Ensnared
Page 9
“Doll clothes,” I whisper.
Dad squints. “We need things that’ll fit when we’re normal-size, Allie.”
“They grow and shrink with you. It’s part of the magic.”
He glances down at his muddy, torn work uniform. “Oh. Right . . .”
“C’mon.” I catch his hand and weave toward the case, suppressing yelps as the rocky terrain jabs my feet. Dad stops long enough to take off his shoes and help me step into them.
They’re too big, of course, but the tender gesture reminds me of times when I used to stand on the toes of his shoes so we could dance together. I smile. He smiles back, and I’m his little girl again. Then his expression changes from awe to disappointment, as if he’s coming to terms all over again with what I am, what Mom is, and how long we’ve kept it hidden from him.
My stomach feels like it’s caving in. Why did we rob him of such a big part of ourselves? Such an integral part of him? “Dad, I’m so sorr—”
“No, Allie. I can’t hear that yet.” His left eyelid starts to twitch and he looks away, his socked feet cautiously feeling around the debris.
I follow and sniffle, telling myself it’s the dust making my eyes water.
When we arrive at the doll-clothing case, it’s as tall as a two-story building, and the zipper handle is the length of my leg.
“How are we supposed to open this thing?” I ask.
“Better question: How are you supposed to fit into her clothes?” Dad points to the dust-caked Barbie. “You’re barely the size of her head.”
The doll’s irises are painted as if she’s looking off to one side. Paired with her catty makeup, she appears to be sneering at me. Exasperated, I thrust my hands in my apron pockets. My knuckle nudges the conductor’s pen. Digging deeper, I hit the mushrooms and an idea forms in my mind. “Let’s sit her against the case.”
Dad shoots me a puzzled glance but doesn’t hesitate. He grabs her shoulders and I take her ankles. A yellowish spider the size of a cocker spaniel scuttles out, grumbling at us for ruining its web. It disappears into the pile of books. Once we have the Barbie seated upright, I settle beside her.
I hand Dad a mushroom and kick off his shoes so he can put them on again. Next, I take a mushroom for myself and nibble the speckled side. I grit my teeth against the discomfort of sinews extending, bones enlarging, and skin and cartilage expanding. The surroundings shrink as I continue to eat until I’m head to head with the doll.
Dad follows my lead, nibbling his mushroom until we’re both big enough to unzip the case and wear the 1950s-style Barbie and Ken outfits that slide out.
I shove aside silver bell-bottom pants and a black-and-white striped swimsuit, uncovering a leotard and matching attached tutu the same watery green as Jeb’s eyes at times when he’s upset. The exact shade they were when he caught me and Morpheus kissing in my room before prom.
Regret gnaws at my stomach. All these weeks, Jeb’s been thinking I betrayed him. In the last moment we shared at prom, he grabbed the pendant at my neck—a metal clump that had once been my Wonderland key, his heart locket, and his engagement ring—and kissed me. He promised we were far from over. Even after I’d destroyed his trust, he was still planning to fight for me.
A ticklish sensation brings my attention to my ankle where a spiderweb dangles at the edges of my wing tattoo. I got it months ago to camouflage my netherling birthmark. Here in the shadows, I realize how much the tattoo really does look like a moth, just as Morpheus has always said. I can almost see his lips curl up in smug delight at the acknowledgement.
That strange unraveling pain gnaws in my chest again. It hits most often when I’m teetering between my two worlds.
What did Red do to me?
Red . . .
Her repudiated memories thunder through my skull once more. I groan softly.
“Did you say something, Allie?” Dad looks up from the Ken clothes he’s sorting through.
After rubbing my temples, I lift out a sleeveless shirtdress with snaps down the front and a cherry and green-stem print that matches the leotard. “Just that I think I found something.” I hold it up for Dad’s inspection.
“Looks good. I’ll be over here.” Dad grabs his bundle and goes to the other side of the case.
I peel off my asylum clothes, careful not to let the remaining mushrooms spill from the apron pocket. I’ll have to find another way to carry them.
Before I undress, I search for some lacy lingerie. I’ve been wearing generic cotton underthings since I’ve been at the asylum. Something pretty would be nice. Unable to find anything, I settle for what I have on and slip into the green leotard. The ballet outfit’s best feature is the open back. It will make it easy to free my wings. The satiny fabric smells of crayons and gumdrops, making me long for my childhood before Mom was committed.
Next, I shrug into the shirtdress and secure the metal snaps along the cherry-print bodice, leaving the skirt open to display the three tiers of green netting that puff out above my knees.
A fuchsia ribbon serves as a belt. Pink stockings complete the outfit. They fit perfectly from my thighs to my calves, but the toes are pointed. I fold the excess under before slipping into a pair of squishy, knee-high red boots.
Red boots. Red’s memories bash against my cranium until I feel so much sadness for her I drop onto the pile of leftover clothes. I fist my hands against my head until it passes. When I open my eyes, I’m half-buried in Barbie shoes and accessories, as if I thrashed around half-consciously.
“Everything okay over there?” Dad asks from his side of the case.
I grunt softly, clearing everything off me. “Having trouble with my stockings.” Maybe stealing Red’s memories was a big mistake after all. I’m going to end up wearing a straitjacket again—this time for real.
As I stand, my foot kicks a Barbie-size diary with a key that must be one quarter the size of a straight pin to a normal human.
The conductor said it would take enchanted paper to contain repudiated memories. A year ago in Wonderland’s cemetery, Sister One told me that toys from the human realm were used to trap souls in her twin’s lair.
Sister One said that when the most cherished toys are abandoned, they want those things that once filled and warmed them. They become lonely and crave what they had. And if someone gives them those things, they’ll hold on to it with every portion of their strength and will.
