Posted by Ric delCampo on December 04, 2002 at 18:31:17:
A Living Doll
by
Ric delCampos
rcrofter@AOL.COM
A tumultuous storm raged outside Lairdon Jones’ bedroom door, with thunderous crashes and the shatter of breaking glass. The pelting rain outside his window was almost as loud. Out in the kitchen, then on to the dinning room, and on into the living room, his mother and stepfather were fighting again. Only the rain outside, dampening the sounds of the struggle and the vulgar cursing, prevented the neighbors from calling the cops again. It was like this every Friday night. Lairdon’s stepfather, a long haul truck driver, would come home drunk. He would find his common-law wife, equally drunk, lounging in her easy chair, watching Oprah reruns or the Shopping Network. Then the fist-fight would ensue, with curses and hair-pulling, punches and biting, until the two blubbery combatants would pass out from over-exertion.
Lairdon’s door was double-locked and chained. He hadn’t been outside his room in two days. His room reeked. He sat in the dark, glued to the flickering, hypnotically glowing monitor of one of his many computers, hacking his way into Palos Verdes First National Bank’s checking accounts. It had taken him several hours to break the passwords and codes; but he was in, adjusting his account, stealing a penny here, a dime there, a couple of dollars yonder. In five years he had not yet been caught. Though a genius at computers, he was socially unskilled, unable to find gainful employment. Stealing via computer was the only way he knew to pay for his computer addiction. If his stepfather had to pay the bills, he would have beaten Lairdon to death a long time ago. Just as he had done to Sally.
For five hours or more Lairdon strained to ignore the sounds of battle outside his bedroom. He never feared for his mother’s safety. A huge, hard-bitten woman, she could take it as well as give it.
At last there was silence except for the heavy rainfall upon the roof. Lairdon waited another hour, just to be sure, then ventured out into the devastated battle field. Broken glass crunched under foot as he made his way to the living room. His mother was collapsed like a sack of blighted potatoes into her chair, snoring and snorting through a blood-encrusted nose. His step-father lay on the floor, one foot on the couch, his hairy white belly protruding from his dingy T-shirt, drool dribbling from his puffy lips. Both were passed out for the night.
Lairdon slipped into his parents’ bedroom and slipped his stepfather’s .357 Magnum from its hiding place. He opened the cylinder to check if it was loaded. Returning to the living room he pressed the muzzle of the gun to his stepfather’s temple. “Bam!” he whispered. “You’re a dead SOB.” He could envision the brains and blood spraying out, soaking into the rug, the blue-gray smell of burnt gunpowder, the satisfaction of avenging his sister!
Instead he returned to his room and hid the gun in the hulk of a stripped computer. At least now he could sleep without the fear that the fat, drunken slob would sneak in here some night and blow his brains out. The clock read 12:00, but Lairdon was too tired to sleep. His bones ached and his eyes burned. He felt empty and alone and meaningless. Nobody cared if he even existed. Sally had cared. Once his mission in life had been to be the one joy in Sally’s life. But now Sally rotted in her grave.
He looked up at the Barbara Doll sitting on a shelf above his computers. His stepfather had called him a “queer” for having a doll in his room, but it was all he had left of Sally. The eleven and one half inch fashion doll was, in a plastic sort of way, very beautiful. With long legs, an impossible waist-line, and blonde hair down to its ankles.
“I wish you were real,” Lairdon whispered. He longed for human companionship. This doll was the best he could do. Nineteen years old and he was still a virgin. “You wouldn’t make fun of me. Would you? I wish to hell you were real, so I could make love to you. You’d let me make love to you, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I would.”
Lairdon nearly leapt out of his skin and peed in his pants. The sultry voice had emanated from the Barbara Doll.
“Larry, I would love to have you make love to me.” Its lips did not move, but the voice sounded human. Its big, blue eyes stared unblinkingly at Lairdon. The Barbara Doll stood up and stretched its body seductively. It lifted a corner of its mini-skirt to show a bit more of plastic thigh. “But you see, there’s one problem,” it continued, “I’m not human.”
