Silent Doll (20 page)

“Sorry, yeah, just something there,” I stroked my finger in the air above the strands. “I think it was trapped in her hand.” Ro picked up the hairs with a pair of tweezers and carried them down to the table at the other end. Once the sample was between two slides, she snapped it under the microscope for a closer look.

“Odd,” she said, beckoning me over, keeping her eyes down the scope the entire time.

“What is it?”

She rolled her chair aside. “Take a look and tell me what you see.”

I peered down the microscope. The magnification was quite high, so that the strand could be more clearly identified. “It’s a hair, isn’t it?” I squinted at it again, then yelped as she yanked a hair from my scalp. She made up a slide and pushed it under the scope.

“Look again.”

I glared at her and waited until she raised her hands in an “I won’t touch you again” gesture. I turned my eyes back to the scope. My hair was smooth, sleek and natural.

“Let me see the other one again.”

There was a click and the image changed. I examined the red hair more carefully.

“This one isn’t human. Is it some kind of synthetic?”

“I think it’s horse hair.” I straightened.

“Are we looking at a wig?” I leaned against the desk with a sigh. “I’m having a Roal Dahl flashback.”

Ro rubbed her eyes and stretched. “It certainly throws us for a loop. Are they bald or just trying not to be recognized?”

“I don’t know.” I tried to think: there was something, a thought forming just out of my reach. Every time I tried to grasp at it, it slipped away.

“I need coffee,” Ro said, dragging herself to her feet.

“I need to eat. Pop tarts are not part of a balanced diet.”

Ro rolled her eyes at me. “You’re an adult, you should know better. Go get something proper to eat, don’t make me call your Momma.”

“She wouldn’t answer, they don’t have phones.” She stared at me. I pointed up and she raised her eyes. The penny was up in the air.

“Oh.”

And the penny dropped.

“I’m sorry, no one ever told me. How long ago?”

“It’s okay, and about four years now. She passed away just after my eighteenth birthday.”

“You must miss her.”

“There are days when I could really just use one of her talks.”

Ro patted my shoulder and ushered me out through the sliding door.

“Are we done?” I asked. I wanted to be sure before I set to the task of eating something. Ro headed straight for her coffee pot and poured a lukewarm ooze of caffeine into a mug marked with a CSI logo.

“I should think so, unless you think there is something you can do. I’ll send an internal memo to Hamilton to advise him you don’t view bodies for kicks.”

I smiled at her. “Then I can go staple it to his head. I’ll call if I think of anything that will help.”

* * * *

I stopped for Chinese takeout on the way home. I’ve always loved the decorations at Chinese restaurants, bright red paper lanterns and the pictures made of mother of pearl on black lacquer. This restaurant in particular had a picture that reminded me of the book I’d sent for translation.

I should have just brought it to one of these places and asked them to translate while I waited for my Moo Shu Pork and noodles. Given how long most of them took to complete orders, there would be plenty of time for a translation. I took a complimentary fortune cookie; I was so hungry that I unwrapped it and popped it straight in my mouth. After a minute of tentative chewing I pushed the paper fortune out between my lips, plucking it free with my fingers. I turned it over to read it.

“The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. Well, that’s sort of fitting.”

A lot of my dreams tended to be prophetic, and I did believe them. There had been another Cassandra whose visions were not believed, but she was cursed by a god, or so the story goes. I never realized, of course, when I had a dream that it would come true—not until I got the strange
déjà vu
feeling. It might be useful if a screen came up beforehand, featuring “coming attractions” like they did at the movies, or “warning: spoilers!” like on websites.

I never knew when I was going to get a surprise—unless it was an unpleasant one, I couldn’t tell what was in a present before opening it, or who was at my door. I only knew who was calling before I picked up the phone because of caller ID. I was a notorious call screener.

The doors to the kitchen swung open and wafted the smell of gravy and spices at me. My stomach growled. The guy walked to the counter, hefting up a bag with two cartons in it. He smiled and held the bag out to me. I took it with a nod of thanks and started the two block walk home.

Living close meant that the food would still be warm when I got home. I could eat cold noodles, but you could also eat dirt if someone dared you to. I jumped up the steps of the building, anticipating the pleasure of pulling on an overlarge T-shirt and sleep shorts, then curling up under my duvet with my food. Maybe I’d watch the late movie on channel five if it was a good one.

I checked my mailbox again, as a matter of habit, and walked to the elevator. I had to call it down. I had a moment to think, odd—I’m sure I left it in the foyer—before the rattling lift sunk into position. I never take the stairs; there are holes in the third floor landing and some of the staircase is missing, so it’s not really worth it.

I kicked the controls at the fourth floor, as always, in order to make the lift continue up to my floor, the fifth. For some reason it just likes to get stuck there. As my apartment came into view I saw that my door was hanging open.

On full alert, I pulled the cage open, trying to be as quiet as possible. The lock was broken, hanging from the door. It was dark inside. I would have thought I’d been burgled if I could believe that anyone who knew I lived here would do such a thing to me; my address was not common knowledge.

I placed my palm flat to the door, pushing it open until it hit the table. The living room appeared to be empty, not a cushion out of place. I put my food down on the kitchen counter and grabbed the phone, preparing to call the police. I put the phone to my ear, checking my room quickly, then heading for my spare room. When I was closer I heard movement from inside.

“Nine nine nine operator, please state the nature of your emergency,” a voice chirped in my ear.

I didn’t answer in favor of turning on the bedroom light to startle my intruder. When I saw who was huddled in a corner of the room, I hung up on the operator. Trinket was cowering by my desk, clutching a sports duffle. I pressed in a speed dial number, giving Trinket the stink eye while I waited for it to connect. The call was answered on the third ring.

