The Doll Garden

One

There were many times where I had considered death an option. I'd close my eyes, accept my fate, and fall into a deep peace that I'd never been able to obtain while living. Compared to the thought of returning to this cursed place ever again—a place that made my heart race and my palms clammy with sweat—it was a feeling I craved. But unfortunately, a feeling, it'd remain.

The spring breeze was light against my skin but the sun's warmth heated the jean material of my jacket. Behind me, I heard Aaron closing the massive black iron gate to our estate as our caretakers have always done.

"Dammit... I'm trapped," I let out a huff under my breath, and mumbled, glancing back towards the gate, "maybe I should've just said I was busy..." That, and I wasn't sure why I'd been so set on driving a full three-hour distance all the way from New York City to the middle of Rhode Island. Damn, I should've declined.

I was going to. But I couldn't. There were parts of me that still cared, that just wouldn't disperse as much as I'd hoped. This was my sickly father I was thinking about bailing on, after all. Such thoughts made me seem like a selfish, terrible daughter.

I clenched the strap of my duffle bag on my shoulders and took a cautious step forward. My feet were lagging, urging me to turn around and run back to my car. It was just parked a few feet away, along the circle of the driveway. But it was too late now.

The mansion was getting closer. It hadn't changed one bit—bringing back the little bit of memories I had stored left in my mind. At my last check-up, a few months ago, the doctors told me the rest were still suppressed. Nearly gone. I wouldn't know if I'd ever get them back.

"Jenna, do you have any more bags you'd like for me to retrieve from your car?" Aaron caught up to me. The tips of his tight black curls bounced against the sweaty brown skin on his forehead.

He was new. Fairly young. But he was a good worker. I'd heard my father hired him last summer. He was only supposed to be working here temporarily, but he'd been working here permanently since then.

"Actually, Aaron. I do have a suitcase I forgot to take out of the trunk, if you wouldn't mind bringing it with you," I answered, flashing him a small smile.

"Understood, Jenna." He bowed slightly, then ran off.

Our home setup was odd. I wouldn't say we were secluded because we weren't. We were just a little further down the road than the rest of the houses in the neighborhood. Closed off to ourselves. But everyone could still see our billion-dollar home. It was too large to miss.

Built with dark reddish brown brick, there were a little over nine long windows decorating the front. One of them which Mirabelle, Manuel, and I would use to peek through the curtains for strangers when we used to play together.

I remembered the day we had gotten caught by our father. He was talking to someone outside. Standing in front of the centerpiece that was positioned in the middle of the large circular grass-covered space in the middle of the driveway, just in front of the wide cobble stone steps leading to the entrance door.

Everything else was a blur. I didn't know whether we got in trouble or not. Whether we all laughed it off or not. Sometimes I felt like an empty canvas. The entire slate of my life had been wiped clean.

The doorbell chimed as I pressed my finger into it. Birds chirped behind me. The smell of food grazed my nose from the inside. Feet thumped from the other side of the door. And a smiling face greeted me when it opened.

"Little miss Jenna, is that you?" Candace Torres, one of the few women in the mansion who treated us like her own, stood the same as she had when I left this hell hole. She was the closest to a mother figure any of us could imagine, as most of the maids were.