“You. . . Ah.” Lairdon stammered, unsure of what he was seeing. “You’re not real!”
“Of course not,” the Barbara Doll said. “That’s the problem! But there is a solution. I need a human soul. If you could bring me one, I could be human; and I would make love to you.”
Lairdon touched it gently with his finger.
“What a man you are!” it gushed. “I want you.”
“Yeah, and you’d be a real babe, if you were real.” It felt very strange to be talking to a piece of plastic. Lairdon looked at the clock. 12:17AM. He was awake, he was sure of it. He strode to his little refrigerator, pulled out a pitcher of cold water, and poured it on his face-- just to be sure. The cold water stung his face.
“Please, bring me a soul!”
“How?” Lairdon asked. He still couldn’t believe it. Or did he?
“It’ll be easy, my lover.”
***
Lairdon hid among the damp bushes of ‘Lovers’ Lane’ a few yards from where he had hidden his bicycle. The .357 shook in his trembling hands. It wasn’t just from the damp, cold breeze sending chills up his spine. A bit of moon light peeked out between the damp rain clouds, illuminating the rocking van. After a couple of minutes the van stopped rocking and the rear doors opened. Kelli Mallory stepped out, barefoot, onto the damp ground. Kelli was twenty-three, a senior at the community college Lairdon sometimes attended. He had worshipped her from afar since their days at the same high school. She had long, red hair and green eyes. She was wearing a white, man-sized T-shirt, and nothing else. Her long lanky legs reminded Lairdon of the Barbara Doll.
“I gotta pee,” Kelli said to her boyfriend inside the van. He grunted and lit a cigarette. Two minutes later he was snoring.
Kelli walked a few yards to find a private spot and Lairdon shadowed her. She squatted down by the creek and Lairdon waited until she was done-- just to be fair. Then he walked out of the bushes and pointed the gun at her heart. His hands were shaking.
Kelli scowled at him. “What the hell yer gonna do with that, Lardbutt! Gonna shoot me?”
“Yes,” he meekly replied. And pulled the trigger. Blood sprayed onto the bushes behind her as she stumbled back and fell. Lairdon stood over her sprawled body and watched her shattered heart pump the very last of her steaming-hot blood onto her T-shirt. Her lifeless green eyes were wide with astonishment and horror, her mouth gaped open, blood trickling from her lips. Lairdon felt sick at having destroyed such a beautiful creature; he choked back bile and vomit. He trembled at what he had done, even though the Barbara Doll had insisted it was necessary. “Kelli Mallory is an evil girl,” the Barbara Doll had told him, “It is time for you to send her to hell to reap her reward for her evil deeds.”
Then a very strange thing began to happen. Kelli began to shrink. Within seconds she was only eleven and a half inches tall and was made of plastic. She looked like a pretty little fashion doll, wearing a red-stained blouse. Lairdon frantically scooped a small muddy trench in the muck and plopped her/it inside. On a whim, before covering it up, he twisted off the little plastic head and stuck it inside his back pocket as a souvenir.
***
“Aren’t you going to turn in your assignment, Mr. Jones?” Lairdon looked up wearily at his algebra teacher. Again he remembered one of the things he hated about college: the teachers!
“I turned it in three months ago, “ he said. “You gave me an A, remember?” With a disgusted look on his face as a reply, the teacher turned his back on Lairdon and went back to the rest of the class. In the first semester of school, Lairdon had pulled four all-nighters in a row and had finished every page in the algebra workbook. Not knowing which ones he would be assigned, he had turned them all in. As far as possible, Lairdon had done the same with the rest of his classes. Now he rarely attended classes. He hated college. He hated the teachers, he hated the deans, he hated the students. His fellow students called him ‘Lardbutt,’ a holdover from high school. At least those who noticed him did. Few teachers had ever taken note of him and routinely missed his absences. When they didn’t, Lairdon would hack into the school computer and change his attendance records.
