Page 91 of She’s a Doll

31

He looked . . . normal. Except that didn’t make sense. That couldn’t make sense. How could the person I remembered, the thing with bared teeth and fingers that crushed be . . . just a guy? It seemed like a sick joke. It seemed like an insult.

But it was true.

I think that was the moment I really, truly realized it.

In my mind, I’d transformed Kyle into something grandiose. A devil, red-faced with bulging veins and bloody hands. But that was a lie. What was worse was that, deep down, I’d always known it.

The disconnect I’d felt when I saw Ginger’s wedding photo faded. The unmoored sucking sensation I’d felt when I heard him speak to Krissy that day in the park began to peel away. The image I’d had of him in my mind vanished, and a newer, more wretched picture formed.

Kyle wasn’t a monster. He was a fuckup. A nice guy with nice teeth and something very not nice behind his eyes. A person who could’ve been anything, anything at all, and became a murderer. If I put him in a petri dish, his blood would be red and his DNA human, just like everyone else’s. If I peeled back his skull, his brain would be gray and gross and wriggling with electricity, the same electricity that all living things shared. He wasn’t anything except a guy . . . which meant there was nothing inevitable about what had happened. He’d chosen to hurt. He’d chosen to harm. He’d chosen to kill.

And he’d gotten away with it. He’d killed me, he’d hurt Nicola, he’d hurt Ginger, Sandy Brown, and who knew how many others. But why?

That word felt like a chord struck on an electric guitar, vibrating through my porcelain head, my metal joints, deep into the shivering darkness still clinging to me at my core.

Why did Kyle do that to me?

Why couldn’t I stop him?

What’s going to happen now?

32

A strange sort of calm settled over me. I wasn’t scared of him. Why would I be? He looked so small, so pathetic, stumbling over loose bits of stone, shirt untucked, tie flopping long and loose around his neck. He had his phone’s flashlight on, and the beam of light spilled down and puddled around his feet, illuminating fancy square-toed leather shoes, already caked in dirt and mud.

It had worked. My plan had worked. I’d brought him here. I’d done that.

I wasn’t an adequately competent business administrator. I was an epic business administrator. The sort that could bully another business administrator into sending their CEO out to a remote location, alone, at night.

If that’s not highly advantageous business strategy, I don’t know what is.

All I needed to do now was scare him. Scare him into confessing. Scare him into revealing something. Scare him so badly that he’d never be able to hurt anyone ever again. That should be easy. He was, after all, a coward piece of shit, and I was, after all, a ghost. Being spooky was my whole brand. But even if I did mess up, even if all the rattling chains in the world wouldn’t change him, I was keeping him off balance, I was keeping him confused, I was keeping him busy. Too busy to notice his wife was out of town for the evening. Too busy to figure out that there might be other pieces at play.

It’s worth a shot. That was what I’d told Nicola. That was what I’d told myself as I’d wriggled through the cat flap, as I’d staggered across town, as I’d dialed in his company’s number. It’s worth a shot. It’s worth a shot. It’s worth a shot.

And it was. After all, what was he going to do? Kill me?

The thought made my spider legs rattle with a toxic mix of bitter, silent laughter and sick, churning rage.

He swiveled toward me, squinting. “Hello?”

He couldn’t see me. Or perhaps he could but, in the darkness, didn’t think I was anything other than a shadow, a stone, or a discarded pile of scrap metal. Either way, he didn’t bother to shine his phone’s light in my direction. He just turned back to the screen with a mumbled curse and started tapping.

Slowly, silently, I reached up with one claw and squeezed the ancient GoPro duct-taped to my carapace. The red recording light blinked on.

I hadn’t expected to get this far. I hadn’t tested the camera. I’d just fished it out of the back of Nicola’s drawer, taped it on, and set out. Hopefully, it’d be able to capture something. A panicked confession. A desperate plea. A frantic⁠—

My phone began to ring. It was one of those old ringtones, a high-pitched string of digital chirps, hollow and off-key. The notes bounced around the dark, empty lot, off the half-finished walls, and around my hollow porcelain skull.

This time, Kyle did shine the light in my direction, but too high. It went over my head, illuminating nothing. He swore again, louder.

I hadn’t expected him to call me back . . . but I was glad he did.

I flipped open my phone and jabbed the glowing green call button.

“Hello, Kyle.”