House of Dolls

by Harmon Cooper

Then there were the sex workers.

  This too was legal, and the sex workers ranged from supers, who could use their powers to get you off, to your more traditional sex workers in the form of non-exemplars.

  There was also gambling, illegal fight rings, some trafficking, and probably some stuff even Roman had never heard of—or desired to be part of.

  “It really depends on what you want,” the older man finally told him.

  He was picking at something in his teeth, giving Roman the fuzzy eye. Many people in Centralia looked unique, and Roman was one of these people. With his longer white hair, his orange eyes, and his professional manner of dress, he seemed a bit out of place in the sex doll shop, not that the man behind the counter hadn’t seen a wide variety of clients.

  “I want something beautiful,” Roman said, “and life-sized.”

  “Follow me.” The man beckoned Roman into a back room, and once Roman joined him, he gasped to see dolls everywhere, of every shape and size, wearing different outfits and posed in different ways. The room was cluttered, too, likely because it doubled as both a showroom and a storage area.

  “I’ll show you my favorite.” The man coughed for a moment, apologized, and then began searching through the stack. “She just came in, which is probably why she’s my favorite. I always like the new ones. These ones are designed in the Southern Alliance. It’s cold down there; those people don’t get out much, so you can expect some true quality with their workmanship.”

  The man entered a dark room and flicked the lantern on.

  “Her?”

  Standing before them was a female doll about five feet tall, wearing a maid outfit and a silk mask. Her hair was jet black, her eyes a striking shade of red.

  “She’s the newest,” said the shop owner. “The most realistic, too. I swear she watches me walk across the room. It’s weird.”

  Roman approached the doll and reached his hand out to it, touching her arm. He couldn’t tell what material she was made out of. She was soft like cloth, her skin almost like Roman’s but much colder.

  “Couldn’t tell you what she’s made from,” the man said, holding back a coughing fit by beating his hand across his chest. “It’s some polymer they invented down South, I know that much. Feels real.” The man smiled. “Insides, too.”

  Roman raised his hand to the doll’s face and traced his finger along her chin. He reached out and touched her lips, and had to stop himself from animating her right then and there.

  “I’ll take her,” he said, without looking away from the doll.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: We Have Plans for Kevin Blackbook

  Paris was sitting in the top room of her warehouse when she got the message from Turquoise, letting her know the cat girl was on her way. She took a sip from a glass of wine, her second for the night, still brooding over the bullshit she’d dealt with earlier that morning.

  The damn non-exemplar known as Nadine would get hers, but Paris had time. When she did make her move, she’d call on Ian Turlock, her go-to muscle, to do it.

  And it wouldn’t be pleasant for Nadine.

  At least she had the information she wanted from Roman. Just as she had expected, and just as her handler had predicted, Centralia hadn’t had any healers immigrate since this time last year.

  And even though her wine was sweet, having this proof in front of her put a bitter taste in her mouth. Most people did not know suffering like those who called the Western Province home. It was the most war torn of the provinces, and it seemed to always be a battleground for the other countries, even if the Western Province wasn’t involved.

  Why did they always go to the Western Province to wage war? It was maddening. And now, just as she had suspected, Centralia was up to something—and whatever that something was, it had to do with healers.

  Centralia managed the world’s healers based on its central location. If they hadn’t taken any in for a year, it meant they were hoarding them, and while the other countries may have had healers, they generally sent them to Centralia for schooling, as Centralia had the only school for healers.

  Something wasn’t right.

  And this in itself wasn’t of concern to her—no, Paris had seen her fair share of tragedy over the years, enough that she wasn’t foolish enough to think war wouldn’t take place, or that Centralia would just cough up healers to send to the Western Province.

  But the suffering. The abject suffering. This was what drove her to do her job, and this was why she needed to know more about what they were planning. If there was a way to alleviate it in some way, she’d give anything to see it done.

  A teleporter appeared, along with Turquoise, the petite exemplar who had worked with Paris for some time now.

  Paris didn’t care for her or her cousin, Obsidian, but they were more powerful than they let on. The fact that Turquoise stood before her in a skimpy bathing suit barely concealing her lady parts and prayer beads wrapped around her left wrist betrayed just how dangerous she was.

  “The poison has taken effect,” she told Paris as soon as the teleporter was gone.

  “Has it?”

  “Yes, and we have been keeping him entertained all day, for it to set in better,” she said, wiping her mouth with her arm. “We have noticed that it takes a little longer for the poison we secrete to actually work. It comes on strong at first, but then it seems to waver a bit. No matter.”

  “Kevin Blackbook has joined us, then?”

  “Yes, and it was his choice to join. We didn’t have to persuade him as much as we thought we would. He actually doesn’t seem…”

  “I don’t care how he seems. He should be useful in the future, and that’s all that matters. Do you think he’s ready?”

  “I believe he will be ready as soon as tomorrow.”

