Wonderland

by Jennifer Hillier

  That was all it took. Men were so predictable.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ.” He dropped the reports where he stood and grabbed her roughly, his end-of-day stubble scratching her as he kissed her face, her neck, her collarbone, his hands everywhere all at once.

  A few moments later, in the living room up against the window, he was inside her. Below them, the lights of Wonderland glistened. There were still people at the park, but it didn’t matter. At night, the windows of the admin building had a golden glow, and nobody would be able to see anything from the outside. And even if they could, it didn’t matter.

  “You’re going to be the death of me, Bianca.” Oscar grunted in her ear as he thrusted. He was going deep and hard, but she’d been anticipating this all day and was ready for him. Her back moved up and down the window, which was cold on her skin, but well lubricated from their sweat. It had been awhile since she’d been fucked like this. She was teaching Xander a lot, just like she’d taught all the boys, but none of them would ever come close to matching Oscar’s strength, stamina, and natural aggression. “Every time I try to walk away, you suck me back in. You’re killing me, do you understand that? I hate you. And I hate what I’ve done for you, you fucking bitch.”

  “Good,” she said, raising her hips to meet his, her fingernails clawing his back. “Harder. Fuck me like you hate me. The more you hate me, the rougher it gets, and you know that’s how I like it.”

  • • •

  She didn’t enjoy talking about anything personal, but men needed it occasionally, and so she forced herself to go along with it.

  “Why am I here?” Oscar asked her.

  Bianca lay unself-consciously on the carpet, a sofa pillow propping up the back of her head, a throw blanket around her thighs. The rest of her was exposed. She knew he liked to look at her. Looking at her naked made it very difficult for him to deny her anything.

  “Because I’ve been wrong,” she said. “All these years, Oz, I’ve been wrong. I want to be with you.”

  “You’re only saying that because you don’t want me to leave the park.”

  She turned her body toward his. “Let’s pretend, for one moment, that you believe me. What would your answer be?”

  Sighing deeply, he reached over and curled a finger around a lock of her hair. “I’m involved with someone, and I want to see where it goes. She’s . . . it’s . . . different this time.”

  “You don’t want me?”

  He put his face in his hands, lying back on the carpet. “No.” His voice was muffled. “I don’t. Not anymore. I can’t do this anymore.”

  Bianca stared at him. Surely he was just testing her. Surely he didn’t really mean that. Because what would she do without Oscar? She’d never allowed herself to contemplate being at Wonderland without him, and now he was leaving her. Just as Patrick had. Just as Uncle Nick had. Ungrateful and selfish, all of them.

  She stayed calm and reasonable as she spoke. “Fine. I understand. I guess it took you meeting someone new, and deciding to leave, to finally make me realize how much I’ve always loved you.”

  “Don’t do that.” Oscar sat up and looked around for his clothes. His pants were on the sofa, his shirt was on the floor. “I need to go. This should never have happened. I’ll leave the reports with you, and if you still want to, we can discuss the sale of the park tomorrow.”

  “Don’t go.” She put a hand on his thigh. “Please. We don’t have to make love again, but everything’s about to change, and I’m scared, Oz. The park is all I know. Can I just have this one last night with you? I won’t be able to sleep otherwise. Please? Stay?”

  “You’ve never asked me to stay over before.” He looked at her, his brow furrowing. “Usually you’re kicking me out. This is strange for me.”

  Bianca stood up, took him by the hand, and led him into the bedroom. She lay down beside him, tucking her head into the pillow beside his. “Just get some sleep. In the morning, we’ll simply be two old friends who’ve worked together a long time. But for now, for tonight, just be here with me. Okay?”

  His face looked tired, and he opened his mouth to argue, but then changed his mind. “Okay.” He closed his eyes.

