Dollhouse (9 page)

Above it all, I could sense Henry laughing—as though he were standing out there in the middle of the night seeing everything, knowing everything we did.

Yes, it was time to leave. I was going crazy—just like Ethan.

A scream—
the scream
—arced across the night outside. Human, piercing. Bloodcurdling.

Gripping the tent, I slid down the zipper. Sticking my head out, something colder even than the air landed on my face. Flakes of white twirled and danced from the inky blue sky.

Snow.

A figure sat on the fallen tree, hunched against the wind. He tossed a stone hard into the rocks in front of the campsite.

“Ethan?”

He turned slightly.

Pushing my feet into galoshes, I stomped over to him. The scream sounded again—more distant this time.

I clamped my hands over my head. “Did you hear it?”

“That’s the Barking Owl. It has a scream like nothing on earth.”

“That was an
owl
? Wow. Does everything out here sound human?”

“Nope. The Tasmanian Devils sound more like a mix between lions and dogs.”

“I think I heard them the other night. Sounded like a pack of lion cubs fighting.”

“Yep—that would be them.”

Sitting beside him, I held out a hand to catch a snowflake. It melted on my hand.

Real snow
. I hadn’t seen snow, ever. 

“Can’t believe it’s actually snowing.”

I wanted to ask him where he’d been all this time, but knew he wouldn’t tell me. Shrugging in reply, he moved as though to get up.

I placed a hand on his arm. “Have you eaten?”

“Enough.”

“You don’t look as though you’re eating enough to stay alive.”

“You two should get off the mountains.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow. Happy?”

“See it my way. Like it or not, I’ve had to watch out for you two as well as me. If something happened to one of you—who do you think would get the blame?”

Snow licked my nose with an icy tongue. I drew my hood overhead. “I guess I didn’t think of it that way. I know it’s risky for you just coming up here. Maybe...  you should come back with us. They've got no evidence against you, and you've done nothing wrong. I mean, so what if you stole a car? It's not the worst thing in the world...."

I wished I could bite back my words as soon as they’d thudded from my mouth. Words could be icebergs—small and insignificant when you first felt them in your mouth—but huge and terrible when they emerged.

He kicked out at a shrub. “How do you know about that? Anyway, it’s my fricking business, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”

“Because you think I’m some thief and you’ve assigned yourself to my case?”

“No, I just…. “

“You think I took the car for kicks, right?”

I stared up into the bowl of blackness—not knowing what to answer.

“Well I didn’t. I took it for Granddad.”

“You took it for him?”

Ethan sighed with his shoulders “He can’t get up here in the mountains anymore. He's been sick, and anyway, they took his driver's license away. He had one good day—one day with that shine back in his eyes—so I borrowed a car and took him up here. If the neighbor hadn’t noticed his car missing, all would have been cool. But he did notice.”

“Why... why didn’t you tell that to the police? About your grandfather being sick and that?”

“Granddad isn’t sick as in anything physical. I don’t know what it is and he gets angry if I talk to him about it. Some days he’s just different—he doesn't like the things he used to and can’t even seem to know who I am sometimes. I can’t tell anyone, because he doesn’t want that. He wants to live at home, in his own house. After all he’s done for me—I have to make hell sure no one takes him away.”

“I’m sorry. My grandmother back in Miami had something like that. She didn’t know who I was, either. She even forgot who
she
was, and they had to tape a photo of her to her room in the nursing home—just so she remembered herself each day.”

Icy air cut around my face, needling through my clothing. “Is your granddad okay by himself?”

“He’s okay, most days. He can take care of himself. At least, I hope he can.” He was silent for a moment. “I don’t know if he can.”

Neither of us spoke for a minute or so, darkness swallowing us. Ethan studied my face, pain stitched into the muscles around his eyes and forehead.

A clear, dark snowflake rested on Ethan's eyelashes. Gently, I brushed it away.

I tried to force myself to say goodnight, get up and walk away. But the words wouldn’t form. The world closed in, grew small and tight—the space within a snow globe. Cradling my arms into my chest, I leaned forward, and my mouth found his. His lips were cold, his body tensing.

I numbed, like my brain had shut down.

