Paper Dolls (17 page)

Detective Kalassi set his glass down on the table. “No, you’re not that. You’re an amazing young lady with a good head on her shoulders and you’re going to have a great life ahead.” He dipped his head. “But you’re right, Nina and I can’t keep you.”

Nina shot her husband a questioning look.

He stretched his mouth thin. “There’s the worry that Devlin will connect the dots sooner or later. He knows I treated your disappearance personally. I was on his back for years. I never let him out of my sights. If he finds out I have a teenage girl living with me, he just might try to find out who she is. I can’t keep you a virtual prisoner in my home forever.” He sighed. “I wish we could move away and take you with us, but you’re right, I need to be here. I need to get Devlin into prison where he belongs and I need to track down Henry Fiveash.”

Mrs. Dumaj creased her forehead. “Can Devlin be convicted if the case goes to trial now?”

“No,” replied the detective. “He can’t even be arrested without enough evidence. Back when the holdup happened, we might have been able to make a case, together with Molly’s testimony. But the trail has gone cold now. He’s hidden the money and we don’t know who his accomplice was that night. But one day he’ll slip up or try to use the money, and I’m going to be right there when he does.” He turned to Molly. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I have to put you back in the witness protection program, although it’s going to kill me to let you go.”

Molly stared down at her hands rigidly. “Martin, I can’t. No more strangers. I’ve lived most of my life with strangers. People who didn’t care about me. I can’t live like that anymore. You have to let me go live on my own.”

“No,” he said fervently. “You’re only seventeen, and you’ve been away from the world a long time. There’s no way I’m going to send you out there on your own.”

Mom tucked her hair behind her ears repeatedly, in that way she did when she was trying to gather her thoughts. “I have a thought. I’ve been considering moving back to Miami.” She sighed deeply. “I think it’s the best decision for Cassie. And if Cassie and I do return to Miami, we’d like for Molly to come with us.”

She turned to gaze at Molly and me.

I didn’t need to think about it. “Oh God, mom that’s perfect…”

Shock registered on Molly’s face. She looked from mom to the Kalassis. “I don’t know what to say….”

“You don’t have to say anything now,” mom hastened to add. “It’s an idea.”

Molly smiled with sadness in her eyes. “I can’t. You’re a family—a unit. I’m a stranger. Some castaway from the underground. And I’m not a kid anymore—I came out of the dollhouse practically an adult. I'm seventeen. I’m going to have to make my own way pretty soon.”

“You’re my sister,” I said fervently. “Even if you don’t choose to live with us—you’ll always be my sister.”

“Mine too,” said Aisha. “I don’t want you guys to go, but if it will save Molly from her uncle….”

A flicker of a frown crossed Molly’s face.

Martin Kalassi leaned forward, resting his arm on his knee. “What Mrs. Claiborne is offering might just be the best thing possible. Kid, you may be seventeen, but there’s things people need their whole lives that have nothing to do with how old they are. And that’s family. Nina and I feel like you’re our own daughter. But we’re conscious every day of how close we live to Devlin. We don’t want anything bad to happen to you, ever again.”

“I would hate to see you go… but Martin’s right.” Nina clasped her hands together.

“I can’t.” Molly shook her head vehemently. “You don’t understand. I bring bad luck. I bring bad things. My mother went crazy after having me. She killed herself. My father died before I was even born. Uncle Devlin went from petty crime to murder. And in the underground… I made Prudence kill herself….I told her too much… too much….”

“You’re not to blame… for any of that,” I breathed.

“Yes I am. And I have to stay here. I have to figure everything out. I can’t let another child die. And more will die… I feel it. I know it.” She clenched her fists together, rising from her chair. “My life is worth nothing. But I give my life, for what it’s worth, to stopping any other kids from going through what I did.”

She gazed at Aisha and me with stormy green eyes. “You two know.
You know
. You’ve seen what we’re up against. And you, Cassie, you stared into the eyes of evil itself. We can’t pretend any of it didn’t happen.”

Aisha turned her head away.

“Molly, please,” I cried. We were a hair’s breadth away from exposing ourselves, from laying the whole insane world of ghosts and monsters on the table.