  She listened as he fell asleep, watching the light from the midway below cast interesting patterns on the walls and ceiling, and across the signed Seattle Mariners baseball bat that was encased in glass and mounted on the wall opposite the bed. Bianca was not a baseball fan, but the bat had belonged to Uncle Nick, and she liked it where it was. The bat was the first thing she saw every morning, and the last thing she saw at night, and it reminded her of her uncle.

  She didn’t want Oscar to leave her, and deep down, she knew he would. They all did, eventually. By summer’s end, Xander would leave her for college, but their relationship would be well over by then. Bianca always ended things well before they did. That way, it could never hurt.

  She wasn’t good with people leaving.

  It had been a terrible conversation all those years ago when Uncle Nick had announced his plans to take off, telling her that he wanted to see Africa, Australia, Europe . . . and that he was seriously considering selling the park.

  “It’s time, B,” he’d told her, and she’d known exactly what those three words meant without having to ask. “There are so many things I want to do, and I want to do them while I’m still young enough to enjoy it.”

  It was midnight, and the park was closed. Another high season was officially behind them and the celebrations were over. They were the only two people still on the premises, and they had just finished off the last piece of Bianca’s birthday cake. Her birthday always fell close to Labor Day weekend, and it wasn’t usually a happy time, as there was never anything to look forward to except a long winter and a quiet park. Wonder Workers would begin leaving in mass exodus, and only a small full-time staff would remain until the following summer.

  “Where will you go?” Bianca could feel the panic rising from her gut. Her stomach churned, and her mouth tasted sour despite the sweet cake. “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know.” Uncle Nick shrugged, looking more tired than she’d ever seen him. The fatigue ran from his eyes to his toes. He was swinging his baseball bat from side to side. It had signatures on it from a dozen Seattle Mariners baseball players, and was his prize possession. “All I know is I’m burned out. I need a break. I’m making you CEO.”

  Bianca should have been thrilled. CEO before the age of thirty? But instead, she felt herself panic even more.

  “You can’t leave,” she said. “I can’t run this place alone.”

  “You won’t be alone.” He smiled at her, and it was his indulgent, oh-you-silly-girl-you’ll-be-fine smile. The bat twirled in his hands. “You have Oscar, you have Scottie, you have the entire management team to help you. I didn’t run this place by myself, and you don’t have to, either. Besides, you already know how to do my job. You have full access to all the accounts, and you’re the one who sends out those peppy emails every week from me anyway. Hell, you even sign my name better than I do. You’re practically running this place already. I won’t sell the park until the right offer comes along. But it will, and when it does, I’m letting it go.”

  “And when that happens, what am I supposed to do?” Bianca asked. “Where will I go?”

  “Anywhere you want.” Uncle Nick’s nonchalance, and the ease with which he was able to have this seriously important conversation, was infuriating. He tapped the floor with the bat, and the sound began to irritate her. Bianca reached forward and took it from him.

  “But we’ve worked so hard . . .” The bat was sweaty in her hands, and she stared at it, because it was too hard to look at her uncle right now.

  “Yes we have, and this is as good as it will ever be.” He turned to look at the park down below. Sparkling. Always sparkling. “I raised this place from the dead to become the lar
gest amusement park in the Northwest. I’ve turned Seaside into the most profitable small town south of Seattle. I’ve made money, a lot of money. And most importantly, I’ve made my peace with the past. Jack Shaw didn’t get the better of me.” He turned and looked back at his niece. “Just like Patrick didn’t get the better of you. Neither did your injury. Look at you now, the success you’ve become. Look at us. We don’t need this anymore, B. And I know I don’t want it anymore.”

  “Then give it to me.” The words were out of Bianca’s mouth before she thought them through, but as soon as she said them, she knew they felt exactly right. “Give me the park. Or I’ll . . . I’ll buy it from you.”

  He smiled his indulgent smile again. “What, CEO isn’t enough for you?”

  “Not if you’re going to sell it and put me out of a job.” She almost said put me out of a home, but she caught herself in time. “There’s no point in being CEO of nothing.”

