by Linda Ladd
The drug was taking me quickly, but I struggled to get out something first. My plea was slurred and breathless. “Bud…Black…they’ll come looking for me…Let us go, Dottie…please…. You can get away…. I won’t tell them what you did…”
Dottie bent over and spoke very close to my face. “Oh, that’s so sweet, darlin’, and I know you wouldn’t tell on me. You never did. God, I’ve missed having you at home with me like this. I promise you, Annie, I’m never going to leave you again, never, ever. We’re gonna be together forever. Just like me and my mother.”
Then I felt her lips press down on mine, and the smell of the Clinique she wore filled my senses as the morphine took hold of me and dragged me down into a dark and murky ocean of oblivion.
31
I awakened slowly, groggy and disoriented. My eyes were heavy, and my shoulder was burning up. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t quite grasp what was the matter, though I knew something awful had happened. I could hear rain beating down somewhere and rumbling thunder. I lay still, but the pain was so terrible that I lifted my right hand to see what was causing it.
When my hand wouldn’t move, I opened my eyes and tried to focus and saw the silver duct tape securing it to a bedpost. Then I remembered and groaned with the realization of where I was and what was happening. I examined the wound in my shoulder, not sure how long I’d been unconscious. The black stitches were swollen and red, the edges puffy and puckered and oozing blood. The morphine was wearing off.
Blinking away the confusing effects of the drug, I tried to figure out where I was. I was lying in the middle of a double bed, and my feet were taped to the spindles of the footboard. No lights were on, but I could see flickering lights at the foot of the bed and realized there were about a dozen red candles glowing in front of a long mirror. Above the candles and mirror, pinned to the wall, was a computer-generated sign with lots of big yellow smiley faces on it and big black block letters that said: WELCOME HOME ANNIE.
Oh God, oh God, Dottie, Dottie’s the killer. I remembered Harve then and Dottie attacking me with the meat cleaver, everything. Frantic, I turned my head to the left and looked for a way out. I froze. Beside me on the bed was Suze Eggers’s head, carefully balanced on a Blue Willow dinner plate. A green party hat shaped like a derby sat atop her blond, spiky hair. Congealed blood pooled around her neck like a maroon collar. A second Blue Willow plate sat in front of the head, with a knife and spoon to the right, a fork and salad fork to the left. In the middle of the plate was a precisely folded white linen napkin and one of those curled-up New Year’s Eve party favors that blows out long and makes a whistling sound.
I heard an awful, low moaning and realized it came from deep inside me, and I began to struggle violently against the duct tape. I kept my eyes shut tight, not wanting to see any more, fighting my descent into absolute panic. Don’t, don’t, don’t scream, don’t go to pieces, I kept telling myself, but I was petrified with fear. Where was Dottie? What was she doing? Where was I? I had to get hold of myself. It took me a few minutes, but I finally willed myself to lie still. I opened my eyes and looked around for a means of escape.
At the foot of the bed were two more Blue Willow dinner plates, and each held horribly mummified human heads. Both heads had long blond hair that had been neatly braided, but there were patches where the hair had fallen out. Some of it had been glued back in place; some had been stapled with artful precision. A fourth head, one that looked like it might have belonged to a man, was sitting on the bed to my right. All the heads had a place setting, silverware, and a party favor directly in front of them. All of them had different colored plastic hats beside their plates. There was a chair drawn up to the bed beside me, and there was a plate there for me and one probably meant for Dottie.
Oh, Jesus, please, please help me, I thought for a couple of minutes in utter despair; then I clamped my jaw and forced myself to calm down. I had to get away. That’s all I could think about, getting away. I couldn’t think about the heads or what Dottie was going to do to me, or where she was or where Harve was. She was gone for the moment, and I had to escape before she got back.
I looked around again and realized it was a very small room. The bed took up nearly the whole area, leaving little room for a built-in dresser, where the candles were burning. I couldn’t figure out for a moment where I was; then I remembered the old travel trailer in the barn. That’s where Dottie had brought me. My left hand was untied because of the wound, and I reached across and tried to jerk off the tape holding my right hand. I was so weak I could barely pull on it, but I got it loosened a little, then stopped when I heard a door open in the next room. I held my breath.
