Pretty Stolen Dolls (31 page)
Dillon.
My eyelids flutter open and pretty hazel eyes stare back at me. So often when I awake from nightmarish memories, she lingers. My sweet, little sister lingers for a moment and I desperately hold on to her.
Her dark hair is in cute plaits like I remember doing for her when we were little, to keep the heat at bay. The scar is silvery, but still very prominent. Those pouty lips that match mine are painted bright pink. My eyes drop to her pretty dress that matches her lip color.
She always seems so real.
Macy.
Reaching forward, I finger a strand of her hair. Her hazel eyes flicker with emotion, but she doesn’t disintegrate into the air. Not this time—not yet.
I must still be asleep. This has to be a dream.
“Macy,” I breathe, her scent, flowery and pungent, filling my nostrils
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
This time, I’m able to hold onto her for a moment longer. She so vivid.
“Macy,” I murmur.
Thud.
She reaches up for my hand, blood caked on her creamy flesh.
Thud.
The familiar stirrings of my memories collide with my nightmares. In my nightmares, she’s always hurt and bleeding.
“I’m so sorry I left you.”
In every dream, it’s always the same. I tell her what I can’t physically say.
“Shhh,” she whispers. “It will all be over soon.”
“I killed our parents,” I sob. “They’re dead because of me.”
Thud.
“Daddy was so consumed with teaching us about monsters,” she murmurs. “He never saw when they were right in front of him.” She reaches for me, and I reach for her too. I think she might take my hand, but she places something into my palm instead. It’s cold and gooey.
Thud.
My eyes lower and a scream lodges in my throat.
My father’s eyes.
No.
Thud.
“It’s okay, dirty little doll. It will all be over soon.”
No.
Her hand lifts once more and she brings a white, lacey handkerchief to my face stained with the blood from her hand. A whiff of something chemical invades my senses—not at all what I was expecting—and then everything fades back to nothingness.
Dillon
L
EAVING
J
ADE AT THE APARTMENT
, knowing she’s going out of her mind, is getting harder with each new day. We have nothing. Zero. Fucking zilch. This Adam Maine is our last hope for a lead. Anything he can tell us could give us something to run with.
We need to find this sonofabitch, get him off the street, and finally give Jade some peace.
My girl hates Benny…Benjamin—whatever he wants to call himself. To me, he’s the sick fuck, and I harbor a unique detestation for him that is all mine to keep. When I finally get my hands on this motherfucker, I will extract payment in blood and flesh. He is coming apart, piece by disgusting piece.
I flash my badge to the guard at the door of Adam Maine’s hospital room and go inside. He looks like shit. Tubes attached to monitors beeping around him and nearly every fucking inch of him in a cast.
“He can only talk in small amounts and we can give you two minutes’ maximum,” a plump nurse with age lines showing signs of a hard life tells me.
I’ll make every minute count.
“I’m detective Scott.” I flash him my badge. “Do you remember where you were held before you were brought into the hospital?”
“No.” His word is but a hissed, painful whisper.
“Can you tell me if the man mentioned a location or why he held you before bringing you to the hospital?”
His brow furrows and he winces. “No, man.”
“No, man?”
“Woman,” he clarifies, his voice shaky.
“Oh, I know a woman brought you in.” I nod. “I’m talking about the man who hit you.”
“Woman,” he states again, anxiety in his voice.
“We know you weren’t attacked by the police woman, Adam, so you can drop the act.” Irritation courses through me.
“A. Woman. Hit. Me,” he blasts in spluttered breaths.
“A woman was driving the truck?”
“Yes.” His eyes close and then slowly open.
“Was she the one who held you captive until you were brought here?”
“Yes. I. Tackled. Her. But. She’s. Fucking. Crazy.”
I dart from the room to the security area on floor four. The door opens on my approach and a guy I recognize as Buddy stands there. I’ve worked with him on occasion over the years. He must have seen me on the monitors.
“Hey, man, what’s up?”
“I need you to bring up the footage of Adam Maine being brought in. Look on your computer at his admitted time stamp and bring up the material from that day,” I bark.
He senses my tense, don’t-fuck-with-me attitude and does as I ask.
