The Doll Garden

Nineteen

We were packed into the car again like a can of sardines, our seat belts buckled, and a wave of stillness taking its course. The car's air was hot and sticky. Much like how it felt to listen to Dolly while adrenaline rushed through our systems as we yearned for answers.

"Do we believe her?" Manuel's question only ignited the flames. I pulled the edges of my sweater over my fingers, plopping my head back against the seat. No one spoke up. At least, not immediately. I could see Mirabelle's teeth peeling the skin on her lips back in my mirror.

"Her story seemed pretty in line with Henry's," she said.

"They could be working in cahoots," Isaiah suggested with a shrug.

"I don't think so," I said.

"All of this weirds me out." Manuel's lips were pursed together. I turned my head to get a better look at him. He pressed the pad of his thumb to his lips, his teeth nibbling on the skin around his nail, including his cuticles.

"So many people went missing from under our roof and none of them were ever found. You would think they'd have torn our mansion apart a long time ago," he stressed. "Is there really no one looking for them just like she said? No one knows they're missing?"

"Thousands of people go missing every day and a good chunk of them are never found." Mirabelle's cheek was flat against the window. Her tired eyes had fallen into a daze, glowering over the streets and cars and buildings outside. She could've been thinking about anything, ranging from how we were going to face him to the betrayal he had bestowed upon us.

"But for twenty years?" Manuel glanced over at her for a split second, an irritated twitch in his eyebrows, before accepting defeat, and then bellowing out a sigh. "I just don't get it."

I puffed my cheeks and blew out a breath, preparing to step into the conversation. Upon gathering the words, my phone decided otherwise. The screen lit up for a brief second, a notification for a text message glowing across my screen.

Don't come home.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

Just then, another message came through.

I love you guys. And I'm sorry.

I blinked at the two ominous texts from my father. My thumb hovered over the screen, still as a statue, itching to type out a reply. I couldn't think up anything fast enough, though. The words might've been written out just as scrambled as my incoherent thoughts.

"What the hell?" I whispered through my shaky breathing.

"Jenna, what's wrong?" I heard Isaiah in my left ear. But it would seem I didn't respond fast enough because he cupped my chin and turned my face to his until I was losing myself in the ring of his dark eyes. Everyone was watching me with an owl's perception—stripping me down for answers and calculating my movements.

"Daddy just texted me," I breathed out.

"What did he say?" Mirabelle wheezed. The noise was a result of her removing herself from the window and perking up straight, much faster than she could catch her breath. She hid the breathlessness in her voice by clearing her throat.

"He demanded for us not to come home." My voice faltered.

"You're joking." Manuel laughed bitterly.

I flipped my phone around and pushed it closer to their faces. Both of their eyes squinted into thin slits at the screen. Their pupils were glued to his text message. Dilating. Bodies unmoving. "I'm not," I said. "He also said he's sorry and he loves us."