Paper Dolls (10 page)

I took a leap and landed with my hand on the door’s handle. The handle seemed stuck and I desperately shook it to make it turn.

A girl and an old man sat inside the compartment, sleeping. I slammed the door shut but they didn’t wake. I crept closer. The girl—she was Jessamine. Not a ghost, not a spirit. The real, live Jessamine. And the man, he was her grandfather. I recognized him from the photograph inside the locket. Jessamine sighed in her sleep—her arm tucked around her grandfather’s. She looked so young and fragile—nothing like the girl who had terrorized us all in the underground.

An explosion lit up the carriage. Jessamine woke screaming, her face white and terrified. Tobias shouted her name. A series of smaller explosions followed. The train rocked and a tremendous tearing of metal filled my ears. The carriage pulled off the rail with a tremendous screech, falling through air.

I heard rapid breathing, tortured cries.

Dr. Verena’s voice cut through the scene. "What are you seeing now?"

I knew then that the cries and the breathing were mine. I knew I was in Dr. Verena’s office. I opened my eyes, staring wildly in her face.

She held her notepad and pen up, ready to write. “Cassie, tell me what’s happening?”

I knocked her hand away. I didn't want to tell any more. Her notepad slid across the floor. There were no notes on the open page—just a drawing—a drawing of a bare tree with roots growing everywhere. She snatched up the notepad and slipped it inside her jacket pocket.

Mom rushed into the office, her eyes huge. “Honey, are you okay?” She grabbed me, held me tightly. She gazed at Dr. Verena. "What happened? I was finishing my call when I heard Cassie crying out."

Dr. Verena placed her hands on her head. "I'm so sorry. Something triggered a memory."

“I’ll take her home now.” Mom helped me up from the chair.

“Yes I think that’s best,” said Dr. Verena. “These things are going to happen sometimes when there have been traumatic experiences—but I know it is very frightening to have these flashbacks that come out of nowhere. Do go home and relax and recover. We’ll try to steer clear of any triggers next time, okay?”

Mom nodded briskly and walked me from the office.

We drove in silence through the mid-afternoon traffic. Gray rain pelted down, making people scurry and seek shelter.

I wanted to tell mom about Dr. Verena’s notepad, but mom’s knuckles were already white on the wheel and her face a tight mask. I even doubted myself whether I’d really seen the drawing or not. I remembered then I'd seen a sketch like that before. Ethan's exercise book. It had to be my mind projecting that memory onto Dr. Verena's notepad. My mind hazed over—it was hard to even remember the session now.

Mom took a noisy, deep breath and pulled off the road without warning. Several cars behind us beeped their horns in anger as they passed.

She sat with tears rolling down her face, her body trembling. “I should have taken us back to Miami when I had the chance. I can’t stand watching you go through all this.”

She had stayed strong these past weeks—holding back and remaining calm. I’d caught the turmoil in her eyes sometimes when she was unguarded, but I was still shocked to see her like this. My mom never broke down, never showed her deepest feelings—except for that time when I was eight just after my father left us.

I touched her arm. ‘Mom, I’m okay. Really….”

“No you’re not. You’re not okay. You were right. I brought you out to this country for my own selfish reasons. And everything went wrong.”

“That’s no one’s fault. Remember on our street back in Miami a girl’s ex-boyfriend shot her date dead, and around the corner from us a thirteen-year-old kid died of a heroin overdose, and probably lots more stuff happened I don’t remember. Stuff happens everywhere.”

“I’m the adult. You’re my responsibility. I let you go on that trip with Lacey. I should have guessed. I should have known what you were really planning to do. I’m always just so wrapped up in my job and clients that I didn’t notice what my own daughter was doing.”

I gazed out into the rain. I’d been so stupid. I’d been there in Lacey’s bedroom planning to search for Aisha with the person who’d known where Aisha was all along.

