Shattered Girls (Broken Dolls Book 2) (8 page)

“It’s lunchtime,” Gabby announces, accidentally knocking into an older lady. She hastily apologizes and sticks her hands in her pockets. “Let’s hit Denny’s before we pick up Grandpa.”

“Twice in one day?” I ask. “He’ll be sick of you.”

“I hope not…” Gabby says quietly, pushing on the door. She always pushes on the glass instead of the handle, smearing her prints on the glass. It bugs me. Gabby calls it anal-retentive.

Denny’s is packed, of course. It’s always packed. There is only one free table in the corner. Playing with the salt shakers is Denny’s daughter. Her blond hair is cut into a bob, and she’s wearing jeans and a purple tee.

Gabby adjusts her backpack. She weaves around the other tables and sits across from Farah.

“Gabby! Ella!” She beams, her eyes glistening. “Why aren’t you at school?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Gabby wriggles out of her bag and drops it by her feet.

Farah sniffs and taps the salt. “I haven’t been feeling well in my tummy. It’s a real downer.”

“Well, be happy you’re here. Lacy lost it, and the whole school was in lockdown.” Gabby nonchalantly opens the menu and scans through the lunch section as she speed-walks Farah through today’s fuss and muss. “Does your dad still do the BLT? I can’t see it here.”

“
WHAT?!
” Farah squeaks.

Gabby looks up and blinks. “The BLT. Does he still do it?”

“No, no, no! The Lacy lockdown thing! I need to process.” Farah breathes heavily, so much so that it fogs up her glasses. “Cheerleaders were kidnapped?”

“It’s a common occurrence in this town, lately.” Gah! Gabby has that cold note to her voice again. I
hate
it.

“Do the police know?!”

“Yeah, they’re working on it. It’s in their incapable hands now,” Gabby says. Luckily she doesn’t spot me rolling my eyes. “You sure picked an interesting day to be sick.”

“Tell me about it,” Farah mumbles. “Did you say you wanted the BLT?”

“Yes, please!” Gabby’s eyes brighten, and she licks her lips. “I’m starved!”

“Well, too bad, because we’re out of beetroot.” Farah bursts into a fit of hysterics and slaps her knees. “Got you!”

Gabby dejectedly scans the selection for something else. “Your dad needs a better gluten-free menu. I’ll just risk a muffin and brave the wheat.”

“Okay, I’ll get it for you.” Farah clears her throat. “
DAAAAD!”

I jump. For such a small girl, she’s sure got some pipes on her. Denny bounds out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. He leans on the table with his trademark full-flavored grin.

“Well, if it isn’t my three favorite girls! How are we today?”

“We’re okay,” I say. “We left school early because—”

“—because I’m picking up my grandfather at the train station today,” Gabby butts in. “School’s easy enough, so a few hours off won’t hurt.”

Farah and I glance at one another. Gabby lied. Again. Seriously, what is it with her and keeping secrets?

“That’s exciting!” Denny says. “I haven’t met your grandfather before! Dinner’s on the house! Bring him and your folks!”

Gabby purses her lips so tightly that they disappear. “If we can squeeze it in. It’s just a quick stopover, really.”

“Ah, no problem. Maybe next time! So what can I get for you?”

“A muffin, please.”

Denny frowns. “No BLT?”

“Farah said you were out of beetroot.”

Denny raises an eyebrow at Farah, who bowls over laughing once more, eventually succumbing to a coughing fit.

“I’ll get you your BLT.” He shakes his head at Farah and leaves to personally make the world’s most delicious sandwich, according to Gabby. He returns in exactly two minutes with a heaping plate before shooting us a wink and toddling off to the kitchen.

“My God, it’s delish!” Gabby groans, beetroot juice trickling down her fingers.

“You are the world’s messiest eater,” I grumble, unable to keep my peace.

“I bet there are worse,” she says with her mouth full. Farah only laughs. She loves it when we argue.

“What’s it taste like?” I ask, wishing just for a moment to feel the texture of bread on my tongue.

“Like heaven,” Gabby replies.

“Just a little less specific, please?”

She swallows and looks at the ceiling. “Umm… how best to describe it? The tomato is succulent and ever so juicy, the lettuce is crisp and incredibly crunchy, and the beetroot… well, the beetroot is like the icing on the cake. It’s sweet, slimy, and absolutely mouth-wateringly perfect.”

My plastic tongue licks my plastic lips, as I paint myself a smell-o-picture. While Gabby works on her sandwich, I turn to Farah.

“We were told men in white took the cheerleaders away. Promise you’ll stay far away from anyone in a white suit, okay?”

Farah wrinkles her nose. “So, netball umpires, and tennis players, and, um, maybe the Pope?”

“Well, I suppose if you want to play it safe, then yeah.”

Gabby reaches for the napkin and cleans her hands, her cheeks still bloated with food. “Ella, it’s time to pick up Grandpa from the station.”

I clap my hands to show my excitement, but I’m dreading it like I would a dentist’s chair. If, you know, plastic teeth went bad. Should I have tipped off the police? Yet, how could I not? Gabby needs to be kept safe. I barely feel comfortable with her walking in school now, let alone a crowded train station where the professor might not even be. I just can’t shake the feeling he’s not going to show up.

