Broken Dolls (6 page)

“There’s no time like the present.” Gabby uses one of the tissues to wipe the dust from the window. Instantly, the attic brightens. The daylight is so much more vibrant than I realized. I always thought they exaggerated it on TV, but I was wrong. It turns out TV couldn’t even encompass just how beautiful it really is outside.

“That’s better already, isn’t it?” Gabby unlatches the lock and shoves at the window, the glass rattling when she pulls on it. “Wow, this is really stuck.”

“What are you doing?” I squirm to get out of her pocket, but it’s deceptively deep. I fumble and fall only deeper, fighting through the fabric to poke my head through the gap.

“I’m taking you outside.”

“You’re going to throw me outside?” I gasp, more than just a hint of hysteria in my voice.

“No, silly,” Gabby says calmly, pushing her weight against the window. “
We’re
going outside, and then
you
are trying the slide.”

“But why do we have to climb through the window?”

“Because I
bet
Grandpa’s in his study, writing in his diary or playing Sudoku or chess. It’s how he winds down. He’ll be there for an hour at least, but probably two considering how miffed he was. If we go down the stairs, he’ll hear us and freak out. We’ll sneak through the window, down the drainpipe, and we’ll be back before he even knows we left. I’m a good climber, so I promise we’ll be fine. Deal?”

The window gives, and Gabby slides it open, albeit jerky and noisy.

I don’t know. I’ve never done anything I wasn’t supposed to, no matter how much I wanted to. Rules are there for a reason; they shouldn’t be questioned, and they definitely shouldn’t be broken.

“Deal,” I say, my voice high and breathy.

Gabby’s movements are rocky and being in her dress is probably what it’s like to be in a boat during a storm. I clutch onto the edge of her pocket to see what’s happening, but a lot of it is a blur.

She dangles one leg through the window first, the same way I climb out of the treasure chest. The other leg follows, before she inches her bottom closer to the edge.

I’m terrified–for a lot of reasons. Not just because I’ll get in trouble for going outside, but I’m petrified that Gabby will fall.

She waves her foot by the drainpipe, hitting it to test its strength. She reaches with her hands and hugs it like a koala cuddling a tree. I can’t even appreciate the outside world–all I can do is watch Gabby’s scrunched-up face. The wind blows, and whips her hair around her, and ruffles her dress, and it’s enough for me to feel like I’m being thrashed around by a hurricane.

“This is hard in a dress,” she says, her voice tight.

I don’t reply–she doesn’t need the distraction.

The drainpipe shakes, barely holding Gabby’s weight.

“Uh-oh,” she says.

“Let’s go back!” I yell, sickened by how far away the ground is. I’ve never dangled so high above anything. What if I break completely? If Gabby lands on me, that might be it. I might be beyond repair–just like Lisa.

“No, it’s okay,” Gabby says, perpetually optimistic. She loosens her grip and slides halfway down like firefighters do on those poles in the movies. We’re not far from the bottom, maybe a few human feet, but it might as well be a mile. “This might shock you a bit. Hold on, Ella.”

Without giving me a second to process her words, she releases her grip and falls.

I can’t help screaming as the ground streams towards me. The force of the hit rattles me, but we’re okay. Gabby crouches, steadying herself before she stands.

“Phew!” she squeals. “Lucky you were weighing my dress down! It nearly went up over my head! That would’ve been embarrassing!”

“Out of everything that just happened,
that’s
what bothered you the most?”

Gabby laughs, dusting herself off. She pushes on a gate that squeaks when it moves, kind of like I do when I stretch my legs.

We’re in the backyard. We’re
actually
in the backyard. Gabby heads towards swings and slide that are next to a sandpit. Wow. There are so many things out here to play on, and I had no idea they even existed.

It’s a little scary outside, but only because it’s a new experience. It’s a lot more vibrant than I could’ve ever imagined. The flowers are in bloom, and the grass looks so soft, I’d give anything to feel it against my skin. The sky is grey though–I can’t find the sun or see a patch of blue.

Our backyard looks like most of the ones on TV. Not particularly big and surrounded by other houses that look similar to ours. We have a brown fence that boxes us in with a tree that the professor hasn’t educated me on situated in the corner. It’s tall, and its trunk doesn’t sprout branches until the very tip, where it morphs into a baldish Christmas tree. I can’t believe I don’t know what it is. I’ll have to find a way to query the professor.

“Time to cross one thing off the bucket list!” She rushes to the ladder, not accustomed to a living doll crouching in her pocket. She must keep forgetting I’m there because I’m starting to feel sick. Do dolls get sick?

She watches her footing as she climbs and sits at the top. It’s taken her no time at all. For me, it would’ve taken forever.

“Nervous?” She pulls me from her pocket and places me between her legs.

“Very.” The slide is long–too long–and I’m regretting wanting this in the first place. I look up, my neck creaking. “I can’t do this, Gabby. Let’s go back to the attic.”

“OH MY GOD, you’re so cute!” she squeals. “I promise, this is
fun
.”

“But I’m worried I’ll go too far and break.”

“You won’t break. I’ve pushed a lot of my dolls down the slide before. They got a little dirty, but they never broke.”

I try to compose my thoughts, but I feel lightheaded. It’s like when I dream–nothing pieces together right, and my thoughts are unclear. I suppose this is what nerves and adrenalin must be like.

“I’m going to push you.” Gabby nudges my back. “It’ll be over before you know it, and you’ll be begging to go again. Ready?”

“No.”

“Ready?”

“
No
.”

