DOLLY

by Stone, Measha

  Mom jerks her head away, trying to scream, but the leggings and cock gag have her muffled. Her face screws up with disgust as she tries to shove Daddy’s cock back out of her mouth.

  “Keep that in there!” I yell, pressing my hands against her mouth. More stifled screams. Fat tears streak down her face. Her shoulders shake with her dense sobs.

  I’ve had enough of her drama. There are worse things than what she’s being put through. Swiping my knife from the floor, I look to Ken for my next move. He catches my gaze and gives a nod.

  The blade cuts easily through her throat as I drag it from one side to the other. Daddy always liked a sharp knife.

  Blood spurts and drips while Mom’s stifled cries become garbled. She struggles for air, but she’ll never find it. I cut too good. It only takes a few long moments before the garbling stops and her head lulls to the side, life draining out of her eyes.

  “Susanna!” Daddy cries pitifully. Ken and I turn back to my father, laying on the floor, both hands still pressed to his groin. Blood pools beneath him, soaking into the beige carpet.

  “I’ll ask again. Who did you deal with?” Ken shoves Dad’s hip so he’s flat on his back again and squats over him.

  “Please.” Tears escape, trailing down his wrinkled face. When had he gotten so old? “Please.”

  “If I have to ask again, I’m just going to start taking off your fingers.” Ken sounds bored, but I know he’s as excited as I am about making Daddy pay.

  “No. No. Okay…okay…” He sniffles. “Fuck!” he screams, the muscles in his neck straining from the effort. “I needed cash fast and this guy…he’s been wanting to play with Gabby for a long time. I didn’t think he’d take her forever, just you know…for a little while.”

  My chest hurts. “You rented me out?” I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. Can there even be a good side to this?

  “No. He didn’t want to do that, he…fuck…his name is Mortimer Montgomery.”

  “How do I find him?” Ken grabs Dad’s jaw and yanks his face until he’s staring up at him. “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know. There’s a phone number. In my phone. Morty. Contact is Morty.” He ends his confession on a sob. “Please. No more. Please.” Is he begging to live or die?

  After all the pain he’s given me, the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the fear—he wants mercy.

  “Ken.” I touch his shoulder. “Let me?” I keep my voice low. Daddy doesn’t own me anymore.

  Ken nods and climbs off of Daddy, kneeling beside him and giving me the room I need.

  “You hurt me,” I say to him, moving down to my knees. His blood soaks through my pants, the warmth spreading over my skin. “You’re a bad man.” I grip my knife with both hands. He’s hurt and bleeding too much. Leaving him now would mean certain death. But I’m not done yet. He has to know what he did. He has to know he lost.

  “You’re a bad man. But I’m a good girl.” I raise my knife and jam it in his chest, then lean forward, putting my weight on the handle until it slides into his chest all the way up to the hilt. “See, I told you I learned my anatomy.” I could have made it hurt. I could have tortured him. But that would make me like him.

  And I won’t let him win.

  I’m a good girl.

  Eighteen

  KENDOLL

  “Do you think we’re going to hell?” Dolly’s question makes my fingers still over the keyboard.

  She’s standing in the doorway of her father’s office, the soft glow from the bathroom throwing her expression into the shadows. I’m in a hurry. We need to get what we can off his computer—bank information, contacts, any other videos—and clear out of the house. It’s nearly three in the morning. People are going to start getting up for work soon.

  But her question freezes me. She’s strong. I don’t worry that she’ll crumble beneath the weight of what we’re doing, but those were her parents. This is her home. She’s bound to question our actions.

  “Come here.” I crook my finger at her. She shuffles to me, her feet in new shoes, dressed in black leggings and a button-down plaid blouse.

  “I know we have to go,” she says, eyeing the computer in front of me. I take her hands and squeeze them between my fingers.

  “We have a little time.”

  “I’m not scared,” she defends. “My thoughts are running around in circles.”

  “What can I do to help?” I run my thumb over her knuckles.

  “Can I just sit here with you?”

  “Of course.” I push back to give her room to sit on my lap. Instead of climbing onto me, she sinks to the floor next to me and folds her legs beneath her. Resting her head on my leg, she sighs. A calm runs through me at the weight of her on me as I run my fingers over her temple, stroking her while I go back to looking through the files on the hard drive.

  It will be easier to copy them all and dive deeper back at the motel. I open the drawers of the desk until I find a flash drive and plug it into the computer. Her father was old school—no laptop to be found. He had the video playing on a disc in her room, where are the others?

  I keep stroking Dolly’s soft hair while taking in the rest of the office. He’d keep them close, not scattered throughout the house. If she wasn’t allowed in here, and he seemed to be a man who liked his own space, he probably kept everything in one spot—in this room.

  The bookshelves are lined with hardcover texts from floor to ceiling. Other than the desk, there is no other furniture in the room. It really is meant only for him. A door blends into the wall with the same dark paneling. If the hinges weren’t visible, it would go unnoticed.

  I pat Dolly’s head. “I have to get up for a second, honey.”

  She straightens and turns her wide eyes up at me.

  “I want to check out the other room.” I point toward the door, and her gaze follows my finger.

