Paper Dolls (11 page)

Mr. Dumaj gestured an emphatic
no
with his hands.

"Dad," said Aisha. "Raif has been all over this island talking to girls. No one’s stopping him. And remember my psych said I'm meant to be doing some normal teenage things. We’ll just be in The Atrium—a five minute walk away.

He squeezed her hand, breathing deeply and nodding.

“Lunch, and nowhere else,” cautioned mom.

“Yeah, we’ll be back soon,” I told her.

Zach and Emerson smiled over at our parents as we joined them. Together we headed for The Atrium. Holidaymakers dotted the wide interior, checking their vacation photos on their cameras—restless children darting to and from the games areas. The Atrium was like being inside an enormous fish bowl—bright colors everywhere and tropical fish statues hanging from the soaring ceiling.

We wound our way through the tourists and through to the restaurant. Aisha and I kept our sunhats on—though not one person looked our way anyway.

True to their word, Zach and Emerson paid for lunch. Aisha and I each ordered a light lunch—neither of us ate as much as we used to. It hurt my stomach if I had more than a sandwich or small salad at any one time.

Emerson mouth curved up at one end. “You girls eat like birds.”

“Expensive birds,” said Aisha. “My salad has lobster in it.”

“Still loving that accent,” he told her. “I’d pay for a dozen lunches if I got to sit and listen to you talk.”

Aisha glanced at me. “Why didn’t you tell me American boys were so smooth?” she joked.

Emerson laughed. “I get even smoother out at sea. That’s if you ladies would care to come out on the boat for a quick trip around the island?”

Aisha held up a hand. “Thanks, but no. Our parents wouldn’t go for that.”

“They’re pretty strict, your parents.” Emerson shot Aisha a regretful look.

“Yeah, very,” she agreed.

Our lunches came—beautifully presented and complete with edible flowers. I had to restrain myself from eating quickly. Starvation was not an easy experience to overcome. It was even difficult to watch other people in the restaurant as they pushed away half-eaten plates of food and left their tables.

Zach and Emerson woofed down their food, so I guessed I needn’t have felt weird for polishing off my lunch within a couple of minutes.

“You girls are the first I’ve ever seen to eat the flowers on their plate.” Zach chuckled. “But I have to say it’s a pretty sight.”

“I hope you girls are not going to eat and run,” said Emerson. “Play you a game of ping pong. Or better still, pool—do you girls play that?” He nodded towards the pool tables out in the Atrium.

Aisha and I eyed each other. Our parents were expecting us back straight after lunch—but I guessed that as long as we didn’t leave The Atrium it was okay.

“Yeah, I play. I have a big brother,” said Aisha.

“I play a mean game too.” Back in Miami, pool was mostly what I did with my friends.

“Alright, game on!” said Emerson.

We walked to the only empty pool table. Kids no older than thirteen played at the other tables nearby. A big-screen TV was suspended overhead the tables, showing an American talk show that no one was watching. People were caught up in their own little vacation bubbles.

I pulled the hat from my head—it was going to be distracting to have that on while playing. Aisha followed suit, shaking her long dark hair free.

Emerson smiled in appreciation. “Nice to finally see you two. It was worth the wait.”

Aisha shrugged a shoulder, grinning.

Zach racked up the balls. "Okay, Kate and me on one team and Anna and Emerson on the other."

Zach took the break, his t-shirt pulling tight over his back and shoulder muscles as he leaned low over the table. My stomach turned to water. I didn’t think the sight of a boy would ever do that kind of stuff to my insides again.

Emerson shook his head slowly. “C’mon Anna, we gotta show them what we’re made of!”

A loud group of tourists moved onto the sofa near our table. All of them had a nasal Australian strine and used the word
jeez
every second sentence. A woman dressed in a floral dress that showed every roll pressed her back into the sofa and fanned herself with a brochure. A man in a striped shirt and skinny legs in platform sandals patted her hand and said, “Jeez love, are ya okay? D’wannanother drink? Hot as hell out there.”

The others that were with them—another couple—began relaying a story about how their air-conditioner had
carked it
last summer and how they almost died.

The tourists stayed put, fanning themselves and complaining about the heat.

