Shattered Girls (Broken Dolls Book 2)

by Tyrolin Puxty

  “You are never to speak to those reporters again!” She’s never sounded so serious.

  “They still hassling you?” Maddox, Gabby’s tubby friend—and the only other person who knows I’m real—struts out of the cubicle and turns on the faucet, then wipes his hands on his striped shirt. It wasn’t until Gabby and Maddox both tried out for the debating team that they really hit it off. I guess they bonded over the whole ‘dolls are sometimes human’ thing. That, and arguing over politics. “Want me to take them out?”

  “Mad-Dog! What the hell are you doing in the girl’s bathroom?”

  He twists his face and leans on the sink. “Ah, have you seen the boy’s bathroom?”

  “No.”

  “Then I won’t taint your image of perfection. Trust me: not all bathrooms are created equal.” He tickles my chin. “Hey, Ells. You being naughty again?”

  I grin, lifting my chin so he can scratch my throat. I can’t feel it, but he seems to enjoy it. “Never.”

  “You’re not going to bust us, are you?” Gabby snaps, snatching me away from Maddox. “You can’t go to the reporters!”

  He raises his hands defensively. “Chill, girl! I haven’t told a soul what happened that day in the hospital, and I never intend to. Scout’s honor!”

  Conceding defeat, Gabby sighs and hugs Maddox, who pats her back soothingly. “I’m sorry, Mad-Dog. Forgive me?”

  “Always. You’re still coming paintballing with us next weekend, right?”

  “Isn’t the legal age, like, sixteen?”

  “Lenny’s dad pulled a few strings. My advice? Wear extra padding.” He shoots his index finger and thumb, turning it into a gun-shape. “Catch you girls around.”

  When he leaves, Gabby places me back on the sink. “Ella, I mean it. We can pretend you’re a robot, and you can sit on my desk during lessons, but if you’re spoken to, you reply generically. Got it?”

  I slump over and groan. “Got it.”

  I don’t got it. I’m not stubborn, I’m just curious. Besides, Gabby’s Modern History class is dull, and so is the teacher. Telling Gabby I’d rather sleep in her bag was easy. Escaping into the corridor proved difficult.

  I keep to the shadows and the walls, excited to walk the halls on my own. I hate using Gabby as transport and now with the robot excuse, it won’t be a big deal if I get caught. All I want is freedom.

  “Hello, Ella.” A man in a gray cardigan and glasses appears from nowhere.

  “Hello,” I squeak. I’ve never felt so small. “You’re not a teacher here.”

  He crouches and readjusts his glasses. “I’m not. I’m Devin’s uncle, Chris.”

  I glance at him sideways. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”

  His chuckle is contagious. “Far from it. I work for an important company.”

  “How important?” I pick at my plastic nails.

  “Important enough. And you… You’ve been getting a lot of attention lately. How does that make you feel?”

  “You sound like a psychologist!” I giggle, but he doesn’t respond, so I continue. “Umm, it’s nice to be noticed, I suppose. But I don’t like living a lie.”

  Chris pulls a handkerchief from his sleeves and wipes his nose. “A lie? What lie?”

  I stop. What am I thinking? I can’t go telling a stranger I’m a human who chose to be a doll. It’s easier if he just believes I’m a robot.

  “Ella?” he says when I don’t respond. “What lie?”

  “Nothing,” I say. No way would I betray Gabby like this.

  He hums an unrecognizable tune. “Ella, do you think I could question your mechanics? It’s quite extraordinary how you operate.”

  “Ah, I don’t know about that stuff. They programmed me not to know so I don’t go tugging at a wire or something. I really should leave, Mr. Chris.”

  “Pity that! Do you need a lift back to class, little one?”

  “No, thank you. I’m exploring.”

  He stands and grins. “What a remarkable girl you are. Take care, Ella. I’m sure we will meet again.”

  On my tiptoes, I wave goodbye as he exits the school. I smile wistfully and continue down the halls.

  What a nice man.

  Five Years Later

  used to like watching the sunsets on the beach. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for my freedom, but it’s not fun anymore. How can it be, when Gabby curls her knees to her chest and sobs for half an hour? Nobody should be sad on their sixteenth birthday.

