Pretty Stolen Dolls (19 page)

She sits up and gazes at me, compassion flickering in her bright blues. “Why don’t you want any, doesn’t everyone?”

My laughter echoes in the quiet room. “No.”

I watch her features to see if my words affect her. They do. Disappointment wrinkles her brow for a brief moment before she masks it with indifference.

“Let’s talk about you. Last time you were here, you mentioned a sister. Do you have any other siblings?”

I cringe at the mention of my sister. Not one day goes by where I don’t think about her. That I don’t close my eyes and try to remember the sound of her comforting voice.

“No.”

She lets out an exasperated sigh. It’s soft, but I hear it. I always notice the tiniest of details. It’s what makes me so good at what I do.

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” she says finally, and her eyes skim to the clock on the wall.

I sit down on the sofa and take my time looking her over. Age and her profession, where she sits all day, has seemed to add wrinkles and at least twenty pounds to her already curvy figure. The picture she has on her website reveals a vibrant, younger, and much thinner woman. Seems I’m not the only one who wishes she were someone else.

“I don’t need help,” I tell her with a slight bite to my voice. What could she do for anyone?

She frowns. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

Shrugging, I gulp down the cold beverage. When I’m finished, I set my glass down on the decorative book on the table that wasn’t here last time. Moving my eyes to meet hers, she flinches, but doesn’t say anything. Satisfied, I lean back against the cushions.

“I come here because he asked me to.”

“Who is he? Your boyfriend?”

My boyfriend…
no
, but what exactly are we?

“You hold affection for this man,” she establishes.

“Yes, always,” I tell her honestly.

She smiles, and it’s genuine. It makes her seem younger. Prettier.

Pretty little doll.

I
T WAS A
S
ATURDAY WHEN
I was taken, but it felt just like this. The same stifling heat. Same bustling bodies reeking of musky body odor.

Why did you come back here?

I thought I should stay true to what I told Dillon about visiting my parents, but instead, my car turned off at the dirt road I used to walk down every Saturday afternoon.

The sun licks at my bare arms and burns against the black pants I put on. I’m standing, looking down at the book booth I used to visit each time. The same woman from all those years ago still runs it. It’s like the place was frozen in time.

Macy and I were never allowed to come on Sundays like today. Sundays were for church. Many times I wished church was on Saturday too. Maybe then we would have never have met Benny.

“You a reader?” the woman enquires, nodding down to a set of worn Harry Potter books.

Shaking my head, I get right to the point. “Are there any doll booths here? There used to be one here.”

She stills, not looking up from a stack of books before she begins laying them out on the table.

“Are you a reporter? Because that story has been done to death,” she gripes with an annoyed shake of her head.

That story
. Like it’s one of her fiction novels.

That story
I endured for four years.

That story
was as real as it was horrific.

“Actually,” I lie through gritted teeth, “I’m just looking for a gift for someone.”

Her head lifts and she points through the crowd of people. “There’s a toy booth a hundred yards that way. You’ll find something there, I’m sure.”

“Thanks.”

She doesn’t acknowledge my appreciation. Instead, she turns to talk to another customer as they approach.

My feet carry me to said booth and my heart pounds.

I should feel close to Macy here, but I don’t. All I feel is how much I failed her.

“Hey there, sugar,” a deep, raspy voice drawls. He sounds like he’s smoked a pack a day his entire life.

My eyes lift up to see a giant of a man. He’s covered in tattoos, his thick greying beard hangs nearly halfway down his pudgy gut, and he’s tilting his head to check out my ass.

“Whatcha looking for?”

Running my fingers against the cloth he has over one of the tables littered with toys, I ignore him. He eventually tuts and stalks over to a little girl with her mother.

“Pretty doll for a pretty doll,” I hear him say and almost drop the teddy bear I’ve picked up.

Scanning the child, I notice a porcelain doll huddled against her chest.

“Can I have it, Mommy, please?”

My feet carry me over to them and before I can stop myself, I’m pulling the doll from her arms. The girl gasps in shock.

“Excuse me,” her mother snaps.

“Where did this come from?” I demand, waving the doll to the toy vender.

He scratches a hand over his bald head and stares at the doll, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not one of mine. She must have picked it up somewhere else.” He eyes the girl’s mom. “Where did she find this?”

“Right there.” Her mother points to the table in front of us.

“Does it have a sticker on it?” he asks, reaching for the doll. I step away from him and check the foot where Benny used to put the prices.

Twenty-eight dollars.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

“That’s not right,” he grumbles. “It’s worth twice that.”

Benny.

“It must be from the stock my wife put out,” he lies, clearly just wanting to make a profit.

A flare of auburn hair and hazel eyes catch my eye through the crowd and all the noise mutes to nothing. My heartbeat thunders in my ears.

