Possessed: The Dollhouse, Part One (6 page)

“
I
t came
!”

Julio burst into the kitchen. I was sitting at the table surrounded by last month’s unpaid bills with a calculator in my hand. Of course no matter how many times that I added the numbers together, it still came up to more money than we had available.

“What came?” I ground the palms of my hands into my eyes in the hopes that would kill my splitting headache.

He held an envelope in his hand and waved it in front of my face. “I think it’s the check, from the disability people!”

“Did you open it?” I asked, hope springing in me. If Momma’s social security application had been approved, it would mean getting some of these bills paid and keeping food on the table for the rest of the month.

“No. Not yet.”

He was so excited that I had to grab his arm with one hand to keep it still long enough for me to seize the envelope with the other.

My heart pounded as I held it in my hands. It amazed me that something that could change our lives only needed a postage stamp to arrive. And it was definitely a check, the kind with lines and crosses in the back for security and the little perforations that needed to be folded back on each side.

I opened the envelope with trembling fingers. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time to peel the paper open as numbers danced before my eyes.

When the check was finally revealed, I let out an involuntary squeal. Julio crowded over me as I sat in the chair, trying to see. “How much? How much?”

My eyes scanned the check quickly until I narrowed in on the little box to the side. It was just one little box that would determine exactly how far we could dig ourselves out of this hole.

My heart sank.
Oh no…

The number was tiny – significantly less than half of what I had made for one night in the Dollhouse. And this was what was supposed to last us for the entire month? I could maybe take care of the light bill and half of the rent, but what about the rest?

“Is it a lot?” Julio asked, pressing in close over my shoulder.

His face was so eager that I couldn’t bear to tell him the truth. Julio had been working so hard lately, showing up at the diner whenever I asked him to and doing his job like he was supposed to. Not to mention, keeping his attitude in check for the first time in years. He didn’t deserve to be burdened with the weight of our money troubles.

“It’s perfect.” I closed the envelope, hiding the check’s face.

“Awesome!” He snapped his fingers like he’d just had a great idea. “This means that I can quit working at the diner, right?”

“No.” I said a little too sharply. I started gathering the papers and envelopes up that were on the table into a neat stack. “We can still use the extra.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Watch your language,” I snapped. “Lucy might hear you.”

“Watch being a bitch.”

“Julio!”

“Whatever.” He slammed out of the kitchen before I could say anything else.

Damn it.
I pushed the papers back into the old shoebox that I kept for unpaid bills. My movements were too forceful and several of them spilled onto the floor.

“Shit,” I mumbled under my breath.

I bent down to clean the mess and the phone rang. The sound startled me enough that I reacted, the top of my head slamming into the table as I tried to stand.

“Fuck!”

“Dalea?” I heard Lucy’s voice from the living room and cursed under my breath. Today was obviously not my day.

“Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” I shouted to her. “Watch your cartoons.”

The prepaid cellphone that we had been using since the landline was cut off a few months ago sat on the tabletop, jittering across the surface with each ring.

I snatched up the phone, still kneeling on the floor. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end was female and clipped. “May I speak with Alvina Moreno, please?”

“She can’t come to the phone,” I said, thinking of Momma who was currently laying on the couch in the living room, passed out in a stupor from the pain medication. She had finally restarted chemotherapy last week and we had to decide between having her awake or in excruciating pain. It hadn’t been a difficult choice. “I’m her daughter, Dalea.”

I heard the shuffling of papers on the other end. “That’s fine, I see we’re allowed to provide you with information.”

“Uh, okay.”

“My name is Olivia Banks. I am the finance coordinator at the Downtown Cancer Clinic.”

I could feel the falling sensation in my stomach that meant something awful was about to happen. “What can I do for you, Ms. Banks?”

“I’ve been looking over your mother’s financial records and I’m afraid there is a problem.”

I swallowed hard. “What’s that?”

“The chemotherapy regimen that she is receiving is not approved by the FDA for use in advanced lung cancers. Unfortunately, Medicaid will not reimburse for unapproved treatments or medications.”