The only reason Lairdon had come to school today was to hear the gossip about Kelli’s disappearance. There had been only a small article, on the third page of the local section, in the Sunday newspaper. Her father, “a local, small-time hood,” had reported her as missing. The common gossip was that she had run off with her boyfriend, who was also missing.
On Tuesday the paper reported that Kelli’s boyfriend had been arrested in Nevada, but she was still missing. An extensive search had turned up nothing.
On Friday Lairdon skipped classes. He could hardly wait until midnight when the Barbara Doll had promised to come alive again. He even took a bath in the afternoon and brushed his teeth. At midnight he set it on his bed and waited impatiently.
At the stroke of midnight the plastic doll began to grow in size. When it was about twenty-three inches tall it stopped growing. It stretched its arms and yawned, as if awakening.
“Good morning, Larry,” it said cheerfully.
“You’re only two feet tall,” Lairdon said brusquely.
“That is a problem, isn’t it?” it cheerfully agreed. “I think I need another human soul. That should do it. Don’t you think?” The plastic pink lips were locked in a frozen smile. “You’ll get me another soul, won’t you? Then we can be happy together.”
“I have to kill somebody again?” Lairdon whined.
“She’s an evil girl, Larry.” Its ethereal voice was seductive. “The world will be a better place without her. And then you and I can be happy.”
“But I don’t wanna kill another girl,” Lairdon protested. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“It has too be done, dearest Larry.”
“I feel so bad about Kelli, I don’t wanna feel that way again,” Lairdon said.
“I promise you, Larry, you won’t have a single regret this time. You’ll see! I have the perfect plan, Larry. Don’t you want to hear it?” Its voice was soothing.
With reluctance in his voice, he said, “Let’s hear it.”
***
Mr. Gambino was the richest plumber in town, especially for somebody who hadn’t plumbed a day in his life. He had the largest house in town and it was surrounded by an eight foot brick wall. But just as the Barbara Doll had said, there was a mound of dirt in the back where Lairdon easily climbed over the wall. There was no moon out tonight; but gloomy lights flickered from the house. Lairdon nearly landed on a huge black dog. It didn’t stir when he thudded to the ground. It slept as if dead.
So did the bodyguard at the back door. Lairdon nudged him with his toes; but it was as if the man was in a trance. So far the plan was going exactly as the Barbara Doll had predicted. The garage door was unlocked and Lairdon let himself in. The door to the mud room creaked.
“Who’s there,” a girl’s voice called out. “Donny, is that you?”
“No, it’s me,” Lairdon replied. He walked into the next room and turned on a light.
Gina Gambino was one of the most beautiful girls at school. Tall, slender, with a fashion model’s sculptured face. Smooth, tanned skin, without a flaw. She was wearing a white blouse and a short plaid skirt. Her calf-like, brown eyes reminded Lairdon of the Barbara Doll’s large blue eyes. Gina’s eyes were wide with surprise. “But Donny called and said he was coming!”
“T-that was really me,” Lairdon said, struggling to remain calm, fearing that at any second the bodyguards would burst in and machine-gun him. “You ever hear of a voice synthesizer?”
“What do you want?” Gina was surprisingly calm and cooperative for a girl who was about to die.
“I’m s-supposed to kill you,” he told her with a stutter.
“How are you going to do that?” Gina asked with mock innocence. She unbuttoned one button on her tight-fitting blouse to show off a bit of cleavage.
“I’m supposed to stab you to death.” In spite of what the Barbara Doll had told him, Lairdon was stunned that Gina was actually flirting with him.
“Do you have a knife?” she asked with a husky voice. She undid another button and leaned over to give him a view of her firm, round breasts.
“No, I’m supposed to ask you for one.”
“Okay, come with me then.” Gina led him into the dark, cavernous kitchen, flicked on a single light over the sink, and showed him where the cook kept the butcher knives. “Will one of these do?” She was breathing heavily, her breasts rising and falling with each deep breath.