Martin stared at Molly. “Well, we can see where Molly got the fight from to survive the dollhouse. She’s a fighter, more than anyone I know. But Molly, it’s time to stop fighting and let us handle it. And you have to stop beating yourself up.”

“Molly….” My mother moved close to Molly, sitting in the chair beside her. I knew the tone she was using well. I’d heard her use it with her teenage clients. “Detective Kalassi has spoken of the very real risk of your Uncle Delvin finding you. If he finds you… you may not have a chance to figure out all the things that you want to.”

Mom’s tone was the one she used when she didn’t understand what the client wanted to do, but because it was important to the client, she treated their words as important and tried to help the client find steps to reach their goal—especially steps that kept them out of harm’s way. I’d always thought mom sounded kind of sucky and condescending when she spoke that way, but right now it made total sense. My hands formed tight balls as I watched Molly’s face.

Detective Kalassi nodded. “Devlin can’t leave the country. He can’t get to you in the U.S, Molly. It would kill and Nina to have you leave us, but we’d do anything to keep you away from that man.”

Molly bowed her head, her entire body tensing and her breaths deep and sharp. Warm breeze from the harbor lifted her hair and made it fly about her as moments ticked away.

Molly looked lost as she stood in the midst of the milling crowds—her legs long and lanky beneath denim shorts and a windcheater.I could still scarcely believe she’d agreed to come with us.

“Almost there,” said mom. She put her arm around Molly.

On the taxi ride to my grandmother’s old house, Molly craned her neck incessantly, peering at sights that were new to her.

The taxi pulled up in front of our house—the house that used to belong to my grandmother. The gardens had been neatened up and the front door painted.

I was surprised to see new furniture in the house. Mom must have organized ahead to have the house redecorated. The walls had been painted in a Tuscan blue and dark orange, with a beach house theme to the furniture and wall paintings. The house had just been sitting there empty ever since grandma had passed away three years ago.

One of the bedrooms had been turned into a study. Molly and I were to have our lessons at home until the dollhouse media frenzy had died away, maybe longer if Molly’s life was still in danger. Besides, Molly wasn’t ready to have herself thrust out into the world of teenagers—she’d barely been thirteen when she’d been taken to the underground.

“Girls, this is your room,” said mom, showing us into my grandmother’s old room. The carpet had been replaced by glossy floorboards and a shaggy rug. Grandma’s bed and free-standing cupboard had been replaced with separate beds and a wall-to-wall built-in wardrobe.

Two golden-colored shapes raced past the window.

“We have dogs?” I raised my eyebrows at mom. We’d never had animals. She was allergic to animal hair.

She pulled an off-hand face. “Martin Kalassi thought we should have dogs, so we have dogs. They’re trained guard dogs, apparently. Girls, meet Akina and Kishka.”

I knelt to wave a greeting to the animals outside the window. I noticed then, the tiny blinking light on some kind of unit on the ceiling. A burglar alarm. We’d never had one of those before either. I guessed that was at Kalassi’s insistence too.

Molly lugged in her bag and sat on a bed. She only had one bag—filled with clothing that the Kalassis had bought for her. She picked up a fluffy cushion off the bed and hugged it to her. “I’m really here.” She sounded a little dazed.

A knock sounded at the door and mom answered it. She brought in a bunch of yellow flowers, setting them down on a side table. She briefly glanced at the accompanying note but said nothing.

Mom yawned. “I’m off for a sleep, girls. Please, Molly, make yourself at home.” She reached for her hand and squeezed it. “This
is
your home.” She gestured towards the kitchen. “There’s a fridge full of drinks and snacks and let me know if you need anything ok?”

Mom’s face was drawn and her olive skin pale. I didn’t know what had been involved in organizing the move and redoing the house, but I guessed it had all taken its toll.

I stepped over and read the note on the flowers. They were from Zach—the card reading,
Welcome home. Can’t wait to see you, Zach
.

"Who is Zach?" Molly stood behind me, twisting a length of her red hair around a finger.

