Doll House

by John Hunt

  Fuck, he could do with a drink right now! Sweat beaded his brow. Maybe he could sneak out for a quick nip of something. He remembered seeing a pub just down the street. Of course he noticed it. Alcoholics made it their business to make note of such things. An internal GPS of places to get plastered in. He could walk outside, tilt his head, sniff the air and follow the scent to the nearest bar.

  Olivia frowned in her sleep. What was she dreaming about? Was he considering leaving her alone so he could go get his drink on? She means so much to you that you can run off after waiting five years for her to return to get a fucking drink? He started drinking after Olivia disappeared and he thought he had every right to. Well, if not a right, it was an excuse anyone could understand. But now she had been returned to him. Safe and alive. So, why did he still want to drink? What was the excuse now? The self-loathing returned. The familiar cycle, so easy to recognize yet always feeling powerless against it. If he drank, he didn’t like himself. He didn’t like not liking himself and the introspection it brought on, so he drank. So stupid. Just stop and be there for your daughter.

  He straightened, resolved to do right by her and for himself. She would need a lot of support from him. He needed to be sober to give it. He could quit for her, right? His drinking got bad after she disappeared, so now that she’s back, he should be able to control it right? A niggle of doubt surfaced in his brain. An errant thought suggested he could quit tomorrow. Right after a few drinks tonight. He pushed it away. He had to do this. He would do this. He lasted a day.

  -13-

  The Jackal lay on the bed flicking back and forth between news stations. They were everywhere. He and his partner had made quite a splash. Olivia killed the Gorilla, also known as Shawn Grady. A cheek creased with amusement, proud of her even though it meant she was gone from him. His Olivia. He sighed. He already felt the loss, the separation from her as distinct as a knife grinding into his guts. Shawn ruined everything they worked, no, what he, the Jackal had worked so hard to build. He paid the price though, didn’t he? He sure did and he got what he deserved for being a selfish idiot.

  The Jackal knew what had happened as though reading it from a script. Shawn had slipped before and visited one of the girls alone. He’d returned to their place (well, Shawn’s place according to the mortgage and bill payments, the Jackal didn’t appear on any documentation anywhere) and sensed something off kilter. Usually a TV or radio could be heard somewhere in the house but the house was silent. Shawn’s truck was parked in the garage so he knew Shawn to be home but he didn’t see him and he didn’t hear him. And then the Jackal knew. Shawn had to be in one of the soundproofed rooms. His heart jumped, thinking he might be visiting Olivia without him. A jealous anger fired in his chest. He snatched the keys and sailed down the basement stairs. He stuck the key in the lock, set to turn it and pulled it out with a panicked flick of his wrist. In such a goddamn hurry, he forgot to put on his mask. His heart punched his ribs. So worried about what Shawn was doing and who with and he hoped to a God he didn’t believe in it wasn’t Olivia, he forgot the one thing he should never forget. The goddamn mask. It provided anonymity and would keep him safe. A careful man, he read about the blunders of other adventurers, hunters of the most interesting game. Potential victims escaping by virtue of luck or the killer’s complacency and reporting them to police, able to identify them, some of them even able to point out the house or apartment. That what’s got Jeffrey Dahmer arrested. Something similar got Ted Bundy caught too. The possibility existed for one of his charges to escape. Very narrow, yet such things have happened before. To limit it, the Jackal had rules. Always wear a mask and always visit in twos. That way, if one were overpowered, the other would be there to help. Two to one. Always two to one. The safety ratio. And even if by some fluke the person made it out and went to the cops, neither one could be identified. Fairly simple rules. Even an idiot like Shawn should have no trouble following them. Clearly he did.

  After he got the mask on, he returned to the door and opened it. Olivia, seated on the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, tensed when he peered in. He closed the door. Shawn wasn’t in there. He checked on the newer girl, Sandra? Fuck, he couldn’t remember. Sandra, Sandy, whatever. That’s where he found Shawn, rutting on top of her while she cried, his mask forgotten on the floor, his sweaty ass cheeks clenching like a fist. The Jackal closed the door, Shawn unaware of him even entering, and waited for him in the kitchen.

  After some time he heard the heavy door clink shut and then heavy tread on the wooden stairs. Shawn paused when he saw the Jackal sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of water in his hand. A twinge of fear flickered on his face, there and gone. He smirked to hide his fear. Shawn opened the fridge, took out a bottle of beer and drained half in one swallow.

  “Thirsty work, that one.” He acknowledged the Jackal with a tip of the bottle and drained the rest.

  He leaned against the counter, preparing for whatever the Jackal had to say to him. The Jackal stood, swinging the keys around his finger. He plucked a knife from the rack before trotting down the stairs.

  “Wait! What are you doing?”

  “You didn’t wear your mask.”

