Pretty Stolen Dolls (2 page)

“Pretty doll for a pretty doll,” a man states in a smooth tone.

Macy and I lift our gazes to the booth owner. The dolls are a thing of the past as we both drink in the handsome guy regarding us with a mischievous crooked grin. A mop of overgrown brown curls hangs down over his eyebrows into his amber-colored eyes. With just the smallest dusting of facial hair, I can tell he’s older—maybe early twenties—but he carries an innocence about him that makes him appear younger.

“She can’t afford the doll,” I tell him, a slight quiver in my voice. He’s cute like the guys from the teen magazines Momma sometimes lets us buy from the grocery store when funds aren’t too tight.

His gaze darts between us and he grins. “Maybe we can strike a deal. I don’t think I quite like it when girls as pretty as you two are sad. I prefer them…” he pauses, his top teeth piercing into his thick bottom lip as he gazes at me in thought. I hold my breath, almost hypnotized as I await his answer. “Smiling.” He grins and motions toward me. “How much you got?”

I try not to focus on the fact that he has muscles, unlike Bo from next door. He’s a senior in high school and still doesn’t have muscles—not like this. This guy is better than Bo, better than those guys in the magazine. He’s dreamy. My stomach clenches into knots.

Momma calls these knots hormones. Says I’ll be a woman soon. Ack.

“I have a dollar,” Macy tells him proudly, lifting her chin, gaining his attention back, and I mourn the loss of it. Her cheeks turn rosy and I suspect she’s just as embarrassed to have this cute guy’s attention. I want it back on me…

At this, he chuckles. It doesn’t seem rude or like he’s making fun of her, more like he’s entertained by her words—like he thinks she’s cute, too.

A pang of jealousy spikes through me. I quickly squash it down and remember I’m supposed to be looking after my sister—protecting her from leering men and getting into trouble. The air begins to feel a little cooler and the crowd starts to thin, alerting me to how much time has passed.

“Come on, Macy,” I hiss, snatching her elbow. “We need to get home. These dolls are too expensive. And you know Daddy doesn’t want us talking to strangers.”

“Benny.” He smirks at me. One dark eyebrow disappears under his curls and a small dimple forms in one cheek. “I’m strange, but I’m not a stranger. My name’s Benny.”

My cheeks heat and I swallow. “We can’t afford the doll.”

He shrugs, his eyes moving like he’s watching a ping pong match between my sister and I. “Suit yourself.” His shoulders lift in an uncaring shrug and he rearranges the doll so she’s back in place.

Macy swivels around to glare at me. My sister is sweet and carefree; not once have I seen her hazel eyes glimmer with anger. “You have some money saved. Maybe I could borrow a few dollars. I’ve never had a dolly like this before.” Her eyebrows crash together and her bottom lip protrudes.

Guilt trickles through me the way the sweat dribbles down my back: slow and torturous.

“I don’t have twenty-eight dollars,” I tell him, my voice hoarse.

His smile is warm and does nothing to cool my heated skin or nerves. Time is ticking and it’s a long walk home. “I could sell the doll to you for twenty.” He tilts his head, studying me, and I squirm under his gaze.

Macy gives me a hopeful look. Her anger is gone and her eyes twinkle with delight.

“Fifteen. All I have is fifteen dollars,” I say in defeat, my breath coming out in a huff.

Benny scratches at the scruff on his jaw as he contemplates the deal. There’s a glimmer of victory on his up-tilted lips. “Fifteen it is.”

Letting out a squeal, Macy scoops the porcelain doll into her arm and spins in a circle as she hugs it to her chest.
Brat.

“Thank you! I swear I’ll pay it back soon!” she gushes.

Swallowing, I break the bad news to them both. “The money is at home. I’m not sure I have enough time to get there and back before the flea market closes.” Or if Daddy will allow me to come back once I’m home.

He frowns, his eyes dragging between us both. “I suppose I can wait.”

Macy’s hands tremble as she sets the doll back down on the table, clearly defeated.

“Or,” he says with an easy grin, “you two could help me pack up here. I’ll knock off another five bucks for your services and then I can run you by your house on my way out of here. I can even meet your folks. Who knows, maybe we can talk your dad into buying one for you too.” His eyes flit over to mine and my flesh heats again.

“I don’t play with dolls anymore,” I tell him in a clipped tone. For some reason, I want him to think of me as a girl closer to his age rather than one who plays with dolls like my sister.

Disappointment mars his features and his brows knit together as if I’ve personally wounded him. I instantly feel horrible and fear he will take back his deal, leaving Macy angry and upset.

“I mean, uh…Daddy doesn’t want us taking rides from anyone.”

His eyes widen with understanding. “I’m not anyone. I’m Benny.”

“Little girl wants a doll?” a deep voice sings behind me. A chill, despite the August heat, creeps up my spine. The scent of alcohol and chewing tobacco suffocates me. “Maybe I should buy one for them both. But what would I get in return?” The man from before has come back, and this time, there’s no shame on his face or in his suggestion.

Benny snaps his attention to the man behind me and glares. I’m momentarily stunned by his sudden fierceness and step closer to Macy. “Back the hell away, prick, before I call the police on your pedophile ass.”

“Yeah, fuck off, faggot,” the man grunts before stomping off.

Moments earlier, I worried Benny was a threat. Now, I realize he’s simply a nice guy, wanting a girl to have her doll and warning off predators. Daddy would want to meet the man who scared away a monster.