My heart is going to burst out of my chest and flip around on the floor.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Buddy taps over keys and brings up different monitors, and then it’s there—a woman who looks like my girl. Her face lifts up to the camera.
“Freeze the image,” I order. “Zoom in.”
He does as I ask and my hand shakes as I reach for my cell. I swipe at the screen with the other hand as I wait for the ringing tone to sound in my ear. My fingers slide down the scar on the girl’s face.
Macy Phillips.
“Answer, baby.”
“This is Detective Phillips. I can’t take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
I run from the room and down the corridor, shouting for people to move out of my way. “Baby, please be sleeping, or showering, or God—anything,” I whisper to myself. “I love you. I love you, Jade. I’m coming home.”
I make it to my car in a blur and begin driving. My head is swimming. This will break her.
Littleton isn’t there when I pull up and my fear ricochets through every nerve ending, landing in my heart with a sickening
thud
.
No.
No way.
No fucking way.
She’s going to be up there asleep. He took a piss break—he has to piss at some point.
My feet carry me at a speed I didn’t know I was capable of to her apartment. The door stands ajar.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
No.
Pushing the door open, I jerk my gun from its holster and creep through her apartment. All the things I left unsaid to her plow into my mind like a nuke going off inside me, obliterating my soul. She doesn’t know I love her. I didn’t say the actual full words. She doesn’t know.
And I lied.
I didn’t protect her.
I let him get to her.
I let
them
get to her.
I reach her bedroom and acid surges through my blood and settles in the marrow of my bones.
A disturbed bed sheet sits crumbled on the floor and there’s blood.
Fuck.
Screams buzz from the corridor and I don’t want to go see why. Tears burn in my eyes for the first time since Laney died. My chest is tight and compressing in on itself. I’m moving toward the commotion. A woman is screaming at the door of another apartment. She’s pointing with one hand while holding the other to her mouth.
“She’s dead.”
My feet move in slow motion.
Thud. Stomp. Thud. Stomp. Thud. Stomp.
Entering the apartment, air I was holding in my lungs leaves my body in a hiss.
It’s not her.
It’s not fucking her.
Thank fucking God.
“Oh sweet Jesus, someone killed my therapist,” the woman sobs.
And although it’s fucking horrid seeing a woman’s head floating in a fish tank, I know it’s not my girl. Not my broken, lost girl.
They fucking have her.
And I’m going to get her back.
Jade
M
Y NOSTRILS STING AND MY
body aches.
Sensitive and bruised.
I roll my neck and force my heavy lids to open. It takes a couple tries, but they open and burn as they do. My sight is blurry as my retinas adjust to the light. The memories of my dream rush to the forefront of my mind and I quickly raise my hand. There’s blood there.
Thud.
I sit up and my head swims. I’m woozy. The walls around me come into focus and my lungs seize. Air hisses from me when my eyes dip to see I’m naked.
No.
Thud.
Clank!
I jump from the tiny bed of the cell from so many years ago.
No.
The door slams shut and the lock kicks into place.
No.
Thud.
Thud.
Dark, haunting pits of hell look in at me. And the ice-cold voice that could freeze the sun fills my ears from the little bars separating us.
“Welcome home, dirty little doll.”
The End…for now!
Find out what happens in the epic, thrilling conclusion coming soon called
Pretty Lost Dolls
Benny had a dolly who was sick, sick, sick.
Just like him, his dolly needed darkness as a fix, fix, fix.
So they tormented and hunted and played tricks, tricks, tricks.
Together their sins a lethal mix, mix, mix.
Until Benny missed his dolly who was lost, lost, lost.
He needed to find her and love her at any cost, cost, cost.
Not wanting him and his dolly to be alone, lone, lone.
He made plans to bring his dirty dolly, home, home, home.
Have you ever touched another’s soul with the essence of your own, breathed them in so they become apart of you?
I have.
Finally starting to live, feel and fall in love, amongst all the chaos surrounding me.
Dropping my guard and letting another into my heart.
I left my soul open.
I left my heart open.
I left the door open.
And he stole me.
Dillon…I’m sorry.
