by Ocean
Rosie made brief eye contact with Naomi, but Naomi avoided her gaze and quickly redirected her attention toward the captain.
“No.” The Captain shook his head defiantly. “These dolls are mine.”
Naomi glanced back at Rosie and continued arguing with the Captain.
Those bitches stole our bodies! How are we going to get out of this?
Their souls were trapped in dolls. They couldn’t move until the sun went down. She wouldn’t even be able to talk to Devin for hours. How would they ever get back into their own bodies?
The Captain ordered everyone to step away from him. The crowd complied by taking several steps back. He shouted an order for the boat to start up. The engines roared to life, and the boat cut through the water, heading toward Key West. The Captain left the crowd, still clutching the dolls, descended a set of stairs, and after entering the Captain’s Quarters, locked the door behind him.
When he was alone in the room, he placed the dolls on a table.
Rosie lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. A fan wobbled as it spun overhead, its blades circling in steady rhythm.
She heard the familiar sound of beeps as the Captain pressed numbers into a phone, then the distant ringing through the speaker.
“Hello?” It was a woman’s voice.
“You’ll never believe what happened, baby,” the Captain’s voice was suddenly sing-songy and animated.
“I know. I’ve been watching it on the news. It’s on every station.”
“We rescued those two women.”
“You’re like a hero, honey. You’re famous.”
“It gets better. The island blew up.”
“They showed footage of the island on fire. What happened?”
“How the hell do I know what happened. I don’t care what happened. But I got two dolls. Two nun dolls.”
He picked up Rosie, one hand grasping both her legs, and pulled her in close to his face. The thought of his palm wrapped around her thighs made her mentally cringe.
“These are the only remaining dolls from Doll Island. These two little beauties will make us a lot of money.”
He pulled Rosie even closer and pressed his large, mustached lips between her eyebrows, leaving a sensation of moisture on her forehead. Nausea crawled up her stomach.
“No. You don’t want nothing to do with those dolls. They’ll curse you. Nothing good will come of it. You’ll bring the wrath of Satan himself on us. Tie a weight to them, and throw them overboard, now.”
“Are you kidding? These will make us rich, baby. This is our retirement plan.” He laughed at his own joke.
“I want nothing to do with cursed money. It’s evil.”
“No, no precious. This will be good for us. You’ll see.”
“Don’t bring them home. Get rid of them. If you bring them home, you’ll live alone with them because I and your sons will not live in a house with cursed dolls.”
“But baby, they’re not cursed. They’re just–”
The line went dead. Rosie watched the Captain glare at the phone then shove it back in his pocket. He lowered Rosie down next to Devin but not before lifting her skirt and peering beneath it. A sensation similar to that of insects crawling beneath her skin flashed over her.
He turned to leave but stopped and spun back toward them. Picking them both up, taking large, fast strides, he crossed the room. Rosie faced forward, her back pressed against Devin’s. The man stopped in front of a picture that hung on the wall. With his free hand, he lifted the painting and set it on the ground. Now in front of Rosie, installed in the wall, was a safe.
The Captain rotated the dial several times, and the door popped open. Gently, he laid each doll, side by side, on top of papers that lined the bottom of the safe. The door closed with a loud clunk, and Rosie found herself immersed in darkness. She heard the dial spin and the scraping of wood against the wall as the painting was rehung. Her eyes adjusted to the dimness, and she was grateful for a thin sliver of light that slipped through a crack along the top edge of the door of the safe.
The sound of footsteps grew faint then there was nothing but darkness and silence.
This is like being in a casket.
Then she wondered if they’d suffocate.
Her thoughts jumped.
Dolls don’t breathe. We’re already dead. No, we’re not dead. What are we? We’re some ghastly stage between alive and dead.
She wondered if Devin was experiencing the same thoughts and sensations she was. She hoped she was because otherwise, that meant it was only a doll that lay beside her, and Devin was gone. The thought of them here, stuck inside doll bodies was horrific, but the alternative of Devin being gone forever, was even more frightening.
That she’d seen Devin’s eyes gave her hope. Those amazing, beautiful eyes. Her thoughts drifted.
She tried focusing on their situation. If her calculations were correct, they’d have about ten hours until the sun went down.
What can I do between now and then? Nothing but wait. What am I going to do when the sun goes down, and I can move again? I have no idea. I pray Devin comes alive and has thought of something brilliant.
How did we get ourselves into this mess, and how are we going to get out of it?
Each moment ticked by with painful tediousness. She wasn’t tired. She couldn’t sleep. Would she ever sleep again? She didn’t know. All she could do was think. She thought about her life, all the things she’d taken for granted. Simple things like eating, laughing. Her dog, Itchy.
If I ever get out of this mess, I’ll never complain or want anything ever again, she promised herself. She promised God, the angels or anyone that would listen. She even pleaded to the Shaman that had cast the original curse of the damned on Ria and Naomi just in case she could hear her prayers and could somehow help.
She had no idea how long they’d been in the safe when she heard a noise. It was a low murmur, a faint moan, that came from within the safe.
