Broken Dolls (14 page)

I don’t care that my ankle twists when I land or that my underarms crack when I raise them above my head. I’m dancing too hard, and it’s wrecking my body, but I need the distraction–this one thing that brings me overwhelming joy.

Aerial, split leap, pique, pirouette, and repeat at double speed…

Is this real? Am
I
even real? What if I’m stuck in some absurd dream? I don’t know who or what I am anymore. I can’t even bear to look at myself in the mirror because I keep expecting to see somebody else.

Aerial, split leap, pique, pirouette, and repeat at double speed…

I’m losing my mind and I don’t know who to trust anymore. Maybe, that’s why I want to keep leaping–to protect myself from my world that’s crumbling beneath me.

Aerial, split leap, pique, pirouette, and repeat at double speed…

I’ve never spun so quickly. No matter how well I spot, the room becomes a nauseating blur, and my joints complain, squeaking and creaking with each movement.

Pirouette, pirouette, pirouette, pirouette…
crack
.

My leg collapses, and the hinge in my knee snaps. I stop spinning immediately, but can’t control my fall. I stumble backwards, hopping on the one leg still attached to me, and scramble to hold onto something to keep me from tumbling off the table. I’m not so lucky. I fall–forever, it seems–until the dust-ridden floor slams into my back. My waist separates from my leg, splitting me in two.

I’m in two halves…

I’m…
broken.
My worst nightmare has come true. What if I can’t be repaired? I’ll forever be trapped; unable to move, unable to
dance
. I try to sit up when–

—my vision is blurred. I can’t discern anything–I’m trapped in green, swampy water. It’s bubbling like a fizzy drink about to explode, but I manage to make out the dark edges of my hands pushing against something unseen. Why can’t I move? I can’t move forward, up, down… anywhere.

That’s not the worst part. I can’t breathe…

I scramble, thrashing violently and involuntarily as I instinctively gasp for air, only to choke on the thick liquid.

Everything grows darker, and my body weakens. It’s a hard feeling to describe, but it’s like my brain is leaving it, trying to protect me from my impending, torturous demise.

I need–

“—
HELP
!” I gasp for air when the murky water is replaced with the attic.

Remnants of my watery grave still flash before me, but I can breathe. Or rather, don’t need to. I hit the attic floor with the back of my arms instead, assuring myself that I’m back in my doll body, then lie back and stare at the ceiling. Just what in the world has happened?

“You called?” I recognize the voice immediately and strain to sit up, but Sianne only tenderly caresses my forehead and motions for me to stay down. “I can put you back together.”

“No!” I rub my head. “I was in green water. I know I was! What was that?”

Sianne has brushed her hair and taken off her lab coat to reveal a pretty frilled dress with a petticoat. She looks a lot more approachable and friendly now, but madness still sparkles in those huge aqua eyes. She’s carrying a tube of superglue, which she lowers beside me.

“Sianne? What happened?”

“You’re not supposed to break,” Sianne says calmly, picking up my comatose legs and readjusting them so that they can fit into my hips again. When she is satisfied with the placement, she unscrews the superglue lid. “When you break, you return to the place where you were as a human, which was that green water you probably thought you were drowning in. That’s why the professor is always so freaked about you breaking. He doesn’t want you to go back to that place.”

“What do you mean, I return to the place where I was human?”

Sianne purses her lips and shakes her head, holding my legs in place to allow the glue to set. “I’ve said too much. Next question.” She smiles gently, before flinching like she’s forgotten something.

“What? What is it!”

“Three-million, four-hundred and seventy-eight thousand, one-hundred and ninety two!” Sianne yells triumphantly and cackles like a witch. “I remember! 3-4-7-8-1-9-2! That’s the code to my lab! You have to remember! You have to tell the professor! I’ll be free!
FREE!
”

“3-4-7-8-1-9-2? Okay, okay, got it! But free from what?”

She lowers her voice and darts her eyes, grabbing me by the shoulders to shake me. “The more you remember, the less you forget! Daniel is helping you! Little dolly forgot last night…” Sianne delicately removes her fingers from my shoulders while she stares at something I can’t see. “The didgem-hoppers are watching me again…” She bobs her head. “Next question.”

I prop my hands behind my head so that I can crane my neck to see her. “Fine.” I think for a moment, concerned that Sianne only has a designated timeframe before she reverts to a less lucid state. “What do you mean I forgot last night?”

“
I
remember,” Sianne says with a conceited flare to her tone. “I made lots of noise to make the professor come out of his lab. I hid, but he saw you were gone, so he chased you downstairs. My wonderful brother… it’s my job to tell him when you’ve run away… naughty, sly dollies.”

I fidget while she speaks, itching for more information. “So –”

“—you only get two questions,” she interrupts, putting her finger to my lips. “Now we can talk about politics and religion.”

“
Two
questions?” I snort. “What are you? A cheap genie?”

“If I tell you any more,
your
brain might snap from information overload! Snap, snap, snap!”

“Do you understand how infuriating these answers are? It’s like that TV show,
Lost
. Each answer only leaves you with more questions.” I wriggle my legs to see if they move. When they do, Sianne leans her bodyweight onto my legs and shakes her head furiously.

“Stop! The glue hasn’t set yet!”

“Okay, okay.” I roll my eyes and sigh, even though I can’t feel the oxygen stream through my lungs. There’s no point in me chatting her up–apparently I’ve already reached my question quota for the day.

Sianne eases up on the pressure on my legs and curls her feet under her dress. “So,” she says awkwardly, “why were you dancing like that? Hasn’t the professor told you to be careful not to break?”