We clung together for a moment, before he twisted away.

 “Sorry...."  It was the only word that would escape from me.

I ran for the safety of the tent.

Stupid, stupid, stupid....
I didn’t even know why I’d done that—couldn’t even explain it to myself.

So many times, I’d imagined the kiss. But it was never like this. Never on a mountain in the dead of night—with snow freezing us half to death.

Never this sad and lonely traitor’s kiss.

And I hadn’t even been imagining the kiss for ages now. Not since Aisha disappeared.

Ethan had just looked so lost, so torn up. I’d wanted to take all that away. But instead of being a friend, I’d been the enemy. Punching myself in the arm, I curled up, fetal.

* * * *

The sun’s first light streaked red above the trees.

Lacey sat with her back against the log, reading a book—The Narnia Chronicles. The book’s cover was tattered—the worn stage books get to when they get read a lot.

Ethan’s tent was zipped. Last night's snow had melted away—but by the feel of the fierce morning chill, it seemed more was on the way.

I pulled my hoodie on as I emerged from the tent, not knowing where to put myself.

“Want coffee?” Lacey indicated towards the pot of boiling water.

“No... thanks. I’m heading out for a walk.”

I walked in the opposite direction of the river. I hoped Ethan was already out somewhere. I didn’t want to run into him.

I stumbled into the woods, wandering, drifting—disconnected from everything, especially myself.  Right now, I didn’t even care if I got lost.

Spots of crimson inflamed the trees above. My breath misted the air in front of me. People didn’t really mean it when they said they wished the earth would swallow them. But I meant it. I wanted to just drop away. I wanted to hide, to hide everything about myself.

I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes had passed. One minute for every year of my life. A minute for every year that had brought me to this point.

A low growling sounded behind me.

Had that come from those Tasmanian Devil things? Do they attack?

I turned, my legs weak.

Two scrawny dogs—Henry Fiveash’s dogs—stood with their heads low and mouths pulled back.

I can't outrun them
.

But if I stay here, I get chewed to death.

They advanced, in slow, deliberate steps, still growling. Daring me to run—so they could run and begin their chase.

Bolting for the nearest tree, my feet scrambled against the bark. I couldn’t gain traction. I shot down and cut across to a tree with lower branches. The dogs leapt against the trunk.

Something large flashed across the clearing.

A horse—dark and muscled, with a lighter brown fur at her nose—stood staring down flared nostrils at the dogs. I could tell straightaway it hadn’t run away from an owner. It was a horse that had never been owned.

The dogs ran at the horse’s legs, jumping and snapping. She reared up. A band of brumbies stomped and whinnied through the trees—charging into the clearing, both frightened and reckless. The dogs backed away.

I might not get another chance. I clambered down and fled—frantically looking side to side and over my shoulders like someone chased by demons.

“Idiot mutts. Get back!” came a deep voice.

Henry Fiveash.

I stopped still. Had he seen me? I ducked behind a tree. He stepped past, looking straight ahead.

“Get back! Get back!” he yelled.

I heard the dogs running—in the opposite direction to Henry.

“Damned stupid animals.” Henry followed them—at a much slower pace.

Something jumped into my head, a pale thought that colored itself in—like one of those magic paint-with-water books. I hastened back to the campsite.

Lacey still sat reading her book. She eyed me with alarm. “What happened?”

“The dogs are out! Where’s Ethan?” I breathed.

“In his tent. What—?”

Rushing, I stuck my head in his tent. Ethan was drawing a pencil map of the area, with a dark circle scribbled around the Fiveash house.

“Dogs are out. We can get in the shed. Hurry!”

Ethan stared at me intently, his pencil dropping from his hand.

I ran to toss a water bottle into my bag. “Lacey, we’re—”

“I heard,” Lacey said. “But it’s not a plan. How would we get out again? I mean, once the dogs are back in the yard...."

Ethan stood behind us, backpack on his shoulders. “We’ll figure that out later.”

* * * *

We dashed across the yard to the old shed. Ethan reached the door first. He unlatched it, and Lacey and I practically pushed him inside. The thought of one of those dogs ripping into my legs had stayed with me since they’d ran at me in the forest.