Dottie breezed in, smiling and dripping rainwater off my black sheriff’s rain slicker. So that’s where it went. She must’ve stolen it out of my car. I wondered if she used it to trick her victims.
“Oh, man, it’s become a flood out there, and there’s a whole front of storms coming through. Oh, good, you’re all awake. I guess you’ve been getting to know each other while I’ve been gone?”
I stared up at her and tried not to shudder. I watched her shrug out of the wet slicker and walk to the bed. “How’s that shoulder, sweetie? Oooh, look at all that swelling; I’ll have to give you another dose of iodine.” She put her face close to mine, kissed me on the mouth, and smiled. “Well, aren’t you gonna say hi?”
“Hi, Dottie,” I croaked out of cracked, dry lips.
“How do you like my little surprise party? Did everyone yell ‘surprise!’ like they were supposed to?”
“Yeah.” Play along, play along. She’s insane, but she’s not threatening to kill me yet. Maybe I could buy time or talk her into cutting me loose. “You know how I love parties,” I said and forced a caricature of a smile.
Dottie clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, Annie, I knew you would like it here with us. You can be the sister and my friend. I’ve always loved you so.”
I tried to think who she was and if she’d really known me before, but I didn’t know her, hadn’t met her until Harve hired her. She had somehow woven me into her psychotic fantasies. I watched her move around the bed, kissing each head on the lips. I almost gagged but forced myself to lie quietly.
“My shoulder sure does hurt, Dottie. I think it’s the way I’m lying. Could you let me sit up? Maybe it’d feel better.”
“Okay, but not until after we eat. I’ve got everything about ready in the oven. I’m just starved, aren’t you?” She suddenly turned to the man’s head and said, “Just hold your horses; it’s almost ready. I’ve got rice and meat loaf tonight, if you must know.”
Then she was gone, and I heard her rattling pans and running water in the next room. Okay, she’s not violent at the moment. Black knew where I was going, he’d be out looking for me soon, and Bud would go to my house to see why I hadn’t shown up with his car. One of them would find Harve’s note. They were probably out searching for me already. They knew I’d be looking for Harve, and they knew I was in a Cobalt. Black knew Dottie fished in Possum Cove, and that’s where he’d look. It was just a matter of time before they showed up, and I had to survive until they did.
“Here we go. Time to eat.”
I watched Dottie smile and smile and talk to each head as she forked up slices of meat loaf and put them on each plate. Rice came next in a matching Blue Willow bowl, then coleslaw and one half of a dill pickle for everybody. I felt like I was going to vomit. I couldn’t move; the horror kept rising up and overwhelming me, and I kept forcing it back down.
I watched her move around the bed, tucking snowy napkins around the heads. When she had everything exactly the way she wanted it, she sat down beside me. She looked at me and said, “Let us pray.”
Closing her eyes and folding her hands together, she began a long prayer about friends and family and staying together always, then looked at her watch and said, “Now we can begin. First, we’ll all eat a bite of meat loaf. Everybody together now.” She took a bite h
erself, then said, “Umm, yummy, if I say so myself.”
Then she cut a piece of my meat loaf with my fork and held it poised in front of my face. “Open up, Annie. It’s so good. You always did love my cooking.”
“Dottie, I’m not hungry. My shoulder hurts.”
Suddenly she got angry, and she slapped my face and said sharply, “Quit complaining, you brat. This party’s for you. Now open your mouth and eat this, or I’ll stuff it down your throat.”
I opened my mouth and chewed the meat loaf. My stomach rolled, and I forced down the bile burning my throat. Dottie patted me on the head. “Very good, Annie.”
She fed the other heads bites of food, which fell down onto the white napkins and bedspread, talking and smiling all the while. When she smiled at me, I smiled back. When she fed me, I ate. Cooperate; do everything she says; don’t make her angry.
“Well, you’re sure not very talkative tonight, Annie. I thought you’d be so happy to see us all again, but you act like you don’t give a fig about any of us.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “I love you all. I’ve missed you all.”
She looked at one of the heads with blond braids. “Well, now are you satisfied? She loves us. See, I told you she still loves us.”