“GO!” I don’t feel her push me, but the grass rushes towards me just like it did when Gabby dropped from the drainpipe. I scream in preparation for my body’s destruction and draw my knees to my chest, deafened by the susurration of my ballet slippers scraping against the steel.

I slow down as I reach the end of the slide, only centimeters from the edge. I remain still, a little dazed by the experience.

Gabby whooshes down behind me, beaming. “What did you think, huh? Fun, right?”

I raise my eyebrows at her and smile. “I didn’t break!”

“Of course, you didn’t! You’re not as delicate as you think! What next?”

I glance at the swing that sways in the breeze. “That thing?”

Gabby’s nose scrunches when she shakes her head. “That’s the best one, so let’s save that for last. Jump in my pocket, and I’ll take you across the monkey bars.”

There’s a rumble in the distance, and Gabby stops mid-reach. “Damn it. It’s going to storm. We better do this, then hurry back in. I’ll take you on the swing next time, promise!”

I raise my arms so Gabby can grip my waist and slip me into her pocket. She jogs towards the monkey bars and climbs the ladder.

I crouch in her pocket, fighting the voice in my head that urges me to stop. “Gabby? Can we not do this?”

“What are you talking about?” She reaches for the first bar. Her body tugs when her feet drop from the step and her arms tremble, holding her bodyweight.

“Gabby, I really don’t want to do this!”

She swings to the next bar and I shield my eyes, holding back strained whimpers.

“Gabby!” I shriek. “Let me out!”

“Chill, Ella! I got this!” She swings to the next bar, faltering. She regains her grip, reaches for the next bar… and slips, her body mere moments away from crashing into the ground.

It’s like I’m not in her pocket anymore. I’m the one swinging, losing control, and slipping. I fall flat on my back, my head smacking into the grass so hard, I see a flash of white. I land on my arm, and the waves of pain rush through my broken joint. I can feel the twist, the break, swelling beneath my back. My throat hurts from screaming, but I don’t care. It’s the only way to get the pain out…

“Ella? Ella? Stop! Ella, stop! Please, stop!”

“But I’ve broken my arm!”

Gabby’s face appears, but I’m still screaming and nursing my arm. She has placed me on the grass and is on all fours, fanning me.

I must look more coherent once I stop screaming, because Gabby sighs in relief. Wait. Why is she wet? I glance up and see droplets of rain plummet to earth. I hate the rain. It’s like the sky is crying. It makes Gabby look a lot younger now that her hair sticks to her face.

“What happened?” I ask, the pain subsiding.

“I missed the bar and dropped, like, a foot. Then you started screaming hysterically!”

“So I
didn’t
fall and break my arm?”

“No. It was like you had some Vietnam flashback. Did you fall off the monkey bars when you were a human?”

I pause. “I’m not sure…” Maybe I did. That daydream was way too vivid.

The rain is loud and heavy, but nothing is louder than the back door slamming against the bricks.

“
ELLA
!” The professor stands at the doorway, his expression beyond mortified. Running comes unnaturally to him, his limbs flailing uncontrollably as he slides to his knees and pushes Gabby out of the way. “Ella! You’re filthy! You were screaming! Are you broken?”

“No,” I say softly, but he interrupts me by scooping me into his arms.

“Go to your father’s old room, Gabrielle!” On the verge of yelling and despite the throbbing vein in his forehead, he manages to maintain his composure. “I can’t believe what you’ve just done!”

“We needed to have fun!” Gabby wipes the mud from her wrists, thoroughly unrepentant. “She lives in that attic all day and night. How is that a life, Grandpa? I don’t care about repossessions anymore!”

“
Repercussions
,” the professor corrects through gritted teeth. “You should
always
care about repercussions!”

“Screw repercussions!” Gabby shrieks, storming through the back door.

I cuddle into the professor, who unbuttons his jacket so that I can hide from the rain.

He takes me upstairs and back into the safety of the attic. He spots the open window and hisses, rushing towards it and bolting it tight. He puts me on the table and pulls up a chair so that he can be eyelevel with me.

“You’re drenched,” he says remorsefully, running his fingers through my hair, which now hangs below my shoulders. “I’ll have to get a new wig. You’ll never be able to put it up in a bun like this.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Really. Gabby didn’t kidnap me or anything. I wanted to go outside.”

“You can’t go outside!” He stretches over me to grab a tissue to dab at my limbs. “See what happens when you go outside?”

“It was fun,” I say defensively, although I don’t understand why I had such an intense daydream.

“Were you hurting again? Is that why you were screaming?”

“No. I was just… scared.” I also really, really suck at lying. This conversation needs to go somewhere else, fast. “Have you seen Lisa?”

“No.” He dries my hair next. “Have you?”

“No.” Two consecutive lies. If there is a doll Hell, I’d be in it.

“That’s a worry…” His voice trails off, and he stops drying my hair, then shakes his head and continues. “You’ve had enough excitement for one day. How about you get settled in the chest, and I’ll lay out new clothes for you?”

“Could I please have a dress like Gabby?” I clap my hands into a begging position.

The professor’s expression is unsettling. It’s like he’s hurt and trying to cover it with a very unconvincing smile. “I only have tutus and leotards for you. That’s what you wanted.”

“But can’t I have–”

“No.” We remain in silence for several seconds. He kicks back the chair and kisses my head, leaving me in the solitude that is loneliness.

My only company is the gentle patter of rain and the roar of thunder. A fitting metaphor. I feel like I’m the sky tears, trying to escape the overbearing nature. It’s only when I cower behind the stool leg as the lightning flashes that I realize that the professor, perhaps, isn’t the thunder or lightning in my metaphor. He’s something much worse.

He’s the eye of the storm.