"Aisha and I went on a brief vacation back in January—to an island in north Queensland. We met Zach and his older brother there. God, I wish you'd been there too. But back then, I didn't even know that was possible...."

"So... you have a boyfriend?"

"Well no… we’re just friends." I didn’t know if that was exactly true—in Zach’s eyes anyway. But things had moved so fast, I wasn’t sure where I stood. All I knew was, I really wanted to see him again.

Molly gave me a quick smile. "I think I need to go lie down too—long flight.”

I nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, it was long. I’d forgotten just how many hours it takes to get from Sydney to the States.”

Molly slipped from the living room into the bedroom. I wanted to sleep too, but I guessed she wanted some privacy. The flowers from Zach had probably been bad timing. Guilt threaded its way down my insides. I’d had a life both before and after the dollhouse. Molly had had none. I fetched a vase from the kitchen—grandma’s treasured glass vase that she’d had since she first was married—and arranged the flowers in the vase. I went to place the flowers on the kitchen table but had second thoughts and placed them in an out-of-the-way corner in the sun room.

I settled on the sofa. My head and body felt heavy and useless.

I woke later with an imprint of the serpent’s eye in my mind. I’d been dreaming of Zach and Prudence and the ocean.

Zach and I were sailing in a yacht close to shore. I could see through the glittering ocean to the shallow bottom. Sea grasses swayed in the undercurrents. The sea grasses grew and twisted, choking the water with their masses, forming into trees below the surface. A pale shape floated in the green depths—a girl—her dress drifting around her. Her eyes were open but unseeing. Prudence. She became tangled in the sea grasses. Zach and the yacht were gone, and I was plunged into the water. The water was cold, deathly cold. And darkness moved into the world above. Walls—walls of rock crowded in. I was in the cave of the serpent. The tree of sea grasses fell away beneath me, into incalculable depths, taking Prudence with it. She held out a hand to me. I tried to reach her, but my lungs were bursting. In the inky waters, a mass darker then the water swam towards me. A silver gaze fixed on me. The eyes of the serpent.

Molly scored high in English and geography and low in math skills. The teacher was particularly impressed with Molly’s knowledge of pre-1920s literature. Miss Bowen of course didn’t know who Molly was and would be horrified if she knew how her student had such knowledge. My scores were the same middling scores as usual—the only subject I did well in was biology.

Molly plunged into her schoolwork with dedication. She seemed determined to fill in the blank spots. She enjoyed our strolls on the beach the most, but shopping centers and stores seemed too much—they both exhausted and scared her. Molly and I ended up choosing most of our clothing from online stores.

The police had requested a blanket ban on reporting that Cassandra Claiborne had moved back to Miami. No one but my former friends and a few locals even knew I was here. And no one but a select few knew Molly Parkes was alive. Molly had been put back into the witness protection program, and the police had changed her identity. Her name was now Moledah Campbell, with her back story being that she had grown up in an isolated religious community. She was now officially a distant cousin of mine whom had wanted to break away from her cult. Her story fit with her accent, which didn’t sound Australian—after five years spent underground with Jessamine, Molly’s speech was a quaint mix that sounded somewhat English/American. The story also fit with her ignorance of recent world events and normal teenage experiences. Her fiery hair had been dyed a muted color, although the red highlights burst through in the sunshine. Her freckles had been lasered away. Her lovely green eyes were now a golden brown thanks to contact lenses. Her age had been changed to a date eight months younger.

She said she liked her new name, Moledah. It was from the bible and meant
giver of life
. And at least she could still be Molly for short.

Molly took to the internet like a moth to a flame. Her aunt and uncle hadn’t let her use the internet when she’d lived with them. She spent a lot of time looking up music videos and listening to music. Her music choices were eclectic—from classical to loud, angry death metal. She watched one particular video over and over—a news clip in which Frances was reunited with her family. She would touch the face of Frances on the screen and cry as Frances caught the first sight of her family rushing to see her in the hospital. I would sit and watch too, captured by the real-life news footage of the people Molly had drawn for Frances in the underground. Molly had wanted to keep their memory alive for Frances, ever-hopeful that the tiny girl would see them again.