“Yes, thank you,” Lairdon said out of habit, and took out the largest knife.
“That’s a very sharp knife you have.” Gina said with raw lust in her voice. She slinked toward him. “What do I do now?”
“Stand still,” Lairdon instructed. He placed his left hand on her back to steady her. It was the first time he had ever touched a real girl and her warm body sent shivers up his spine. He didn’t really want to kill her. But the Barbara Doll had insisted it was necessary. And Gina was being so cooperative, patiently waiting for the fatal thrust of the knife.
“I’m ready, if you’re ready,” Gina insisted, a strange eagerness in her voice.
With his right hand, Lairdon rammed the glinting blade deep into her stomach. Her hot blood gushed out onto his trembling hand. Gina groaned a bit and her knees buckled. Lairdon supported her and withdrew the bloody blade. Gina moaned aloud and sank to the floor. She reached up longingly toward him, then gave up, her hand sinking to her punctured body, and closed her eyes.
Gina died with a lusty smile on her face. Lairdon’s stomach was a bit calmer this time. Murdering Gina would have haunted him more if she hadn’t been such a willing victim.
A moment later her body began to shrink. A moment later there was an eleven and half inch fashion doll on the floor with a small red dot on its blouse. Lairdon twisted off its head and threw the rest of it into the trash compactor. He scrubbed his blood-stained hands the best he could, dropped the knife in the dishwasher, and left through the front door.
The bodyguard at the front door was also asleep in his chair. Feeling quite pleased with himself, Lairdon tied the man’s shoelaces together. Then he saw the gun: A huge .45 semi-automatic, with a silencer. Lairdon took it for another souvenir, along with the man’s wallet.
***
Sunday’s headline proclaimed a 1,000,000 dollar reward from Mr. Gambino for the safe return of his daughter. The police were having no luck in locating her, or any other clues to her disappearance. Lairdon checked underneath his mattress, the two doll heads were still there. The Barbara Doll smiled its plastic smile down on him from its self. He could hardly wait until Friday.
On Wednesday Lairdon recognized the face of the front-door-bodyguard in the obituary notices. It seemed he and another man had died terribly in a flaming auto accident.
Friday. Midnight. Lairdon had showered and shaved and sprinkled himself with his stepfather’s aftershave. He wanted everything to be perfect.
It wasn’t.
The Barbara Doll stopped growing at forty-four inches tall. It strolled around the room, stretching its plastic legs while it apologized and explained. “I’m sorry, Larry. I thought one more would do it. I was wrong. You’ll have to do it again. I need you to make me alive, Larry. You’ll do it for me, won’t you, Larry? You want us to be happy, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I wanna be happy,” Lairdon said. All he ever wanted from life was to be happy. Murdering girls sure seemed like a strange way to find happiness.
“Are you feeling guilty again? Don’t feel guilty for doing the right thing. These girls want you to kill them. They instinctively know that they must be punished for their evil ways and what you are doing is justice. They want you to execute them.”
“Who do I have to kill this time?” Lairdon asked with fatal resignation.
“Ling Ling Wong,” it eagerly said. “Her father is a gangster and, well, you know what she is. She is an evil girl. You must call her tomorrow morning at 8:00 and ask her for ‘a date’. Not ‘out on a date’, you must say ‘a date’. Do you understand? Ask for six o’clock. Her parents go out at five and don’t return until midnight. That will give you plenty of time to do what must be done.”
***
Ling Ling answered the door herself. Twenty-two years old, she was a very petite, very slender girl who probably wore a size 2 dress. Only tonight she was wearing a very revealing teddy. Lairdon groaned a little inside. She was just too beautiful to kill. Her skimpy night-gown revealed much of her delicate, olive-colored skin. She had the most exotic, beautiful eyes Lairdon had ever seen. Playful, vivacious eyes. Her ankle-length, silken black hair reminded him of the Barbara Doll’s long hair.