I watched her have a long conversation with the heads; then suddenly, she jumped up and said, “Okay, everybody! Time to put on our party hats like Suze and bring in the cake! This is a big celebration! Annie’s home at last!”
Dottie moved around the table, putting the hats on the heads, and she put mine on last. “I know it’s not your birthday, Annie, but I put some candles on the cake, anyway. I love you so. I’m so glad you’re home.”
I looked around at the decapitated heads in their colorful hats and closed my eyes. Oh, God, I was never going to get out of here. Nobody was ever going to find me.
LIFE AFTER FATHER
This was the happiest day of Brat’s life. The little girl was back, and they were special friends again. When she was asleep, Brat had taken the two big Cobalts docked at the bottom of the hill and set them adrift in the middle of the lake, so no one would know where Brat lived. Brat had kayaked back through the storm and had gotten drenched to the skin, but now no one would come looking for the little girl and take her away again. She would be Brat’s forever.
Brat smiled just thinking about it. The little girl was in the mother’s room now. She was having fun with Brat’s mother and her friends, and she was smiling at Brat the way she used to do, before she left Brat all alone with the embalmer. Now they could be together forever and ever, and Brat was going to make sure that she was always happy and laughing.
Dinner had been a great success, and the little girl had told him that she liked the meat loaf very much. She was complaining about her shoulder, and Brat felt so badly about having to hurt her. But she’d be okay. Brat would nurse her to health, and they’d go outside when the storm was over and swing and play and feed Mr. Twitchy Tail again. Happy, happy, so happy, Brat hummed and spread caramel icing on the special chocolate cake still warm from the oven. She was going to love this cake. Brat lit the candles and carried it back into the mother’s room.
The little girl was still lying on the bed, and she smiled at Brat. Oh, good, she liked the cake. Brat knew she would! “Chocolate cake’s your favorite, isn’t it?” Brat asked her. She nodded. Her eyes looked scared, and Brat didn’t like that but ignored it because it was wonderful to have her with them.
“I don’t like her,” said his mother all of a sudden. “You love her better than you do me.”
“No, I don’t,” said Brat. “That’s a terrible thing for you to say.”
“You like her better than me, too!” said the brother. “You gave her the biggest piece of meat loaf, and you sat by her and fed her and ignored the rest of us.”
Brat put his hands over his ears to block out their complaints. They were yelling now, all of them at once, all the voices loud and strident until he couldn’t think straight.
“What’s the matter, Dottie? Are you sick?”
That came from the little girl, and Brat looked down at her.
The mother yelled, “She doesn’t even call you Brat anymore. She calls you by that made-up name that you’ve been going by. She doesn’t love us. She hates us. And I hate her!”
“Don’t say that about her!” Brat yelled and then did something he’d never in his life done before: he hit his mother and knocked her off her plate. Immediately contrite, he grabbed her up and held her cuddled close in the crook of his elbow while the little girl stared at them from the bed. She looked scared again, and that made Brat mad.
“You made me hit my mother,” Brat cried. “I’m sorry, Momma, I’m sorry, but she made me do it.”
“She’s evil,” said the mother’s friend. “She must die; then she’ll be nice to us. I had to die before I was nice to you. Don’t you remember that, Brat? We all had to die before we were nice and could live here with you.”
“I don’t want to kill her yet. I love her,” Brat cried, tears burning, then rolling down his face.
“Dottie, please, don’t kill me. I love you, too. I like it here,” the little girl said, her face white and strained. She was trying to pull loose. She was trying to get away.
“Yes, you must!” said Brat’s mother.
“Kill her, kill her, before you serve the cake,” said their new friend, Suze.
“Now, now, do it now, so she’ll be nice to us,” said the brother.
“Kill her now, kill her, kill her, kill her!” they all shrieked together.
The voices kept up no matter how hard Brat tried to stop them, to explain about the little girl and how much he loved her, but Brat finally couldn’t stand their harping any longer and doubled his fist and punched the little girl in the face, so his mother and her friends would all shut up and leave him alone. Her head lolled back and blood ran from her nose, and she lay very still, but Brat hadn’t hit the little girl hard enough to kill her. He loved her too much, and she hadn’t even gotten to feed Mr. Twitchy Tail again or let Brat push her on the tire swing he’d bought at Wal-Mart to hang on the big oak tree in Suze’s backyard.
