The Dollhouse

Chapter 33

FATHER Edgar stitched together the family like patchwork upon his arrival to Haverbrook Hollow.

"I would do anything for family," he said solemnly, his steel-rimmed glasses glinting earnestly. He looked exactly the way I remembered him, draped in pure black despite his absence from the clergy. His demeanor made him a kindly figure, shrouded by the light of the Lord.

But soon enough, the brightness waned.

I saw him and Arabella strolling together through the roses, from the viewpoint of my bedroom window. A bible tucked under his arm, a rosary running through his fingers. I couldn't read their lips through the muffled glass, but I wondered if they were talking about us, what had happened the other week, how I had ended up hungover at a boy's house.

He was a strict figure of authority, in some manners. His lips pursued together solemnly when he read in the papers about the hooligans who had hurled bottles at the rehab center. He didn't approve of Violet's skin-showing clothing, biting his lip whenever she wore anything low-cut. He especially seemed intent on cleaning up his sister's act - I caught him pouring the contents of the wine bottles down the drain, and cleaning the house with the dedication of a housemaid.

"Violet, I bought you a gift," he rose from the armchair, smiling warmly.

We all exchanged glances. None of us had said it, but the few days he'd resided here had felt like a nightmare. Our freedom had been short-lived; Arabella's newfound nihilism meant nothing under the watchful eyes of Uncle Edgar.

My sister's baby blues went wide.

"Me?"

He held out the wrappings of a package. "Yes."

Her hands unearthed the contents of the parcel, while we all watched tensely (save Arabella, who was upstairs, nursing a migraine). A snigger rose in my throat.

There was a neat white blouse with a button-up collar, coupled with a modest pleat skirt that would reach the knees. A dress was underneath, the pale kind I usually favored. Violet gaped at the garments.

"Oh, how... lovely."

I would've saved my laughter had I known. These were the final weeks of peace and solitude in the Dollhouse now. We were getting at the end of our miserable days between these walls, but for the meantime I lived in blissful ignorance.

That day, an envelope had come for me.

Sealed with wax, my name had been written hurriedly across the front. When I had seen it in the postman's pile at breakfast that morning, my heart had leapt. Maybe it could be from Daddy. I corrected my thoughts - That man was dead to me.

As I crouched in front of the fire, the house was still. No movement in the shadows of the room. My sister had sulked off with her present of shame. Prying it from my pocket, I unfolded the envelope and tore at the seal.

There was no sound except the crackle of the fireplace. The red glowed, light spilling on to the page and enveloping my huddled form.

Dear Lydia - I visited the asylum but they discharged Sherri. I pretended to be her brother but they still wouldn't tell me much. Thought you should know. I won't give up on the mystery -

My fist screwed up the writing with sheer disgust.

Couldn't Danny leave me alone and stop playing detective? If he wanted to get into my good books, he could deflate his head and apologize for a start.

I hated him for getting my hopes up. The fire sparked, the wood cracking in two. Blackness burned through the splinters.

"What are you doing?"