Chapter 7 VII. DOLL
VII. DOLL
Present day
I don’t remember how I fell asleep, but the sunlight filtering through the blanket woke me. Morning had already come. I stood, staring down at my feet. The soles were still stained with blood. I couldn’t stop asking myself the same question.
Was any of it real?
The phone rang downstairs. I dragged myself toward the sound, still half asleep, trying to catch it before it stopped. I lifted the receiver just in time.
“Hello,” I said, my voice rough.
“Chiara.” It was Carlo’s voice. “Can you pick me up?”
I blinked, surprised he was even calling. Lately, he and Cristian came and went like ghosts, barely saying a word. And who was I to question them? Ever since I came back from the House of Clowns, all they did was judge me. I didn’t want to add more oil to the fire.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Where are you?”
“Carnival.”
I sighed. “Stay there. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Of all places he could have gone, he chose the one he swore he would never set foot in again.
I rushed back into the bedroom, the door slamming behind me by accident.
Opening the closet, I grabbed a clean pair of pale blue jeans and a black shirt. I stumbled while pulling the jeans on, nearly falling onto the bed before zipping them. I slid into my Converse and headed for the door.
The Carnival was only about eight minutes away, just behind the city. Right next to the House of Clowns. And the cemetery I had walked past last night.
I hated every inch of this place, but I had nowhere else to go.
I pulled the front door shut behind me and started walking. I didn’t even bother locking it. People here trusted each other too much, or maybe not at all. Just enough not to lock their doors. I guess that was normal in small towns where everyone knew everyone’s sins anyway.
The path cut through the first stretch of woods. The sun was already high, warm on my skin even this early. As I walked, the faint sound of music reached me. The Carnival’s song.
It pulled me back when I was part of it all, when it almost felt like home.
I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to be part of it again.
I saw him, Carlo, standing in front of the tent. Two clowns stood behind him. I didn’t recognize them. Faces change, even behind paint. A year can do that.
I approached them slowly, my eyes on Carlo, his arms crossed tight over his chest, their expression unreadable.
“Are you Chiara, his sister?” one of them asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s me.”
“He owes us three hundred euros. He stole tickets and resold them to kids,” the other one said. “Either pay us, or we are calling the police.”
1“Cazzo,” I muttered. “I don’t have that kind of money here, but I can call Rocco and figure something out?”
“Rocco isn’t the boss here anymore,” he said. “If you don’t have the money, you’ll have to work for it.”
He shoved Carlo forward, gripping his shoulder. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, a voice behind me shouted, “What the fuck is going on?”
I froze. That voice. Too familiar.
A man brushed past me, his eyes dragging over me from head to toe.
It was him. The man from last night.
My blood turned cold at his touch. I couldn’t look at him. My gaze dropped to the ground, my throat too tight to speak.
“I asked a question,” he said again, standing right in front of me.
“Her brother stole three hundred euros’ worth of tickets, and they don’t have the money to pay us back,” one of the clowns said.
The man stepped closer, just an inch away. His breath brushed my cheek as he leaned in, whispering against my ear. “Are you following me, Doll?”
I shook my head, but my body betrayed me. His whisper sent goosebumps crawling up my skin.
He leaned back, turning toward the clowns. “Bring them to my tent.”
“No!” Carlo shouted. “Leave me alone!”
They didn’t listen. The clowns grabbed him by the arms and dragged him along while I walked ahead of them, powerless.
We reached a smaller tent beside the main performance one. Inside sat a bearded lady I hadn’t seen before. She was at a desk, but as soon as the man with the skull-painted face entered, she rose to her feet.
The clowns shoved Carlo into a chair in front of the table, and the man leaned against the edge of it, his eyes fixed on my brother.
“What’s your name, boy?” he asked.
“C-C-Carlo,” Carlo stammered.
“Is it true what they said, that you stole from them?”
Carlo shook his head. “No, I...” His voice broke. “I just helped sell tickets.”
“And where is the money?” the man asked.
“They took it,” Carlo said. “The clowns took it.”
The man stood, his gaze cold as he walked toward me. “So that’s your word against theirs.”
“I’m telling the truth, I swear!” Carlo’s voice cracked louder this time.