The inside of the shed was shrouded in darkness.  An old cabinet stood against the only window, almost completely blocking its light.

I slammed the door shut, and latched it from the inside—the latch appeared to work from either side of the door. We stood still for a moment, adjusting our vision.

The shed was huge but held the usual garage items—old lawn mowers, a chainsaw, sheets of corrugated iron, a rusted wheelbarrow with a rusted hole through its middle. A stack of wood was piled so high it threatened to come tumbling down. An old Caltex petrol station sign hung on the wall.

More of the police barricade tape laid discarded on the floor.

To the left were stacks of wooden crates and a bookshelf stuffed with aged books. A generator cranked away against a wall.

To the right, there was nothing but a large circular object. It was set into the ground—about six feet across. It looked like a water tank lid. Pipes fed from the lid and through the wall. Faded lettering on a pipe said,
Caution. Rainwater. Do not drink
.

Ethan stepped over and knelt by the tank lid. Tugging, he lifted the lid by a recessed handle. He shone a torch into the inky blackness below. The tank was empty of water—there was only a foul-smelling slime around the bottom surfaces.

Lacey and I set about moving and checking underneath anything obscuring the floor or wall areas. The bookshelf was crammed into a space just big enough for it, against an indented length of wall. Made of cedar, it was ornate and heavy. Lacey and I couldn’t budge it—and there was no room to get beside it and wrestle it out.

Next we scrutinized a wooden bar—one that still had old bottles of spirits in the shelves behind it. With effort, we were able to move it. There was nothing but floor underneath.

“Are you girls going to tell me what you’re looking for?” Ethan rested himself against a rough-hewn supporting beam.

Ignoring him, Lacey picked up a dusty bottle from the bar. “Wow, wine from 1915. Bet that's sour.”

I walked over to inspect the tottering pile of wood. Henry seemed to have stocked up enough wood to last him until doomsday.  Lacey stepped over, nodding at me.  Together, we began shifting the pieces of wood to a space on the floor.

“What the?” said Ethan, but he peeled off his shirt and moved the wood by twos to the ground.

After the best part of ten minutes, we were done. I moved my hands all over the dirt and concrete. Nothing. There was nothing there. All that work for nothing.

We moved the wood back again.

“I can hear the dogs.” Lacey stared at us.

The yelping came closer and closer—until the dogs entered the yard. One of the dogs bounded over to the shed and barked furiously. We edged our backs into the wall.

“Shaddup you useless canine.” Henry’s voice sounded more frustrated than angered.

He slammed the back door of the house.

“He mustn’t have looked around,” I said. “Maybe he thinks the dog is barking at
him
.”

“Okay now,” said Ethan. “We’ve succeeded in moving a stack of firewood. I hope you two are satisfied. If you want to tear the shed down next and then rebuild it, I’m outta here.”

I leaned my head back against the wall, puffing. I wanted to punch something—hard. None of our efforts produced the tiniest piece of evidence. Not since the first day we’d come to the mountains.

And now we were here, inside a place guarded by vicious dogs—with no way out. And we were in the shed because of me. After what I'd done last night, this had been the only thing I had to give back to Ethan—a way of getting in the one place we’d been unable to search. But it was pointless. Worse than pointless.

All of it was because of me—starting with Aisha running off
.

Lacey dropped herself to the ground—sitting with her arms tight around her knees, humming to herself.

A faint streak of light from the window fell across Ethan’s sunken cheeks as he gazed around the ceiling. “We wait,” he said. “Until night. We’ll run like crazy and not stop until we’re on the other side.”

He shot me a strained half-smile. I looked away. I didn’t deserve his support.

Minutes dragged past. Ethan stretched out with his head resting on a piece of firewood. We plunged into silence, staring anywhere but at each other. I knew Lacey could sense the awkwardness between Ethan and me, but she said nothing.

I let my eyes drift shut. Wild horses ran through my head. Aisha would have loved the sight of the brumbies. Obsessed with horses, she drew the most amazing pictures of them. Especially of StarFire—her own horse. That was probably why she’d been good at photography—she used to notice details most people would miss.