Page 76 of Little Dolls

“Stay away from her,” Jimmy Wallander screamed, his small fists swinging.

Irritated, she swatted the boy away as though he were no more consequential than a fly, which he wasn't. Jimmy fell, bumping his head on the side of the chair, and lay still.

Angry now, Ruth recollected the branding tool and pressed it to Clara’s arm, enjoying the woman’s moans of pains.

Then she got another and another. She was feeding off the moans, that grew to screams, and then dropped to moans once more.

Nothing was going to stop her from getting what she wanted.

Nothing.

Not some stupid woman, not some bratty kid, not sickness, not death.

Nothing.

* * * * *

4:11 A.M.

The smell of burning flesh assaulted her nostrils, rousing her.

For a long moment, Clara couldn’t remember where she was or what had happened to her to make her feel so awful.

Unfortunately, it all came slowly trickling back.

The Doll Killers had taken her again. Locked her up in another attic along with two little children. And then they burned her repeatedly.

She must have ended up passing out from the pain.

Thankfully, Job and Ruth appeared to be gone now. She couldn’t hear them, she couldn’t see them, and she couldn’t sense them.

Clara remembered at least ten brands, in addition to the four they'd given her earlier.

The feel of the metal scorching her skin and the agonizing pain that accompanied it was forever seared into her brain. The scars, too, would be with her forever. Unlike the one on the back of her neck, the ones that marred her arms would not be so easy to hide. Glancing down, she saw that her tank top had been removed, leaving her in just her bra and yoga pants. The skin on her stomach was also covered in bright red welts. They'd branded her there, too.

Her burns were blistering and extremely painful and left her feeling an odd mix of too hot and too cold. She felt woozy, too, but she’d have to fight through it until the feeling passed. She had to think of a way to get the children out.

Jimmy.

Panic suddenly brushed away her pain. The little boy had tried to come running to her rescue. He’d attacked Ruth Lincoln, tried to fight her off, and the old woman had hit him. For an old lady in her seventies, Ruth was surprisingly strong, and the blow she’d given the child had been enough to send him flying. As he’d fallen, he’d hit his head on the chair and been knocked unconscious. Clara couldn’t remember seeing him wake up.

She looked around the room.

Her panic grew with each passing second.

She couldn’t see Jimmy anywhere. Katie either.

Had they taken him? Had they killed him already, him and Katie?

She’d failed.

She could hardly believe it, but it was true. She’d failed. The children were dead. She hadn’t been able to save them.

If she couldn’t save them, how was she going to save herself?

The simple facts were, she couldn’t.

She was tied up, injured, and groggy from the pain—she didn’t stand a chance at getting away. Talking her way out also didn’t seem like a viable option. Ruth and Job didn’t want to hear a word she had to say. They were convinced that they could get her to agree to help them change children into dolls and then change them into dolls. They weren’t going to let her go. Not ever.

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