Doll House

X. Old Hero

 "Does he have a name?"

She couldn't see up to where the teddy bear sat, but she knew he was watching, measuring her, listening to them in the darkness.

"Yes. All toys have names, even the nameless superhero. But the bear's never told me his and I don't believe in giving toys other names. He came with his own name and he must leave with it."

The doll was quiet. So was the man. After several minutes of staring at each other, Tara asked, "What's an orphanage?"

He hadn't expected the question, mainly because she knew what he was talking about. And it hadn't occurred to him she might not know where she'd spent most of her life. Still, she deserved to know, and the irony was not lost on him. It hadn't been lost for one single day since he'd started saving toys.

"It's a place for children who aren't wanted. So, their parents give them away for other people to look after them. Didn't you know? Don't you remember the family you came from, before?"

She's stumped by this, searches for an answer, but there doesn't seem to be one. Not one she likes anyway. "I didn't have a family."

It's the Overall Man's turn to pause and think about it. "We all have a family," he says, in the end. He's very demure as he says this, making it sound rather like a curse than some sort of blessing.

"Maybe, but I can't remember mine."

"I suppose it doesn't matter, anyway. You were there when I first came, so I suppose you must be pretty old, too."

"I suppose so. Why did you say you couldn't leave, even if you wanted? Was it the woods? Did they drag you back?"

He hesitates. "In a way, yes. I felt them the moment my car entered the forest, the spirits that lurk behind the trees. And they sensed me. They allowed me to come inside and to come out again, which, even though I didn't know it at the time, meant something. They don't let just anyone through and more people have been lost inside those woods than I care to count. The spirits wanted me, for whatever reason, and when the spirits call, you listen.

"But no, that wasn't it. It was the toys. The bear, the superhero and the doll. I laid them out on the floor, to think what to do with them. I was punishing myself – they were the kind of toys Saul had played with. The kind he would still be playing with had I not failed him. In truth, it all started with the superhero. For some reason, I liked the superhero. Something drew me to him and I kept twirling him in my hand. It wasn't the missing arm that bothered me, but a patch of missing color. In his bright red cape, a bit had been scraped off and you could see the pale blue underneath. And there was something awful about that patch, something that would not leave me be.

"I must've set that toy down at least a dozen times that night, only to pick it up again, until I could no longer bear it. I looked around the house – it was a rented house, back then, not mine own – and found an old tin of red paint in the garage. It was old, industrial paint. The sort someone had probably used to paint over their truck. I knew I probably shouldn't use it, but at that point, I didn't really care. I just wanted the damn patch to be fixed.

"And so I did. I dabbed a little of it on the superhero's cape, but it didn't match the rest of it and next thing I knew, I was painting the whole thing. I was careful. That's the one thing that this job teaches you, patience. Precision. One brash move and he'd be coated in red. Ruined and I couldn't have that. That week, I went down into town and bought a sewing box, tape, paintbrushes, colors, screws. You know, basic things like that. The week after, I went in and bought a big box of fabrics. I must've made about ten dressed for that doll until I got the right one."