My Beautiful Doll

Chapter Twenty Three

Don groaned as he started to rouse, his head pounding heavily within his skull. What the hell happened? He felt like he just out drank an entire bar full of people, something that he promised himself he'll never do again. Cracking an eye open, he almost did a double take at what he saw.

Where the hell am I?

This definitely wasn't his room at the Craftsman or his apartment. The room felt cold despite the blanket that covered him, the warm yellows and browns seemingly serve as a multicoloured warning sign. Shaking his head, he gingerly got up, leaning onto the bedside table for support. Looking around, he realized that he was in an unfamiliar bedroom, unremarkable despite the chill that somehow started to seep in. There was a large cupboard, a table with a few things on top, a white carpet, and the king-sized bed. The only strange thing was the window, which was completely covered with iron bars. "What the fuck?" he muttered, reaching out to touch them. As he did, he realized that he had a silver ring on his finger, one that Don didn't remember ever having

Then everything hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Shit!" he hissed, stepping back from the window. The unremarkable room now seemed smaller, colder, more sinister despite its basic structure. He quickly took the damned thing off and threw it to the other side of the room, far away from him. But even with it off, he could still feel its phantom weight on his finger, Baker's last words to him burned into his mind. Realizing where he was, he ran to the door and shoved it, half expecting it to be locked.

Surprisingly, it was open. Peeking out, he made sure that he was alone in the house before stepping out, his heart thumping within his chest. Thankfully, Baker wasn't around, at least not yet. Knowing that he had a limited amount of time, Don started to look around for a way out. Unfortunately, all the doors and drawers were firmly locked shut. Don didn't have anything on hand to try and pick them, so he knew that would be a lost cause. Looking through the rooms, he could see that all the windows were barred, reminding him of his situation. The bastard might see Don as his lover, but in reality, he was nothing more than a prisoner.

He examined the house, feeling even more unsettled by the second. While the interior seems like your standard suburban home if you disregard the prison bars on the windows, it still feels...off. It could be the lack of decorations save for the odd number of porcelain statues that lined the selves, each looking as cold and hollow as the next. Remembering Baker's fascination with perfection, Don guessed this was just another part of his delusion.

Then he reached a white door at the end of the hallway. Don reached out to grab the doorknob, but something in him made him pause. His instincts were going wild like the sirens on his car. Something about this room feels wrong, he could feel it. A large part of him didn't want to open it, but he had no choice. He had to make sure that he tried everything, so to leave a room unchecked just because of a hunch, no matter how strong, would be a dumb move on his part. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he shoved the door open.

As soon as he did, he backed up to the nearest wall as fast as he could, covering his nose. Inside was something he never expected.

The room itself was a modest studio, one that artists would usually have for their art. There were canvases, both filled and empty, paint brushes, and a large working table. All in all, it would've been a standard studio if it weren't for the fact that there's a fridge with a glass door that had clear pouches of blood. Not to mention the dead body on the table, his body cut cleanly from joint to joint like some messed up puppet art project. The stench of decay mixed with the strong resin assaulted his senses, making him cough. Coming closer to it, he could see that the skin was painted on with resin, mimicking the shiny look that porcelain dolls have. The limbs have been cut off with the ends of the bones having a hook drilled on one end and the other, a hole. Clearly to mimic those mannequins that could freely bend and move.