“Good, you’re up. DJ, tell me, how are you at fixing locks?”

Chapter Twenty-One

DJ knelt in my doorway, repairing the door, while I sat on my kitchen counter sucking noodles out of the box and keeping an eye on Trinket, who was counting the change from her piggy bank. I had insisted that she pay for the replacement lock that DJ was fitting. I was grateful that he was able to get one this late and knew how to replace the one Trinket had punched through the door.

DJ rose to his feet, wiping his face and leaving a smear of grease behind; it looked a bit like war paint. I giggled. Trinket looked over her shoulder at me; I stopped laughing and glared at her. She went back to counting. DJ opened and closed the door and the lock, testing his work.

“That should fix it for now, but the blow took some of the wood with it. You’d be safer replacing the door altogether.”

Trinket shrunk into herself more. I hopped down from the counter and brushed my hands on my jeans.

“Thanks for coming out. I’d have called Simian, but I’m still mad at him.” I licked my thumb and wiped the smear off his cheek, then let him past me to wash his hands in the sink.

“No problem. I’ve broken my fair share of locks too.”

He gave Trinket a little wink. I harrumphed; and she kept counting. DJ placed a gold key into my hand; I curled my fingers around it. Trinket got up very carefully, carrying a couple of notes and a lot of change.

“I’ve only got fifteen.”

“Fifteen’s fine.” DJ took it, pushing it into the back pockets of his own ragged Levi’s. He’d refused to take any money at first, but I’d insisted that Trinket learn that her actions had consequences.

I led DJ outside, standing with the door pulled to behind me.

“Thanks again for coming out.”

“No, it’s fine. I like that you called me for help,” he said and he really meant it. He was glowing like it had some hidden meaning. He was probably gloating inside because I hadn’t called Aram. I might have if I needed the door tutted to death, but Aram wasn’t the handyman type. He had day guys to do stuff like that.

I got a wonderful image of the face he’d have made if I’d handed him a new lock and a screwdriver and told him to fix my door. The grin split my face.

“What are you going to do with the young one?”

My grin faded at the edges. “I’m going to have a long talk with her. I’m not making any snap decisions.”

“That’s probably best. Don’t be too hard on her.”

“I got the invite,” I said as a side thought. I had been hard on Trinket, but it was because I didn’t know what else to do. I was on unfamiliar ground with her.

He beamed at me. “Oh good, are you going to come?”

“Sure, I don’t see why not.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you there then.” He climbed into the elevator and I waved as he sank down out of sight. I turned to my door, put steel in my backbone, and marched into my living room, pulling the door shut behind me.

“You want to explain to me what my door ever did to you?”

“I was scared. You weren’t in and I needed someplace to hide.”

“You could have hidden in the corridor and been pretty safe. No one lives here but me. All the other apartments are empty. People don’t come and go here. You’re lucky I forgot to reset my wards this morning.”

“I didn’t know. I just ran away, and I’m scared.”

I sat down—well, more fell down—into the arm chair and propped my feet on the coffee table. The last thing I needed was to be harboring a runaway. “I came here to where I felt I would be safe.”

I groaned.

“What am I supposed to do with you?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she said chirpily, no doubt sensing my resolve weakening.

I crossed my arms, determined not to give in just yet. “Why did you run away?”

She pouted. I heard a little whirring sound as her cheeks contracted and her lips puffed out. “I bet she can’t order me to do stuff if I’m not around.”

She was probably right. If her mother needed to issue a voice command, if Trinket stayed out of earshot, then she’d be fine. Of course I had no idea how far the tether between them would stretch. It could snap if Trinket went too far.

“I’m not sure if that’s such a good plan,” I said. She looked even more sullen, her entire body slumped. “I mean, I don’t know how far you’d get before you start to be affected.”

“I’m a few miles now and I’m fine.”

“Correction, you’re about a mile, tops, from your club. That’s not really all that far. I think if you tried to go past the city limits, it would be a different story.”

The pouting stopped and I swear I heard the cogs in her head moving about. I leaned back in the chair and delved into my own thoughts. It had been bothering me for a while what could her mother want her to do that was so bad. She couldn’t possibly…it would be better to ask then to assume

“Trinket.” I tried to think of a delicate way to phrase it. “Err, how anatomically correct are you?” I felt my face heat.

“About as realistic as a Barbie doll. The general shape but no details.”

“So, can you have sex?”

She crossed her legs very suddenly, pushing her skirt demurely over her knees. “No!” she squeaked.

I waved my hands in the air like I could waft the awkward air away. “Sorry. Sorry. I was just trying to think of what it is your mother wants you to do. It’s got to be bad if your sisters are already doing it but you aren’t.”

“So you jumped to a sex toy scenario?”

I put my hand over my face, trying to hide it. “Sorry, but all that sexy and teasing dance stuff you do in your acts–”

“Burlesque is an art form,” she snapped. “It’s a variety performance that is supposed to cause laughter by bawdy comedy. Only Ember does strip teases, and only because she was made to look older.”

“You said your father made you?” .

“Yeah. He died.” She switched, as she spoke, from furious to sad.

“I’m sorry. I’ve lost both my parents, so I know how you must feel.”

She rubbed the back of her nose. It bent under her fingers, as though it was made of rubber.

“I’ve lost Momma too. She’s different, she…” Her voice cut off.

“I understand that you can’t speak too much about your family. That’s why I was trying to guess what’s going on. I just can’t imagine–”