32
Ssccccrapppe…
Somewhere far away a strange sound pierced my stupor. I was at the bottom of a very dark place, and I had to stay there, where I was safe. I didn’t want to swim to the top, where the light was, where something horrible was waiting to get me. I had to hide deep in the shadows and sleep forever. But the light beckoned, pulling me up and up out of the black sea, and when I was in the wavery gray layers close to the top, I began to feel pain. My head, my arm, and chest, and fear gripped me so hard my muscles went rigid.
And the sound that frightened me went on, slow and drawn out…. ssccccrapppe… Then it would stop for a heartbeat…ssccccrapppe…
I gathered the courage to open my eyes and face my terror. I saw blurry shadows moving around. My heartbeat charged into a staccato, and I knew I had to fight this unknown danger. Where was my weapon? Think, think, focus. Where was I? Why couldn’t I move?
Ssccccrapppe…
Panic hit me with an empowering flood of adrenaline. I blinked hard, trying to see better, and realized one eye was swollen shut. Then I made out Dottie Harper sitting across from me, and images hit me in rapid succession—the macabre candlelit room and the severed heads and the party hats and that she was insane and that I was her prisoner. Her hair was wet, and she wore a short white terry cloth bathrobe, as if she just stepped out of the shower.
Something large and unmoving lay on the table between us. I squinted painfully out of my good eye and realized it was Harve. His eyes were closed, but his chest was rising and falling. He was still alive.
“Little, silly sleepyhead. It’s about time you opened those eyes,” Dottie said, not in her regular voice but in the spooky, singsong little girl’s voice she’d started using right before she punched me in the face and I’d lost consciousness.
&nbs
p; I tried to think. I realized that we were no longer in the travel trailer but down in the cellar, where I’d found Suze’s head. We were sitting under the naked lightbulb hanging from a chain, and my arms were stretched up tight over my head, turning the stitched-up wound in my shoulder into unbearable pain. I tried to pull the injured arm loose, but Dottie had the ropes tied to a metal pipe in the ceiling. Stay calm, stay calm, don’t panic, play her game, talk her out of whatever she was planning to do.
With a beatific smile on her face, Dottie watched me struggling to free myself. I stopped fighting the ropes when I saw Dottie draw the razor-sharp, eight-inch meat cleaver down the length of a long razor strop also attached to the ceiling. My blood was still on it, and there was a baseball bat crusted with blood on the table in front of me.
“That’s right, Annie. Stop fidgeting and sit still like a good girl. Dottie’s special matinee’s about to get started.” I licked dry lips. She had descended further into madness now; her eyes didn’t look right, looked black and empty. She was ready to kill us. My mind raced out of control. My feet weren’t tied. I could use them to disarm her. Think, think, reason with her, make her stop, make her talk. Oh, God, oh God, she was sharpening the cleaver because she was going to behead us.
“Dottie, please.” I barely recognized the hoarse, raspy croak. I wet my lips again and forced down rising nausea. I could not panic. I could not give up. It was Dottie sitting there. Dottie, who’d been my good friend. There was a reason she was doing this; she thought we were someone else, someone from her past maybe. Find out who, find out why, talk her out of it. “Hey, Dot, why do you have me all tied up? I thought we were friends. Untie me; the ropes are hurting my shoulder.”
“Annie, Annie, everybody thinks you’re so bright, but you’re not, are you? In fact, you’re pretty stupid. For two years I’ve been right here under your nose, and you were still clueless about who I am and what I’ve been doing.” Dottie’s face changed, tightened until she looked like a completely different person. She was angry now, her face flushing dark red. I tensed all over. I didn’t want her angry. Her voice went an octave higher, and the singsong intensified. “All Harve could talk about was Claire this and Claire that. Claire’s the best cop in the state. Claire’s been through some terrible things. Claire’s the best friend I ever had. It made me sick to listen, because you both were lying to me. I knew you weren’t Claire. You were Annie. You were my little girl, my friend, not his.”