  With a crinkled brow, she shrugs. “It’s probably just a closet.”

  I’m sure she’s right, but it’s what’s in the closet I want. I stand from the chair and step over her. When she starts to get up, I motion for her to stay where she is. I don’t know exactly what I’m going to find, and she doesn’t need any more grotesque surprises.

  The door makes no sound when it swings open. I feel up the inside wall for a switch and turn on the light, illuminating a walk-in closet lined with shelves. Stepping inside, my blood runs cold. Compact discs, hundreds of them, line the shelves.

  I slide one out.

  Gabby – age six

  A growl breaks free from my chest.

  I pull another out.

  Gabby – age five

  My heart jackhammers in my ears. The first CD is marked with only her name, no age. It’s sick that I’m standing among such perversion praying to a God I discarded long ago that five years old is when he began. Please don’t let the monster have ruined her from the very beginning of her life.

  “Some of them aren’t me,” Dolly says from her spot at the desk. “Some of them aren’t me. He calls all his girls Gabby.”

  All his girls?

  “Are there more? Other girls out there?” I ask stupidly. Did I think finding her would be the end of the terror? That she was the lone victim?

  She hesitates before nodding. She doesn’t like to make me upset and has to know this knowledge isn’t going to sit well.

  “Who are they? Where are they?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes he’d bring home a girl and I thought I was going to get to play with someone, but they brought her in here instead. I wasn’t allowed. After they were done, he took the girl home.” She casts her eyes downward.

  My grip cracks the plastic casing of the disk. “They?”

  She sucks in a breath and nods again. “Mom played with her too.”

  That woman did not deserve the kind ending she was given, but it’s too late now.

  My jaw snaps shut, and my teeth clench to keep my bellow of rage inside. I will not scare Dolly. I shuffle back a
step, and my foot kicks a box on the floor. I push off the lid, my thirst for getting to the bottom of things drowning me in more information than my heart is going to be able to handle.

  Money.

  The entire file box is filled with bundles of cash. Hadn’t he said he needed cash? Maybe it’s his payout from his transaction with Bossman. Transaction. That’s how her father saw it, how Bossman looked at it. Money for a product. No consideration that Dolly was a person—a living, breathing, feeling being.

  Where are all these girls? How did her father find them?

  There could be clues on the discs. If I had the support of the department behind me, it would take weeks to watch them all. I don’t have the time, and my stomach can’t handle seeing more than I already have. There’s room in the box for at least a dozen discs, so that’s all I take. I randomly grab them and shove them inside with the cash before laying the cover back on top.

  Using my elbow, I turn off the light. I head back to the desk, kicking the door shut behind me. The files finished transferring.

  I toss the flash drive into the same box.

  “Okay. Let’s get out of here.” I put my hand out to help her to her feet.

  Her hand is cold as she places it in mine.

  “Are you okay?” I drop the box on the desk and pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her and kissing her head. Facing him has drained her.

  “I’m fine. Just chilly in here.” She pushes her hands against my chest and tilts her chin to look up at me. Her eyes are wide and clear. “We’re going to help the other girls?”

  “We’re going to do our best,” I vow. If we can find the leader, the one who pulled Bossman’s strings, we might be able to take down the ring. We might be able to save a few more girls. I’m not crazy enough to believe we can save them all. My hero complex died years ago after watching case after case get filed away unsolved. But if we can find as many as possible, then we’re doing good work.

  “Okay.” She nods firmly and steps away from me. “Then let’s get out of here so we can get to work.” Determination blossoms in her eyes. She’s not as weak as she believes. Not even close. But it’ll take more time for her to see that.

  It’s a good thing I’m a patient man.

  She follows me out of the office and down the hall to the front door. I step outside while she resets the alarm and closes the door, joining me on the front porch.

  “Do you still have the gun?” I ask her after putting the box in the truck.

  She lifts up her t-shirt to show me the Glock tucked into her leggings. I grin at how adorable she is.

  “Safety’s still on, right?” I dip my chin a bit, trying to give a stern look.

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Of course. I don’t want to shoot my damn foot off.” She hops up into the truck and pulls the belt over her chest. “I’m hungry. Can we get pancakes?” She yanks her door shut, but stops it before it slams. We’re still trying to stay quiet.

  I situate myself in the driver’s seat and take her hand, bringing it to my lips. Blood stains her cuticles.

  “Of course we can,” I promise, then fire up the truck, tucking her hand into my lap.

  As we turn onto the highway, heading back to the motel, she squeezes my thigh. “I’ve never been to a pancake house,” she says wistfully. Hope blooms in her words.

  “There’s one right by the motel. Let’s get cleaned up, then stop there,” I say, hitting the gas harder.

  My girl wants pancakes, and she’s going to damn well get them.

  Nineteen

  DOLLY

  Butter melts over the top of my stack of pancakes, and I lean forward to inhale the sweet smell of it. When I sit back with a smile, Ken stares at me.

  “What?” I’m acting weird. I know it, but I can’t help myself. The vibrancy of the world has finally hit me. It’s like I’ve been living in a black and white version of reality and the color returned all at once.

