As I leaned against the wall, resting my hand on my cane, the dressing room door opened and pulled me from the memory. This had to work. She must return.
There was no fucking way I was doing this alone.
Mrs. Jenkins led Dolly out of the dressing room. The minute Dolly appeared, I stood off the wall and felt that familiar, now completely underused flicker of a smirk pull on my lips.
Dolly.
My fucking Dolly darlin’ . . . well, almost.
Mrs. Jenkins sat her back down in the chair. “Her hair,” I said, pointing to the headband still in Mrs. Jenkins’s hand. Mrs. Jenkins moved to the vanity, which was now chipped and clearly unused. She pulled out a brush, and in minutes Dolly’s band was in place. I slowly moved before Dolly and crouched down to inspect her.
“Pink lipstick and perfume next. Her mama’s perfume and lipstick,” I ordered, the familiarity of Dolly returning minute by minute.
“R-Rabbit—” Mrs. Jenkins stuttered.
“I wasn’t asking,” I snapped. Mrs. Jenkins nervously opened a drawer in the vanity. Across the room, something pink on top of a set of drawers caught my eye. The boombox she used to love so much. I crossed the room and blew the dust from its top. I pressed the play button. The song that Dolly would always dance to came crackling through the speakers.
Her favorite song.
I looked behind me and felt my cold blood heat to boiling point as my gaze fell on Dolly. Pink lips . . . I closed my eyes. The scent of roses permeated the air, playfully chasing away the residual dankness of the Water Tower that lingered in my senses.
I opened my eyes. The music filled the room. Then my cheek twitched when I saw a flicker of movement come from Dolly. Her finger, resting on her thigh, lifted slightly. It was such a small movement, barely visible, but it was real.
She was still in there.
I knew it. Could sense it. I always could read her, and she me.
Mrs. Jenkins scurried out of my way as I crouched before Dolly again. “Darlin’,” I whispered and lifted my hand up. Without touching her, I traced my finger over every inch of her perfect face, down her long blond hair, and down to her hand. Hovering, desperate but unable to feel the heat of her pumping blood under her pale skin.
Then I stopped. I fucking froze when I saw her bare forearms.
Rage and hatred like nothing I’d ever felt before surged into my body.
Scars.
Scar after scar after scar mottled her once-perfect arms. Raised white scars. Radiating the fury that was threatening to unleash within me, I stood up, stepping away from Dolly.
Mrs. Jenkins saw what had ignited my anger. She backed away from me toward the door. Her back slammed against the wood and small, frightened sounds slipped from her throat as her hand searched frantically for the knob. I walked forward and slowly crowded her space.
“He . . . he’ll know you’re out,” she warned, the whites of her eyes shining bright with fear. I could smell its musty scent clogging the stale air between us.
“He won’t.” I raised my knife and ran the blunt side down her wrinkled cheek. Her breath hitched as the cold steel kissed her crepe-thin skin. “Tell me,” I said, watching the light from the window reflect off the brushed steel blade. “Did you enjoy it?”
Her breathing stuttered.
“Did you enjoy taking the children into the den of wolves? Did you enjoy their screams? The sight of blood and cum running down their little legs as they staggered back into the office, only to be taken by another, then another, then another, night after night, year after year?” I moved my head closer to her face until the tip of my nose was just millimeters from her cheek. “Did you enjoy dressing my Dolly up in her favorite dress and presenting her like a shiny porcelain toy to her fucked-up daddy? Her uncles? Drugged and unable to fight them off?”
“P-please,” Mrs. Jenkins begged.
“The money must have been real good to sacrifice your charge that way.” I ran the blade down to Mrs. Jenkins’s throbbing pulse. I paused, my mouth beside her ear. “I always wondered what your blood would look like gushing from your main vein. Running down your chest and soiling your clothes.” Mrs. Jenkins whimpered again. I reared back, feigning surprise. “Oh, did you actually entertain the thought that you would be allowed to live?” I shook my head slowly in disappointment. “None of you will, Mrs. Jenkins. Every one of you will pay in the most painful way possible. To me, and to my Dolly, my Wonderland darlin’ . . . and there’ll be your blood and all the others’ blood pouring in rivers of penance, slipping through the cracks in houses’ wooden floors all over my Lone Star State.” I moved forward, my face just an inch from hers. “Mmm . . . I can just smell it now. Taste it. Savoring its warmth as it licks at my tongue.” I bit my bottom lip and moaned. “My cock gets hard just thinking of it.”