Gabby lays out her arm so that I can climb it like a steep ramp, up to her shoulders.

“I hope you feel better soon, Farah.” I blow her a kiss. “Remember: stay away from men in white. And men in black, too, I suppose. But don’t negate women. Just stay away from anybody you don’t know.”

Farah smiles, her tongue sticking through the gap between her front teeth.

“Bye, Denny!” Gabby calls out. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the BLT!”

Denny pokes his head through the door leading to the kitchen and waves, his eyes bright, like his daughter’s, and his smile oh-so-contagious. “Bye, girls! Say hi to your grandpa for me!”

“We will,” Gabby says, exiting the diner with a goofy grin on her face. She’s so distracted by Denny, she doesn’t even notice the beetroot stain down her shirt.

ave I ever taken you to the station before?”

“Nope.” I dangle my legs off the chair as we sit waiting on the platform. “I thought it would be busier.”

“Yeah…” Gabby’s voice echoes. “Me too.”

There’s a woman standing across from us. She checks her watch and phone. “This town is going to pot!” she says.

“What do you mean?” Gabby asks.

“Look at this Facebook community post!” She flashes her phone. “They’ve closed the train station.
Closed
it. Why isn’t this public knowledge? Why isn’t there a sign? Why did I have to find out on freakin’ Facebook from some guy called Chris? It’s common decency to tell the town the station is closed. It’s not even in the newspaper!” She storms off, her heels clacking against the concrete.

“It isn’t closed,” I whisper to Gabby. “I bet somebody bought it out.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I honestly don’t know. Just a feeling.”

We glance at the clock which has stopped at midday. The tunnel is cold and goosebumps prickle up Gabby’s arms. The vending machines are empty, and old newspapers litter the floor. It’s like nobody has been here for weeks. There wasn’t even anybody at the ticket booth. We slipped right in.

“Something’s wrong.” I fidget anxiously. Did the police take my call seriously? Is that why no one’s here? But it looks so much more deserted than that.

“Everything’s fine,” Gabby says, without much conviction. She smooths out her pants and sits up with her nose in the air. “It has to be. Maybe someone bought the station and they’re renovating, so no trains are doing their thing?”

“It doesn’t look like anybody is renovating… Gabby, I’m sorry, but that’s a silly idea.”

“At least, I’m
trying
to be optimistic!” she snaps. “The last few months have been seriously screwed up!”

“I’m aware of that.” It’s hard to keep my voice soft. “Gabby, your parents are missing. Kids we know are missing. Why do you have such faith in the professor? What could he possibly do?”

She chews her bottom lip and stares into the distance. “I don’t know. But I just know he can…” On the verge of tears, she tenses up, so I know she’s finished with the conversation. Blasted train can’t come soon enough.

The hinges in my knees keep locking with the seat, so I curl my legs up against my chest, resting my chin on my knees. Waiting.
SUCKS
.

“Hey, Gabby? Do you ever worry about the epidemic?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, do you ever worry it’ll come back and you’ll get sick again?”

“Pfft, no. Grandpa will just turn me into a doll again. He’s basically made you immortal, hasn’t he? Besides, they think they eradicated it.”

“Nothing’s ever eradicated though. They just call diseases by different names.”

“Shh. You don’t know what you’re talking about. The train’s coming,” Gabby whispers, as if worried she’d chase away those faint far rumbles that are rolling up. “Grandpa is here.”

The train veers around the corner, its brakes squeaking. I try to catch a glimpse through the windows, but I can’t see anyone. The cars shudder to a complete stop, followed by a noise that resembles a mother hushing her child. The doors swing open automatically, so Gabby picks me up and places me on her lap.

We wait, but nobody exits the train. We wait some more… but still nothing.

“Nadie está en el tren…” Gabby’s voice is hoarse, tight. She grips my waist. “Ella, Grandpa isn’t on there.”

“Maybe he’ll be on the next one.” I pause. “I have a bad feeling.”

“But you can’t feel.”

“No, but I can sense it. There’s something wrong.”

“You don’t have to sense anything. It’s a ghost train! Of course something is wrong!” Gabby points at the train.

“Exactly. We should leave.”

“No. We should investigate.”

My jaw drops open, and I splutter incoherently for a moment. “Gabby! Are you crazy? You’ll go missing, too! Don’t be a sadistic!”

“You mean statistic.”

“Whatever! We’re not going on there!”

Gabby shoots me a defiant look and props me on her shoulder. Inhaling through her nose, she walks steadily towards the train.

“Gabby, no!” I squeal, tugging on her hair. Maybe if I hurt her, she’ll stop. “Please, please,
please
!”

“Shh!” She steps over the narrow gap between the platform and the door. We’re greeted by an eerily empty compartment. Gabby makes her way through the compartments, each one as lonely as the next. “Hello?” Her voice cracks. “Is anybody on here?”

“Shouldn’t there be a train driver?” I ask. “These things don’t run automatically, do they?”

“I don’t think so.” Gabby stops, scans the train for signs of life. “Should we check the cockpit?”

“Isn’t that what they call it on planes?”

“I’m not a train geek, Ella! Whatever the carriage holding the driver is called!”

“Well, I think we should just get off. What if it starts up and it takes us God knows where?”

Gabby’s eyes widen. “I didn’t think of that.”