Deb Baker - Dolly Departed

He's coming down, slowly descending from an alternate reality.

She's a real cop. He'd seen the badge. That's what he gets for going back to the shop, for wanting one last look.

"Stop running and listen to me," the female cop says. Words staccato through the air like breaks in the time continuum. Moments lost. For him, it isn't lost moments, it's lost years. All gone. Twenty-one going on dead.

The cop's breath is labored, or is that his?

He whirls and catches another glimpse of the badge. You can't even tell the law from the rest of society. A fake woman has him in her power. A Matrix society, and he alone realizes the truth.

Ryan karate-chops the hand.

No reaction.

She must be undercover.

Then why the badge?

A voice inside of Ryan's head answers him. It always does. It's dependable, like nothing else in his life is. Ego. Power. They're all alike, even the women. Especially the women. Ryan jabs her hard with his elbow, and he feels the release. Freedom.

Run!

If she catches up again, he'll sucker punch her. Anything to get away. Anything at all.

"Your mother is dead," the woman says, and Ryan is slammed up against the side of a building. She must know all the martial arts. A trained assassin. Who would have guessed by looking at her?

He thinks he will throw up because of the heat pouring through the cracks of the street. He sees serpents twisting out of the poured concrete, coming for his soul. She repeats the statement. Dead, dead.

Ryan makes a fist. He puts everything he has behind it, everything he has.

The punch connects, and the woman goes down. Surprisingly fast. His strength and power must be growing.

She doesn't move.

Ryan thinks about the concept of remorse but doesn't feel any. He rarely feels anything.

A being with silver hair comes at him, followed by one the size of a wrestler. He recognizes them from his mother's shop. Ryan saw them there, talking to the woman cop. The enormous woman glares at him but is winded and bends over to widen her airway, to make room for her precious air. She glares up at him, then grimaces without saying a word. The other one is filled with anger but hesitates a moment too long. Her eyes flick to the woman on the ground. His feet pound the pavement, and it sounds like thunder of the gods to him. They have decided to protect him from harm, to champion him for his abilities.

He is one of them.

Miniature dolls, also known as dollhouse dolls, are an intricate part of a small-scale scene. Collectors find miniatures in all the usual places: doll stores, online shops, and auctions and doll shows. But for the most fun and versatility, why not try making your own? You can begin by purchasing a basic doll-making kit from a miniature shop or order one through an online catalogue. Kits contain porcelain parts, patterns for making the doll's costume, materials for jewelry, wigging supplies, and easy-to-follow instructions. In no time at all, you will want to cast molds and design your own line of costumes from fabrics and ribbons. You'll be creating hats and shoes from card stock patterns and designing handbags from binder clips. Welcome to the fascinating world of miniature doll making.

– From World of Dolls by Caroline Birch Wednesday morning the women at Curves hopped to the beat of "Build Me Up Buttercup."

Gretchen tried to ignore the pain in her temple where Ryan Maize had struck her. One punch from that scrawny kid, and she'd fallen hard, like a rock from a mountain ledge. Her mother and April, miraculously arriving just as Gretchen dropped to the sidewalk, had strong-armed a street vendor into parting with a cup of ice. Their quick thinking had kept the swelling to a minimum.

A couple of ibuprofen tablets this morning, and her head no longer felt like it had a built-in subwoofer. And her hair covered the ugly purple bruise.

"I hear you were clobbered good last night," Bonnie said, her red wig stiff with hair spray. Lip liner was drawn in an exaggerated arch around her lips. "Are you okay?"

She trotted in place on a small platform, swinging her arms above her head as the music changed to "Chantilly Lace."

"I'm perfectly fine," Gretchen replied, trying not to wince when she bent over. She had a huge headache and two more hours to go before she could take more pain relievers. Nina, working the abductor machine, piped up, speaking around her niece as though she wasn't present. "Gretchen is too impulsive for her own good. Imagine chasing a tattooed, body-pierced, crazy man through the streets of Scottsdale. What was she thinking?"

Gretchen shrugged. She didn't have a good answer and secretly agreed with Nina.

"Where's Caroline this morning?" Bonnie asked.

"Trying to catch up on our repair work," Gretchen said.

"I should do a reading for you." Nina bounced a large pink ball while running in place. "The tarot cards complement my psychic predictions," she said. "You really need a reading."

"Maybe later."

"I'll take one," Bonnie said.

"I'll watch," April said.

Nina smiled. "Okay."

Gretchen noticed a definite clearing of the air around Nina and April. Nina's new friendship with Britt had something to do with it. And Nina seemed grateful that April had helped rescue Gretchen and then cared for her after the blow to her head. April was doing her part by showing interest in Nina's tarot cards. Gretchen knew how hard that was for her.

April sweated over the shoulder press. "What do you make of the miniature peanut butter jar?" she asked Gretchen. "How does it fit in?"

Gretchen looked questioningly at her aunt, remembering the promise Nina had made to keep the jar's existence confidential. Nina's eyes shifted to Bonnie, who had originally shared the information with her. Bonnie grinned conspiratorially. "I had to share a teensy bit of police work with my favorite group." She held up her right hand and pressed two fingers together to show how minuscule her sharing really was. "But remember, no talking outside our little circle."

"Change stations now," the programmed voice commanded, and everyone shifted to the next station in the circle.

"After all, you are my best friends." Bonnie's arms swung to encompass all Curve's members working out, even two women who had signed up that very morning and had only introduced themselves moments before. Her "best friends" nodded enthusiastically.

"That's right," said Rita Phyller, the Barbie collector.

"That's right," Ora, the Curves manager, echoed.

"We're buddies."

"Does anyone have a theory about the jar?" April asked.

"I do. I do." Bonnie shouted, waving her right hand like a kindergarten student. "Charlie always thought her sister had been murdered. Matty is looking into it again."

"Wouldn't that be something if Sara really had been murdered," Rita said, shaking her head. "Too bad Charlie's ticker gave out before the investigation was over."

Gretchen glanced over at Nina. Other than law enforcement officials working the case, the true cause of Charlie's death should only be known to Gretchen, Caroline, and Nina. This was the moment that would tell her how reliable her aunt was.

No one said anything. Charlie's suspicious nicotine overdose was still under wraps.

Nina glared at Gretchen as though she knew that her niece hadn't trusted her, and Gretchen gave her an I'm-sorry look.

April huffed loudly and paused in her workout to rest. April had chased Gretchen and Ryan down the street yesterday. Today, she couldn't get through a ten-minute circuit, working slow. April's adrenaline must really spike when she gets excited, turning her into superwoman , Gretchen thought.

"I think someone scared Charlie to death," Bonnie said.

"Literally. Her heart gave out."