“I’m fifteen. You’re not responsible for everything I do.” I wanted desperately to change the subject. “Anyway, so who was on the phone back at the psych’s?”

She drew her eyebrows in. “Someone else’s fifteen-year-old daughter. She’s been on the edge for a long time. I had a tipoff from a concerned uncle that she was close to committing suicide.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah. It is. It’s not the first time she’s been in that dark place, and the thing is, I can’t stop her if she’s really determined.” She rubbed her forehead with the heels of her palms, then turned to look at me intently. “Cassie, we’re going back.”

“We’re doing what?”

“Back to Miami. That man that kept you in that place is still out there. You’re all going to go to court to testify soon. Against him. The court date has been set for January. I don’t want you here any longer.”

“Are you saying you think he might try to… stop any of us from testifying?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying. I just want you out of danger. If that means heading back to Miami, so be it.”

We lapsed into silence as sheets of rain blanketed the car. I drummed my fingers against the window. I remembered something Dr. Alexia had suggested to me last week.
If you’re feeling strong enough, why not take a short getaway? It might help put some distance between you and everything that’s happened.

At the time, going away anywhere had seemed too big a step. But now, maybe it was something both mom and I needed more than anything.

Aisha laid herself on the pool's edge, letting her arm sweep through the water. A long pink scar ran along her slim thigh—the only sign of injury from her time in the underground. My bruises had faded to the point you could barely see them and the cuts had healed.

The worst scars we had were inside us.

It helped to see Aisha here. Because if she was here—solid and real—it meant that I was solid and real too. It meant that she and I really did escape the Dollhouse, and that this wasn’t all just some cruel dream. I was not a ghost deluding myself I was really alive.

Mom and Aisha's parents read books on their pool lounges. Aisha's dad was still recovering from his stroke—finding it difficult to talk and form his thoughts into words. Raif was off chatting up every girl in a one-mile radius of the pool, which basically meant every teenage girl on the island—there were scant pickings amongst the mainly family groups with small children.

Aisha pulled herself to her feet. "C'mon, let's take a walk. I'm starting to fry here in the sun."

"Yeah, too much of a good thing," I agreed. "Mom, we're heading for a walk along the boardwalk,” I called to her.

Aisha and I tied our sarongs on.

Mom tipped her sunhat upwards, and turned her head to Aisha's parents. All three nodded and smiled at us, but you could see the reservations on their faces. It was going to be hard for them to give us the usual freedoms you'd give to fifteen-year-olds.

"Be back by lunch girls,” said Mrs. Dumaj firmly.

Sun bounced from the tropical waters. The air, the rainforest, the ocean—everything—seemed saturated with the deep yellowness of the sun. Aisha wound her long hair into a loose knot.

We pulled our sunhats low over our foreheads. A family of holidaymakers passed us, far more interested in chasing their exuberant toddlers than peering at us. We hadn’t once had anyone come close to recognizing us. Anyway, with our filled-out cheeks and newly-acquired golden tans, we hardly resembled the frail creatures who'd emerged from the dollhouse weeks ago.

Raif was on the beach with a slew of cameras around his neck. He snapped one photo after the other of a group of bikini-clad women as they posed in front of the mermaid statues that sat offshore. We walked in the opposite direction—along the boardwalk. The boardwalk stretched through a tiny tropical forest to the other end of the resort. We followed it for a while, then stepped off down to the small marina. Yachts bobbed in neat lines on either side of the L-shaped jetty.

Shouts from the water captured our attention. A couple of teen boys guided a dinghy into the dock. A small, furry bundle shot from the small boat's deck onto the dock and tore away.

"Lucy!" called one of the boys. His voice had that masculine-but-not-quite-deep quality that lots of teenage boys had. He wore a loose white tee short and frayed denim shorts.

The white-and-tan Pomeranian barreled into my legs. I bent to scoop it up just as it was about to tear away again. The dog excitedly licked my arm and then tried to wriggle away.

