Page 28 of She’s a Doll

Nancy. Natalie. Naomi.

“It’s just . . . intrusive thoughts. I don’t want to kill anyone. I’m not that sort of person.”

Nadia. Noelle. Natasha.

“I can’t do this right now. I just . . . I need you to go away. You’re just a voice in my head. You need to go away.”

Nora. Nia. Nadine.

“My name is Nicola, you piece of shit,” she snapped. “I can hear you trying to think of it.”

Nicola.

Can I call you Nic? I asked. I don’t know why I did that. A knee-jerk impulse. In hindsight I think I can safely say that was the wrong move.

“Fuck you,” she said again.

I’m sorry. I just . . . wasn’t expecting someone I know.

“You don’t know me. You’re a doll.”

No. I mean, yes, I am, currently. It’s not an ideal situation, going to be honest. But I do know you. Or I did, a little. I’m Lucy, Lucy McQuinn. We went to school together. Do you remember?

“Lucy McQuinn ran away years ago,” Nicola said.

Ran away? No. What the fuck? Is that what they’re saying? I didn’t run. I was murdered. Murdered by Kyle Lawson. Do you remember him? He was a year above us in school. Krissy Lawson’s twin brother. He’s the killer. Please. You have to help me.

“I’m too broke to go this crazy.”

You’re not crazy.

“Says the auditory hallucination.”

I’m not just auditory, I promised, and waved my arm stump back and forth to prove it.

Her eyes widened, her cheeks went ashy beneath her freckles, and her lips parted. I heard the first sharp note of her scream before time jerked forward with a violent, rushing smear of movement.

It was nighttime, the store was empty, and the sign on my display cabinet had changed.

A puzzle, waiting to be put together A spooky haunted doll A broken toy Probably worth millions as an antique! Defiantly not haunted or evil! Buy it and get a second toy free! $19.95 $12.50 $9.00 $1.00 HALF PRICE! 50c!

That could only mean one thing: I was getting to her.

I’d never been fishing, but I was pretty sure there was a saying fishermen liked to use in situations like this. Hook, line, and sink her down to my level. Let her know how fucked up it is that she’s knowingly keeping me here. Show her my anger by screaming and screaming when she’s on the counter. Tell her it doesn’t matter if she’s hallucinating or not; at least she’s alive, at least she’s breathing.

Some days scrolled by in slow motion while others flashed by in key frames. I ignored it all and kept up my onslaught, begging, cursing, crying, and begging again. I spoke to her even when I wasn’t sure she was in the shop. A tirade of rage, grief, and desperation broadcast direct from my brain into hers.

Honestly, I’m not proud of half the shit I said while I was in that box. But the only other option was to lie there . . . and I couldn’t do that. She was my only lifeline. My only hope. I didn’t care if she hated me or not; I just needed her to hear me.

The breaking point came on a Friday, an hour before closing.

I’ll kill him for you, Nic, I called to her as she hung up dress suits on the formal-wear rack. The guy you hate. Just get me out of here and give me a knife. I don’t need to know what he did. You want him dead, Nic. I’ll make it happen. Your guy is number two on my list. Right behind Kyle fucking Lawson.

She was speaking under her breath, but I could see her lips moving and was pretty sure I knew what she was saying. “Shut up shut up shut up⁠—”

You know I died the night of Ginger’s party, right, Nic? No. Of course not. You think I ran away.

“Shut up shut up⁠—”