  “I wish I could.” He smiled. “But I deserve top price for this place, and no bank would finance you at that number. Don’t worry, you’ll figure your life out. This was only ever supposed to be a pit stop for you anyway.”

  “What if I go with you?” she said. “We’ll sell the park and travel together. We always said we wanted to go to Italy and Paris. So let’s do it.”

  Uncle Nick shook his head. “This next phase of my life is something I need to do alone, B. It’s my journey, my adventure. You’ll find your own. Just give it time. When you’re ready, you’ll—”

  That’s as far as he got before Bianca hit him with the baseball bat. It cracked the side of his cheek with a surprisingly crisp blow. The blood began to gush immediately from where it had cut his cheekbone. He looked at her, dazed and in shock, and opened his mouth to say something. But he wasn’t able to speak another word, because Bianca hit him again.

  And again.

  And again.

  His blood splattered the sofa, the ceiling, the walls, the lamps. She continued to hit him until he stopped moving.

  And then she made a call, to someone who loved her, and Uncle Nick’s body had been quietly and efficiently taken care of.

  The furniture and the carpet were replaced. The walls and ceiling were repainted. It looked as if nothing bad had ever happened here, and that’s all that mattered. Life since then had gone on, with nobody the wiser that the beloved owner of Wonderland was dead.

  She owed him so much. Maybe it was time to let him go. Maybe it was time to let them all go.

  Beside her in bed, Oscar stirred, and Bianca touched his cheek gently. His face, though weathered from hard work and the sun, was handsome, his hair thick and dark with only traces of gray at the temples. For forty-eight, he was in excellent shape, not an ounce of fat, his muscles still hard and defined. Fine matted hair covered his arms and torso. He smiled slightly in his sleep, but he didn’t wake up.

  She traced a finger down his chest to where the bed sheet covered his hips, then pulled it back to expose him. She stared at him like this for a few seconds, and then leaned forward. Her hair fell over his stomach as she slipped him into her mouth, arousing him again.

  He awakened with a moan and said her name.

  Climbing on top of him, she guided him inside her, looking down at him as he gazed into her eyes. His expression was a blend of lust, wonder, and self-loathing. She knew the power she had over him, and she was going to exploit it one last time, before he was gone forever.

  “Say my name again,” she said, tracing his mouth with her finger.

  Oscar did as she requested, repeating it over and over.

  As she rocked her hips, Bianca thought, and not for the first time, how much easier everything would be if she could just love him.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The worst part about working in the Clown Museum? The creepy janitor who was always staring at her. The best part? Everything else.

  Ava shifted her weight slightly on the wooden pedestal she was standing on, glad the room was kept cool. If it wasn’t, she’d be sweating in her costume, and that would not be okay, as it had taken her a good hour to apply her makeup at the start of her shift. The YouTube videos she’d watched the other evening had helped her get the look just right.

  She’d started by whiting out her face with theatrical foundation, and then she’d shaded and contoured with three different flesh tones. Bright pink blush spots highlighted the apples of her cheeks, and she’d glued huge, fluttery false eyelashes over her own lashes, which by far had been the most difficult part. Her lips were a deep red, painted in a generous cupid’s bow.

  On her head was a wig full of brown ringlets, with yellow bows resting two inches above her ears on either side. The wig was itchy and it took a lot of effort not to scratch her head and dislodge it. The nineteenth century–style yellow dress she was wearing, with stiff puffed sleeves and a petticoat, also itched, but it fit her perfectly. A gold-plated necklace with a massive fake yellow sapphire pendant completed the ensemble, and it was so heavy it felt like it weighed five pounds around her neck.

  But it was worth it. When her supervisor had seen her for the first time, she’d actually gasped. Ava looked exactly like a life-sized porcelain doll, which was, of course, the whole point.

  “You look amazing.” Anne-Marie had clapped her hands together in delight. “How’d you get the makeup so perfect?”

