Miss Polly had a Dolly (Emma Frost #2)

by Willow Rose

  "Dad!" I looked at him, then at Victor who luckily seemed to be in a world of his own, hearing nothing of what we were talking about.

  "Sorry," my dad said. "But the guy is gay, isn't he? I mean with all the jewelry, the weird clothes. I mean who wears pink boas if you're a real man, right?"

  "Plenty of rock stars, Dad."

  Helle nodded. "Steven Tyler for example."

  "Thank you, yes. Patrick is a Danish Steven Tyler, just not a rock-star, but close. He expresses himself and he is secure enough in his masculinity to wear those kinds of spectacular clothes. That does not make him gay."

  "But do you really want Maya to run around down there and scream at him?" my dad asked with his mouth full. "I mean what's with the finger and all that. Is that something your kid should think is cool?"

  I shrugged. My dad had a point, but I didn't think Maya thought the finger was cool. I just thought she wanted to hang out with her friends and that she found him handsome, that was all. "I don't know," I said. "I think the older generation will never approve of what the younger generation likes. But I'll admit I don't like the finger part, either. Guess that makes me older, huh?"

  Jack chuckled. I gave him a smile. I knew I wasn't going to be able to control everything in my daughter's life any longer, but my dad was right, I probably needed to talk to her about the finger part.

  "So you're a painter, Jack?" Helle asked across the table.

  Jack blushed, then nodded. "Wwwell yes. I do ppaint."

  "And he's really good at it, too," I added even if I knew Jack hated to talk about himself. I was trying to make him feel comfortable.

  "I need some decorations for the walls in my shop. Maybe I could hire you to paint something for me?" she asked.

  "That's a great idea," I said knowing how badly Jack needed the money. He was taking care of his handicapped sister on a very unstable income. Luckily she had her disability pension to help out, but he was still always lacking money.

  "Could you paint anything that I wanted?" Helle asked.

  "Sure," Jack said. "I've done orders before. Wwhat would you like?"

  "Well, my shop sells dolls. Souvenirs, as well and trinkets, but mostly dolls and supplies for them, like clothes, headbands and bowties and stuff," she said.

  I almost choked on my lamb thinking about what Victor had said earlier. I started coughing.

  "Excuse me," I said and drank some wine to clear my throat.

  "It's mostly the dolls I'm interested in," she continued. "They are my real passion. I love those babies."

  "I'll nnneed to come down and see what they lllook like first."

  "Sure," she said.

  "Maybe I'll go with you," I said. "I'd love see your shop."

  Chapter 23

  April 2013

  The meeting was over and everyone had finally left Patrick's hotel room. He found the black hoodie in his suitcase and put it on. It still had a couple of bloodstains on the sleeve, but they blended in well with the dark color, he thought. No one would notice.

  Patrick then found his black gloves and Balisong, his butterfly knife, and put it inside the pocket of the hoodie. He covered his head and walked out into the hallway. He was alone in the elevator going down. Once in the lobby he ducked his head and covered his face completely while slipping out through the crowd towards the back exit of the hotel. He was going out on foot this time.

  He heard the screaming teenagers outside the front entrance every time the doors were opened and chuckled to himself as he opened the back door and got out without anyone seeing him. He looked back to make sure no one was following him and walked around the corner of the building. He stood at a distance and watched the crowd chanting his name while looking hopefully at the window of his hotel room. He had left the lights on to make them believe he was still in there. It was the perfect alibi and worked every time. No one suspected him since he wasn't even able to go out in the streets without being seen and mobbed by fans. It was impossible.

  He felt superior in so many ways as he watched his many fans from a distance. They were hollering his name, like he was some freaking god or something. It was amazing. Maybe he was a god, maybe he did have superpowers… It felt like it sometimes. Being able to determine whether or not someone should live. It was the greatest feeling in the world. Nothing would beat it—ever.

  Patrick nodded slowly to himself, taking all the cheering and applauding in. This was his, this was him, he had done this, he made things happen.

