity and repetitiveness of hearing the same one was annoying. It was
really Mel on personality avoidance detail, keeping plenty of blank space
inside. The email was from Winnie. Subject: “The Man-Rabbit.”

Mel:

I just got back to my room. It’s easy for you to
demand things of me, but you don’t understand what the consequences will be. DON’T
TRY TO FIND ME. If you do, I could end up dead, and others too. I’m staying
with our promise for The Man-Rabbit, keeping it all 100% true. Here is my story
about last night. You should send me yours. Sorry for hitting you, I had no
choice. Winnie

The Man-Rabbit TW-1

A light mist fell through the air. Vancouver felt
like home to Winnie. “I did as you asked,”  she said. They walked through
Yaletown, a trendy condo district. Winnie scoured the whole of Vancouver’s
downtown on Google Maps before she came. She knew it perfect as it was, and
mirrored for whatever that was worth.

“So what do I do now?”

“I’ve got you a cozy spot where you can keep an eye
on Mel and report back to me.”

“Why are you doing this to Mel? Because of you
she’ll hate me now.”

Alejandra stopped and gripped Winnie’s shoulders.

“Winnifred. This is what you believe. Mel loves us
both. Once she knows better, she’ll join us.”

Winnie repeated obediently.

“Mel loves us both. Once she knows better, she’ll
join us.”

 Alejandra had been trying her best to brainwash
Winnie. She’d given her Rohypnol and other mind control drugs, then Alejandra’s
Russian men friends in London used her. Winnie liked being used. Like
mad
used. They came on her everywhere, a bunch of them around the gurney at once.

She’d woken up in the middle of one session, tied down
while a video played on the ceiling of gory shite. People hacking up bodies,
shooting them in the head. She’d listened to Alejandra’s voice come through the
speakers and just wanted to laugh at the gore, people’s throats being cut open,
girls getting their breasts hacked off with machetes. Winnie couldn’t move...at
all. They even had her eyes held open with a hold-eyes-open contraption made of
stainless steel. The thing dropped eye drops into her eyes and everything. It
was like company. Never mind laughing on the outside, she laughed inside
instead. She still had to play her part, otherwise Mel could be hurt or killed.
She had to bide her time.

As Winnie and Alejandra walked, the neighborhood
changed from quaint condos to older deteriorating brick buildings. Street people
began appearing everywhere: junkies and people sleeping on cardboard or old
mattresses with their legs sticking out from dirty old blankets. This was the Downtown
Eastside, the DTES. It was notoriously disgusting; all over the web were grim
stats of murdered girls that had worked in the sex trade. Winnie was excited to
finally be here. She imagined being like that. On drugs, trading her body for
sex. She’d do it. People always called them hookers. That was a shitty way to
say it.

A man leaned on his overstuffed shopping cart under
an awning. It said “Potter’s Place Mission” in red letters with quotation marks.
Shopping cart man was a glassy blue-eyed shite-talking evangelist who pointed
at Alejandra proclaiming she was possessed by the devil and that she should
repent. Winnie waited for Alejandra to zap him with her taser. It was a wicked little
device. Winnie knew. Not this time.

“Hastings Street.” That’s all it said above the
entrance at the Dodson.  

“Here,” said Alejandra, handing over a key and a
roll of cash. You’re close to downtown here and it’s not far from Mel. Keep
your bracelet on at all times and don’t let her see you, ever.”

“Yes, Alejandra.”

“This is your first big test. I’m counting on you
Winnifred.”

Winnie could tell this was all a game to Alejandra. Not
what she was doing to Mel or Winnie herself; the whole thing. Life even. That
aspect of Alejandra made sense to Winnie in a way that she’d only found in Mel
before. She couldn’t get a grip on the feeling of being balanced between the
two of them right now. Mel was her true friend, the one and only. But something
weird was happening between her and Alejandra. And she liked it.

Winnie stopped on the stair. ‘Dodson Rooms’ and the
number 242 were engraved deep into the metal key. It reminded her of the Playboy
bunny on the tabs of ecstasy she’d done with Mel. That was when it all began it
seemed, right around that night.

That moment, Winnie wanted Alejandra to go away.

Alejandra’s knuckle dug into Winnie’s back and she started
up the stairs again. Winnie was in the middle of sex with Mel during their last
night together. She missed Mel’s body and as she walked up the stairs she was
getting her girl bone on thinking of Mel cropping her bum. She looked at the
roll of cash. She could turn, push Alejandra down the stairs. She’d be
unconscious at the bottom. She could break her neck and leave her there. Just
another dead bitch in a crap neighborhood like this. What if Alejandra
overpowered her and killed Mel as a punishment?