Chapter 11
Emory
"Childhood memories are the roots that anchor us, even as we grow into storms."
It feels like a dream to hold this doll in my arms again.
My face starts to burn with sadness. I remember how the garage used to smell of cedar and herbs, while my father hunched over his table.
His whittling tools are displayed before him, while a sage aroma fills the room from the incense burner, riddled with ashes, that sat perched beside him.
The memory of the day he laid the dolls in our lap materializing before me.
Evelyn and I were five, I think. I’m not too sure.
Our mother told us when we were older that she couldn’t figure out what was wrong with us.
If I remember right, with us being so young, it’s not a direct memory.
Later in life, she told us that while our dad was working, we wouldn’t eat and we would sleep all day.
He rushed home from work, quickly putting us in the car, no care for buckling us in.
Our bodies rocking with sudden turns, our mothers' arms wrapped around us tight as the car came to a stop, and red and blue lights lit up the ceiling of the car. A shadow bounced within the lights as an officer came around to the driver’s side.
I could never remember the conversation, but it ended with a police escort. I remember that, on the other hand.
We spent eight days in the hospital with severe kidney infections, from our mother's recollection.
She told me that Evelyn had no issues with the nurses, but I went through three.
According to the doctors, I had… what they called…
rolling veins. My hands were bruised from the seven veins they popped, before the last nurse decided to put it in my arm.
Every day we spent in the hospital, our father always came to visit.
When the last day arrived, he brought us each our doll.
Waking from my memory, my surroundings come back into focus. I realize I have been crying, and Oliver is holding me close and tight. His scent fills my nostrils and transposes my woefulness to adoration. “Hey little bird, do you want to play a game?” His strong, deep voice breaks the silence.
His hand rises to my face to wipe a tear that beaded and rolled down my cheek. I look up at him, still holding on, “What kind of game?” My eyes dart around the toy store. Handmade toys line every shelf, and I’m searching for some board games or even a card rack—there are none in sight.
“Oh no, little dove,” the bestial tone of his voice returns, sending delicious chills down my spine.
Shing. I feel a sharp object skate over my skin, the familiar goose bumps superseding in its wake.
I shudder as his voice comes forth again, “What do you say?” His words billow over me like the fog on that night in the alley, the object skidding up my throat, stopping to allow my chin to rest on the point like a balancing bird toy.
“What’s the matter, little bird?” I open my mouth to respond, swallowing my words back instead. “Cats got your tongue?”
Little bird. My dove. I love his pet names for me.
With only a brief glimpse of the blade, I am startled by his snarling, “Run!” Oliver releases me as the demand leaves his lips, and I topple backward.
Stammering as I repeat him, “Run?” Unprepared, he lunges at me, sending me into a full-blown sprint. I dodge around displays and shelving units, still unfamiliar with my surroundings. My heart is like a pinball clattering around my chest.
He speaks again, his voice loud with the echo of the empty store. “I’m all for the game ‘cat and mouse’, but I've never been a fan of shy mice.” I can hear him tapping things with the knife.
Cling,
Clang.
He is looking for me, talking to give away his position. I can’t tell if he is doing it to give me a head start or if it’s his way of telling me:
‘You can’t run, nor can you hide’.
He continues, “No, mice scurrying is unnerving.” More taps of metal on wood. “However, the flutter of birds' wings,” I hear him inhale, then exhale as he speaks. “Now that's something I can lick my teeth to.” I push my legs together and hold my breath.
What is wrong with me? Why am I so turned on right now?
“Here, birdie, birdie, birdie.” He stalks, still hitting things with the knife to signal where he is.
I survey the exits around me, and there is a door toward the back, blocked by some display cases.
I peer from behind the counter, shielding myself from his devilish stare.
I notice his back is turned, and he is guarding the other exit.
Giving no more thought, I bolt in the direction of my escape—the back door.
Knocking one of the 3-foot nutcrackers from the countertop, catching his attention as the hollow wood sings from the collision with the tile. He is after me in the blink of an eye.
What? How? How did he make it across the building that fast?
The door opens to reveal a stunning courtyard, it starts from the manor and stretches outward on both sides, a fountain shimmering at its core.
Frantically, I take it all in, scanning the terrain until I lay my eyes on a hedge wall with an opening carved out to resemble an archway.
Without a second to lose, I book it in that direction.
Before I can catch myself, I am eating dirt, tripping on a decorative-stepping-stone protruding from the ground a little more than the rest, stopping my escape in its tracks.