Devin? Was that Devin?
There it was again. It was the lightest sound but distinct and it came from right next to her.
Rosie tried to respond but her lips would not move. She attempted making a noise from her throat and with great effort succeeded in emitting a low groan. Again, she tried, and another moan softly escaped. Soon, she and Devin were passing incomprehensible groans back and forth.
Devin was in there!
The first time she heard it, the word, tears would’ve come to her eyes had she been able to cry. The sound was weak, but definitely, she was certain, the word was, ‘Rosie.’
She tried uttering a single word response.
Devin.
At first it sounded more like ‘Dee-in’, but she kept trying and eventually, the word came out.
As the minutes passed, their speech became clearer.
“Rosie.”
“Devin.”
“Rosie.”
“Devin.”
Little by little, her lips moved. And if she tried hard and focused, she could blink. It was slow and difficult but there was movement. She strained to feel her fingers. It took some time and great effort, but eventually, one finger moved, then another. Before long, she could move all her fingers and toes, then a hand and a foot.
While she worked on lifting her head, she felt it. A hand on her arm. It was a small, cold hand, but she knew it was Devin’s. It was difficult, but she turned her head to the side. Devin had managed to turn her own head. The thin ray of light that crept through the top edge of the safe’s door fell across Devin’s face. They stared into each other’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Devin muttered.
“I know,” Rosie answered.
“I’ll get us out…” Devin struggled with the words.
“Shush. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” Rosie said, though she had no idea how they would do that.
Devin struggled to sit up. Rosie was slower but managed to follow her. She still felt as if she were partly paralyzed, but
to be able to move at all was comforting.
“Devin, what are we going to do?” Rosie asked.
“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something. We’re not staying in these stupid doll bodies.”
“What time do you think it is?”
“It must be sunset, or we wouldn’t be able to move. I’m guessing eight o’clock.”
Footsteps approached fast and hard. Quickly, they lay back down and stared unblinkingly upward.
First came the sound of the painting as it was slid from its place on the wall, then the tumblers falling as the combination to the safe was entered. Next, the door flew open. Bright light flooded the inside of the safe.
A large pair of hands reached in, roughly grabbed them and yanked them out.
“See?” It was the Captain. He held them up for another man’s scrutiny.
“Hmm.” The grunt was the only reply.
Rosie faced the Captain and the other man. He was small, short and petite in stature. His hair was thick, dark and unruly, as was his unkept mustache. A stubby, unlit cigar dangled from between his thick lips. It was stained dark with saliva. When he spoke, the cigar dangled and threatened to fall.
“They look like regular dolls to me.” The words were mumbled, and he shrugged as he spoke them.
“These are the only surviving dolls from Doll Island. Look, they’re still wet from when we pulled them from the water this morning. They’re worth a fortune. You know how much you can make putting them on display? Tourists eat this shit up.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they’re worth a quarter of a million.”
“You’ll make way more than that,” the Captain said.
“How do you know they’re not cursed?” The man squinted one eye as he asked the question.
“Don’t be stupid. Of course, they’re not really cursed. My wife is the superstitious type. She won’t let them in the house. You don’t believe all that hocus pocus, do you? Look. They’re only regular toys.” He wrapped on Devin’s chest with a knuckle. A hollow thumping sound filled the room.
The man shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t need no more stinking curses in my life. I already have one. It’s called my wife.”
Both men laughed.
“Tell you what. You and me, we go way back, right?” The Captain placed the dolls on the table and gripped the man’s shoulder. “We’ve done a lot of business together. I trust you. You give me half now and the other half in thirty days. Cash, of course. That’ll give you time to get them making some money for you. Okay?”
The man shook his head as if reluctant, but said, “Yeah, I guess so.” They clasped hands to confirm the deal.
The Captain picked up a bag from the floor, dumped onions and garlic from it, scattering them across the table. He shoved the dolls into the bag. Devin was pushed in head first with Rosie following, leading with her feet.
“Be careful with them,” the man said. “Don’t break them. They’re worth a lot to me.”
“Move your foot,” Devin whispered. “It’s in my face.”
Rosie still had trouble moving her legs but managed to twist her foot away from Devin. She felt themselves being carried off, as they bounced up and down with each step the man took.
“Ug, the smell,” Devin spoke in a hushed whisper. “It’s horrid.”
“Devin? What are we going to do?” Rosie whispered back.
“We’re going to escape and get our bodies back,” Devin said as she twisted until her head was toward the top of the bag next to Rosie’s. “That’s what we’re going to do.”
The bouncing stopped and there was the sound of a car engine. The constant drone of the motor went on for hours.
“Where do you think he’s taking us?” Rosie asked.
“Well, since we were in Key West, there’s only one way to drive off the island, and that’s north toward Miami.”
When the car stopped, the bouncing started again as the man walked.
“Ticket?” A voice commanded, followed by, “Okay, you’re good. Go ahead and board.”
The walking continued for a few minutes, then the motion stopped. The man opened the bag and took Devin and Rosie out. As he looked them over and turned them around, inspecting his new possessions, Rosie got a good view of their surroundings. They were on a large ship that was still parked at a dock.