The man ignored him and stopped in front of me.
“Would you pay for your brother’s mistake?”
“No!” Carlo shouted. “She won’t, because I didn’t steal anything!”
The man turned sharply, grabbed him by the shirt, and hissed, “Shush.”
“What do you want from us?” I finally managed to say.
He turned again, his eyes locking on mine. One brow lifted. He straightened his posture, letting go of Carlo, and walked back toward me.
“To pay,” he said quietly, his tone flat.
“I can call my father, Rocco. He can bring the money. Or my brother, Cristian,” I said quickly. “We’ll pay you back every cent. Just please, leave my brother alone.”
He pressed his thumb beneath my jaw, lifting it until I had to meet his eyes. “I have no doubt you will,” he said softly.
Then he turned away, walking to the table. He picked up one of those old white rotary phones with circular holes you had to spin for each number.
“Call him,” he said with a wink. “Let’s see what your father has to say.”
I stepped closer, standing in front of the table. The phone looked strange in my hands. But I still pressed my palm against the top and lifted the handle. But before I could dial, the man took it from me and spun the numbers himself.
The phone rang once.
Then Rocco’s voice came through. “Yes, Oscar.”
Oscar. Was that his name?
“Dad, it’s me,” I whispered. “I need your help.”
Before I could say another word, the man took the phone from my hand. “Come by my tent,” he said, then hung up.
He moved closer for a moment, then stepped back and sat down again.
“Is Oscar your name?” I asked, my voice shaking.
He rolled his eyes. “Maybe.” Then he smiled. “Are you dying to know?”
“I couldn’t care less,” I said, moving beside Carlo, who hadn’t spoken a word since Oscar silenced him.
I looked around the tent. It used to belong to the circus director, Carlos. Now Oscar had taken his place. Not much had changed, yet somehow everything had. New faces everywhere, strangers wearing the old paint. I guessed they needed a change to hide what happened that night.
Rocco arrived only two minutes later.
As he stepped inside, his eyes moved from me to Carlo, then to Oscar. Sweat gathered on his forehead as he walked closer.
“What happened?” Rocco asked.
“The boy stole from us, and you know the rules,” Oscar said. “If fingers take from us, we take fingers from the one who stole.”
I turned to him at once. “That won’t be necessary.”
He laughed. “Then I’ll take Rocco’s.”
“How much do they owe you?” Rocco asked.
“Three hundred, plus emotional damage,” Oscar said, winking at me.
“What if I offer you something in return?” Rocco said. “But we talk in private.”
Oscar stood, circled behind us, and stopped in front of Rocco. Without a word, they both stepped outside to talk.
The moment they were gone, I turned on Carlo.
“What the fuck?” I hissed, getting close to him. “Did you really steal from those clowns? What were you thinking?”
“Boys from school made me do it. We earned five hundred euros from it,” he whispered.
“And where’s the money now, huh? Give it back so we can both go home,” I said, frustration spilling into my voice.
“A friend from school has it. I gave it to him so they wouldn’t catch me with it.”
“Oh, very smart,” I said, grabbing his ear. “What were you thinking?”
He pushed my hand away. “I didn’t, 2va bene?”
“No, no, va bene, Carlo. We’re in trouble,“ I said. “Don’t you see that?”
The curtain at the tent’s entrance shifted, and one of the clowns stepped inside, walking toward us.
“You can go,” he said, looking first at Carlo, then at me.
We both stood up, ready to leave, but he caught me by the arm.
“Not you. Just the boy.”
“Why?” I asked, glancing from Carlo to the clown.
“Orders,” the clown said.
“No, Chiara!” Carlo shouted, trying to turn back, but another clown grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him away. “Go home,” the clown barked.
“Let me go!” I screamed, twisting against the grip on my arm, but he didn’t let me go.
I slammed my fist into his gut, and he groaned, loosening his hands. For a second, I thought I could run, but another clown appeared at the exit. He grabbed my wrists, forcing my arms behind me.
Before I could even shout again, a cloth pressed against my mouth. The smell burned my throat. I kicked, fought, screamed into the fabric, but the sound died against it.
No one came.
The tent started to tilt. Everything blurred, then turned black.
And my eyes closed.
1. Fuck
2. good