  He shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “Nothing, honey.” He stabs his eggs, then shovels them into his mouth.

  I pick up my fork and knife and get busy cutting the pancakes into bite sized pieces so I can smother them with maple syrup.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Our waitress pours more coffee into Ken’s cup. Her brown apron has smudges all over her stomach, probably from leaning over tables all day long. Several strands of hair have fallen out of her bun, and there’s a shadow beneath her eyes. She must be at the end of her shift.

  “No thanks. I think we’re good.” I look at Ken, because maybe he wants something else and spoke too soon. He gives me an approving nod.

  “Actually, is there a newspaper around?” I look at Ken again. “Maybe we can go to the movies this afternoon.”

  “Yep, have them up front. Let me get one for you.” The waitress disappears.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have asked you first.” I lower my gaze.

  He reaches across the table with his fork and pokes my wrist. “Eyes up,” he commands, waiting for me to comply. “You don’t have to ask about stuff like that. If you want to see a movie this afternoon, we’ll go to a movie. You’re not a prisoner with me, Dolly.”

  “I didn’t think that,” I say too loudly. Readjusting my tone, I continue. “You don’t treat me like that.” He needs to understand I’m sitting with him because it’s what I want, not because he’s forcing me.

  His lips soften at the edges, but worry lingers in his dark eyes.

  “No one is going to treat you like that ever again.” It’s a promise he’s made several times. My heart can tell he means it, but my brain knows he can’t keep away all the evil in the world forever.

  “Can I ask you something?” I shove a forkful of pancakes into my mouth. The butter runs over my tongue mixed with the syrup in a gooey, delicious mess. I could drink this for the next week.

  “Sure. Anything.” He sips his coffee.

  I swallow and grab for my orange juice. “Why did you become a police officer?” In a world where he could be anything, why work every day facing the scum of the earth?

  He puts his fork down on the plate and leans back in the booth. His chest expands with his breath.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.” I take another large bite of the fluffy breakfast to keep from prying more.

  The waitress drops the newspaper on our table as she passes. Ken pulls it toward him and holds it while he waits for me to look at him again. When he pauses like that, it’s because he wants my full attention. He won’t speak until he has it.

  “I majored in computer science when I went to college. I was going to get a big job with the FBI one day working in forensics—you know, hack the big computer, track down the bank hackers.” He rolls his eyes like his youth is something to be embarrassed about. “My junior year, my mom went missing. Just vanished.” His fingers crinkle the edges of the paper. “She left work and never made it home. The search went on for weeks. No one saw anything. No video footage in the parking lot at the company she worked for. No real evidence of foul play.”

  “Like me,” I whisper. No one would think anything of not seeing me around. I rarely went out other than going to class. No real friends, no social media…no one to notice I disappeared.

  “Yeah.” His voice scrapes out of his throat. “I came home from school to search for her. The police gave up and filed it away as an unsolved case.” He sips his coffee and places the cup back down with less care than usual. “A year later, they did find her. A shallow grave in the forest preserve near the airport. She’d been raped and murdered.” His jaw sets firm. Years of anger and sadness over his mother’s death deepen the crease around his frown.

  “You went into police work so you could find her killer?” I keep my voice low. More people have filed into the diner since we sat down.

  “I wanted to find all the killers,” he deadpans. “I thought if they hadn’t quit looking for her, they would have found her before she was killed.” Another
long sip of his coffee. “That was before I knew how the system actually worked.” He scoffs. “I was an idiot, hurting and angry. I was going to save the fucking world. But the world isn’t salvageable.” He points to my plate. “I want you to eat all that up.”

  I take another bite, letting what he told me swirl around my head.

  “You still want to find the other girls though, right?” If he truly thinks the world can’t be saved, he wouldn’t have been so angry when he saw those discs. He wouldn’t have helped me rid myself of my parents.

  “Of course I do.” He drains the last of his coffee and puts the mug at the edge of the table along with his plate. “I guess a little bit of me still wants to save everyone from the bad guys. It’s why I ran to you when I saw the video. I needed to get to you.”

  I swallow the last bite of my pancakes. My stomach stretches to accommodate the amount of food I’ve eaten. It’s been too long since I’ve felt so full.

  “And you did get to me,” I remind him. “And we’ll find these other girls. And we’ll get rid of the bad guys.”

  “We can’t get rid of all the bad guys in the world, Dolly.” His frown deepens. “But I won’t let anyone who’s hurt you get away with it.”

  “What about the police? Won’t they find our fingerprints at my house? And the playroom? Won’t they start looking for us?” It occurs to me he’s on the other side of the law now. He has his detective skills, but not his badge. We aren’t going to be understood as the good guys.

  He lifts a shoulder like he’s not bothered by the prospect.

  “I’m not worried about it.”

  “How can you not be worried about it? They’ll know we were there. They’ll know it was us. They’ll find us.” I flatten my hands on the table, pressing down hard.

  He arches a brow. “We’re two towns away and haven’t used any electronic payments, only cash. The motel is nice, but not nice enough to have security cameras littering the hallways. And the truck is registered to Bossman.”