9. Dollie—age six
Dollie—age six
A mbrose said to leave when the big hand reaches the nine—the one closest to the steering wheel. The big hand slowly creeps past the nine when I turn away and peer through the window.
There’s no sign of him or Chuckles.
They only had to collect balloons. They should be back.
My fingers rub over the pink dog in my hand, and he squeaks. The feel doesn’t comfort me like Duggan and his little yellow tie do.
I push against the door as I pull the lever, but nothing happens. I try harder, slamming my weight against the door.
A loud pop scares me, and I jump back. Then I see the pink dog from my lap, which is now no more than torn whatever material balloons are made from. The image changes behind my tears, becoming blurry.
“No…”
Sadness fills me. Duggan never met my dog, and the need for his comfort overpowers me more than before.
The shaking starts in my hands.
Without my balloon, I feel different here, scared, sad, and alone.
I pull at the handle behind me, trying another door, but that one doesn’t budge, either.
Gulping for breath around pained sobs, I crawl into the front, seeing Chuckles’ window halfway down. He did it when I started coughing on the smoke from his cigarette, and Ambrose started talking about something called cancer that he’d seen in a commercial.
His mind was teasing him about it, as Daddy says.
Still, no sign of him.
The grass outside the window is green and brown, like his eyes. With a struggle, I push my body through the small gap, the glass squeezing on my shoulders and belly before my hands slip from the red metal, and I hit that grass with a thud.
More tears fall, now landing in the dirt like I did, as pain runs down my arm. I cup my elbow, nursing it before I push myself to my feet and brush the dirty patch from my coat. Ambrose won’t like the germs on me—they do something different to his brain, Mommy says.
“Ambrose!” I call, my heart racing.
Still, no sign of him or Chuckles.
“Ambrose!” I try again. My throat hurts from yelling so loudly.
Nothing.
My arm tingles again, and my fingers try to rub it away. I want Mommy and Daddy. I need Duggan.
But I’m all alone.
“Ambrose!”
The open field surrounds me, and my shriek echoes around me as I seek out houses in the distance. Only grass and the odd tree are visible. No houses, no neighbors for me to run to. I step back toward the road, hoping to find a car with someone brave enough to go into the house to find my brother.
Because suddenly, I’m not brave.
Fear hugs around me, and my skin flushes as rain begins to fall from the rumbling clouds above.
Something whines in the distance, and my breath stalls, expecting thunder. I have nowhere to hide if it thunders.
I spin around to see Chuckles’ little house. He’s there, standing at the side door, waving at me.
No balloons, no Ambrose.
Rain splashes his face, creating tears through his white paint. His glove appears dirtier, and the red patch on his fingertip is bigger than before.
I squint my eyes for a better look.
“Dollancie,” he shouts, his arm waving faster and higher in the sky. “Quick, I need your help!”
“Where’s Ambrose?”
Rain covers my cheeks, blending with my tears and causing my hair to hang limply at my shoulders.
“He couldn’t walk as well as we thought, and he fell down the steps in the basement. He’s hurt his leg. Can you come and help me get him up?”
“I don’t know.” Something, maybe fear, keeps me rooted. “I’m not very strong. We could call Daddy. He could help.”
“But Ambrose needs help now, and you’re the only one here. Please. For Ambrose?”
My head bobs slowly, and I blink the rain from my eyes.
For Ambrose, I take a step towards Chuckles, and for some reason, I’m trembling as I ask again if Ambrose is okay. And I ask if Chuckles has a phone to call Daddy because he’ll know what to do.
“Daddy’s number is in both of our backpacks, but they are still in your car.” Still on the back seat where I’d left them in my rush to get out.
“Yes, I will call him as soon as we see to your brother.”
Chuckles guides me into the house, his hand on my back, sinking lower and lower until I get uncomfortable and hurry in quicker.
The shack doesn’t look like a house. The whining noise sounds again as he pushes the door.
There’s nothing here.
Chuckles has no television, not much furniture, and no phone to call Daddy.
All that’s here is me, Chuckles, and Ambrose, who isn’t moving and has his eyes closed. Something dirty hangs out of his mouth, and it has blood on it. Two teeth sit in front of his face, pressed to the stone tiles. One is a baby one, like mine. The other, I’m not sure.
He’s not in the basement? He’s bound and gagged, and hurt on the floor.
My gaze trails up to Chuckles’ mouth because he’s laughing. His bloody glove flies toward my face, and I jump out of the way to avoid what could have been a punch to my nose.
There’s no time to run because he catches hold of my hair and pulls until my body is flying across the room. I try to scream before the wall gets closer and closer to my face, but it’s cut off.
“Ambro—”
And then everything goes black.