Page 8 of The Dollmaker

“Like hell it’s not! Let me out of here! Let me go!”

As her raw words mingled with more weeping, he knew he had to silence her. Dolls were not supposed to speak, and Destiny was not supposed to cry.

He moved to his worktable and hurriedly dumped a powder into a glass. As she shrieked louder and pounded on the door, he added fruit-flavored water because he knew she’d like the taste.

Mixing the drink with a straw, he stood beside her. “Here, drink,” he said, raising the straw to her lips.

She slapped at his hand. Red drink sloshed on her white skin. “Get away from me. I’m not drinking anything else.”

“You have to drink,” he coaxed. “It’ll help you, and when you wake up, you’ll be better than you were.”

“How can I be who I was? This shit is all over me.” Her hands clutched into fists, she slowly slid to the floor, her legs crumpling under her like a rag doll.

“I promise. Drink this and you’ll be fine. You’ll see.” He pressed the tip of the straw to her lips that now were always smiling. “Please, drink.”

“I don’t want to drink.” She tried to stand but couldn’t rise. “I want to go home.”

“And I want you to go home, too.”

The Dollmaker wiped the tear from her cheek with his fingertip, pleased her face remained unspoiled. No smudged mascara or faded blush and lipstick. No one would undo his work.

She stared up at him, eyes large with fear and hope. Finally she sipped, her throat and mouth clearly parched.

When she finished, he pulled the straw away and dabbed the corners of her mouth. “You like the taste of cherry, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“That’s a good girl.”

As she stared up at him, her breathing hitched, and she tried to suck in air. She drew a stuttering breath. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s okay. This is what’s supposed to happen.” The Dollmaker smoothed his hand over her bald head, already eager to put the wig back on her. “Soon your lungs won’t work at all, and you’ll stop breathing forever.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be right here with you. I would never leave you alone at a time like this.”

“You’re killing me?” Her tiny voice was now a hoarse whisper.

“No. I’m finishing the job.”

Destiny tried to speak, to scream, but her lungs were paralyzed. He knew she was afraid, but her fear would soon fade. Gently, he tilted her back so he could peer into her eyes and watch the life drain from her body.

Her hand rose to his arm in one final attempt to cling to life. Her grip was surprisingly strong for someone who teetered so close to death.

He let her hold on to him, smiling and touching her cheek softly. “Shh. Let go.”

Her fingers twitched and slackened a fraction. No more tears moistened her painted cheeks. Death pulled.

The Dollmaker leaned forward and kissed her warm, full lips. Slowly, her hand fell away as the remaining spirit faded from her body.

When her eyes closed, he removed a clean tissue from his pocket and wiped her face, marveling at the peaceful stillness settling over her.

God, she was a perfect creation. In all his years of practice, he’d never made anything so beautiful.

“Death has made you my permanent little Destiny doll.”

He kissed her lips again, savoring the sweet tranquility. “I wish I could keep you forever, but we only have two or three hours. But don’t worry, I’ll be as careful as always. You’ll see how much I love you.”

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