Page 64 of She’s a Doll

Nic, I said. Give her your hearing aid. Let me talk to her.

“You hacked into my dead friend’s Insta account,” Krissy said at the same time. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Who does shit like that?”

I’ll explain everything. It’ll be OK. She knows me.

“Krissy,” Nicola said, voice small.

“No. Shut the hell up. You don’t get to call me Krissy. I’m Kristina to you, bitch. Kristina Maybelle Lawson. That’s the name that’s going to be printed on the court summons I send you if you don’t knock this Fatal Attraction shit off. He married Ginger. Get over it.”

“Is that what he told you?” Nicola asked. “That I was upset he married Ginger?”

“I was there,” Krissy snarled. “I saw the way you stormed off. Don’t pretend this is about anything else. I don’t care what lies you tried to tell, I know my brother. He rejected you and you couldn’t⁠—where the hell are you going?”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Nicola said, her voice small and raspy. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

Nic, I said, softer. Nic. Please. Let me talk to her. Give her your hearing aid.

“Listen to me!”

“That’s not how this is going to happen,” Nicola said, and scooped me up. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Krissy snapped. “You’re sorry now, are you? Well, fuck you, Nicola Novković. Yeah, that’s right, I know your full name. I know your address too. I know where you work, I know where your parents work. I know everything about you. My family owns this town. If you don’t leave us alone, I swear to God, I will⁠—”

Nic, I begged, and grabbed at her arms. Nic. Please. Nic. I can⁠—

She shoved me, car and all, into her backpack.

Nic!

The zip closed with a sharp, plastic snarl, plunging me into darkness. Panic shot through my stitches. I was trapped, helpless, the sounds of the festival muffled and far away. I tried to move, but the paint cans fell on top of me, crushing me, suffocating me. Dying, it felt like dying, only this time there was nothing to grab on to. Nothing to save me. I clawed desperately at the darkness, kicking, flailing, screaming.

“And another thing, if you think for one second Lucy wouldn’t punch your teeth out if she were here, then⁠—”

“Krissy,” a new voice said, low and consoling. “Stop. It’s not worth it. Let’s get out of here.”

My porcelain went cold, my insides twisted, my Bubble Wrap contracted so hard I felt some of it pop.

Kyle. That voice belonged to Kyle.

22

He sounded so normal.

So human.

I couldn’t understand it. It was the same sick, estranged feeling I got whenever I thought of his wedding photo with Ginger. The same thing I felt whenever I remembered unlocking the screen door and letting him into my house.

It didn’t make sense.

How could someone like him chameleon so effortlessly into humanity? How could he sound like a regular guy, voice light, almost kind, when he’d done what he’d done to me?

I thought of the way he’d smiled at me through the security door, vodka bottle held out before him like he’d expected me to reach through the mesh and take it. Except that wasn’t what he’d expected at all. He’d expected the door to open. He’d planned on it. That was why he’d been wearing that shark smile.

He’d known he’d won.

He’d known I was already dead.

He was a monster. A shape-shifting morphling, able to mimic humans, to sound good and kind. But when you opened the door, when he got you alone, he’d hook his fingers in his cheeks and peel off his mask like a bad guy on Scooby-Doo.