Page 53 of Dolly

Finally, she grabs the bag and rushes to the truck, passing me in the process. We throw open our doors and toss everything into the back of the cab before climbing in.

“Did he see us?” she asks, her breath coming in short bursts as she looks out the back window for him. If he didn’t see us run across the lot, he shouldn’t see the truck, but I can’t see his position from where we’re parked.

I jam the key into the ignition and start the truck.

“Let’s just get out of here.” I throw the truck into reverse and pull out of the spot, lining us up with the exit. Dolly hadn’t turned the radio off when we parked. Music fills the silent space with its heavy beats and steady rhythm.

I hit the gas, propelling us toward the main road. As I near the exit, a man steps out from between the last two cars, and I slam on the brake. Dolly’s hands hit the dashboard to protect herself from smashing into it.

I raise my gaze to the man. His eyes are wide, his mouth frozen open. Recognition sweeps through his eyes, and the shock of almost being run over morphs into confusion. His brow wrinkles, his mouth twists downward.

“That’s him?” Dolly asks, panic in her tone. “Go!” she urges me, hitting the dash with her palm.

Pierce’s gaze sweeps from me to Dolly, and the wrinkles in his forward deepen. He tilts his head to the side slightly.

He wasn’t expecting to see us.

Scenarios tumble through my mind. Who was he looking for here? Does he know anything about what was happening at the playhouse? Was he part of it? Does he know who is?

Pierce recovers from the surprise of our meeting and steps to the side of the truck, starting to make his way to my door. His hand sweeps beneath his jacket where he carries his gun.

“Ken, please.” Dolly’s voice shakes.

As Pierce comes to my window, I hit the gas and peel out of the lot. He’s left standing in the middle of the parking lot, staring at us as we drive away. I check the mirrors to be sure he’s not jumping in his car before I turn onto the main road. There’s no traffic, no other cars on the road. I don’t stop driving, not even when the motel shrinks to a speck in the rearview.

Twenty-Three

DOLLY

“Ken,” I say softly to his profile. Reaching across the center console of the truck, I touch his arm. “What do we do now?” I ask.

The streetlamp above where we’re parked fills the truck with a soft yellow glow. Ken’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles have gone white, but he remains silent.

After we sped away from the motel, he explained he knew the man in the parking lot. He didn’t think he’d come for us, but Ken couldn’t figure out why he’d been there. What was he looking for if not us?

“Ken, it’s almost time to meet Queenhearts. If we don’t go, she’ll leave. We’ll miss our chance.” I can’t miss this opportunity. It’s because of her Ken’s body is littered with as many scars as it is. It’s because of her requests, I was strung from the ceiling and used as a piñata, a pin cushion, a rape dolly. Her entertainment became my nightmare.

Ken turns to look at the clock on the dash. “We have a little time still.”

“Shouldn’t we get there before her?” I push gently.

“No.” He shakes his head and reaches across the console for my hand. Bringing it up to his mouth, he kisses the backs of my fingers. “She’ll get there, and then we’ll follow her in.”

I bite down on my lip and nod. Arguing won’t help. Once he has a plan in place, there’s no changing it. And I trust him. The tightness that was making it hard to breathe loosens. I trust him completely.

“Okay.” I lean against my seat. “What’s the plan?”

He puts my hand in my lap and pats it. “The plan is to do what we said we were going to do.” He turns the key in the ignition, firing up the engine. We’ve been sitting in an empty parking lot behind a closed video store for almost an hour. The sun’s gone from view, but an orangish pink still decorates the edge of the sky. It’s what I focus on while he drives us through town.

Shops are closing down for the evening. People have already gone home to their families for supper. School’s been out for hours. Ken’s jaw stays tight as he drives. I don’t think he even sees the other cars around us. I keep my gaze on the horizon. On the pretty colors illuminating behind the buildings as the other drivers whiz by us.

“Do you remember being a little boy?” I ask him when we come to an empty playground. A swing dangles by one chain, and the merry-go-round has fallen off the center track, leaving it useless.

He stops at a red traffic light and looks out my window at the scene triggering my question.

“I do.” He lifts my hand in his and squeezes softly. “I wish you had better memories. I wish I could go back and erase the bad shit from your mind.”

He frowns.

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