  “YouTube,” Ava said with a grin. “I’ll get faster as I keep doing it. Hope you don’t mind if I change up the look for next time. I have all kinds of ideas.”

  “As long as you look like a doll, I don’t care what you do. Get as creative as you want,” Anne-Marie said. “Okay, now remember to watch for the light. We always make sure to space out everyone as best we can, but unless the light is red, assume that you need to be ‘on.’ But when it is red, take advantage of the free time and move around, get the blood flowing in your legs. Standing still is so much harder than it looks. Ready?”

  “Good to go.”

  “You know, I had my doubts about hiring you. I thought you were too young.” Anne-Marie gave her a smile. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

  It was so much fun, Ava could hardly believe she got paid to do this. Her mom might be concerned about a potential serial killer stalking Wonderland, but it was her mother’s job to worry about stuff like that. All Ava knew was that she loved it here; everything about Elm Street and the Clown Museum felt exactly right. Now if only the janitor would stop creeping around, staring at her.

  She knew his name was Carlos Jones, because like all Wonderland employees (with the exception of performers, as Ava was at the moment), he was required to wear his ID at all times. They had met before when she’d been assigned to the hot dog cart in the midway, and she’d made the unfortunate mistake of introducing herself to him after he’d emptied her garbage bin. She’d asked how his day was going, and had even complimented his neck tattoo, a red rose with black leaves. Carlos Jones had seemed shocked that anyone had even noticed him, and from that day on, he’d made a point to be nearby wherever Ava was working. How he even knew her schedule, she didn’t know, but she felt like she was being punished for being nice. She’d complained to Anne-Marie about him, who assured her he was harmless.

  “Nobody’s ever complained about him before that I’m aware of, but then again, nobody ever really talks to him,” Anne-Marie said. “He’s usually extremely quiet. Just ignore him like everyone else does. If it becomes a serious problem, I’ll talk to his supervisor.”

  What qualified as a serious problem? Ava wondered. She didn’t know, but she was determined to follow Anne-Marie’s advice of simply pretending the janitor wasn’t there. It wasn’t easy, though. Carlos Jones wasn’t much taller than she was, but he was built like a heavyweight boxer, and whenever he was around, the room instantly felt smaller.

  Ava was assigned to the Dollhouse all week, which was a room inside the Clown Museum ded
icated to nothing but dolls. Anne-Marie had explained to her that the park had once been owned by a man named Jack Shaw, whose elderly mother had been an avid porcelain doll collector. When she died, she’d left her entire collection to her son, who’d thought the perfect place to display it was inside the Clown Museum.

  Over time, Shaw had added to the collection. Dolls ranging from the size of Barbies to the size of Ava, in all kinds of dresses and hairstyles, were displayed inside the dimly lit room, their glassy eyes staring into nothing. The smaller and more valuable ones were encased in glass, but the majority were set in displays designed to make it look like they were inside a room from an actual dollhouse. Several signs that read LOOK BUT DON’T TOUCH were placed everywhere.

  There was a small lightbulb in the upper corner of the room above the door where guests entered, which Ava had to keep an eye on. When the light was red, it meant she had at least three minutes before guests would enter the Dollhouse. The red light was Ava’s opportunity to walk around, stretch, and have a sip of water from the bottle she was hiding behind her pedestal. When the light turned yellow, she had thirty seconds until someone entered the room. When the light was green, it was show time.

  As she looked up, the light in the corner went from red to yellow. Adjusting her position on the pedestal, Ava took a breath and stood completely still, relaxing her face into one devoid of expression. A few seconds later, the light turned green, and a boy of about seventeen or so entered, followed by his girlfriend. As they walked in, tinkly carnival music began to play.

  “This is so creepy.” The girlfriend spoke in a hushed whisper. “I don’t think I like this. These dolls are even scarier than the clowns.”

  “Why would anybody collect these things?” The boyfriend sounded equally freaked out. “They look like dead little girls.”