  Paris took another sip from her glass of wine. “Good, but I’ll need more than a day, so keep him busy. I’ve come across some useful information, and I would like to come across a little more before we make our first move. Keep him entertained.”

  “With pleasure,” Turquoise said.

  “And don’t get too attached to him.”

  Turquoise’s ears flattened, her look darkening. “We’ll try not to.”

  “I’m serious; tell Obsidian the same thing. Remember, we have plans for Kevin Blackbook.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Animated

  Roman appeared back in his apartment minutes before the teleporter arrived. He hardly had time to go to the restroom before she showed up.

  “Your delivery,” a woman wearing the official clothing of the Centralian government said. She sat on a coffin-like box, her legs crossed over one another.

  Cute, he thought as she smiled at him. The teleporter had midnight-blue hair and she wore a bandanna around her neck. Stylish.

  The woman was gone before he could say anything else.

  “Oh well,” Roman mumbled as he moved over to the wooden coffin. He placed his hand on a strip of metal that had been hammered into the top of the box and his abilities activated, the metal bending and then falling to the floor.

  He removed the top of the box and stared at the woman’s face. Her ruffled maid outfit had shifted in the transportation process, and the tops of her breasts were more exposed than they should have been.

  Roman suddenly felt uneasy, nervous for what he was about to do.

  He lifted a single hand over her body, and with a deep breath in, he activated his power. Roman felt something move through him, a heavy vibration as he gave the sex doll life.

  And it was when she gasped, when she blinked her red eyes, that he realized the extent of his ability.

  A quick glance to his power dial and he saw that he had really moved the indicators.

  This explained the feeling in his chest, the pounding of his heart. He still had power left, clearly, but he would need to be careful, because red is dead, as Ava had said.

  “Hello?” the woman asked without getting out of the coffin.

  “Hi,” Roma
n started to say.

  A mental message came in from Harper: Getting off work soon, if you’re interested…

  Even in the midst of all this, Roman knew not to pass up an opportunity like Harper. But from what he could tell, tonight of all nights would be the wrong night to invite her over. So he decided to get back at Nadine instead:

  Let’s meet at my place tomorrow night, and if you have to work, I’ll come and drink there until you get off work. How does that sound? I’m busy tonight.

  Her response came seconds later: That’s fine. And I do have work, but I get off early, so come when you can.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi,” Roman said, looking at the doll.

  “How long have I been in a coma?”

  This question tore at Roman’s heartstrings—it was the one word he hadn’t expected her to use.

  “You weren’t in a coma; I just animated you,” he said, looking down at his hands. Suddenly feeling the guilt wash over him.

  “Animated me?”

  She started to sit up, her red eyes flaring as she took in Roman’s form.

  She was undeniably beautiful, with a hint of mystery due to the mask she wore. There was a softness to her skin that Roman had never seen in a woman before, a unique enchantment, something that almost reminded him of a statue or a magnificent work of art.

  No blemishes, only perfection.

  Roman felt his heart quiver. He lowered to one knee, no longer able to stand.

  “Are you okay?” the doll asked as she stepped over to him.

  Roman lay on his back, breathing in deeply as he tried to catch his breath. The doll he’d given life to crouched next to him, resting on her knees now.

  She looked down at his face—her own soft, his in pain—and she slowly reached her hand out to touch his cheek.

  “Who are you?”

  “Roman,” he told her.

  “And who am I?”

  “Coma.”

  The single word came out not in a response to her question, but in response to the part of Roman’s life that continued to haunt him.

  The woman smiled. “Coma. That’s an interesting name.”

  “Not… a name,” he told her, the lights dimming all around him.

  “Are you tired?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  Coma placed her eyes over Roman’s face. “Please rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Coma

  Roman awoke the next morning to find all his clothes removed. He’d been sleeping in a sitting-up position, his back against the couch.

  His vision was a bit blurry, and when he rubbed his eyes, he found Coma standing before a stack of his things.

  His nightstand, his clothing, a few personal items, some toiletries—she had moved everything into a single spot in the living room and arranged it in a strange way, trying to stack as much as she could.

  The nightstand made the base of whatever sculpture she was going for, followed by a lamp he had in his bedroom, some of his collarless suit jackets on top of that, his toothbrush and other assorted sundries jutting out of various places.

  Whatever it was, it had taken some time.

  “Why did you do this?” he asked.

  “I want to rearrange this place. So I started by getting as much out as I could and finding different things to move around. I’ll work on it for the rest of the day, if you don’t mind.”

  “I mind.”

  She crouched in front of him, so that he could now see the front of her panties. If Coma was embarrassed to be giving him full view of her undergarments, she didn’t show it.

  The life-sized, animated doll merely looked at him, her head cocked to the side as she continued to stare.

  She still wore the same black mask she’d worn back in the sex shop, but her hair was now in a ponytail, tied up with one of his handkerchiefs.

  “Do you know where we are?” he asked, figuring he would begin there.

  “We’re in your home.”