“But this is what the doctor prescribed.” I held the phone hard to my ear until it was almost painful. I wanted to make sure she heard every word. “He says it working.”

“I understand that, ma’am. Your mother will still be able to receive the treatment, however the cost will no longer be billed to her insurance. Going forward, the clinic will require cash payment
in advance
for all services provided.”

“Cash?” I tried to speak through the roaring in my head. “How much money are we talking about, exactly?”

“One moment.”

I waited, not breathing. The sound of keys clacking on a computer keyboard was audible over the line. The chemotherapy was medication, how much could it possibly cost?”

“Nine hundred and forty-three dollars, not including a small exam fee. That amount is per session and she is currently scheduled twice per week.”

“A thousand dollars!” I was nearly hyperventilating now and it was a struggle to remain upright. Lucky for me, I was already sitting on the floor. There wasn’t any further down to go. “What if we can’t pay?”

“I’m very sorry.” The woman’s voice was carefully neutral. “But I’m afraid, in the absence of payment, that your mother’s treatment will no longer continue.”

I
hurried
down the stairs of our apartment building, already late for the extra shift that I’d picked up at the diner. It would have to be a good night to put a dent in the outrageous medical bill we were going to have to pay for Momma’s chemotherapy.

Days off were a luxury that I could apparently no longer afford.

Not for the first time, I internally railed against the ruin that was my life. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. I didn’t deserve it.

Straight-A’s all through high school, plenty of extracurricular activities on top of my part-time job at the diner and then a full ride scholarship to the University of Illinois at Urbana. And then, before I even had a chance to see how far I could go, my future had come crashing down with Momma’s diagnosis.

Suddenly she couldn’t work – could barely leave her bed. I had to come back home to help her and take care of Lucy and Julio. Somebody had to do it and there was no one else. I’d never been raised to abandon my family.

But that didn’t mean that resentment hadn’t grown in me like a rosebush made only of thorns. I had done everything that I was supposed to do and still I had to struggle. Still, I had to fight.

It wasn’t fair.

But nobody ever said that life was supposed to be fair. Happily ever after was only ever a guarantee in storybooks. And unless there was a fairy godmother interested in making a trip to the south side of Chicago, I was pretty much out of luck.

I pushed open the door of the building, bracing myself against the heat and bright sunlight. There was nothing like a Chicago summer to make you appreciate not having the electrical service cut off.

I had to get these bills paid.

Once outside, the blazing sun momentarily blinded me. So much, that I didn’t notice the black sedan parked on the street out front until I nearly ran into it.

A tinted window, so dark it was nearly opaque, rolled down until the elegant and lined face of the Procurer was smiling up at me.

“No,” I said sharply, turning to walk down the sidewalk.

The car followed me and the Procurer spoke through the open window. “Still aspleasant as always, I see.”

“Please leave me alone.” I struggled to keep my tone even. I had promised my brother – and myself – that I wouldn’t go back. The Dollhouse created more problems than it solved.

When I risked a glance, the Procurer stared at me with eyebrows raised. “You might be the most changeable girl that I have ever encountered.”

I stopped suddenly and turned to face him. The sedan halted as well with a slight screeching of tires on the pavement.

“Look…” My voice faltered, unable to continue. I could feel the memory of my patron’s –
Julian’s!
– hands on my skin and took a shuddering breath. I needed the strength to end this. “I can’t do this anymore.”

The Procurer’s eyebrows shot up into his ever-so-slightly receding hairline. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” I nearly choked on the word. I had to lay waste to my chances of ever returning to the Dollhouse.

He watched me carefully, eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “Once done, these sorts of decisions are difficult to undo.”

“
These sorts of decisions…
” I repeated him, half-mocking and half in wonder. “Do you do this often? Cajole women into selling themselves to the highest bidder?”

“I don’t recall an auction for your favors, my dear.” His sardonic tone and the cold look in his eyes were clearly a warning, if I was able to heed it. “However, that can likely be arranged, if you so desire. I can see it now:
entitled brat for sale, only fifty cents
.”