Macy?

A firm grip encloses around my bicep. The man has come around the table and is holding me, lifting my arm. “The doll,” he demands. My hand unclasps the doll and he drops my arm to grab it. A smash ricochets behind me as I dart through the crowd of people in search of those hazel eyes.

“You’re paying for that,” he hollers from behind me. “Hey! Come back here!”

My body collides roughly with other people as I push through them.

Macy.

The dirt beneath my feet kicks up as I scramble to get to her. My eyes burn as I try to keep them from blinking.

Macy.

A smile I recognize flashes through the thin veil of her hair. So brief. Just one glimpse.

“Move!”

“Excuse me!”

“Sorry, I need to get through!” I grasp out toward her. She’s within reach and her hair sways as her body moves.

“Macy!” I shout, spinning her by the shoulder to face me.

Disappointment floods into my soul. A wide-eyed girl stares back at me, confused.

She’s not Macy.

Opening my mouth but having no words to speak, my body jars when a hand jerks me around.

“Hey.” I don’t have an immediate reaction to being manhandled, I’m too gutted that she wasn’t Macy.

“You need to pay for breaking that doll.” The man from the toy stall growls.

It wasn’t even his doll.
Asshole.

With a huff, I shove my hand into my jeans, pull out a couple twenties, and chuck them at his chest. When he snatches for them, I grab his thumb and bend it back until it pops.

“Shit!” he bellows. “You crazy bitch!”

“Don’t ever touch me again,” I hiss through gritted teeth before leaving him there with his dislocated thumb.

Sitting in my car, I watch every single person who leaves the market, but I don’t see
her
. It was my mind playing games with me. Again.

That poor woman I grabbed must have thought I was crazy.

You’re certifiable.

Was that doll a coincidence or is he playing mind games with me?

He wouldn’t know you’d come here.

When the vendors pack up and the place is empty, I start up the car and drive to the spot where I was hit by the truck the day I ran away from Benny.

The woman, Ellie Russell, who hit me passed away a couple years ago. Cancer ate away at her colon. She had visited my bedside every day while I was recovering. Later, I learned she was on her way to pick up her granddaughter when she hit me. “I’ve never been so pleased to run someone down,” she always joked to me and anyone else who would listen.

As I drive to that location, I take note of my surroundings. The trees are so tall and green. There’s a tremor in my hand just looking into the abyss. These woods went on forever. I could have easily become lost in them and died from the elements alone. Once I’m at the exact spot I was hit, I pull over and stare off into the direction Ellie had said I came from.

Where are you, Macy?

Tap! Tap! Tap!

I startle when knuckles rap at my car window.

Checking the mirror, I see a truck has pulled up behind me. I was so zoned out on the woods, I wasn’t paying attention to anything else.

I push the button to roll down the window. No sooner do I have it rolled down, a large hand wraps around my neck, squeezing, restricting.

“You crazy little bitch.”

The man from earlier has his arm in my car and me by the throat.

Just like Benny used to.

My lungs burn and my stomach muscles tense, fighting along with me for air.

Stretching my hand, I power up the window, trapping his arm and forcing him to release me.

Hot, white anger explodes behind my eyes.

How dare he touch me.

No one will ever touch me like that again.

Opening the door with a hard shove, I push him back with his arm still caught.
Dick.
Serves him right. I clamber out of the car on a mission and he reaches for me with his free arm. The man’s easily six-foot-four, but he doesn’t have a gun.

Bending, I snatch my Glock from the holster strapped to my ankle and point it directly at him. His hostile posture quickly changes to surrendering victim.

“Don’t shoot me,” he begs. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.” As if that will make what he did any less violent and a freaking crime.

“What lesson would that be?” I ask, my hand firm, the blood inside my veins sizzling and vibrating with the need to punish.

He shakes his head, tugging to free his jammed arm.

“
Well?!
” I scream.

Dragging his arm from the binds of the window and frame, he screeches and rubs down the now sore, scraped skin.

“I’m just going to get in my truck,” he tells me with his arm cradled to his chest. His feet shuffle in a semi-circle three feet around me. I turn with him, keeping the gun pointed at his head.

We both hear the engine, but it’s too late. As his head turns to see the oncoming truck, it hits him, taking him up in the air like he weighs nothing. Blood spatters my face, causing me to gasp in surprise. My hand shakes, still holding my weapon out in front of me.

Thump.

His body hits the asphalt like a bag of meat being thrown from a bridge. The truck doesn’t stop. It just drives away and I can’t move. I’m solidified to the spot I’m standing in. Then, my body does the unthinkable. It’s moving into the driver’s seat and I’m driving away, leaving him there dying…or dead.

I turn the lights on and watch them illuminate the road before me.