  “Gabby?” I rest my hands on her knee. I can’t believe she’s sixteen. Her cheeks are narrower, her hair is shorter, and her voice is maturing. She tries to make me age with her, but I don’t know why. Every March 31st, she wishes me a Happy Birthday and paints my face to look slightly older. She detaches my limbs and replaces them with longer ones, but I’m probably only an inch taller after five years.

  Her phone vibrates in the sand, lighting up her face. She reluctantly answers, hitting loudspeaker so I can listen.

  “Maddox?” She croaks. “Everything okay?”

  “No. No, it freaking isn’t! Chelsea didn’t come home from school today. Have you seen her?”

  Chelsea? I gasp. Maddox’s little sister is a real sweetheart—cheeky, and a little slow, but I like her.

  “Holy crap, are you serious? No, I haven’t. Can I do something?”

  “No. No, just… look, I know we don’t talk much anymore since that formal―”

  “—the formal where Wyatt convinced you to make out with me? The formal where you distracted me as Angela threw a bucket of mud on me while Sasha filmed it? The formal that destroyed the dress that belonged to my grandmother? Hmm… nah, that formal doesn’t ring a bell…”

  “God, do you have to be such a jerk about everything?! Fine. You know what? Be that way. Just…just let me know if you see her. Please.”

  Gabby refuses to respond. I point at the phone to remind her that it’s her turn to speak, just in case she’s silently suffering from memory lapse or something. Instead, she throws the phone as far as she can. It skips along the sand and lands just shy of the tide.

  “Well, that was a silly thing to do.” I chase after it. When I reach it, I heave it back to Gabby, the hike long and tedious. Thank goodness I’m a doll because that would’ve been a serious workout. “Don’t throw expensive things around! And don’t just hang up on someone. That’s so rude. You’re the one who just stopped talking to him, remember? You stopped talking to everyone…”

  “Go play, Ella.” Gabby sniffs, wiping away tears. “Make up some new choreography.”

  “I don’t feel like dancing today.” I climb into her lap when she stretches out her legs. “Just because I’m dressed in a multicolored tutu doesn’t mean I always want to dance. I’m allowed days off!”

  Gabby doesn’t respond; instead she hiccups and strokes my bun.

  “Could we please go to Denny’s?” I bat my eyelashes. “It’s your birthday. We need to do something!”

  “No.”

  “Is it Maddox?”

  “It’s… it’s everything, all right? My parental units are too busy to spend time with me. Do they hate me? ‘Cause people totally hate me. It’s like they think I’m this sickie psycho who will infect them. This Typhoid Mary thing, right? Can’t they wake up? The epidemic was all propaganda! It wasn’t as viral as they made it out to be! I’m cured, for God’s sake.”

  “Maybe the epidemic was the Illuminati trying to control the population, and they’re annoyed they failed,” I try.

  “Yeah, and you are a laugh a minute, Ella! Seriously, I can’t deal with that vile disease. You and Grandpa were the only ones who understood me, who cared that I was sick. Now, he’s not even around.” She stares at the waves.

  My neck creaks when I look up at her. “The professor still cares about us,” I say sympathetically. “He left to… to, you know, pursue his dreams. And to end sickness. He’s doing a good thing, Gabby. Besides, you have me! I can sit on your desk and learn thin
gs at school now. I hated being in that cramped bag and peeking through the pockets. This whole pretending to be a robot thing was a genius idea.”

  “If anyone knew you were really human—”

  “—they won’t find out.” I pat her thumb. “People just think you have the coolest toy in the world that can help with the homework.”

  Gabby cracks a small smile and picks up sand, running it through the gaps in her fingers. “I don’t blame you, you know. They shouldn’t have filmed you.”

  I shrug. “I went viral on the internet. It’s every teenager’s dream!”

  “But you’re not a teenager…” Gabby mumbles, sweeping her golden hair behind her ear. It’s the same color as the sun’s reflection on the waves. I like it.

