Unwound (6 page)

apart and put me back together, I had watched the motions of her

hands so I had some kind of idea how the binding should go. It

was also a good thing I taught myself how to do this in case I

started falling apart, I’d be able to sew the viable pieces back on.

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The sound of my footsteps echoed as I went down the first

flight of stairs. I was delighted in that simple thing that I’m sure most take for granted because I was used to the sounds of drills

and tools and manic screams echoing. As I made my way across

the second floor to the next set of stairs, I realized that I hadn’t stopped the night before to look around and at this moment I

wasn’t particularly interested in doing so but I made a mental note to stop here on the way back up tonight and take a look around.

I quickened my pace as much as I could with the shuffle I had

started using to ease the pain on my legs and practically hopped

down the last flight of stairs. The room was much brighter now

since the sunlight started pouring in. It didn’t really seem much

different than it was when I saw it last night but I just noticed

extra little things. Like the cracks in the walls, pieces of bricks on the floor, actual cobwebs from some of the dolls to the tables. It was desolate and lonely but that also made it mine and I identified with my new home and that made me a little happy.

Scanning the tables I selected the largest one which harbored

the most materials. Scraps of cloth, actual cloth, looked to have

been tossed carelessly across it as well as an array of needles and pins. I selected two different colored scraps, a white one and a

dark green one, and then sat at the end of the table that housed the sewing machine. I stared at it for a moment not remembering if I

had seen London ever use one before. It looked simple enough;

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place the cloths together and run them under the needle. I cleared my throat and with a glance made sure there was thread in the

machine before I started. I slid the materials under the machine

and waited. For some reason nothing happened.

“Try using the pedal,” a voice said.

I got to my feet and looked around but saw no one.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

The voice stayed quite but I heard the sound of feet shuffling.

It seemed to be coming from the door that was directly across the

room from me. Squinting I could see a figure standing in the little bit of shadow that was in the factory but I couldn’t tell what

species it was or if it was male or female and the sound of the

voice was no help in distinguishing either.

“Who’s there?” I repeated a little sterner this time.

“I’m not going to harm you, but until I’m sure you won’t

harm me, I’ll answer nothing,” the voice replied defiantly.

“Fine, just stay in the shadows and away from me then,” I

instructed as I sat back down and turned my attention again to the machine. This time, I used my fit to locate the pedal that the

shadow had mentioned and found it almost instantly. Again, I slid

the materials under the needle this time pressing down on the

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pedal and the machine sprang to life.

I let out a small shout of glee as the two pieces started to

become one. For a brief moment I forgot about the intruder and

continued to maneuver the pieces until I was satisfied that I had

made something suitable enough to cover most of my scars in the

warmer weather. I held it up and inspected it. It wasn’t as perfect as I had seen worn by everyone outside but it was just enough and

I was proud of my first try.

“May I make a suggestion?” the shadow asked.

I glanced in its direction for a moment. I wasn’t particularly

interested in what it had to say, but it seemed to want to be

helpful and that was something that I had been receiving a lot of

lately so why not listen?

“I will listen to you only if you step out of the darkness,” I

replied.

I thought that was a fair request to make and apparently so did

she because when she stepped hesitantly out of the shadows I was

finally able to see who had invaded my home.

She kept her eyes on my cautiously as she approached slowly

at first and she was radiant.

She was older than London I could see it in her steel blue eyes.

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They were serious and almond shaped and framed by a heart

shaped and flawless face. Her wide, thin lips were covered in

some kind of deep red colored paint that I had seen London wear

at points, only hers was skillfully applied, whereas London would

sometimes have it smeared all over her face and teeth. Her bright

red hair was pulled neatly back into something resembled a

horse’s tail. I liked the way her body looked for some reason. She wasn’t exactly thin like I had seen in the movies London would

sometimes watch with me, she looked like one of the slightly

larger dolls I had seen when I first came in here.

“If you go over the stitches again you should be able to make

them a little bit stronger,” she advised as she stopped next to me.

“Here, let me.”

I stared at for a moment, until she gestured that she would

need to sit, then I moved out of the chair and stood next to her

watching her as she went over the stitching I had just done again.

Her hands moved more gracefully than London’s had when she

sewed her dolls together and the determination in her face held no evil.

When she was done she held it up and examined it.

“Hm,” she said as she searched the table for something. She

moved pieces of cloths and shoved some of the books away from

her. “Aha!” she said when she found what she had been looking

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for.

I didn’t mean to react the way I did but when I saw what she

had wrapped her hand around, I panicked and grabbed the nearest

thing I could and smashed it against the back of her head. The

sound was sickening and her body slumped over almost

immediately. I saw a trickle of blood dripping down the back of

her head.

But what had frightened me most of all was what she had just

reached for.

I looked down at her body in horror.

In the bright daylight I saw the seam ripper glistening in her

hand.

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Five

It was hours before she regained consciousness. I spent those

agonizing moments sitting in corner hoping that I hadn’t killed

her. I wanted to help her; see if she was breathing but I wouldn’t go near a seam ripper. It made me wonder how long it would be

before I could get over my fear of those, would this be my

reaction every time I saw someone holding one. Would I always

go into violent reactions or would I one day be able to control this?