My hands balled into fists. I willed myself to calm before I said something that I would regret. “I’m done, thanks.”

“So you’ve said.” His gaze moved over me in a way that was not friendly. “I do dear tire of the repetition, dear Dalea.”

My name on his tongue was spit out like an insult. “You’re not the only one.”

“I cannot say that I will miss these charming exchanges but, of course, I am not compensated to fulfill my own desires.” He watched me steadily, expression thoughtful. “You may regret an impetuous decision. Or your mother will.”

I glared at him. “What do you know about it?”

“You might be surprised at what I know.” The Procurer smiled, revealing teeth that seemed sharp as fangs. “One last favor, for a girl in need, I will give you some time to
thoroughly
consider your options before accepting your refusal.”

I squared my shoulders, determination like a core of steel running down my spine. “The answer is no.”

“
He
does not respond well to being told no.”

My traitorous heart skipped a beat. I steeled myself against the curl of desire that coiled in the pit of my belly. “I guess it’s a good thing that I won’t ever see him again, then.”

“Let us hope, for your own sake.” The Procurer stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “You know what to do if you change your mind.”

The car pulled away from the curb before I had a chance to reply. The window rolled back up, obscuring the Procurer from view, just before the sedan turned at the corner and was gone.

I prayed it would be the last I ever saw of anyone associated with the Dollhouse. But a traitorous voice whispered through my thoughts,
what about Julian?

Snap out of it,
I commanded myself. I couldn’t think about Julian, or the blissful feel of his mouth and hands on my body. I had to keep my mind on Lucy and Julio – on Momma. I had to think of the people who needed me.

The walk to work took longer than it should have, my thoughts consumed with worry. Even if I had the best night ever at the diner, those tips combined with the last of my Dollhouse money would barely be enough to cover the treatment that was scheduled for Momma later in the week.

But what about the rest of our bills – rent, electricity and money for food? That wasn’t going to come from nowhere.

The diner was nearly deserted when I entered, confirming all of my worst fears. Miranda was behind the counter and ringing up a customer. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she saw me.

“What are you doing here, girl?”

“Filling in for Rachel.” I walked behind her to grab an apron off the hook on the wall. “I think she’s sick.”

The customer took his change and walked away. Miranda turned toward me with a frown. “Rachel is a lazy slut.”

“Yeah, well I need the money.”

Miranda’s gaze was knowing. “How’s your mom?”

“Better, for now.” Tears burned behind my eyes. I willed them away with an effort. “Insurance won’t pay for her chemo anymore.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Wow.” She rubbed my shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Do you have the money?”

“Yeah, barely, but only if I don’t pay for literally anything else, like rent and food.”

“Oh, honey.” She wrapped me in a hug. “If you need some help, I have a little extra socked away.”

“No,” I said, firmly. I couldn’t take her money. It would just be the same problem again in a month when Momma was due for her next treatment. And I couldn’t imagine ever being able to pay her back. “Thanks, though.”

“You’ll get through it, sweetheart. You’re a survivor.”

I smiled wanly, not wanting to tell her that surviving was all it felt like I did these days. “If you say so.”

“Nowhere to go but up, pretty girl.”

The shift remained slow for most of the evening, as if I needed any further confirmation that God had a sick sense of humor. I robotically served my few tables, mind perpetually consumed by dark thoughts of the future.

It was near to closing when the bell above the door jangled harshly as it was shoved open.

“Dalea!”

My brother’s friend Marco was standing in the doorway, thin chest heaving under the white tank-top that he wore. Marco ran with my brother and his little gang of friends. They always got into trouble together.

“Marco? What’s going on…”

He sharply cut me off, his breath coming in harsh gasps. “You have to come right now.”

My heart picked up its beat, stuttering into a too-quick rhythm. “Why?”

“It’s Julio.” Marco looked quickly behind him, as if worried that he was being chased, probably not an inaccurate assumption. “Julio’s been arrested.”