  “Okay, so you know that much. Do you know what you are?”

  “I am your creation. I am a portion of you, and according to the dial on your wrist, I am a good portion of you. I am this red line, correct?” She turned his wrist over and checked out his power dial.

  “How do you know all this?”

  “You made me smart. You want a smart woman, don’t you?”

  “Smart? Yes, sure, that’s true. Among other things.”

  “I’ve had a lot of time to think, you know. You’ve been sleeping forever.”

  “How long was I out?”

  Judging by the light coming through the window, Roman assumed it must be at least six in the morning.

  “Why did you create me?” She was still crouched down, and she no longer wore her high heels; Roman could see them next to the door, against the wall.

  “To be honest with you, I don’t know how much about all this you know…”

  “About your life? I’m not really a psychic. I am just an extension of you. And while you have given me life and intelligence, you didn’t download your history into me or anything, which is why I’m asking you that question. I know some things, but what I really want to know is simple: Why did you create me?”

  Coma fell back and sat on her ass, her thighs spread, her feet pressed into the couch as she got comfortable sitting on Roman’s legs.

  “To be honest with you, I don’t really know why I created you. I just wanted to prove myself right, that I could give life to something larger than a pair of scissors. But I haven’t decided what to do with you.”

  “I’ll make that easy. I’m going to stay here and clean up your place and rearrange things. You’re going to go out, or go to work, or whatever it is you do. You’re going to come back here, and we can figure it out from there.”

  Roman raised an eyebrow at her.

  “You asked, and I gave you my answer.”

  He smiled at her. There was something about Coma that he liked, something that gave her this aura of being hard around the edges but soft at the core. Similar to Roman.

  Exactly like me, he thought, remembering how others had described him.

  “Well?”

  “I’m supposed to have a guest tonight.”

  “Man or woman?”

  “Woman, same as you.”

  “Sounds fun. We can discuss that later.” She tried to tickle him with her toes, which were pressed up under his armpits.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to see if you are ticklish. I guess not.”

  He looked at her curiously for a moment. Even with the mask over her eyes, he could tell she was raising an eyebrow at him.

  “Interesting…” he mumbled.

  “Well? Do I pass the test? Are you going to keep me around?”

  “I think,” he said as she continued to try to tickle him with her toes.

  “Good. I laid your clothes out on your bed.”

  “How did you know what I want to wear?”

  “I’m here to help you. And besides, most of your clothes are dirty anyway. I need to wash everything.”

  “I don’t want a maid—even if, um, you’re dressed as one.”

  She rolled her red eyes. “This isn’t a maid costume; it’s a gothic Lolita outfit.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I came with other clothes in my box, and it said gothic Lolita on the tag.”

  “I don’t want a maid.”

  “You may not want one, but you definitely need one. I’ll clean up for now, but after that, I expect you to keep things my way.”

  “Do you, now?” he asked, still not sure what to make of all this.

  Aside from the fact that a sex doll was alive and real, and sitting on his legs, he also didn’t like other people doing his dirty work. Roman didn’t have many codes, but one of them was that he liked taking care of himself.

  “Are you doubting me?”

  “No, I just would rather help if I can. I can
afford a maid; I don’t have one for a reason.”

  “Because you’d flirt with her?”

  “Okay, two reasons.”

  “Because you don’t want people to know you’re a slob?”

  “Three reasons.”

  She laughed—a light, musical laugh that he immediately enjoyed. “Just this time, then. After that, you have to help out. Now hurry, you’re going to be late.”

  “How do you know what time I have to go to work?”

  “What part about ‘I’m a piece of you but I don’t know everything’ do you not comprehend? That means I know some things.”

  “I have things to do before work,” Roman said, thinking of the hospital. He’d missed going yesterday, something he allowed himself once per week.

  “Then do your things. When should I expect you?”

  “After eight. And I’ll have a guest.”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior then.”

  “We’ll see about that part.”

  Coma pressed away from him. She stood and offered Roman a hand. The doll was surprisingly strong, which was at odds with her dainty form.

  “Go get ready.”

  As soon as Roman turned away from her, Coma slapped him on the ass.

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Paperclip War

  Roman exited the hospital. There were no tears to wipe from his eyes, but the back of his palm went to his face anyway, a natural reaction by this point.

  He was running late, so he mentally ordered a teleporter.

  It was a warm day outside, and a small part of him wished he could just run away, not go back to work, find the nearest park and rest there, eat some ice cream—do whatever the hell he wanted.

  But the middle-class non-exemplars of Centralia were rarely allowed to do whatever they pleased. Sure, they had freedom, but the majority of their freedom was tied to their bondage. Roman had figured long ago that for him to gain more freedom, he would have to work harder, which was exhausting, and which meant his free time would revolve around recuperation. And that sounded absolutely terrible.

  At least he had a good salary, with benefits too, and while he had been a non-exemplar up until yesterday, he hadn’t been treated like a non-exemplar most places he went.