Miss Polly had a Dolly (Emma Frost #2) Page 5

  "You like them?" the old woman asked with a smile.

  Josephine nodded eagerly. "They're beautiful."

  "I make them myself," the lady said.

  Josephine walked closer to one sitting on the couch. She reached out her hand trying to touch its leg.

  "You can look but don't touch them," the lady said behind her. "They're very delicate. I don't want them to get greasy and dirty. They are to be looked at, not touched, understand?"

  Josephine nodded even if she didn't understand. Why would anyone have that many dolls and never play with them? It seemed silly. If they were hers she would be playing with them every day. Except Ms. Camilla would never let her. Josephine growled at the thought of going back to the mansion. But eventually she would have to. There was no way out.

  "How do you even make them?" Josephine asked while studying the doll in front of her. It had blonde hair just like her and looked so lifelike. It was big, too. Almost as big as her.

  "Oh that's really difficult. Took me many years to learn. Do you want to see where I make them?" the lady asked with a gentle voice.

  Josephine nodded. "Yes, please. I would be delighted to."

  "What great manners, you have. Your parents must have raised you well," the lady remarked and started walking towards a closed door. When she opened it a set of stairs leading down appeared. "It's in the basement," she said and signaled for Josephine to follow her.

  The basement was deep and it got colder the further they walked down. Josephine was freezing because she was still wet from being in the water and she rubbed her arms to generate some warmth. Soon a big room opened up. It had low ceilings but the lady could still stand upright. A big desk was leaning against the wall. The lady turned on the lamp and Josephine spotted a lot of tools that she knew about from her books. One of them was a scalpel. Josephine had read about doctors using them. There was also a pair of rubber gloves, scissors, a whole box of needles, lots of string, tweezers, then a bottle of something called Borax; she didn't know what that was for. Next to the table were four big bags of something else Josephine didn't recognize.

  "That's excelsior," the lady said when she saw Josephine look at them. "I use that to fill out their bodies."

  "And what is that?" Josephine asked and pointed.

  "That, my dear, is a box of fake eyes." The lady shook the box and laughed.

  Josephine thought they looked at little creepy. All those small eyes staring at her. "So this is where you make the dolls?" she asked and looked around in the room. A big lifelike doll was standing in one corner looking back at her.

  "Yes it is. Do you like it here?"

  Josephine shrugged. She spotted something in the other corner. It looked like the cages where her daddy kept his big dogs that he used for hunting.

  "What do you use that for?" she asked.

  The old lady smiled widely. "That, my dear, is for you."

  Chapter 15

  April 2013

  "I love you Fanoe!"

  Patrick was poking out from the car's sunroof and stood with his arms stretched above his head, still wearing sunglasses, while the car slowly moved from the ferry's deck onto the quay. He had been angry with the producers for not renting a convertible for him to arrive in, so everybody could see him, until he came up with the idea to open the sunroof of the Toyota. A huge crowd had gathered in the parking lot where the ferry docked and cameras were flashing as soon as he showed his face.

  "We love you too, Patrick!" someone from the crowd yelled.

  The car moved slowly while fans were screaming out his name and running next to it as it moved. Patrick leaned down and touched hands with several of them. As soon as they were close enough, the journalists started yelling.

  "What are you hoping to find here on Fanoe, Patrick?"

  Patrick grinned and took off his sunglasses. The girls in the crowd squealed with joy. Patrick winked at the female journalist.

  "Love," he said with a deep voice. "I hope to find faith, hope, and love…and some great talent of course!" Then he winked again and put the sunglasses back on with a wide smile. He put his arms up in the air and yelled into the crowd:

  "What do you say, Fanoe? Do we have some real Shooting Stars here on the island?"

  The crowd went wild. The loud screaming drowned out everything. Patrick laughed. It was like that everywhere he went—and he loved it.

  The car moved slowly through the crowd and Patrick managed to touch hands, blow kisses, and even sign autographs on arms and in books. His producer handed him a stack of signed pictures that he threw out among the teenagers who grabbed them and held them to their chests like prized possessions.

  "Had enough yet?" Hanne asked from the driver's seat.

  Patrick bent down, sighed and looked at the huge crowd through the front window of the car. "Not yet," he said. "They really love me."

  "Must be great," Hanne said emotionless while looking at her fingers.

  Patrick heard the crowd start to chant his name to make him poke his head out of the car again.

  "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick."

  He giggled inside the car while waiting for the right moment. It was all about timing. Making them want more, keeping them thirsty.

  "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick!"

  Once the chanting reached a crescendo, he knew they were almost ready. They were craving it now.

  "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick!"

  Almost there. They were almost at the point of giving up, thinking he wasn't going to come back up.

  "Patrick, Patrick, Patrick!" they chanted even louder.

  Patrick waited just a second longer, then put his arm up through the sunroof and gave them all the finger. The crowd went wild. The screaming wouldn't stop. Patrick laughed. It worked every time. It was his famous signature move. Originally from when the press was always following him around in the beginning, when he had just started doing the show, snooping in his private life, speculating that he might be gay (which they still wrote, but Patrick had stopped caring about).