The man moved each of their arms and legs. He swiveled their heads and peeked under their skirts.
Nearby, loud conversation and laughter floated from a table full of men, each with a bottle of beer poised before him. Several empty bottles scattered the table.
“Hey, amigo,” a man with a scruffy, unshaven face yelled. “Aren’t you a little old to be playing with dolls?”
All the men laughed. “Look. He has two new dollies. Isn’t that sweet?” More rambunctious laughter followed.
“Shut up,” the man holding them sneered beneath his mustache. As he inspected his new acquisitions and turned them side-to-side, Rosie caught glimpses of the inside of the boat and the table of beer drinkers.
The man who had shot the insult stood and when he did, his chair flew back. A series of wide-eyed ‘ooh’s’ rose from the group at the table. The aggressor was large, hairy and walked like the kind of man who could be intent on wrestling a bear. He sucked in his stomach, enlarged his chest, hoisted his pants up a few inches, then strode toward the man holding Devin and Rosie. Dark, dense eyebrows furrowed down on the protruding ledge of his skull that hovered over his eyes. When he reached their table, one of his wide dirty fingers pointed to the man with the mustache.
“Did you, tell me,” his thumb curled toward himself. “To shut up?”
“Yeah, I did.” Their captor responded without looking up, instead keeping his gaze fixed-on Devin and Rosie.
For being such a small man, Rosie thought he was remarkably calm and either very brave or extremely foolish.
The standing giant crossed his arms. Faded tattoos covered every inch of skin on his massive forearms.
His wide lips stretched into a smile, exposing brown teeth.
“And who’s going to make me? You or your little dollies?”
This caused an uproar from the nearby audience. They elbowed each other and exchanged winks while repeating the words, ‘little dollies.’
“Yes.” The man held up Devin and Rosie and faced them toward his would-be attacker. “These are the dolls from the island. I’m bringing them to the Mambo. So, unless you want me to tell her to curse you, I suggest you sit back down.”
On hearing the word ‘Mambo,’ the laughter ceased. The man unfolded his arms, waved his palms toward Devin and Rosie, and slinked backward.
“Those,” he pointed at the nuns. “Are the two dolls that escaped from the island?”
“Si,” the man holding them said. A murmur blanketed the crowd of men followed by silence.
“You’re taking them to the Mambo?” His furry eyebrows raised high above his gaping eyes.
Rosie couldn’t believe this monster of a man had gone from brave to timid within seconds.
“Si. The Mambo.”
The whites of the Neanderthal man’s eyes became more visible when his eyelids popped open. He took another step back and crossed himself.
“You’re crazy. You play with bad magic. I didn’t mean no harm, mi amigo. Just kidding. Those are very nice dolls. You be careful with them, okay? Make sure no harm comes to them.” He continued backing up until he was at the far end of the table, then sat with several men between himself and the man holding Rosie and Devin.
There was a loud blast of a horn and a jerk as the boat pulled away from the dock. Soon Rosie felt the familiar rhythmic side-to-side motion.
She could only make out occasional words from the whispers that passed between the men at the distant table. Fleeting glances were tossed their way and conversations spoke in hushed tones.
“Guede Nimbo.”
“Cursed.”
“The Mambo.”
“Sat
an.”
“Evil.”
“The Devil.”
The man turned the nuns, facing toward the ocean. The boat slid through huge waves that crested all around them. Ahead, was nothing but dark aquamarine surges that twinkled in the moonlight.
“Ladies,” he pointed toward the dark night, and spoke in a low voice. “Out there on the horizon is your new home. In a few hours, you’ll be back in Cuba. Where you belong. But I’m going to tell you a secret.” He brought them close enough to his mouth that Rosie could smell his cigar-tainted breath. “You’re not going home to the Mambo. Oh no. You’re coming with me to my museum. Working hard to make me lots of money.” He released a deep throated laugh that mingled with a spasm of coughs. When he’d finished coughing, he side-eyed the group of men.
“They’re stupid to think I would give something so precious to the Mambo.”
3
Home not so sweet home
The man placed the dolls inside a gym bag and zipped it closed. He lowered the bag onto the floor beside him.
Rosie sniffed. The distinct stench of moldy, dirty laundry permeated her nostrils.
“It smells like dirty sneakers in here,” she said.
Filaments of light peeked through the tiny spaces between the teeth of the zipper and a small rip in one of the tattered seams. Devin reached up and slowly moved the zipper, allowing fresh air to enter the bag.
She sat back down beside Rosie and whispered, “Rosie?”
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“As okay as expected considering I’m stuck inside the body of a doll.”
Silence.
“Devin?”
“Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“How long do you think the boat ride to Cuba is?” Rosie asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s ninety miles. I think these big ferry’s go about thirty miles an hour, so maybe three hours? Sunset was probably around eight o’clock. I’m guessing we spent four-hours driving to Miami. We probably caught the one a.m. ferry. If my calculations are right, we’d arrive in Cuba at four a.m.”
“What time is sunrise?”