The talk show host on the screen above introduced some news footage. I was barely paying attention over the noise of the tourists. Until I caught sight of Aisha standing rigidly—her gaze fixed to the screen.

Blood slowed in my veins as I read the headline—
Seven missing children found in macabre subterranean dollhouse
.

The din of the tourists hushed as the newscast showed photos of each of the children. The report then swapped to film of the carousel and the dark corridors, travelling through to the ruined library. The camera lingered on the drawings that were still pinned to the wall and scattered on the floor. A hand scooped up a torn, faded picture of a serpent. Aisha gasped out loud.

One of the cameramen cursed as he tripped over the oversized figure of Clown.

Scattered voices echoed through The Atrium as people watched a skeleton of old bones being wrapped and taken from a dark tunnel.
Jessamine’s bones
.

Cold cement poured down my spine. I hadn't seen any of this. Dr. Alexia had told mom that I shouldn’t watch or read reports of the underground. I wanted to run, but my legs were wooden. I glanced at Aisha. Her hands trembled on the pool cue. We needed to leave without Zach and Emerson realizing why. But the entire atrium had grown deathly quiet.

Holidaymakers moved out of vacation mode and drew closer to the screen. They had surely seen footage of the underground before. A full month had passed since the rescue. A rolling banner on the bottom of the screen caught my eye—it promised unreleased footage. Were the people were waiting to see that? Was the dollhouse some kind of morbid entertainment to them?

The show’s presenter interviewed some expert who speculated that Henry Fiveash had imprisoned all the teenagers and dressed them as dolls due to an unspecified mental illness—as well as other wild theories. The camera moved through The Dark Way to the diamonds and gold nuggets, stopping on the rotted and blackened body of the Raggedy Andy doll.

The camera traveled back along the dark corridors to the kitchen, showing the bare shelves inside the cupboards.

The show’s presenter announced that the
shocking
new footage
was coming up next.

The film cut to an outdoor scene, in the forest. A tiny girl in pink track pants and a green jumper waved, turning to point over a high rock ledge. The view moved forward, freezing as the image of a thin, bedraggled teenage girl came into view. The girl stood in the river below, silently pleading for help. Blood seeped from the girl’s torn slip, bruises and cuts darkening her body, doll's makeup smeared on her face. The expression in her huge eyes was the expression of one who’d stared into hell itself.

I barely recognized that girl.

Barely recognized myself.

Aisha eyed me in horror. I hadn't told her any of the details of my escape. I hadn’t wanted to relive it.

How was there film of that moment…?

The woman… the woman had been filming her daughter and must have caught me on film as well.

My name appeared onscreen.

Cassandra Claiborne, aged 15
.

I wanted to go home, home, away from here. My fists clenched, nails digging into the skin.

The tourist in the striped shirt stood, pointing. "Hey, those two girls over there. I'd swear blind they're the girls they just showed on the TV. I never get a face wrong."

His wife squinted at Aisha and me. “Jeez, you’re right! That’s them. Poor loves!”

Everyone stared, but there was nowhere to turn my face where someone couldn’t see me.

The man raised a camera to his face and began snapping photos.

Zach moved his arm protectively around me. "These are
not
the same girls. Wrong ages, wrong names. So back off!"

“Hey mate, don’t give me flack,” the man asserted. “Look at them. If it wasn’t them two on the screen, why are they shakin’ like that?”

Zach and Emerson held Aisha and me close to them and guided us out through the peering crowds of people.

Mom and the Dumaj's were strolling on the path towards us. Raif walked alongside them. One look at our faces and they rushed to us. I tried to speak but no coherent words came.

"I'm sorry,” said Zach, “there was some kind of news program on that had the tourists mistaking the girls for your daughters. We brought them out of there as quickly as possible."

Mom stared at Aisha and me with wide eyes, then clasped Zach’s arm. "Thank you," she said fervently.

We hastened towards a secluded spot behind clumps of swaying palm trees.

I hugged my arms tightly around myself. The sight of the girl in the river was too much to bear. I was not whole or real or sane.
I was the girl from the footage—that freaky, ghostly girl—the one who had come within a hair’s breadth of dying in the jaws of a serpent, the girl who had seen death and otherworldly beings.

"Mom, I want to get off this island. Now,” I said.