  And now he was going to make something else happen. Now he was going to go out and give the people something new to talk about.

  Patrick turned his back on the crowd and started walking slowly to stay low, when suddenly two young girls walked towards him on the sidewalk. Patrick bowed his head slightly and put his hands in the pockets trying to avoid letting them see him. They were giggling and chatting along as they walked. Patrick hated giggling girls most of all. He loathed their happy small lives where nothing bad ever happened. It made his skin crawl and it made him want to make something bad happen to them. Make them feel reality, real life. The brutality of nature. All these girls lived secure, protected lives and he hated them for it.

  "Is that…?" one of the girls pulled her friend's jacket.

  "Do you think…?" the other one said.

  They came closer and Patrick gripped the knife in his hand while thinking this was a bad place. Someone would see them there.

  "Yes it is…" the first one said again while bending slightly to see Patrick's face. "It is him. It's Patrick!"

  Patrick lifted his head and made a sign for them to keep it quiet. They seemed to understand. "Thanks guys," he said. "I needed a little privacy, you see."

  He looked into their faces and saw the excitement in their eyes. They both looked like they could burst.

  "Can we have your autograph?" one of them asked.

  Patrick smiled and grabbed the pen. He sighed her arm. The other girl seemed a little more cautious. Patrick liked that. "Do you want my autograph too, pretty girl?" he asked.

  The girl smiled and before she could answer Patrick had sighed her arm. "Say, you're really beautiful," he said and grabbed her chin. "What's your name?"

  She blushed and replied, "Maya."

  "Well hello, Maya." Patrick said smiling. Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear. "I really like you, Maya. I want to get to know you. Meet me Monday night at the show. I'll put your name on the list. Come backstage. But don't tell anyone. " He looked deep into her eyes. Her shy eyes avoided his. "Promise me?" he said and held her hand. Then he kissed it on the top.

  "I promise," she answered with the most despicable sweet little voice. Oh how Patrick loathed everything about pretty little girls. He clenched the knife in his pocket with his other hand and fought the desire to kill her right there.

  Then he turned around and made himself disappear between a row of houses.

  Chapter 24

  April 2013

  Patrick felt like Zorro or maybe Batman in his cape and disguise as he rushed through town to get away from people, to get away from the screaming fans. He didn't run since that would make him look suspicious, but he speed-walked and avoided people by crossing the street whenever he saw someone. Soon the streets were empty and he was all alone.

  Patrick breathed in and enjoyed the silence for a second. Usually he wasn't very fond of silence, or being alone for that matter since it always gave him room to think too much, and Patrick did not like to think. He liked to be on the go, always going somewhere, always the center of the action and attention. But when he turned into his alter ego at night and went out to do his thing, then he enjoyed being left alone, then he enjoyed the silence surrounding him.

  Because he knew the silence would soon be broken by the sound of him taking yet another life.

  Patrick spotted a small light coming from a kiosk on the corner of a building. The sign outside stated that it was open till ten pm. It was five to now.

  "Perf
ect timing," Patrick mumbled and peeked in through the glass door. A young girl was standing behind the counter, reading in a magazine, constantly looking at her watch, probably anxious to go home. She was perfect. No more than fifteen, pretty with long hair.

  "Exquisite," Patrick told himself. "Just the way you prefer them: Young, beautiful, and innocent."

  He braced himself for what was about to happen next, felt the thrilling rush in his stomach, the chill on his spine. He put his gloved hand on the door handle and opened the door. The small bell above it rang and the girl looked up from her magazine. As her eyes met his, she froze.

  "Oh my god," she exclaimed. She looked down at the cover of her magazine where Patrick's eyes looked back at her. "You're… You're…"

  Patrick smiled mischievously. "Indeed I am."

  The girl blushed. "Wow. And you're in my shop?"

  "So it appears," Patrick answered and walked closer.

  "Can I have your autograph?" The girl giggled and Patrick's blood froze at the sound.

  Then he pulled out his famous smile. "Well, of course!"