I heard her groan as she opened her eyes and felt giddy with

relief; I hadn’t taken her life after all. I watched as she rubbed her head where I had hit her with a rotary cutter and push herself to

her knees. Her eyes squeezed tightly to combat the pain, a gesture I knew well; she gripped the seam ripper so tightly that her

knuckles turned white. I reached down for my weapon which I

had next to me on the floor ready to attack again if needed.

She groaned again as she got to a seated position then

searched the room for me. “What the hell was that for?” she asked

angrily after her eyes finally found me.

“I thought you meant to torture me.”

“By helping you with your shirt I was torturing you?” she

asked incredulously.

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Taking a deep breath, I pointed a trembling finger at her hand.

She looked down at instrument in her hand not knowing that one

similar to that had caused me many nights of unspeakable pain

and horror, then back at me completely confused. I took a shaky

breath, perhaps it was time to explain.

“The one who m--,” not like that, “My mot—“she’s not your

mother, “I was constructed, not born like you. And I was kept

prisoner and tortured with tools like the one you’re holding.

Especially with one similar to the one you’re holding,” I said

quietly.

“I knew you were different when I watched you sleep last

night. I heard soft ticks and whirs and there haven’t been sounds

like that in this factory for years,” she said thoughtfully. I

watched her get to her feet, place the seam ripper on the table

near her, and come over to where I sat. “I’d like to help you if I can. You seem to have been through a lot if something as simple

as a fabric tool can cause such a reaction, so I won’t hold a

grudge against you for knocking me out as long as you promise

you won’t do it again,” she said with a playful smile.

I nodded.

“I’m Morrison.” She extended her hand to me as Finnegan

had done.

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“Caelum,” I replied shaking her hand firmly.

As our hands parted I felt a tug on my other hand. I glanced

down and saw that she was trying to get me to release the rotary

cutter. I looked up into her eyes for a moment and saw kindness. I let it go and she threw it across the factory.

“Thank you,” I said.

Smiling still, she reached down and helped me up from the

cold, dusty floor. That was when I noticed she was almost a head

shorter than me and something inside of me told me I needed to

protect her. I don’t know why or who I would protect her from,

but I just had to make sure she would live her full life. Imagine

what London would do to her if she found out about your new

friendship, the voice in my head said.

“You watched me sleep?” I asked ignoring the voice.

She nodded, “I was here last night. I assumed you were a

trespasser when I made my rounds through the floors. I was very

close to calling the police until I heard the ticks. I don’t know

why but I figured you were harmless and I watched you sleep for

a couple of hours. When the ticking started to get faster, I knew

you were going to wake up so I made my way back down here

and hid in the shadow to watch you.”

“Trespasser?”

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“I guess I should tell you. This factory has been in my family

for generations. I was supposed to be the next owner when my

father passed away, but the night before I was scheduled to take

over a fire broke out and destroyed almost everything. All that I

was able to salvage is what you see here and I just couldn’t find it in my heart to have this place demolished.”

Father.

That was a word I had never heard before. I assumed it was

something close to what mother meant only in male form. I’d just

have to draw my own conclusion on that and maybe one day I’d

have the courage to ask her if I was right.

“So, you saw my scars?” I asked quietly.

“Yes. I won’t ask you where they came from. That’s only

something you will tell me when you feel the time is right, but I

just want you to know that when you are ready, I will be here to

listen. I also want you to know that what your body looks like,

does not define the person you are. Wear those scars proudly,

Caelum. They mean you are strong and a survivor,’ she said with

conviction.

She sounded as if she herself had scars but from what I could

see she didn’t. I wouldn’t ask to see them; that would not be kind.

Instead I walked to where she had fallen after I attacked her and

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picked the shirt up from the floor. I removed the hooded jacket

and placed it on the table top aware that her eyes were on me the

whole time. I pulled the shirt over my head and pulled it down

over my head and over my torso.

“It fits perfectly!” she said with a hint of excitement.

I turned toward her with a small smile; it was a bit snug but it

was definitely lighter than what I had been wearing and would

serve me well in the warmth of the sun.

“Thank you for helping me,” I said to which she smiled and

clasped her hands in front of her.

“You should see yourself in it. I’ll be right back.”

I watched her dash off. She was going to get a mirror and for

the first time since I opened my eyes I was eagerly awaiting to see myself. Even yesterday morning when I had seen myself I wasn’t

pleased with my reflection, but this was something that I made

with just a touch of someone else’s help and I felt a flicker of

happiness because of it.

“Take a look!”

I turned and stared into the mirror. I saw her fingers wrapped

around it but I could not see her. This wasn’t the same mirror

from my room, but it was big enough to hide Morrison and

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expose my reflection to myself.

At first I wasn’t sure to react. The stitching looked similar to

the way my scars did only these were done with more finesse. I

turned slightly to the side and looked at my profile. The shirt

served its purpose in hiding my scars but I felt as if I wore them on the outside now. I wanted to feel defeated in that moment but

Morrison’s words rang through my head again. Wear those scars

proudly, Caelum. They mean you are strong and a survivor.

“We should go for a walk,” she said breaking into my

borrowed thoughts.