“Come in, please.” Ling Ling beckoned, with a polite bow. “Come in, rest yourself.”
Lairdon stepped in, glancing around nervously. “Are we alone?” He handed her the dead bodyguard’s credit card.
“I am yours alone tonight,” Ling Ling said. She took the card, ran it through her machine, and returned it to him. She took him by the arm, seductively brushing her warm body across his skin. “Would you like a joint? I have some very fine MaryJane tonight.”
“No, thank you,” Lairdon said. He wondered if she noticed how jittery he was.
“Then some wine, perhaps,” she offered. She had begun to unbutton his shirt and rubbed his smooth chest with her delicate hand.
“No, t-thank you,” he croaked, as if something were caught in his throat. He was having difficulty speaking, no girl had ever treated him so tenderly.
“A beautiful woman is all I have left to offer you,” Ling Ling smiled cocquetishly. “Will you take her?” She was face-to-face with him, pressing her firm little breasts into his chest.
“No, t-thank you,” Lairdon said, nervous at the closeness of her sensual body.
“Didn’t you call and ask for a date?” Ling Ling asked. “What is it you want?”
“T-to kill you.” Lairdon felt he was becoming accustom to saying that. Still, it was hard to get the terrible words out. If not for the Barbara Doll’s predictions, he would have been surprised at Ling Ling’s rather surreal reaction.
“Oh! Okay,” Ling Ling readily agreed. “That sounds fun. We’ll do that.”
“You’re supposed to show me your parents’ bedroom,” Lairdon said. His anxiety was growing. The palms of his hands were sweating. His mouth was dry. It was hard to speak.
“Are you going to kill me in there?” Ling Ling asked curiously.
“In their bed.”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Ling Ling exclaimed. “This is so exciting! Follow me.” There was a joyous skip to her gait as she lead him to the bedroom. He reluctantly followed, watching her swaying hips. He wondered if he were insane and imagining all this. There was no way this beautiful girl could be so eager to have him murder her.
The Wong’s bedroom was a museum of Asian edged weapons. Lairdon had large variety of choices with which to dispatch Ling Ling; just as the Barbara Doll had foreseen. Ling Ling eagerly leapt into bed and threw back the sheets. “How are you going to kill me?” Ling Ling asked.
“D-do you want me to kill you?” Lairdon asked. It was as in a nightmare from which he was unable to escape, its events carrying him along to their awful conclusion.
“Yes, I do,” Ling Ling smiled. One shoulder strap had fallen, seductively revealing more of her.
“Why?” Lairdon asked.
“Because I am an evil girl,” Ling Ling said. “I love murder.”
“How do you want it?”
“Stab me,” Ling Ling said. “Stab me in my heart. It will be so romantic. I will be found dead in my parents’ bed, my lover’s dagger through my heart. I ‘ll be such a beautiful corpse!”
Lairdon removed a sai from the wall. “In my heart,” Ling Ling pleaded. “Put it in my heart!”
Lairdon stood over the trembling girl and plunged the dagger into her heart. She spasmodically arched her back, driving the gleaming blade deeper. Her blood flowed copiously, soaking the bed sheets. She moaned, shuddered and breathed her last breath of air. As she sank into the sheets, blood trickled from her smiling lips.
As Lairdon stood over her, his bloody hands shaking, the dead girl’s body began to shrink. When the process was finished, Lairdon twisted off her pretty little plastic head. He went into the bathroom and flushed the tiny plastic body down the toilet . There was one thing that bothered him. Why was there so much blood spattered on the bathroom walls? The bathtub was full of blood. He returned to the bed room to collect the sai as another souvenir. The bed was made, not a drop of blood in sight. The dagger was in its place on the wall. There was even a coat of dust on it. He left it there and, staggering away in a confused stupor, fled the house.