  Her eyes became wide and she dove down under the counter to find a notepad. When she lifted her head again she was holding the pad and a pen. She handed it towards him. "Here. If you could just sign here…"

  Patrick grabbed it and pretended he was about to sign it when he paused and looked up. "Now what am I thinking?" he said.

  The girl looked confused at him.

  "A pretty girl like you should have a special autograph, shouldn't she?"

  The girl's eyes lit up. "A special one?"

  "Yes. Of course. All the girls want me to sign their arm or some even on their breasts—those are the NAUGHTY ones."

  Patrick had screamed the word out and the girl jumped at the sound. Patrick laughed out loud manically. He loved this moment. "I bet you're feeling just a little bit afraid now, aren't you? Because I yelled like THIS!"

  The girl jumped again. Then nodded.

  "But you still refuse to believe that feeling, don't you? You're fighting it inside of you. Because you are after all standing in front of a real CELEBRITY, aren't you? And they're not dangerous? They don't mean any harm? They never hurt anyone, especially not a NICE and PRETTY girl like you."

  Patrick ended his sentence with his famous smile. The girl stared at him and he could almost hear how her many thoughts were racing through her mind.

  "So now I give you my special autograph, right?"

  The girl had backed up and was now standing with her back against the row of cigarettes behind her. "I…I'm not…"

  "SURE YOU ARE!" Patrick leaned over the counter. "You want this. You want my autograph on your body." He pulled out his knife. The girl gasped. He walked around the counter and cornered her inside of it poking the knife at her for fun. Then he ripped her blouse with it and parts of her stomach appeared. She had nice skin, too. A little pale after a long winter, but nice nonetheless.

  "Maybe I should write my name right here. Right there on the skin of your stomach, huh? You think I should leave my autograph there, do you? I could carve the letters in with this knife. Leave you with a memory of me for the rest of your life, huh?"

  The girl shook her head. "Please don't—"

  "Please don't, please don't," Patrick said imitating the girl, or any other obnoxious schoolgirl who thought the world was all about her, for that matter.

  The girl started crying. Patrick rolled his eyes. "Oh come on," he said. "Why do all the girls do the same thing? They always cry? Do you really think anyone cares that you start to cry? Huh? Do you?"

  The girl was shaking and shook her head. Patrick waved his had at her in disgust. "And now you're just trying to please me, to say what I want to hear so I won't hurt you, right? That's what everybody does. Well, I've got a news flash for you, baby girl. Try something a little more original for a change. Don't just imitate everybody else, alright? Cause there is a world out there and it'll eat you alive if you are not careful, if you don't learn how to survive. You need to stand out in the crowd. Don't just be mediocre. Don't just be like everybody else."

  Now the girl was nodding. Her hands were in front of her face, shaking violently, almost like she was having a seizure. Patrick sighed his annoyance. She was beginning to bore him.

  "Please don't hurt me," she said.

  "Please don't hurt me, " Patrick repeated with a grimace and while making a girly voice once again.

  "What do you want from me? Take the money if you like. I don't care. I only work here."

  Patrick smiled again. "Now that's more like it. More feisty, fighting a little for your life. I like that."

  "Please, just tell me what you want," she pleaded crying.

  "And now we're back to being boring again. Desperate is boring, sister. Try another approach."

  The girl sulked and sobbed. "I don't know what to do."

  Patrick laughed and leaned over. "Well you better come up with something soon, cause once I get too bored with you—SNAP—you're dead," he said and snapped his fingers with the other hand. Then he smiled again. "Isn't this FUN?"

  The girl whimpered and covered her face with her hands.

  "Ah, now you're doing that. The I better keep quiet so I don't say anything wrong again and make him mad approach. Well… It's not quite working for me here. See, I get my kick out of keeping you alive as long as you are worth it, as long as you fight for it. But if you don't. Then I might as well finish you off."

  The girl removed her hands and looked at Patrick. Then she picked up a magazine and threw it at him while screaming and yelling at him.