“Oh, so now it’s your turn to ask questions?” My response is spiteful, but totally whooshes over Sianne’s head. She continues to sit contritely with wide eyes and curved lips, so I force myself to answer. “He freaked out about me doing anything because he said that I’d break, but he never said what would happen if I did. I just thought I’d…”

“Die?” Sianne finishes.

“Yeah.” I shake my head. “I mean, no. I don’t know! I was just so confused, with meeting you and seeing those other dolls…” I groan and tug at loose strands of my hair. “It doesn’t matter!”

Sianne carefully pulls her hands from my legs, watching them intently to ensure they are secure. “It’s okay to be confused,” she says. “Life is very confusing. The fact that we breathe air, create music, and fall in love is all very nonsensical, but it doesn’t mean we need to analyze it. Just enjoy the moment, because it’s gone once you know you’re in it.” She puts her hands in her lap and smiles, seemingly proud of her speech.

Maybe Sianne has a point. Before Lisa arrived, I enjoyed life–even when it wasn’t spectacular. Since she tried to break me, she has been a vacuum of misery, sucking me into her deluded world. I desperately want to scramble back into the life I was happy with, but I’m not happy there anymore, either. I haven’t found the world I belong to yet.

“What on earth is your accent? It’s nothing like mine!” I force a chuckle. Even though my laughter is fake, it makes me feel a little better.

Sianne shrugs. “A little bit of this and a little bit of that.” She smiles and mumbles something under her breath. “I have to go.” She scratches at her neck. “Lisa will wonder where I am. I pretend I’m her minion. I’m actually the professor’s minion. Funny word.
Minion
.”

Sianne reluctantly slinks away into the tower of boxes.

“Wait!” I shout, too scared to move in case the glue hasn’t set. “Sianne? Wait!” The outline of her body stands still in the darkness, watching me from afar.

Great. I now have two crazy dolls I have to be on the lookout for.

Cautiously, I sit up, squeaking loudly. I touch my knee and am relieved when my hand doesn’t stick–at least, that means the glue has dried. I stand, but not as steadily as I’d hoped. My knee slips out of joint, nearly knocking me off my feet again. I frantically grab my leg and force it back where it should be and remain hunched over, grasping for balance. It might be a while before I can dance again… hey, it might be a while before I can even
walk
again.

My movements are akin to the Tin Man–stilted and awkward. Every step I take is balanced out with a one-minute rest.

When people swore on TV, I’d block my ears because I knew it was rude and inappropriate, but right now, I feel the urge to use a highly unnecessary profanity.

It takes me all night to reach my treasure chest, but there’s no way in the world I can pull myself into it. I still need time to heal.

Gently lowering myself to the ground, I rest my back against the treasure chest. These pathetic legs! Well, at least I’m not split in two anymore–I mean,
that
would’ve been a hindrance.

I attempt to close my eyes, but cringe when they creak. Good grief. I really
am
the Tin Man. Soon I’ll be asking Gabby for the oil can.

The only thing I can do is sleep and hope to wake up miraculously healed. Either that, or be endlessly relegated to the pits of imagination time. The recorder rests on the other side of the treasure chest, so I could probably make that walk.

I lean against the chest to pull myself up, and lumber towards my recorder, keeping one hand on the chest and the other on my leg.

My eyebrows furrow when I make out the machine. It’s in the dark, but something is wrong with it; I just can’t quite work out what.

“No,” I whimper when I trip on bits of plastic scattered across the dust-covered floor. I hobble closer and collapse when I see the irreparable damage. My recorder is completely smashed, like someone has dropped it from a great height and proceeded to stomp on it. “Professor! Professor!” I scream, unable to tear my gaze from the remains of my recorder.

The familiar hurried footsteps sound outside before the professor bursts through the door, his hair sticking up like he has been half-electrocuted. It must be the middle of the night, because he is dressed in blue-checked pajamas.

I point at my recorder, horrified that he hasn’t noticed the plastic massacre.

“Imagination time!” I shriek. “It’s gone! Forever! Professor, you
have
to fix it!
Please
!”

He towers over me, staring at the remains. He removes his glasses to rub his eyes and shrugs, then turns his back, opens the attic door, and steps outside.

“Professor? What are you doing? Are you going to get some glue? We have some in here!”

“No,” he says from the doorway, his face masked in shadow.

I hesitate. “Tomorrow, then?”

“I broke your recorder,” he says simply, putting his glasses back on.

I don’t have a heart, but I feel it shatter.

“Why?” I ask, my voice meek.

“Because I like to listen to your imagination time while you sleep. But instead of hearing Ella’s Rescue Squad, I heard a disturbing message from you.”

I gape at him. “
Really
? I don’t remember this. What did it say?”

“I’m not telling you.” His tone is polite, as always, but his words cut deep. “I don’t know why you left a message like that. Perhaps Lisa is getting to you. I need to find her and put an end to her madness.”

I’ve had enough. First, I broke in half. Then, my faux-mother appears with incoherent answers. And now,
this
? I feel like I’m going crazy! I curl my hands into fists and raise my voice.

“Professor, I’ve had a really rough day, okay? Nothing’s making sense! Have you ever listened to a song stuck on replay? Had the same tune, lyrics, and beat slamming into your mind over and over until you feel like all your thoughts are muddled? This is how today feels. So why don’t you just treat me like a normal person and tell me the truth?”

The professor hesitates, tapping the doorknob vehemently. “Because you need to forget your past,” he says, slamming the door.

I dart my eyes to and from the recorder. What past?