***
According to Wednesday’s newspaper the police were beginning to suspect a pattern. Three girls, their parents all with criminal backgrounds, had disappeared with few clues. As of yet there was “no trace of the girls, dead or alive.”
Lairdon checked under his mattress. He had three traces. Three tiny plastic faces smiled mutely at him.
Friday night at midnight he was showered and shaved and smelling mighty fine. He even had on clean clothes. His mother worried about his health. He had never bathed so many times in one month.
He set the Barbara Doll on the bed and waited patiently for his moment of triumph. Right on schedule the doll began to grow and move. It stopped growing at five feet, six inches. It stood up stretched its arms and legs and smiled at Lairdon. “Look, Larry, I can move my fingers.” And so it could. Its lips moved when it spoke. It winked slyly at him. It ran its fingers through its long, silky blonde hair and danced around the room. “I’m alive! I’m alive.”
“Will you make love to me now?” Lairdon asked impatiently.
“Oh, yes, Larry. Oh, yes!” It joyously exclaimed. “I have waited years for this moment.
He reached out to take it in his arms, and recoiled in horror. Its skin was as cold and hard as plastic. “I’m sorry, Larry,” it commiserated, as he sat on the bed in dire frustration. “I didn’t know.” It sat beside him and examined its own body. “I should have known something was wrong when I realized I wasn’t breathing. No lungs. No heart. Nothing but an empty plastic shell. That’s all I am.”
“Nothing but a big ambulatory doll,” Lairdon said. “Not a real woman at all! And to think I coulda had a real woman last Saturday. Ling Ling was willing, and I had the credit card to pay her with!”
“Life just isn’t fair, is it, Larry?” the doll said, its voice full of shared sorrow. But on a more up-beat note, it added, “But we’ll fix it. One more time ought to do it. Just one more time, Larry. Just one more time and you’ll hear my heart beating, feel my chest rise with each breath I take, be warmed by my soft, tender flesh. You’ll do it for me, won’t you, Larry?” It seemed to be pleading with him.
“One more time oughta do it,” Lairdon agreed reluctantly, he and patted the doll on its plastic back to comfort it.
***
Michele Garland, Andrea Bower, and Diana Gomez, three cheerleaders, and easily the most popular girls at school, were having a pillow party in the Palos Verdes Majestic Hotel. Michele thought Andrea had organized the party, Andrea thought Diana had arranged for the room, and Diana thought Michele had paid for it all. They were all three wrong. Dead wrong.
Lairdon let himself into the room. He had a key. After all, he had paid for the room. Or, more precisely, he had paid with a dead man’s credit card.
“Oh, look girls, it’s Lardbutt!” Michele giggled. She was a twenty-one year-old blonde with a California surfer girl’s body.
“Don’t call him that,” Andrea said. She had delicious chocolate-colored skin and the high cheek bones of a haut-cotuer model. “I think he’s kinda cuddly.” It was the nicest thing any one had ever said about him and Lairdon felt just a pang of remorse. Andrea clung to his arm. Suddenly he didn’t want to kill Andrea. The other two girls surrounded him, dancing, teasing him with their voluptuous, supple bodies. They were all three wearing revealing pajamas. Their voluptuous bodies reminded him of the Barbara Doll’s well rounded body. Andrea had cascading waves of ebony hair while Diana’s was longer and silky, much like Ling Ling’s. Diana’s eyes held just a hint of the mysterious East.
“I bet you want to make mad passionate love to him,” Diana teased Andrea.
“He’s such a man!” Andrea exuded. “I bet he could do all three of us.”
“Would you like to do all three of us, Mr. Jones?” Michele asked, wiggling her hips.
“I’m sorry, girls,” Lairdon said, taking out the .45 pistol. “But ‘do’ won’t have exactly the same meaning tonight as you thought.”
“That’s such a big gun!” Diana said with admiration. She ran her finger along its barrel. She knew such things because, according to rumor, she had used her father’s gun to kill an unfaithful boyfriend. “What are you planning to do with it?”