  "Like this, huh? You want me to fight like THIS?"

  Patrick grabbed the magazine in mid-air, then threw it down on the floor. Then he grinned from ear to ear. "Yes. Exactly like that." Patrick burst into a loud laughter and put the knife back in the pocket. He kept laughing as he pulled backwards away from the girl. He picked up the magazine from the floor, then put it in the pile on the counter. "Nah, I'm just messing with you. Kind of got you there, huh?"

  The girl shook her head and slowly her body relaxed. "You… You…you were just kidding? The magazines do always say you like to act crazy…"

  Patrick shrugged and walked further away from her, he could sense she came closer. She was right behind him now. He paused and waited till she was close enough.

  "…it was just a joke?"

  Patrick gave her one more second before he turned around in one swift movement, pulling out the knife once again, and stabbed her. As she bent over holding her hands to the blade of the knife, he leaned over and whispered in her ear.

  "Yes, sweetie. It's all a joke."

  Chapter 25

  April 2013

  Just before he left, Jack and I agreed that we would go and see Helle's store the next day. He thanked me for a wonderful dinner, then leaned over and kissed me gently on the cheek. I giggled like a schoolgirl, not because of the kiss, but because of his sweet ways which reminded me of a young boy's.

  My dad and Helle sat in the living room, chatting like an old couple, laughing at each other's comments and just acting like they really enjoyed each other's company. I stood for a little while and watched them, thinking it was great for my dad that he had found someone to share his life with. Then I looked out the window and saw the lights in Jack's house, and started thinking that so could I if I really wanted it. Jack was a nice guy and I had been waiting for him to ask me out, but so far he hadn't made his move. I didn't know if it was just because he was shy or if he maybe didn't want to. Tonight made me think he was just warming up, but I could be wrong.

  Victor suddenly came out on top of the stairs looking at me. "Victor, sweetie. Why aren't you in bed? I thought you were sound asleep. It's late, buddy, and you have school tomorrow," I said storming up the stairs to him. "Is something wrong? Did you have a bad dream? Are we being too loud?"

  Victor seemed to be half asleep when he suddenly spoke. "The bowtie is red, Mommy. The bowtie is red." />
  "Is that what you came out here to tell me? Did you dream about a bowtie?" I asked, helping him back into his bed. I put the covers over him and sat on the edge of the bed. "It's okay, Victor. It doesn't matter what color the bowtie is. I'll keep an eye out for it. I promise you."

  Victor grabbed my arm and held on to it tightly. "No MOMMY," he yelled. "The bowtie is red because there is blood on it."

  His yelling startled me. I felt my heart race faster and faster. What did it mean? Why was he telling me this?

  "Go back to sleep now, buddy. We can talk about it in the morning."

  Victor seemed to calm down and I left his room after a few minutes of just sitting there and watching him fall asleep. I was worried about him. He kept drifting back and forth between his imaginary world and the real world. I never knew which one he was in or referred to when he told me things like this.

  I walked down the stairs and heard my dad and Helle laugh again. I walked in there and sat down to join them, when all of a sudden my cellphone rang. I jumped up and found it on the kitchen table. The display told me it was Maya. My heart started racing again. Had something happened to her?

  "Sweetheart?"

  Maya was panting in the other end. Something was really wrong. I could hear it even before she spoke. "Mom you need to come now. Something has happened. I need your help."

  "What's going on, Maya? Are you hurt?"

  Maya was crying into the phone.

  "Maya speak to me. Are you alright?"

  "Yes. Yes. I'm alright, but something bad has happened. Annika and I wanted to get a soda on our way home, so we walked into this kiosk on the way…" The hitch in Maya's voice made it almost impossible for me to hear what she was saying. My dad entered the kitchen now followed by Helle.

  "Is everything alright with Maya?" he asked.

  I signaled that they should keep quiet. It was hard to hear what Maya was trying to tell me.

  "…this girl…this girl…in the kiosk…she was…Mom, I think she is dead. There is blood all over the place…I…"