I can’t even take a moment to assess the damage before ‘My Cat’ yowls.
“Little dove. When I catch you. I will devour you. If you make it too easy, then you will be punished.”
“Torrential downpour,” I mutter under my breath, as I place my hand under my dress.
Feeling the wetness coat my fingers, I pull them into view…
watching as they glisten beneath the late afternoon sun with my sticky stimulation.
Wiping my hand off on the underside of my dress I lift myself off the ground and brush the dirt from my knees, then head through the archway.
As I turn in, an unworldly sight unfolds before me: a sanctuary of flowers, as a canopy of trees above allows minimal light to shine through, and slight beams that slip past the leaves to bless the flowers, aiding in their flourishing.
I spot at a bench surrounded by an assortment of Carnations, and as I make my way over to it, I am bewitched by the black walnut seat, bestowed with intricate carvings.
The backboard is adorned with a detailed dove, and something is written between the span of its wings.
I tilt my head, while waving my hand trying to move the overlapping branches and brush.
Suddenly, a hand covers my mouth to muffle my scream, as an arm coils around my waist, spinning me like a ballet dancer. “Too easy,” he hisses, sliding his hand down my leg to the hem of my dress.
I fight against him, pounding on his chest with my hand. As my battle pursues, I scan for something, anything that would get him to let me go. My eyes find it like a heat-seeking missile locating its target.
That damned mask.
That might work.
No sooner had I grasped the material shrouding his face, did I find myself plastered to the ground, his daunting shadow encasing me in darkness.
A rumble like an earthquake emerges from his throat.
“That was not very smart, little bird.” I slightly curse myself for wearing jewelry, as he slips his thumb through each bangle on either wrist, “I guess we shall see how strong you are.” Again, my arms are lifted above my head, restrained by one massive hand while the other oscillates and glides down my body.
He leans in, whispering against my neck, “You’re either going to be strong.
” He pries my legs apart, the war drum in my chest bashing louder.
His fingers are tracking up my inner thigh, but instead of fighting more, I succumb and welcome it.
I listen to his voice, “Or you’re going to be smart.
” The tingling in my body stops as he does.
Euphorically, I open my eyes and see his wide-eyed expression, for a moment, then it turns primal.
He rubs one, then two fingers at my entrance.
His voice shutters and morphs between sighs and grumbles.
He practically roars as his fingers slip inside me.
“No. Undergarments? You are a naughty bird.” What I used to think was a diluted English accent is now, clearly, a Cockney accent, and not diluted by any means—now he isn’t trying to hide it.
His fingers thrust in and out, pushing me higher. “Alright, dove.”
I moan in response, while he continues, “I’ll give you one more chance, make it this easy next time,” his pacing is rhythmic, as he says, “and you’ll need a safe word.
For the punishment-” all sensations vanish, “I have planned for you.” His voice fades, leaving me here, horny in a puddle of my emission.
Ugh, edging must be his kink.
Why does he keep leaving me like this?
Suddenly, his voice materializes out of thin air, and again he is standing over me.
“Run… and this time make it real.” I stagger to my feet, incredibly precocious.
My knees buckle as he draws his knife once more—painfully slow, a serial killer who has finally got his victim alone.
Pulling the knife into view he rocks it back and forth, giving the impression that he is examining it.
Then, his eyes are on me—a Kubrick stare sharper than the dagger he wields, then he inhales.
Slowly, like a leak in a hose, he hisses, “I. Said. Run!”
All I can do is stand there in awe, his brilliant blue eyes changing and shifting into something else, something hungrier.
Darker. Void of everything except the hunt.
He charges forward, and before I can blink, he cuts my waist belt.
A grimace smears over his face, one so evil, you would think a demon possessed him. “Run!” He shouts.
I start running again, leaving the garden behind.
The courtyard comes into view as I pass through the cutout in the shrubbery.
I am taken aback, as the fountain reflects the warm colors of the sunset in a breathtaking phantasmagoria of light—a single beam directs my sight to the base of the estate, where I find a set of bulkhead doors.
I run to them, and as my hands fall on the warm wood, I let out a sigh of relief to see that the hatch is already unlocked.
Lifting the piece of wood, I stop to peek over my shoulder.
Before entering the darkness, I take a final glance up at the sky.
I push the chase to the back of my mind, overshadowed by the looming uncertainties surrounding the wellbeing of my sister.
I see the sun and moon both present, knowing that one will soon disappear to allow the other to shine—my body shudders at this morbid truth.