  I don’t reply. Gabby’s been particularly snappy lately, and I don’t want to aggravate her further. She pushes herself up. “Let’s go. Dinner’s almost on.” She lifts me onto her shoulder, my parrot on a pirate shtick. “It’s Thursday, so I’m guessing spaghetti. Yum!”

  “Spaghetti looks messy.”

  “That’s half the allure.”

  Gabby trudges through the sand, visibly saddened to leave behind the calming waves. I’m not bothered—after all, there’s always tomorrow.

  She ungracefully shuffles up the cemented stairs until we hit road. The street is empty, and the stores are closed. It’s amazing how quickly the world shuts down.

  “I don’t want to go home.” Gabby kicks a pebble. “Pam and Jason will be going at each other again.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call them that,” I say quietly, removing my hand to shake out sand from the socket.

  “It’s the only way to grab their attention lately.”

  “They’re not here right now,” I say, “so you don’t need to do that. They’re your parents; you should treat them as such.”

  “And you’re…” Her eyes flash when she turns to me, her frown turning sympathetic. She sighs and shakes her head. “No one’s who they think they are.”

  I don’t know what she means. Maybe she’s depressed. I could find some pills in the medicine cabinet. One of them is bound to help.

  “Can we walk down Main Street?” I shift uncomfortably when Gabby turns into a dimly lit street.

  “Why?”

  “Because the TV reported six local girls missing last night. I don’t want you to be number seven.”

  Gabby pauses at the intersection. She knows I have a point. Her usual shortcut shaves ten minutes off our walk, but the Main Street route promises lights and people—two things that render darkness less terrifying. Reluctantly, she turns around and continues down Main Street, tucking her hands into her hoodie pockets.

  Riding on Gabby’s shoulder is what it must be like for a human to ride an elephant or camel. Her strides are unpredictable and bumpy, so I have to hold onto her ear for balance. No one looks at me. The town is used to Gabby having a “robot” on her shoulder.

  We stop at a store window with dozens of dolls smiling blankly at us through their plastic prison boxes.

  They spot us and wave, banging on their boxes to get our attention. It’s awful. I know they’re robots just like what I pretend to be, but it’s unsettling to see my own kind like this, waiting to be adopted.

  “They’re just toys,” Gabby says. “They’re not human.”

  “They seem so real.” I gaze deep into the eyes of a chef who looks just like me. Wide, questioning eyes and a coy smile. “These dolls are pretty popular now, aren’t they?”

  “The Devil Dolls?”

  “They’re not called that.”

  “I know they’re not, but let’s face it. They coincided with your video. As soon as people saw you, there was a demand for interactive toys. A couple of years later, and bam, they’re for sale. And still no hoverboards.”

  The racecar driver doll sits down and waggles his feet, defeat written across his face.

  “We can’t take you home!” I say apologetically. “You’re too expensive. Plus, I like being the only one!”

  “Well, you’re not the only one,” Gabby mutters, pulling away from the store window, muffled “aww’s” coming from the dolls as we leave. “The professor sold his concept to the medical corporations, didn’t he? There could be loads of mini-Ella’s running around while they heal.”

  I cringe. “I don’t like being reminded of the past. I was never human, and I was never sick, okay? I’m a doll, and that’s that! Besides, they wouldn’t be selling the dolls if they were sick!” Immediately, I feel bad for snapping and resort to changing the subject, clumsily and transparently, the moment she glimpses her reflection out of the corner of her eye. “You know, I don’t think you’ve changed much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you’re taller and lankier, but you still look the same. It must be nice to grow. You know, like, naturally,” I say.

  “It’s not nice at all.” She turns the corner onto a street with only two streetlights. Our street.

  “Why isn’t it nice?”

  Gabby kicks at the gravel, her trainers wearing at the toe. I can tell she’s unsettled by how still the night is. “Being a kid is fun, and I think being an adult could be all right. It’s just this middle stage. People are confused, mean, and dumb. Plus, boys are all ugly at this age. Their noses get too big for their face or something.”