“I’m going to shoot the three of you to death.” Surely this time reality would kick in and they would scream or something. But no.
They took it quite well. In fact, their reaction was absolutely surreal. The three of them danced up and down shouting for joy.
“Send me to hell first,” Diana begged. “I’m a murderer! I murdered my ex-boyfriend. I deserve to die.”
“No, me first! I helped!” Andrea cried. She clung to his arm again. “If you love me you’ll shoot me first.”
“No, me first!” Michele pleaded. “I seduced Diana’s boyfriend! I set him up. You must murder me first.”
They danced around him in a frenzy. “Kill me!” No! Kill me first!” No, me first!” they shouted and tugged at him.
“Wait, girls,” Lairdon said, “I have a plan.” He calmed them down and stood them up in a straight line, alphabetically. Andrea first, Diana right behind her, and Michele behind her. “I want to thank you girls for your cooperation tonight,” Lairdon said, still a bit amazed at how well the plot was unfolding. This was going to be easier than the other times. This time it seemed even more unreal than ever. That was fine with him. If this were all a bizarre nightmare, he wouldn’t have to feel guilty. He held the muzzle of the pistol to Andrea’s naked belly button. “I’m going to try an experiment,” he explained. “I’m going to see if I can kill all three of you with one shot.”
“That’s brilliant!” Diana gushed. “Girls, isn’t Larry a genius?”
“Stop talking and let him shoot me,” Andrea said impatiently. “I wanna feel his bullet in my belly.”
He obliged her. The bullet ripped through Andrea’s slender body to erupted in a spray of blood. It punctured Diana’s soft skin, traversed her abdomen, shattered a rib and caromed up and out, exiting her writhing body inches below her shoulder blade. It struck Michele right below her left breast and pierced her heart. Michele looked down at the blood pulsing from her bosom. She laid her hand upon her wounded breast, smiled contentedly, and sank slowly onto the soft rug without a sound. Diana wheeled around, clutching at her bloody stomach. “Nice shootin’, lover,” she whispered affectionately to Lairdon. She groaned once, shivered, and dropped to the floor in slow-motion to lie lifeless next to Michele’s corpse. Andrea sagged onto Lairdon, who caught her in his arms. “Kiss me ‘fore I die,” she plead with a moan. But he wasn’t fast enough and kissed a corpse. He tenderly lowered her onto the blood-soaked floor.
The three girls lay still on the floor. All three were smiling and staring at him with empty eyes. Blood trickled from their ruby lips.
Their bodies began to shrink.
Three little plastic dolls lay on the floor.
After removing their tiny plastic heads, he fed the rest of their tiny plastic bodies into the garbage disposal. It wasn’t any use to clean up, there was too much blood. In fact, as he looked around the room, he couldn’t remember there being so much blood. It was spattered on the walls and ceiling, the bed sheets were soaked, and the bathtub was full of red tinged water. He looked down at the smoking gun. He could not remember having dropped it. The slide was back and locked, indicating it was out of bullets. He felt confused.
“Never mind!” he muttered to himself. He didn’t want to understand. He was leaving the gun behind any way. He just wanted to escape this bloody nightmare.
***
“THREE MURDERED IN HOTEL ROOM!” Sunday’s headline proclaimed. And while the police had yet to locate the bodies, the reporter insisted that murder was the correct assumption. A secret, though reliable, police source had leaked word of the blood-soaked walls and floor. Three girls had registered, three girls were missing, and three distinct blood types were discovered at the scene. There was no mention of the gun.
“Yeah,” Lairdon thought. “There lot’s of things the police aren’t mentioning.” There were now six little plastic heads hidden under his mattress.
Friday night came. His stepfather was out drinking with the boys. His mother was drunk and watching TV. Lairdon had chained the door to his bedroom. He didn’t want any interruptions tonight. Tonight would be the best night of his entire life. Tomorrow would be better. He had hacked into Mr. Gambino’s account at the bank and stolen the million dollar reward money, transferring it to a bank in Puerto Rico. Tomorrow he would take the Barbara Doll and start a new life in Paraguay.
