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Now nobody cares as long as the numbers are right. Mine always are.

I finish reconciling the account, send it back to the client, and check the time.

Jamie is still sleeping. I should lock up before I do anything else. He probably won’t wake for a while, but every doll is different and I don’t know Jamie’s maintenance schedule yet. I want to be there when he wakes.

Dolls make terrible decisions when fear reaches them before I do.

I check the back door first. Locked. The front door takes longer. I turn the lock in the knob, then the first deadbolt. The second. The third. All three need the key from this side. I learned that one the hard way.

I pull the key from the last lock and slip the keys into my pocket.

There. If Jamie wakes early and has the strength to ram through his door, he’ll still be here when I come back downstairs.

I go to my playroom. It’s the smallest bedroom in the house, but I don’t need much space. Just enough for the hula hoops leaning behind the door and the big plastic bin of toys under the window.

My oldest stuffed animals live on the shelves. The newer ones stay in the hammock in the corner because I ran out of room years ago. I straighten the ear of a rabbit as I pass.

There are coloring books stacked beside the beanbag, crayons and pencils sorted into plastic containers, a half-finished friendship bracelet clipped to a board on the floor. My sticker books are in the bottom drawer where they won’t get bent.

The dollhouse takes up most of one wall. Dad built it for me when I was seven. It’s taller than the table it sits on, with six rooms, tiny wooden stairs, and wallpaper I picked myself. I’ve replaced the carpet twice and rewired all the lights, but everything else is original.

I still think it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.

My dolls aren’t inside it anymore. They sit together on the shelf above it. All three of them.

I reach up and take Jamie from the middle. His black hair needs brushing. I smooth it down with my fingers for now and straighten the collar of his little shirt. “There you are.”

I know something about him now that I didn’t know this morning. He smells like vanilla.

There’s a basket beneath the dollhouse where I keep the things I use most. I set Jamie on my lap and dig through ribbons, brushes, tiny hangers, and bottles until I find the one I’m looking for.

Vanilla.

I give him one small spray. The scent settles into his hair and clothes. I lift him closer and breathe him in. Better. “You finally smell like you.”

I open the front of the dollhouse.

Jamie’s bedroom is upstairs. It still has the blue wallpaper I picked for him and the little wooden bed Dad made when I complained the one that came with the house wasn’t good enough.

I lay Jamie on top of the blankets and arrange his hair across the pillow. Just like upstairs. For a moment, I look at him there. Then I close the dollhouse and turn back to the shelf.

Two dolls are left. They look lonely without him.

They won’t be lonely much longer.

CHAPTER 3

Jamie

There are stars on my ceiling.

I stare at them for a while, trying to figure out which constellation I’m looking at.

Cassiopeia, maybe. No. Too many points.

My mouth tastes like I slept with it open for three days, and there’s a dull ache behind my eyes that gets worse when I try to focus.

I need water. I close my eyes again. Something about the stars is bothering me. I open my eyes.