Aisha nodded, her face tight. “Yeah, we can’t stay now.”

Raif pressed his fist in the palm of his hand. “You girls should have stayed with me. I would have hit anyone who tried to say crap about you.”

His sister clenched her forehead with one hand. “That would have made it even worse….”

Mrs. Dumaj dropped her phone back into her pocket, shaking her head at Aisha and me. “Not good news girls. The people at reception say there’s no transport off the island until tomorrow. They also apologized profusely about the news footage. They don’t normally show news programs. Seems someone accidentally changed their usual station, although they’re not sure how that happened.”

Emerson shifted on his lanky legs, looking uncomfortable to have been caught up in this family drama. “Look, I don’t want to intrude in any way—it’s obviously been a rough experience for the girls—but I have an idea." He shrugged his shoulders. "We were heading back to Whitsunday Island this afternoon. It's the biggest island in the Whitsundays, where you might not run into anyone all day. Our parents are there—staying in their own yacht. I don’t know what you think, but it’s a way of getting off here straight away.”

Mom gazed at me and then over at the Dumajs’. She nodded tensely at Emerson. “We would really appreciate that.”

The gleaming white craft before us seemed to me a small ship rather than a private yacht.

Zach laughed. "Yeah. S'called a mega-yacht. My oldies like to travel in style."

The trip across to Whitsunday Island had taken longer than I realized it would, but I hadn’t cared. I just wanted as much space between me and those tourists as possible. Warm breezes blew across the clear, shallow ocean. Before us, Whitehaven beach was a long strip of pure white sand.

A girl appeared on the deck of the mega-yacht. Her hair was dyed-red, cut in a swinging bob. Her long tanned legs were offset by a pair of tiny orange shorts.

Raif straightened, puffing his chest out. "Who is that?"

“That's Viola. Our sister,” said Emerson. “Good luck in getting her to notice you. She’s a bit of a snob.”

A side-boarding platform pulled out. Zach and Emerson steered the dinghy alongside the platform and we boarded the yacht. The yacht’s crew of four nodded a greeting to us as the boys led the way to the top deck.

A portly couple in their late fifties stepped out onto the deck. Emerson introduced them as his parents—Mr. and Mrs. Batiste. They were dressed in casual clothing, but it was designer-casual—the kind of outfits that cost more than my entire wardrobe.

Mr. Batiste stepped forward to shake our hands with a firm grip.

"Oh gracious,” exclaimed Mrs. Batiste, “It’s just awful what happened. I couldn’t believe it when Emerson rang to tell me how those people behaved in front of these poor young girls. People go on vacation to relax, not to be accosted by strangers.”

“We really appreciate being able to get away so quickly,” said mom. “You have a couple of fine young men there.”

“Yes they are.” Mr. Batiste nodded. “Drive us crazy like all youth do nowadays—but they do have their finer points.”

“If you call
annoying
a finer point.” Viola walked up to her parents, a mocking smile on her face.

By the look on Raif’s face, Viola’s smile was as bewitching as it was mocking. Up close, she was extremely pretty. Her eyes were a deeper blue than those of Zach and Emerson’s and her skin flawlessly smooth.

“You’ll have to excuse my daughter.” Mrs. Batiste eyed Viola with a fond but slightly exasperated expression. “She’s been a bit bored on this vacation. The boys tend to go off and do their own thing, and she gets left on her own. She doesn’t find the ocean terribly exciting I’m afraid. She prefers shopping, or reading by the pool deck.”

Viola huffed out a short sigh. “Well I grew out of making sandcastles ten years ago. And what else is there to do on a beach?”

“Well you’re an excellent swimmer. There’s always swimming,” said Mrs. Batiste.

Mr. Batiste knitted his eyebrows—his eyebrows startlingly dark beneath his thick silver hair. “Actually no, dear,” he said to his wife. “There’s no swimming here at this time of year. There’s stingers in the water—apparently some deadly ones too called the Box Jellyfish.”

“See mom?” Vindicated, Viola rolled her eyes. ‘I could
die
out there.”

“But that doesn’t stop you from enjoying this beautiful place,” Mr. Batiste chastened his daughter. “You’re only young once. Why not head out for a walk with the younger people, and we parents can enjoy a nice relaxing drink on the deck.”