Unwound

by Yolanda Olson

  the second floor to the next set of stairs, I realized that I hadn’t stopped the night before to look around and at this moment I

  wasn’t particularly interested in doing so but I made a mental note to stop here on the way back up tonight and take a look around.

  I quickened my pace as much as I could with the shuffle I had

  started using to ease the pain on my legs and practically hopped

  down the last flight of stairs. The room was much brighter now

  since the sunlight started pouring in. It didn’t really seem much

  different than it was when I saw it last night but I just noticed

  extra little things. Like the cracks in the walls, pieces of bricks on the floor, actual cobwebs from some of the dolls to the tables. It was desolate and lonely but that also made it mine and I identified with my new home and that made me a little happy.

  Scanning the tables I selected the largest one which harbored

  the most materials. Scraps of cloth, actual cloth, looked to have

  been tossed carelessly across it as well as an array of needles and pins. I selected two different colored scraps, a white one and a

  dark green one, and then sat at the end of the table that housed the sewing machine. I stared at it for a moment not remembering if I

  had seen London ever use one before. It looked simple enough;

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  place the cloths together and run them under the needle. I cleared my throat and with a glance made sure there was thread in the

  machine before I started. I slid the materials under the machine

  and waited. For some reason nothing happened.

  “Try using the pedal,” a voice said.

  I got to my feet and looked around but saw no one.

  “Who’s there?” I asked.

  The voice stayed quite but I heard the sound of feet shuffling.

  It seemed to be coming from the door that was directly across the

  room from me. Squinting I could see a figure standing in the little bit of shadow that was in the factory but I couldn’t tell what

  species it was or if it was male or female and the sound of the

  voice was no help in distinguishing either.

  “Who’s there?” I repeated a little sterner this time.

  “I’m not going to harm you, but until I’m sure you won’t

  harm me, I’ll answer nothing,” the voice replied defiantly.

  “Fine, just stay in the shadows and away from me then,” I

  instructed as I sat back down and turned my attention again to the machine. This time, I used my fit to locate the pedal that the

  shadow had mentioned and found it almost instantly. Again, I slid

  the materials under the needle this time pressing down on the

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  pedal and the machine sprang to life.

  I let out a small shout of glee as the two pieces started to

  become one. For a brief moment I forgot about the intruder and

  continued to maneuver the pieces until I was satisfied that I had

  made something suitable enough to cover most of my scars in the

  warmer weather. I held it up and inspected it. It wasn’t as perfect as I had seen worn by everyone outside but it was just enough and

  I was proud of my first try.

  “May I make a suggestion?” the shadow asked.

  I glanced in its direction for a moment. I wasn’t particularly

  interested in what it had to say, but it seemed to want to be

  helpful and that was something that I had been receiving a lot of

  lately so why not listen?

  “I will listen to you only if you step out of the darkness,” I

  replied.

  I thought that was a fair request to make and apparently so did

  she because when she stepped hesitantly out of the shadows I was

  finally able to see who had invaded my home.

  She kept her eyes on my cautiously as she approached slowly

  at first and she was radiant.

  She was older than London I could see it in her steel blue eyes.

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  They were serious and almond shaped and framed by a heart

  shaped and flawless face. Her wide, thin lips were covered in

  some kind of deep red colored paint that I had seen London wear

  at points, only hers was skillfully applied, whereas London would

  sometimes have it smeared all over her face and teeth. Her bright

  red hair was pulled neatly back into something resembled a

  horse’s tail. I liked the way her body looked for some reason. She wasn’t exactly thin like I had seen in the movies London would

  sometimes watch with me, she looked like one of the slightly

  larger dolls I had seen when I first came in here.

  “If you go over the stitches again you should be able to make

  them a little bit stronger,” she advised as she stopped next to me.

  “Here, let me.”

  I stared at for a moment, until she gestured that she would

  need to sit, then I moved out of the chair and stood next to her

  watching her as she went over the stitching I had just done again.

  Her hands moved more gracefully than London’s had when she

  sewed her dolls together and the determination in her face held no evil.

  When she was done she held it up and examined it.

  “Hm,” she said as she searched the table for something. She

  moved pieces of cloths and shoved some of the books away from

  her. “Aha!” she said when she found what she had been looking

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  for.

  I didn’t mean to react the way I did but when I saw what she

  had wrapped her hand around, I panicked and grabbed the nearest

  thing I could and smashed it against the back of her head. The

  sound was sickening and her body slumped over almost

  immediately. I saw a trickle of blood dripping down the back of

  her head.