“Actually,” I tell him, my voice brave, “we’ll help you. Maybe Daddy will buy me that one.” I point to a boy porcelain doll with honey-colored eyes like Benny and messy brown hair.

Benny grins. “You’ve got yourself a deal, little doll.”

“Last box,” Benny says with a grunt as he heaves it into the back of his tan, aging van. This must be where all those muscles tensing in his arms came from. These boxes are heavy. Macy and I couldn’t even lift one together, but we were good help packing them up.

“Now we can meet your pops and I can try to talk him into two dolls. Does your momma like dolls?”

Macy giggles as he closes the back doors of the van. “She plays Barbie’s with me sometimes.”

Benny flashes her a smile before opening the side door. It rattles on its hinges. “I like your momma already.” His hand motions inside the vehicle.

“I can sit up front,” I tell him.

A flicker of emotion passes over his features before he hardens his gaze. “Actually, the hinges on the passenger side door are rusted shut. Damn door might fall off if we open it. You said you live close by. I’ll crank up the AC. You’ll be fine in the back and we wouldn’t want this little doll to be back here on her own.” He ruffles Macy’s hair and she beams up at him.

I glance nervously at my sister, but she’s already climbing into the back of the van.

“I don’t know. Maybe we should just call our parents from the payphone. I really don’t think Daddy would like us riding with you.”

When he starts laughing at me, I turn beet red. “Y-You think I would do something? Like that man earlier? What are you? Twelve?” At this, he snorts. “I’m not into little kids. Trust me.”

Anger wells inside me. “I’m fourteen, and I’m not a little kid!” I exclaim, folding my arms in defiance.

“Fourteen?” he whispers, and something akin to disappointment clouds his features. Before I can dwell on the hope he possibly wanted me to be older, he laughs and shrugs.

Maybe I was wrong about the disappointment.

Finally tampering down his laughter, he holds his palms up in defense. “Okay, okay, I get it. You’re not a little kid. But little kid or not, I’m not interested in you, short stuff. I typically go for girls with boobs.”

Now I’m just annoyed and humiliated. I’ve been ogling him this entire time and he just sees me as a child. Not that I wanted anything else, but it still pains me a little. With a huff, I climb in to the backseat and cross my arms over my flat chest. “Just take us home.”

By the time he climbs in and gets out onto the main road, his humor is gone. He messes with an ice chest in the front seat beside him and retrieves a bottle of water.

“Thirsty?”

God yes.

Macy snatches it out of his hand and greedily gulps down over half the bottle before I steal it from her. The cold moisture seeping down the bottle feels incredible in my hot palm. I polish the rest off within seconds and rub the cold plastic over my neck to steal the remaining frost from the bottle.

“Aren’t you going to ask us where we live?” I question after several minutes of driving. He hasn’t spoken much at all and that easy smile that once graced his lips is now stoic. His eyes keep tracking me in the overhead mirror. It’s hot and stuffy in the back of the van, despite his promise of AC, and I feel lightheaded. My eyes swimming and mind woozy, I reach toward the door handle for stability and grab air…where’s the handle? When I glance over at Macy, her head lolls to the side and she curls into the upholstery to get comfortable.

“You already told me,” he says, his voice distant.

My eyelids feel heavy and I struggle to keep them open. This heat is really starting to affect me. “I didn’t tell you…” Every muscle in my body seems to weaken. My heart thunders in my chest, but I feel powerless to do anything about it. “Take us home,” I demand in a slur.

His tone is dark—nothing like the Benny who sweet-talked me into forgetting all our Daddy’s lessons. “You will be home.”

The world spins around me and a wave of nausea passes over me. “What’s wrong with me?” My voice is a mere whisper.

“Nothing. You’re perfect. You’re both perfect. Exactly what I was looking for. Two precious little dolls.”

I barely have the strength to lift the water bottle up. It’s then I notice the chalky residue in the bottom of the plastic.

He drugged us. He’s a monster—the monster lurking in plain view, just like Daddy warned.

“Help.” The soft murmur of my plea can’t be heard over Benny’s humming. I soon recognize it when he starts singing a nursery rhyme Momma used to sing to us when we were ill.

Miss Polly had a dolly who was sick, sick, sick.

So she phoned for the doctor to be quick, quick, quick.

The doctor came with his bag and hat,

And he knocked at the door with a rat-a-tat-tat.

He looked at the dolly and shook his head,

And he said, “Miss Polly, put her straight to bed!”

He wrote on a paper for a pill, pill, pill,

“I’ll be back in the morning, yes I will, will, will.”

“Stop,” I choke out, but he ignores that I’ve said anything at all. After he finishes the final verse, he does stop singing, though, and turns on his stereo. Heavy rock music works its way into my head as everything goes blissfully black.

Help.

A soft moan from the cell beside me jerks me back to the present. Bloody dents in my skin from my grip sting as I release the hold I have on my arms. For four years, we’ve been imprisoned by Benny.
His dolls
. Except I now know his name isn’t Benny—or at least, that’s not what we’re allowed to call him.

Benjamin.

He makes us call him Benjamin.

Benny with the golden brown eyes and easy smile never climbed into the van that day.
There never was a Benny.

Instead, we willingly got into the vehicle with a monster. A monster who has spent four agonizing years making us his personal dolls, which he likes to play with often—and he’s not gentle with his toys.