Dad squints. “We need things that’ll fit when we’re normal-size, Allie.”
“They grow and shrink with you. It’s part of the magic.”
He glances down at his muddy, torn work uniform. “Oh. Right . . .”
“C’mon.” I catch his hand and weave toward the case, suppressing yelps as the rocky terrain jabs my feet. Dad stops long enough to take off his shoes and help me step into them.
They’re too big, of course, but the tender gesture reminds me of times when I used to stand on the toes of his shoes so we could dance together. I smile. He smiles back, and I’m his little girl again. Then his expression changes from awe to disappointment, as if he’s coming to terms all over again with what I am, what Mom is, and how long we’ve kept it hidden from him.
My stomach feels like it’s caving in. Why did we rob him of such a big part of ourselves? Such an integral part of him? “Dad, I’m so sorr—”
“No, Allie. I can’t hear that yet.” His left eyelid starts to twitch and he looks away, his socked feet cautiously feeling around the debris.
I follow and sniffle, telling myself it’s the dust making my eyes water.
When we arrive at the doll-clothing case, it’s as tall as a two-story building, and the zipper handle is the length of my leg.
“How are we supposed to open this thing?” I ask.
“Better question: How are you supposed to fit into her clothes?” Dad points to the dust-caked Barbie. “You’re barely the size of her head.”
The doll’s irises are painted as if she’s looking off to one side. Paired with her catty makeup, she appears to be sneering at me. Exasperated, I thrust my hands in my apron pockets. My knuckle nudges the conductor’s pen. Digging deeper, I hit the mushrooms and an idea forms in my mind. “Let’s sit her against the case.”
Dad shoots me a puzzled glance but doesn’t hesitate. He grabs her shoulders and I take her ankles. A yellowish spider the size of a cocker spaniel scuttles out, grumbling at us for ruining its web. It disappears into the pile of books. Once we have the Barbie seated upright, I settle beside her.
I hand Dad a mushroom and kick off his shoes so he can put them on again. Next, I take a mushroom for myself and nibble the speckled side. I grit my teeth against the discomfort of sinews extending, bones enlarging, and skin and cartilage expanding. The surroundings shrink as I continue to eat until I’m head to head with the doll.
Dad follows my lead, nibbling his mushroom until we’re both big enough to unzip the case and wear the 1950s-style Barbie and Ken outfits that slide out.
I shove aside silver bell-bottom pants and a black-and-white striped swimsuit, uncovering a leotard and matching attached tutu the same watery green as Jeb’s eyes at times when he’s upset. The exact shade they were when he caught me and Morpheus kissing in my room before prom.
Regret gnaws at my stomach. All these weeks, Jeb’s been thinking I betrayed him. In the last moment we shared at prom, he grabbed the pendant at my neck—a metal clump that had once been my Wonderland key, his heart locket, and his engagement ring—and kissed me. He promised we were far from over. Even after I’d destroyed his trust, he was still planning to fight for me.
A ticklish sensation brings my attention to my ankle where a spiderweb dangles at the edges of my wing tattoo. I got it months ago to camouflage my netherling birthmark. Here in the shadows, I realize how much the tattoo really does look like a moth, just as Morpheus has always said. I can almost see his lips curl up in smug delight at the acknowledgement.
That strange unraveling pain gnaws in my chest again. It hits most often when I’m teetering between my two worlds.
What did Red do to me?
Red . . .
Her repudiated memories thunder through my skull once more. I groan softly.
“Did you say something, Allie?” Dad looks up from the Ken clothes he’s sorting through.
After rubbing my temples, I lift out a sleeveless shirtdress with snaps down the front and a cherry and green-stem print that matches the leotard. “Just that I think I found something.” I hold it up for Dad’s inspection.
“Looks good. I’ll be over here.” Dad grabs his bundle and goes to the other side of the case.
I peel off my asylum clothes, careful not to let the remaining mushrooms spill from the apron pocket. I’ll have to find another way to carry them.
Before I undress, I search for some lacy lingerie. I’ve been wearing generic cotton underthings since I’ve been at the asylum. Something pretty would be nice. Unable to find anything, I settle for what I have on and slip into the green leotard. The ballet outfit’s best feature is the open back. It will make it easy to free my wings. The satiny fabric smells of crayons and gumdrops, making me long for my childhood before Mom was committed.
Next, I shrug into the shirtdress and secure the metal snaps along the cherry-print bodice, leaving the skirt open to display the three tiers of green netting that puff out above my knees.
A fuchsia ribbon serves as a belt. Pink stockings complete the outfit. They fit perfectly from my thighs to my calves, but the toes are pointed. I fold the excess under before slipping into a pair of squishy, knee-high red boots.
Red boots. Red’s memories bash against my cranium until I feel so much sadness for her I drop onto the pile of leftover clothes. I fist my hands against my head until it passes. When I open my eyes, I’m half-buried in Barbie shoes and accessories, as if I thrashed around half-consciously.
“Everything okay over there?” Dad asks from his side of the case.
I grunt softly, clearing everything off me. “Having trouble with my stockings.” Maybe stealing Red’s memories was a big mistake after all. I’m going to end up wearing a straitjacket again—this time for real.
As I stand, my foot kicks a Barbie-size diary with a key that must be one quarter the size of a straight pin to a normal human.
The conductor said it would take enchanted paper to contain repudiated memories. A year ago in Wonderland’s cemetery, Sister One told me that toys from the human realm were used to trap souls in her twin’s lair.
Sister One said that when the most cherished toys are abandoned, they want those things that once filled and warmed them. They become lonely and crave what they had. And if someone gives them those things, they’ll hold on to it with every portion of their strength and will.