  But what had frightened me most of all was what she had just

  reached for.

  I looked down at her body in horror.

  In the bright daylight I saw the seam ripper glistening in her

  hand.

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  Five

  It was hours before she regained consciousness. I spent those

  agonizing moments sitting in corner hoping that I hadn’t killed

  her. I wanted to help her; see if she was breathing but I wouldn’t go near a seam ripper. It made me wonder how long it would be

  before I could get over my fear of those, would this be my

  reaction every time I saw someone holding one. Would I always

  go into violent reactions or would I one day be able to control this?

  I heard her groan as she opened her eyes and felt giddy with

  relief; I hadn’t taken her life after all. I watched as she rubbed her head where I had hit her with a rotary cutter and push herself to

  her knees. Her eyes squeezed tightly to combat the pain, a gesture I knew well; she gripped the seam ripper so tightly that her

  knuckles turned white. I reached down for my weapon which I

  had next to me on the floor ready to attack again if needed.

  She groaned again as she got to a seated position then

  searched the room for me. “What the hell was that for?” she asked

  angrily after her eyes finally found me.

  “I thought you meant to torture me.”

  “By helping you with your shirt I was torturing you?” she

  asked incredulously.

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  Taking a deep breath, I pointed a
trembling finger at her hand.

  She looked down at instrument in her hand not knowing that one

  similar to that had caused me many nights of unspeakable pain

  and horror, then back at me completely confused. I took a shaky

  breath, perhaps it was time to explain.

  “The one who m--,” not like that, “My mot—“she’s not your

  mother, “I was constructed, not born like you. And I was kept

  prisoner and tortured with tools like the one you’re holding.

  Especially with one similar to the one you’re holding,” I said

  quietly.

  “I knew you were different when I watched you sleep last

  night. I heard soft ticks and whirs and there haven’t been sounds

  like that in this factory for years,” she said thoughtfully. I

  watched her get to her feet, place the seam ripper on the table

  near her, and come over to where I sat. “I’d like to help you if I can. You seem to have been through a lot if something as simple

  as a fabric tool can cause such a reaction, so I won’t hold a

  grudge against you for knocking me out as long as you promise

  you won’t do it again,” she said with a playful smile.

  I nodded.

  “I’m Morrison.” She extended her hand to me as Finnegan

  had done.

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  “Caelum,” I replied shaking her hand firmly.

  As our hands parted I felt a tug on my other hand. I glanced

  down and saw that she was trying to get me to release the rotary

  cutter. I looked up into her eyes for a moment and saw kindness. I let it go and she threw it across the factory.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Smiling still, she reached down and helped me up from the

  cold, dusty floor. That was when I noticed she was almost a head

  shorter than me and something inside of me told me I needed to

  protect her. I don’t know why or who I would protect her from,

  but I just had to make sure she would live her full life. Imagine

  what London would do to her if she found out about your new

  friendship, the voice in my head said.

  “You watched me sleep?” I asked ignoring the voice.

  She nodded, “I was here last night. I assumed you were a

  trespasser when I made my rounds through the floors. I was very

  close to calling the police until I heard the ticks. I don’t know

  why but I figured you were harmless and I watched you sleep for

  a couple of hours. When the ticking started to get faster, I knew

  you were going to wake up so I made my way back down here

  and hid in the shadow to watch you.”

  “Trespasser?”

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  “I guess I should tell you. This factory has been in my family

  for generations. I was supposed to be the next owner when my

  father passed away, but the night before I was scheduled to take

  over a fire broke out and destroyed almost everything. All that I

  was able to salvage is what you see here and I just couldn’t find it in my heart to have this place demolished.”

  Father.

  That was a word I had never heard before. I assumed it was

  something close to what mother meant only in male form. I’d just

  have to draw my own conclusion on that and maybe one day I’d

  have the courage to ask her if I was right.

  “So, you saw my scars?” I asked quietly.

  “Yes. I won’t ask you where they came from. That’s only

  something you will tell me when you feel the time is right, but I

  just want you to know that when you are ready, I will be here to

  listen. I also want you to know that what your body looks like,

  does not define the person you are. Wear those scars proudly,

  Caelum. They mean you are strong and a survivor,’ she said with

  conviction.

  She sounded as if she herself had scars but from what I could

  see she didn’t. I wouldn’t ask to see them; that would not be kind.

  Instead I walked to where she had fallen after I attacked her and

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  picked the shirt up from the floor. I removed the hooded jacket

  and placed it on the table top aware that her eyes were on me the

  whole time. I pulled the shirt over my head and pulled it down

  over my head and over my torso.