The Barbara Doll came alive right on schedule. It reached its full height and size in seconds, and, like before, it was fully articulate in body and mind. Lairdon reached and took its hand. It was warm and soft. She drew him to her breasts, to hear her heart beat, to hear her lungs fill with air. Her flesh was soft and supple and inviting. She was more beautiful than a mortal woman could be.
“I’m alive, Larry!” she cried out in joy. “I’m alive! Thank you! Thank you for my life!
“Look. Look what I got you,” Lairdon said. Beside his bed was a suitcase full of nighties from Frederick’s of Hollyweird.
“I love you, Lairdon Jones!” Barbara Doll declared.
As he lead her to the bed, there was a loud thud at the front door. His stepfather was home; He thought.
His mother yelled.
Right on schedule, Lairdon sighed. But they couldn’t ruin his night.
“Police! Search warrant!” an unfamiliar voice screamed. “Police!”
There was a tremendous thud at his door. Then another. With the third the door shattered into a thousand splinters and three men in dark helmets and bullet-proof vests rushed in. Another was outside struggling with his mother.
“Police! Search warrant!” They screamed in his face, and piled on top of him like football linemen. One of them kicked the little plastic fashion doll out of the way as they forced him to the floor and handcuffed him. They sat him on the bed as two more men, in suits, came into the room. One sat at Lairdon’s desk and typed a few commands.
“We got him,” he announced. “This is the hacker.”
One of the helmeted police read Lairdon his rights, while others began to disassemble his computers and haul them out. Lairdon looked for Barbara Doll, but couldn’t see her. “She must’ve escaped,” he thought. Then he saw two tiny plastic legs under his TV stand.
“What stinks in here?” one of the cops exclaimed. Another pointed to the port-a-potty in the corner.
“Nah, it don’t smell like shit.” He walked towards Lairdon. “It’s coming from over here.”
He stood Lairdon up and lifted the mattress. Two of the younger cops rushed to the door, but they didn’t make it. Both were vomiting before they reached the bathroom. Lairdon and the tougher cop both looked down at the six rotting, female heads laying on the box springs. “Better get another search warrant, guys,” the cop calmly called out, “I think we got evidence of another crime here!”
***
Mrs. Jones looked back at the insane asylum. She hated the wretched place and was overjoyed that she would never return there. She had smuggled the Barbara Doll into the place just as Lairdon had request. The only reason he had given for his odd request was that “it comforts me as a last reminder of my long dead, little sister.” She didn’t believe him for a second, and for a moment, wished her son to be dead also. What little of her maternal instinct remained pushed that thought from her mind. Lairdon was happy here now. Or so he had told her. And, much to her relief, had also told her she didn’t ever have to come back if she didn’t want to. She shut her car door and sped away forever.
A few hours later, around midnight, Hector Lopez walked the darkened halls, making his rounds. It was his job to peek in each of the spy-holes into the inmates’ rooms and make sure they hadn’t hung themselves in the dark. This was the most astounding job he could image. He could never predict what he would see. From immobile catatonics to raving lunatics hurling themselves at the padded walls.
He approached the Jones boy’s room. The staff had warned him this was the most dangerous patient in the hospital. He had slaughtered six young women. Except for their severed heads, no trace of their bodies had ever been recovered. But Hector always encountered the boy, calmly, quietly sitting on his bed. He never made a fuss, was polite to all the orderlies, and even sent his best regards to the cooks.
Hector peeked through the spy-hole. The boy was in bed, snuggling under the blankets. But he wasn’t asleep. He was talking to himself. Hector had never before encountered this behavior with this patient, although it was quite common among some of the others. What was really different was that the boy was answering himself-- in a woman’s sultry voice! He couldn’t hear what the voices were saying, but they seemed pleasant enough. So Hector continued his rounds.
The End.