The boys moored their yacht and jumped hurriedly onto the dock, laughing as the dog gave up on freeing herself and began to lick my chin instead.

"Sorry. Lucy has a thing for pretty girls—finding them for us that is." The boy in the denim shorts stepped towards us, his arms out.

Aisha smiled somewhat wryly at his joke. "Cute dog," she told him.

I transferred the pup into his arms.

He rubbed Lucy on her head with his knuckles. "This is our mom's dog. She'd kill us if we lost her. We're on vacation with our olds. From Miami."

I’d known from his accent he was American, but I wouldn’t have guessed Miami. His voice lacked the tone I usually detected in anyone who grew up there. I was about to tell him I was from Miami too, but checked myself. It was best not to tell strangers anything about ourselves, or give any clue as to who we were. At least, not now while there was so much media focus on us.

"We’re vacationing with our parents too,” I said.

"Ah, a fellow American. Where’re you from?"

"Los Angeles." The city my father lived in was the first one that came to mind.

"Cool. Anyway, I'm Zach," he said. He hooked a thumb at the tall boy who walked up beside him. "And this is Emerson, my brother."

Emerson looked slightly older and his posture gave an air of being a lot more self-assured than Zach. He gave a short flick of his hand as a wave and grinned. His blond, neatly clipped hair contrasted against Zach's messy dark locks. But there was a strong family resemblance in the lean lines of their faces. Both of them had those outdoorsy, tanned good looks you saw in men's surfing-gear catalogues.

"So, do you girls come with names?" said Emerson.

"Kate and Anna," said Aisha quickly, indicating towards me and herself.

Emerson smiled at Aisha. "You're Australian, Anna. Such a cute accent. Goes with the whole package."

"Thanks," she told him. "Do you guys have a quota of compliments that you give out each day? Because I think you've reached it already."

She sounded more bemused than anything.

"Nah, we've got lots more cheesy lines in store." Zach winked. "Come grab some eats with us and we'll run through our repertoire."

Aisha and I shook our heads in unison.

“We can’t,” I replied.

"You girls got something against eating... or us?" Emerson gave a broad smile, his teeth white against his tan.

"Neither." I gave a nervous laugh. "We're meant to do lunch with the parents."

"Hey no fair," said Zach. "We're only here for an hour or two before we take off again. And we want to buy you girls lunch, for rescuing Lucy. Saved us a lot of trouble trying to find her."

Emerson shrugged. "This island is so compact, I'm sure we'll be having lunch within the same space as you girls anyway. We'll just look over and give a sad wave from time to time. Maybe we'll even bust out some short dance routines—endearing but kind of embarrassingly awkward—just to get your attention."

“You wouldn’t…,” said Aisha.

“We would. Let me give a quick demonstration.” Emerson bent his lanky body into an Egyptian pose while Zach did a head-bobbing imitation of a chicken.

Aisha snickered. "True enough. Embarrassing. Look, okay. We'll have lunch with you. Sounds like fun."

"All right!" Emerson straightened, looking pleased with himself. “Just let us put Lucy somewhere safe.”

Zach and Emerson leapt back onto the dinghy with the little dog, disappearing into the cabin.

"What made you change your mind?" I asked Aisha.

"These guys aren’t going to give up. Can you imagine them doing stuff like that at the pool or in one of the restaurants? We’ll have blown trying to keep a low profile, because they’ll draw the attention of every single person to us. I’m not ready to have people staring at me…."

“Me either.” She was right. They could even unwittingly expose us.

We trekked back around Mermaid Beach to the pool area. Mom and Aisha's parents looked up in surprise at the boys who accompanied us. The boys hung back as Aish and I stepped over to explain ourselves.

"Mom, Mr. and Mrs. Dumaj," I said. "Is it ok if we have lunch with Zach and Emerson today? We kind of saved their dog from running off and they wanted to thank us by buying lunch.”