Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

He sat up in bed and propped himself against a pillow. “Sadly, I do believe that.”

She smiled. “I should probably finish getting dressed and go home now.”

“It’s late and it’s a long drive back to New Orleans. You’re here now. You may as well spend the night.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, do you?”

“It’s a fine idea. You crawl back into bed and I’ll go downstairs and sleep on the couch.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“After all the shit I’ve put you through, I’d say a good night’s sleep is the least I owe you.”

She lay down on the bed facing him. He brushed the hair from her shoulders and slid his hand down her arm. Her body had changed in seven years. She was thinner than he remembered, and her skin was so pale, as if she no longer spent any time in the sun. But her subtle curves fascinated him. She was an intriguing stranger who had once been his wife.

She watched him for a moment. “I feel as if I should say something.”

“There’s really no need.”

“Maybe there is. I don’t mean to be blunt, but I’m not looking to start anything back up with you, Dave.”

He tried not to wince. “I never thought you were.”

She pillowed her head on one arm. “I’ve been married more than half my life. I think it’s time I try being alone for a while.”

“Take it from me, being alone isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You seem to be doing okay.”

“I’m always just one bad day away from another bender. We both know that.”

“Dave—”

“I put you through hell when we were married, Claire. I’m not delusional. I wouldn’t wish me on my worst enemy.”

“I guess I wouldn’t, either.” Her eyes were sober, and then she smiled and leaned over to kiss him gently on the mouth. “But you do have your moments.”

Matthew opened his bedroom door and crept into the hallway. The wooden floor in his aunt’s old house creaked beneath his bare feet, and he froze, breathless and terrified that she had heard him.

After a moment, when nothing happened, he continued down the corridor toward the stairway. Her bedroom was at the top of the stairs, and as he stole past her door, he heard the murmur of voices coming from inside.

That wasn’t unusual. In the weeks since Father had brought Matthew here to live with Savannah, she’d had a number of nighttime visitors. Matthew could always tell when company was on the way because she would make him go up to his room for the rest of the evening. He hadn’t minded at first. The house was old and creepy, and he had begun to think of his room as a haven. But he soon grew restless and bored with the few toys that Father had packed for him, and he longed for someone his own age to play with. But what he wanted more than anything was for Mama to come and take him away from here. He’d prayed every single night for that to happen, but he was beginning to lose faith. It had been so long now since she’d gone away.

The floor creaked and he paused again outside his aunt’s room. This time, he thought she surely must have heard him, but instead of coming to the door, she raised her voice in anger. Matthew thought at first she was yelling at him, but then he realized her rage was directed at someone in her room. The voices were so loud, he couldn’t help but overhear.

“…gives me the creeps the way he skulks around at all hours. How much longer do you expect me to keep him here?”

“Until I find a house and get settled in my new position. It won’t be that much longer. Where’s your compassion? He’s your sister’s child, your own flesh and blood.”

Matthew went completely still, his veins icing as he recognized the other voice. Father! He hadn’t been back since he’d dropped Matthew off weeks ago. That was the only good thing about being here. Father did not come home every night.

“My dear sister stole you away from me. And now I’m supposed to raise her brat while she’s in the nuthouse?”

“I told you, it’s just until I get settled. As soon as I can set up Matthew’s sessions with Dr. Church, I’ll come and get him.”

“Tell me something, Daniel. Since when does a seven-year-old kid need a shrink? What’s wrong with that boy?”

Father hesitated. “He’s confused about things.”

“His gender?”

“Why would you ask such a thing?”

“Because he’s lived in my house for the past two months. I’ve noticed things.”

“What kind of things?”

“He’s not a normal boy, Daniel. He’s not rowdy or disruptive and he never wants to go outside. The only thing that seems to interest him are my dolls.”

“You don’t let him into your studio.” Father’s voice sharpened.

“Not on purpose, no. But I’ve caught him in there once or twice. I didn’t see any harm in letting him look around. He wasn’t bothering anything. I don’t think he even touched the dolls. He just wanted to sit there and…watch them.”

“I don’t care what he was doing, you need to keep him out of there. He might ruin some of your work.”

“You really think he’d do that?”

“Perhaps not intentionally, but he is just a boy. And it’s not unusual for a child that age to act out when he loses his mother.”

“You make it sound like she’s dead.”

He paused for a long time before answering. Then he said slowly, “She might as well be.”

His lengthy hesitation made Matthew think of the terrible argument on Maddy’s birthday. Matthew hadn’t wanted to think about all the terrible things Father had said to Mama, or the blood he’d seen on the floor and on Father’s coat. When Matthew thought of Maddy’s birthday, he tried to remember it as a happy day. But he hadn’t seen his mother since then, and even at his tender age, he knew that, without her, any future celebrations would never be the same.

He suddenly realized that he didn’t want to hear the rest of the conversation. He was afraid, but for some reason, he couldn’t make himself turn away, even when the voices fell silent. Even when, a few minutes later, the noises coming from inside the room were soft moans and deep grunts.

Matthew didn’t understand what was going on inside his aunt’s bedroom, but he knew that it was something bad. He knew that it was somehow a betrayal of his mother, and he angrily turned and ran down the stairs as fast as he could. His aunt’s studio was down a long corridor that led to the back of the house. Matthew opened the door and stepped quickly inside.

Moonlight flooded through the wall of windows, so he didn’t have to turn on a light. He stood glancing around at the pedestals on which some of his aunt’s favorite dolls were displayed. He took them down one by one, stroking cool cheeks, running his hand down gleaming hair.

Then he went over to the unfinished sculpture that she had left on her worktable. A picture of a little girl was mounted on the wall behind the table, and as Matthew studied the sculpted face, he could already see a resemblance to the child in the photograph. She reminded him a little of Maddy, but the mouth was all wrong. He climbed up on a stool and sat looking at the clay face for a long, long time. Then he reached for one of the shapers and began to mold the mouth into Maddy’s.

“What are you doing?”

The voice seemed to awaken him from a deep trance. Sunlight flooded through the windows and he blinked. He had been sitting there all night. He hadn’t been sleeping, though. The clay face before him had been completely transformed.