  “It fits perfectly!” she said with a hint of excitement.

  I turned toward her with a small smile; it was a bit snug but it

  was definitely lighter than what I had been wearing and would

  serve me well in the warmth of the sun.

  “Thank you for helping me,” I said to which she smiled and

  clasped her hands in front of her.

  “You should see yourself in it. I’ll be right back.”

  I watched her dash off. She was going to get a mirror and for

  the first time since I opened my eyes I was eagerly awaiting to see myself. Even yesterday morning when I had seen myself I wasn’t

  pleased with my reflection, but this was something that I made

  with just a touch of someone else’s help and I felt a flicker of

  happiness because of it.

  “Take a look!”

  I turned and stared into the mirror. I saw her fingers wrapped

  around it but I could not see her. This wasn’t the same mirror

  from my room, but it was big enough to hide Morrison and

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  expose my reflection to myself.

  At first I wasn’t sure to react. The stitching looked similar to

  the way my scars did only these were done with more finesse. I

  turned slightly to the side and looked at my profile. The shirt

  served its purpose in hiding my scars but I felt as if I wore them on the outside now. I wanted to feel defeated in that moment but

  Morrison’s words rang through my head again. Wear those scars

  proudly, Caelum. They mean you are strong and a survivor.

  “We should go for a walk,” she said breaking into my

  borrowed thoughts.

  “It’s dark out.”

  “It’s the best time for a walk, I can show you around town and

  we can get out of this place for a while,” she said cheerfully

  setting the mirror aside.

  “Okay.”

  I followed her as she led the way out of the factory and out

  into the crisp night. The sky looked beautiful, a dark blue with

  light gray clouds floating carelessly by. I could see small lights twinkling in the sky as the clouds passed lazily by them.

  “You’ve never seen stars before?” she asked curiously as we

  walked.

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  I shook my head. There were a great many things I had never

  seen from my prison. Sometimes I wonder if that was my own

  doing. London had left just enough space for me to see the

  sparrow when it had passed by the day I left, but I had never

  really cared to look through the small slits until then.

  “We can stop for a moment if you’d like,” Morrison said

  gently.

  I tore my gaze away from the stars and looked at her. “I’m not

  finished. I’ll never be able to fully enjoy the beauty of the night sky until then, so let’s continue walking.”

  “Can I … can I see?”

  I stood there for a moment contemplating her request. She had

  already seen my scar ravaged body, but this was going to be


  different. The way London left my eye, the hole that wasn’t sewn

  up, the small wheels ticking, the empty socket that she placed in

  the middle of them; this might be too much for anyone to handle

  who wasn’t a small child.

  I turned my face away as her hand approached.

  “Caelum, I’ve seen a great many horrifying things in my life,

  I just want to see if there’s anything we can do to fix it,” she said quietly.

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  “You won’t be afraid of me?” I asked.

  “Did you hear what I just said? What you have peeking out

  from under that patch can’t be worse than anything I’ve seen,”

  she said with a chuckle.

  I was still hesitant and eyed her for a moment.

  She held up a hand, “You don’t have to if you don’t want too,

  I was just curious and honestly wondering if I could mend you

  somehow.”

  I looked down.

  How would I be able to have a true friendship if I had no trust

  in her? Turning myself back to face her, I met her eyes and gave a nod. For some reason she hesitated at first, her hand hovering just a moment before my face. I took her hand and placed her

  fingertips on the eye patch. Her hesitation was no more; gently

  she pushed the patch off of my head and gasped slightly.

  “Are you a machine?” she asked staring at me.

  “No. Not everything inside me is the way you see it here,” I

  explained quietly.

  Nodding, she replaced the patch securely around my head

  again, “Who ever made you must’ve loved you very much at one

  point.”

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  Love? What does London know of love? I had to keep myself

  from screaming these thoughts in her face.

  “You don’t think she did?” she asked softly. I could only

  assume that my face had given away my thoughts.

  I shook my head and looked away.

  “Let’s not talk about that now. I’d like to continue with our

  walk is that’s okay with you,” she said.

  “Fine.”

  I didn’t walk next to her anymore as I tried to collect my

  thoughts as well as my borrowed thoughts because if I let either

  run wild, I don’t know how she’d look at me after I unleashed my

  anger in a flood of spiteful words about London.

  “So tell me about yourself, Caelum,” she said as she glanced

  back at me over her shoulder.

  I scratched my head, hating the feeling of the hair that I knew

  wasn’t mine. “There’s nothing to tell really. I was made, I