  He left the door open for Shawn to hear her screams, to let him know he fucked up and they just wasted a girl they could have kept for a good long while. The Jackal made quick work and had to restrain himself. Blood always excited him. The smell and the warmth of it. He wanted to bite into her when he saw the blood shoot from the cut in her neck. It splashed on his face and into his mouth. The blood was so warm and his erection pulsed wonderfully and he just wanted a bite but thought this was supposed to be a lesson to Shawn about self control. It wouldn’t do if he lost control. He left her with a sigh. The gash in her neck resembled a bloody trench. Blood continued to spill in small spurts as he held her in his arms, looking into her eyes. He watched her go and whispered to her it was okay, it wasn’t her fault, it was Shawn’s. She gurgled and closed her eyes. What a waste.

  He returned to the kitchen, blood up to his elbows, red gore glistening on his chin. He tossed the knife into the sink and studying Shawn said, “You wanna do this on your own? Go solo?”

  Shawn looked down at his feet, a submissive gesture and said, “No.”

  “Maybe change the rules, then? Tweak them a little? Seeing as how you can’t control yourself it might be a good idea to change them.”

  The Jackal sucked blood off his fingers waiting for Shawn’s response.

  “I can control myself.”

  “Really? So you meant to go down there and fuck her without me there? Without your mask on? You meant to do all those things, did you?”

  Sulking, Shawn said, “It, uh, just happened.”

  The Jackal laughed. A short bark, bloated with incredulity.

  “It just happened? That’s what you’re going with?”

  The Jackal crossed the space between them in a flash, gripped Shawn around the neck with his hand and squeezed. Shawn’s eyes bugged, surprised at the strength of the Jackal as he lifted him onto his toes. Shawn pulled at the Jackal’s wrist and succeeded in lessening the pressure of the grip. The Jackal wouldn’t let go. Not until he wanted to.

  “I am not an idiot. It would be a mistake to treat me like one. Do we understand each other?”

  Shawn gurgled and offered a weak nod. The Jackal released him leaving a red smear on his neck.

  “I found you. I brought you in to this. In order for us to continue working together, to our mutual benefit I should add, you need to control yourself from reckless impulses. The rules are there to protect us. The rules will keep us out of jail. So, I’m going to ask you again. Do you want to go out on your own? Now’s your chance if you do.”

  Shawn pouted at the floor.

  “You go
ing solo then or what?”

  Shawn’s lip protruded. God, what a fucking kid. The Jackal could read the idiot’s thoughts on his face. Even as stupid as Shawn was he had to know he wouldn’t get out of here alive if he wanted to go on his own and so he was weighing his chances against the Jackal and wondering if he could take him. He could see the slow thought process in Shawn’s body language and his blinking eyes. The Jackal almost wanted him to try it. It would be interesting for the short time it would take for him to kill the asshole.

  It would ruin this set up though. He would have to leave the house and burn the evidence and the girls with it. Except for Olivia. He could always take her with him.

  He said, “No. I don’t want to go solo.”

  He pointed at Shawn, a bloody finger inches from his nose and said, “Good. Then follow the fucking rules! And prepare her for the freezer.”

  It was good to get it out in the open. For Shawn to acknowledge the Jackal ran the show. Shawn was the perfect front to pin all this on if the Jackal ever needed to. As long as he maintained the power structure, he could manipulate as needed. For Shawn it must have been a painful realization to learn you are not the baddest wolf in the forest. The Jackal thought he took it well, although in retrospect, he may have been wrong. He thought he cured him of the need to disobey. He should have taken the opportunity to reinforce the need for rules. The resentment must have been building in Shawn for some time. Feeling inferior in every way a man could feel inferior, following rules he longed to ignore. Must have been eating him up inside and the Jackal had failed to notice it. Because of that, Shawn went after his beloved. His Olivia. Olivia killed him for it. He smiled again. That is why, my friend, we always visited in twos.

  Now the house was gone. His girls were gone. No one for him to visit anymore. He would miss them. Especially Olivia. The smattering of freckles on her nose, man, delightful. The angry glares she delivered whenever they entered her room. Had there ever been a docile glint in her eye? None that he ever saw. They could never tame that one and they had tried. That was where the fun lay. Trying to take the resistance from them, to make them accept and believe their life was no longer theirs to control. Everything about her radiated exquisiteness. She even tasted like heaven. Her ear tasted sweeter than the thighs of any girl he had eaten before. A tear slid down his cheek.

  He brushed it away with a surprised frown. What was this feeling? Why did he feel so hollow? So empty? Oh god, how he missed her! Fucking Shawn! Stupid, impulsive Shawn robbing him of Olivia because of his stupid, selfish act! It didn’t matter that he knew he would have to kill her someday. He wanted to spend every available moment with her, smelling her skin, counting the freckles across her nose and just being with her and knowing he could do whatever he wanted to her and she couldn’t stop him. And then, when he couldn’t control himself any longer, when the need overtook control of him, he would take her. He would use her in ways that would make Shawn seem gentle. It would have been a glorious time, if it hadn’t been for the fuck-twit Shawn. He wanted to be the one to destroy Olivia. To cut her, slice her open to feel her guts squirm in his fingers. Cover himself in her blood from head to toe so she would be a part of him, bonded by blood, to wear her most intimate essence. Break open her chest to yank her heart out from the roots and tear into it with his teeth. To witness the strength of her life ebb from her dying gaze. To finally take her, without his mask, without hiding. Such bitter exaltation. He would destroy something he loved. Was there anything better in all the world? His heart ached. It was all gone from him now. Five years of foreplay and then to have his moment stolen enraged and hurt him. How long would this agony last?

