Page 52 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

A flare of auburn hair and hazel eyes catch my eye through the crowd and all the noise mutes to nothing. My heartbeat thunders in my ears.

Macy?

A firm grip encloses around my bicep. The man has come around the table and is holding me, lifting my arm. “The doll,” he demands. My hand unclasps the doll and he drops my arm to grab it. A smash ricochets behind me as I dart through the crowd of people in search of those hazel eyes.

“You’re paying for that,” he hollers from behind me. “Hey! Come back here!”

My body collides roughly with other people as I push through them.

Macy.

The dirt beneath my feet kicks up as I scramble to get to her. My eyes burn as I try to keep them from blinking.

Macy.

A smile I recognize flashes through the thin veil of her hair. So brief. Just one glimpse.

“Move!”

“Excuse me!”

“Sorry, I need to get through!” I grasp out toward her. She’s within reach and her hair sways as her body moves.

“Macy!” I shout, spinning her by the shoulder to face me.

Disappointment floods into my soul. A wide-eyed girl stares back at me, confused.

She’s not Macy.

Opening my mouth but having no words to speak, my body jars when a hand jerks me around.

“Hey.” I don’t have an immediate reaction to being manhandled, I’m too gutted that she wasn’t Macy.

“You need to pay for breaking that doll.” The man from the toy stall growls.

It wasn’t even his doll.Asshole.

With a huff, I shove my hand into my jeans, pull out a couple twenties, and chuck them at his chest. When he snatches for them, I grab his thumb and bend it back until it pops.

“Shit!” he bellows. “You crazy bitch!”

“Don’t ever touch me again,” I hiss through gritted teeth before leaving him there with his dislocated thumb.

Sitting in my car, I watch every single person who leaves the market, but I don’t seeher. It was my mind playing games with me. Again.

That poor woman I grabbed must have thought I was crazy.

You’re certifiable.

Was that doll a coincidence or is he playing mind games with me?

He wouldn’t know you’d come here.

When the vendors pack up and the place is empty, I start up the car and drive to the spot where I was hit by the truck the day I ran away from Benny.

The woman, Ellie Russell, who hit me passed away a couple years ago. Cancer ate away at her colon. She had visited my bedside every day while I was recovering. Later, I learned she was on her way to pick up her granddaughter when she hit me. “I’ve never been so pleased to run someone down,” she always joked to me and anyone else who would listen.

As I drive to that location, I take note of my surroundings. The trees are so tall and green. There’s a tremor in my hand just looking into the abyss. These woods went on forever. I could have easily become lost in them and died from the elements alone. Once I’m at the exact spot I was hit, I pull over and stare off into the direction Ellie had said I came from.

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