  I giggle, excited that she’s managed to make a joke. Surely depressed people don’t joke. That’s why the comedians on TV are so funny; they’re too happy to be sad. That means Gabby must be okay! “Having a big nose means you’ll make lots of money. That’s what the psychic told the man on TV.”

  “That’s probably what she said to make the man feel better.” She daintily covers her mouth when she laughs. I love it when she laughs.

  “I doubt it,” I say. “TV is always right.”

  She stops laughing and comes to an abrupt halt on our lawn, gaping at the front door.

  “Why is our door open?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why are all the lights turned off?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why aren’t we going in?”

  Gabby swallows. “Because I’m scared of what we’ll find.”

  I climb onto Gabby’s head to get a better view. “Want me to investigate?”

  “No.” She takes a moment to breathe. “We go in together.”

  I take hold of her hair like reins, keeping my voice low. “I’m with you.”

  She doesn’t move. If I was watching this on TV, I’d guess the scene was paused.

  “I think I’m stuck in a dream.” Gabby’s voice is high and tight. “The lawn is miles long, Ella. Nothing makes sense, it’s… it’s all in slow-motion. It’s like I’m a doll again.”

  “It’s your anxiety.” I calmly stroke her braid. I can’t feel how soft it must be, but at least she can feel me. “Maybe we should call the police?”

  “No.” She inhales but not exhales. She crosses the lawn and stands in the doorway, staring into darkness.

  “Breathe, Gabby,” I remind. “Breathe for both of us.”

  Gabby nods and steps inside, the floorboards creaking beneath her. I always liked how Gabby’s parents kept the traditional feel to the house with polished flooring and high ceilings.

  “I don’t like the feel of this,” Gabby whispers.

  “Me neither. Let me go and investigate.”

  “No. It might be dangerous.”

  “Safer than you going, Gabby. I’m easier to fix.”

  “So you think you’re gonna get broken?”

  “I’ll be careful. Put me down, and I’ll be good. Doll’s honor!”

  I can almost feel the relief through her shoulders. She collects me gently in two hands and lowers me to the floor.

  “Be careful, Ella. Anything untoward and you run. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  I climb the stairs one by one, pulling myself into a handstand as I do so. It takes a whil
e to reach the top, and even longer to peer around the corners to check the main bedroom and bathroom. The wind howls, but the rooms are clear.

  I slide down the skirting, my tutu covering my face, and sneak through the hall, poking my head around each corner before entering the next room.

  No one is in the living room, or the bedrooms, just the curtains floating delicately in the breeze.

  “Gabby?” I call. She enters, eyes wide.

  “Why are the windows open?” She twirls her hoodie’s cords.

  I shrug. “Don’t know. Maybe your parents wanted fresh air?”

  “Their cars are still in the driveway.” Her voice trembles. “Why would they leave everything wide open like this if everything was okay?”

  The house pipes suddenly clank when the dishwasher switches on. Gabby clutches at her heart and utters an obscenity.

  “Have you checked the kitchen?” she whispers on an exhaled breath.

  I shake my head. Gabby pushes past me, the kitchen door swinging fro. I follow suit, unsettled by the all the knives sprawled across the countertop. One of the chairs has been knocked over, along with a bowl of fruit and a vanilla cake with “HAPPY BIRTHDAY GABBY” in blue frosting.

  “Oh no,” I mumble, kicking at a bruised grape as I race towards the back door, my eyes clicking with each blink.

  “What?” Gabby asks.

  I shake my head, then poke it through the cat flap to check the backyard for intruders.

  “Jupiter?” I press my lips together to make a kissing sound. “Jupes?”

  When the inky cat doesn’t come, I drag myself back to Gabby.

  “The cat’s gone,” I say quietly while she inspects one of the knives.

  “Cats don’t always come when you call them,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like she’s listening. She inspects a banana, which is peeled and squished. “Someone’s taken my parents.”

  “And your cat,” I remind, running back towards the flap to double-check. “Come on, Jupes!”

  “We have to go, Ella.” Gabby bends over to pick me up and place me on her head. “We’re leaving.”

  “Where to?” I ask, devastated to leave Jupes behind. I used to be scared of cats, but I’ve grown somewhat obsessed.