  Running from the paparazzi didn't help—he learned that lesson soon enough—but just standing there, giving them the finger, gave them a picture they could sell and then they would leave him alone. So in the beginning all the magazines and papers were filled with Patrick giving the entire world the finger. His producers had told him it was a bad idea, that the public wasn't going to like it, that he was destroying the image of the show. But they were wrong. The people proved them wrong. Screaming teenagers soon showed up to the auditions showing the finger to every camera. It was the youths' rebellion against the boring lives their parents had created for themselves. These kids wanted more. They wanted to make more of themselves. They wanted to be stars. They all wanted what Patrick had. They wanted to be famous enough to give the world the finger once and for all—and get away with it.

  Chapter 16

  July 1997

  It was hard for Nina to keep her tears back as she followed Sergei to the car parked outside the apartment building. It was daytime outside but the clouds were heavy and grey. It was cold, too. Nina was freezing in her summer dress.

  The car was small and he put her in the backseat. Sergei started the engine and they drove off. Nina stared out the window and didn't say a word for hours. She looked at the strange houses that looked nothing like they did on the island. That was when she realized that she had to have been taken away from the island. Her mother had taught her many things, and one of them was to read, so she could read most road signs at home, but these seemed to be different. She didn't quite recognize the words. Was she even in Denmark anymore? Nothing looked the way she was used to. Even the houses were different. They were old and very dirty. Could her mother really have wanted her to go to a dirty place like this? Her mother, the woman who hated when she got dirty.

  Nina looked down and realized her dress was no longer pretty. It was dirty, too and had brown spots on it. Her mommy would be really mad when she saw it. If she ever saw it again. Nina l
ooked up and out the window again.

  Mommy where are you? Why have you sent me away like this? Was I really that bad? Please forgive me and let me come home. I promise to never be bad again. I'll never complain about the dresses again. I'll never talk to other kids on the playground again. I promise, Mommy. I promise!

  They drove for a long time more, then there was suddenly a sign she could read. It said Polish Border 50 km. Nina swallowed hard and felt a slight panic rise. Polish border? She didn't know what it meant but it sounded really far away from Denmark. Far away from her mother. Nina's mother had taught her about the different countries and she had looked at maps before. She knew Poland wasn't a place in Denmark. It was far away. Now the tears started rolling down her cheeks. The uncertainty felt horrible. Was she ever going back? Was she ever going to see her mommy again?

  The car came to a sudden halt. It seemed to Nina like they were in the middle of nowhere. She could see a pair of headlights approach from the other direction. The car stopped across the road. Sergei told her to sit still and then went outside. He talked to some other guy who had come out of the other car, then walked back to the car and opened Nina's door.

  "Come on," he said. "Get out of the car. You're going with this guy now."

  Nina started shivering. "But…I don't know him…mommy always said don't go with strangers and…"

  "Who cares about mommy? Get out," Sergei yelled, then grabbed her leg and pulled her out of the car.

  Nina hit her head on the ground and scraped her arms. It hurt and she started to cry. Sergei pulled her across the road by her leg, while she was screaming and yelling. Then she heard him speak in a foreign language to the other guy and she felt more hands on her legs, and now she was lifted up and thrown into the other car where she landed on the back seat.

  "Remember to be good," Sergei said as the door closed.

  The other man got in and started the engine. Nina thought he looked just like Sergei, but fatter and even dirtier. He was wearing a black leather jacket that squeaked when he turned in his seat to look at Nina.

  "I'm Stefan," he said and grinned. His Danish was even worse than Sergei's. "I take good care of you now."

  Then they drove off. As Nina peered out the back window with a gasp, she saw Sergei standing back on the road with a big smile and a roll of money in his hands.

  Chapter 17

  April 2013

  Victor came home from school an hour after Sophia had left me. I couldn't quite let go of the uneasy feeling inside of me after hearing about the missing girl.

  "Hi sweetie," I said and greeted him in the hallway.

  Victor never cared much for being touched but I really felt like hugging him and holding him tight. It took all my strength not to.

  "How was your day?"

  Victor stormed past me without answering, without even looking at me. That was just the way he was. I wouldn't say I was getting used to it, because I don't think you ever get used to not having your child respond to you, but I was beginning to accept the fact that it was part of his personality. His lack of social skills was just a part of him. It made me appreciate it even more when he did talk to me.

  "I have baked buns," I said and followed him into the kitchen where he sat down, still without looking at me. Knowing he liked things to be like they always were I had already prepared a plate for him that I now placed in front of him. He started eating without a word. I grabbed my coffee and sat down in front of him. Since we moved to the island his condition had gotten slightly better, but there were still days when I wouldn't get a word out of him. I was working closely with his teachers and they had been very helpful through it all. But I still got the sense that he was only really happy when he was out in the yard playing with the trees. That was all he ever wanted to do, so I let him.

  "So, are the kids in school talking about the TV show? I heard the host, that Patrick guy, is coming to the island today. They said on the radio that he's down at the quay right now, causing a traffic jam and the ferry to be late going back to Esbjerg."