  He glanced at the news again hoping to catch a glimpse of Olivia. The camera angle focussed on the house. Cops in uniforms, hands clasped in front, stood guarding the tape running around the property. There would be plenty of his DNA in there. Though that would only ever matter if he got caught. He had never been arrested or charged with any offence requiring the submission of his DNA. He had read there were certain offences, if convicted, a judge had the option to order a sample of your DNA to be obtained. He hadn’t been arrested for anything at anytime in his life so on that front, he was safe. For now, he was free. He had never taken off his mask. The smart thing to do was to simply disappear. Put away his mask and forget all these wonderful games and ply out his remaining years in tedium with only the memory of these deeds to sustain him. He walked away from that place without being identified or being in handcuffs and he knew he was lucky to have done so. What if he had walked in for a fun-time visit with his girls just before the cops showed up? He had been on his way to see Olivia. If he had gotten there sooner, he would be a goner right now. Rotting in a cage he didn’t build with bad food and stupid cops for company. It had been a matter of minutes that had kept him free. It would be idiotic to spurn such luck. He would have to let her go. Or would he? Or better question, could he? He could feel the tug from her, the pull on the rope binding them together. He had waited a long time to take her, waiting for her to mature into a woman. And he had had her! For five glorious years! Painting her nails, braiding her hair, laying out comfortable clothes for her on the bed. Could he let her go? The Jackal stared at the TV. Olivia’s picture flashed on the screen. He began sobbing. It hurt so much to have her taken from him and he was mortified at his weakness yet helpless against it. He asked himself again, could he let her go? He honestly didn’t know.

  -14-

  Olivia flicked her hair to cover her missing ear. In doing so, the gap where her fingers used to be seemed more pronounced. Face it kiddo, you’re a goddamn mess. She sighed into the mirror, pushing down the impulse to cry. Ugly. They had made her ugly. Her eyes shiny, she swallowed and summoned other thoughts, innocuous, safe thoughts like teddy bears and puppies. She had been home for a week now and being back in her bedroom took some getting used to. She dreamed of this, of being home with her father when she had been in the basement but it felt more real to dream of it than to experience it. Justin Bieber smiled down at her from her wall. She smiled. Was he still cool? She had no idea. And that, too, was a foreign feeling but she found she didn’t care. After what she had been through, who was on the top of the charts and what a celebrity did on the weekend, or who, didn’t matter at all.

  The interview with the police took four days to get done. They gave her plenty of breaks, driving her to and from home each day and when it was all over, Olivia was drained. They said the further along the investigation went, there could be more questions and they asked if they could call her again if that happened and she said sure, but she wasn’t sure. She wanted it to be over. When she arrived home after being released from the hospital and before the formal police interviews, the media had crowded the front of her house. They patrolled the sidewalk, jockeying and pushing each other around trying to get the best position to yell their questions at Olivia. They were rude and avaricious. They cared not at all about her. She was a story to exploit. They yelled at her, pushing microphones in her face and forcing shoulder mounted cameras in her way. They tried to block her path to more effectively surround her but the police and her dad shoved them back and the one officer with a port wine stain on his neck, visible above his collar, told them to act like goddamn human beings for once. She thought the experience was like being a celebrity. The weird kind though. Not famous for any sort of talent, musical or otherwise. No, her fame came from surviving five years of rape and torture that left her a mangled, terrified young woman. After passing through the rude people desperate for a sound bite, she stepped into her house with her dad at her elbow.

  It was like walking into the past. A past that had nothing to do with her. She felt a stranger in a familiar place and to the pictures of herself smiling from frames hung on the wall. Like going to the wax museum, seeing a celebrity you recognize, but still, after all the work and attention to detail, there was s
omething off. The connection to the real subdued and lacking any shine or soul. The girl in the silver picture frame wearing a black graduation gown and cap didn’t exist anymore. That girl had attained honours in high school. She had had friends, a future, something to look forward to, expectations of normality and a feeling of entitlement to happiness. She also had both ears and all her fingers and toes. She had never been raped. A naive girl who didn’t believe in the bogeyman. Who could she be now? Free from the pink basement of horror but now a different person to when she went in. She pushed her hair back, exposing the nub of flesh that marked what little remained of her ear. She tied it back in a ponytail, not caring how it looked in this moment. This is who she is now and there was no use hiding it. Especially in the privacy of her own home. If she went out, then that would be different wouldn’t it? She didn’t want people to stare at her. She wanted peace.

  In the kitchen, her dad hovered around the stove. The smell of frying eggs, bacon and toast hung thick in the air.

  Harry, with his back to her said, “You want it scrambled?”

  “Yeah. That would be great. You got coffee brewing there?”

  “Uh, no. I’ll set that up.”

  “No. I can get it.”

  “Alright.”

  The kitchen overlooked the front lawn. Yellow curtains brightened the dreary, winter daylight filtering out the grey. Out on the road parked in front of their house were three news trucks idling with the plumes from their vehicles chugging into the air.