  Victor didn't answer but I knew he heard me. I knew he hated small talk and he didn't feel obligated to answer if I didn't say anything important. I continued anyway.

  "Do you think they'll find this year's winner here at Fanoe Island, huh?" I sipped my coffee while Victor ate. "Maybe one of Sophia's kids will win, huh? Wouldn't that be great? Maybe Ida?"

  Victor stopped chewing. I couldn't help smiling. I knew he had grown very fond of Ida. She was a year younger than him, only six years old, but she was very pretty with her long blonde hair and extremely sweet. "Would you like that, Victor? Would you like for her to win and become famous?"

  He didn't answer. I laughed on the inside. It felt good to know that he was capable of that kind of emotion. I wanted him to like her and was planning on asking Sophia to bring her over more often. It was good for him to be with other children.

  Victor finished his raspberry juice and swallowed the last bite of his bun. Then it was like he froze.

  "Victor, are you all right?" I asked after a little while when he hadn't moved at all.

  Suddenly he lifted his head and stared directly into my eyes. I couldn't help but smile, since it was so seldom lately that I got to see his eyes and feel the close connection between us that we used to have. But then it happened, the thing I hated the most in the entire world. Victor's eyes rolled back in his head and he started shaking. I jumped up from my chair, knocking over my cup and spilling hot coffee all over the table. I grabbed Victor and held him in my arms, while his body was in spasms.

  "Oh no, not that," I yelled. "Please make it go away. Please make it stop."

  It had been six months at least since his last seizure and I had hoped it was over, that he had finally outgrown them like his doctor used to say he would one day. I stroked his hair and kissed his forehead while his body was shaking between my arms. The doctors had told me to always hold him so he wouldn't hurt himself.

  "It's okay, Victor. I have got you. Don't worry," I said with an anxious heart. I hated these seizures. I hated everything about them. Mostly I hated how helpless I was when they occurred.

  Please don't let him swallow his tongue. Please make this stop.

  Victor said something. A mumbling emerged his mouth. "What are you saying, Victor? Are you trying to tell me something?" I bent down to better hear what it was. It was hard to make anything out of it. It sounded like he'd said baby doll.

  Chapter 18

  April 2013

  Victor's seizure stopped just as suddenly as it had started. His body loosened up in my arms and he stopped shaking. Victor opened his eyes and looked at me. I breathed in a sigh of relief.

  "Are you okay, Vic?"

  He nodded.

  "You were out for a moment there, buddy. Did you dream anything? Did you see anything? It was like you tried to speak or something. Were you trying to tell me something?"

  Victor looked down.

  "You can tell me. I won't get mad."

  Victor opened his mouth and spoke very softly: "Dolls. I saw a lot of dolls. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of them."

  "Dolls. Okay. That makes sense. What else? Did you see something else?" I asked.

  Victor lifted his head once again and looked at me. "A bowtie. Look out for the bowtie," he said.

  "Bowtie, okay."

  Victor took one last look at me then walked fast with his head bowed through the living room and out into the yard. I sighed and followed him with my eyes. If only I knew what went on inside of that boy's head. Sometimes it seemed like he was carrying the entire world on his shoulders. It scared me a little, to be honest. It was too much for such a young boy to deal with. At that age, he was supposed to have fun and play around. The rest of his life was going to contain plenty of serious stuff, especially with his condition. There weren't many workplaces around where there was room for someone like Victor.

  Seeing him smile and run around in the yard like a normal boy again made my une
ase settle for a little while and I went back into the kitchen to get ready for Maya's return from school. I couldn't help but think about the bowtie and wonder what that meant. Did the girl who'd disappeared wear a bowtie? I knew Victor had these senses that no one else had, he had proven that to me more than once. It was like he sometimes knew more than the rest of the world. And from experience I also knew how important it was to take things he said very seriously. It wasn't just coincidental rambling. If he saw something or said something like this, it meant I had to remember it. It meant it was important.

  "Hi, Mom."

  I turned and saw Maya entering the kitchen. She'd just turned fourteen and grew more beautiful with every day that passed. "I baked," I said.

  "Yum," she said and sat down. I joined her at the table and had a buttered bun myself.

  "So, how was school? You're home a little later than usual."

  "Well a bunch of us went down to the port and saw Patrick arrive on the ferry. It took a while to get back because of all the people."

  "You were down there?" I asked and considered getting angry because she hadn't asked me if it was okay, but then I thought it was alright, she'd been with friends and a whole crowd of people. I had taught myself to pick my battles carefully lately to avoid being the kind of mother who was angry constantly no matter what you told her.

  "Yes. I hope it was okay that I went. It was kind of spontaneous. We were actually on our way home on our bikes, when someone told us that Patrick was about to get off the ferry. I couldn't resist seeing it."

  "I understand. I guess I would have done the same. Was he as spectacular as they say?" I asked and took another bite. I had put extra sugar on top of the buns to make them sweeter. With great success. It was like eating cake.

  "Oh yes. He is so handsome, Mom, you won't believe it. I think he was even better looking in real life than on TV."