The Dollmaker carefully settled the wig on her head, centered it, and braided it into two thick strands. He slowly rolled on knee socks, savoring the silky smoothness of her calf, then folded the white cotton neatly at the top. He slid on patent-leather shoes and fastened the buckles so that they were snug but not too tight.
The finishing touches included a small bracelet with a heart charm on her left wrist, and on her right hand, a delicate ring on her pinky finger. He painted her fingernails a pale pink, fastened on delicate earrings, and dabbed hints of perfume behind her ear and on her wrist.
He stepped back, pleased. She was his living doll. A perfect mate.
He lifted her listless body and placed her on a red couch in front of a photographer’s screen. He angled her face to the side and propped it up with a silk pillow. He arranged her curls around her shoulders and fluffed her skirt. Reaching for his camera, he snapped a couple of pictures. Glancing in the viewfinder, he frowned, not liking what he saw. Her eyes were closed. And to have the right effect, they needed to be open.
Time to wake up.
“Destiny,” he whispered close to her ear. “Time to rise and shine.”
When she didn’t stir, he pulled an ammonia caplet from his pocket. But before he snapped it, he stopped to admire her again. He ran his hand over her cheek, along the smocked edge of her blouse, and over the swell of her round breast. Drawn by her seductive lure, he squeezed her nipple. His body hardened, and unable to chase away temptation, he slid his hand under the skirt and touched her between her legs.
She wasn’t ready for him yet. But she soon would be. He needed to wait.
Drawing his hand back, he snapped the caplet, and held it close to her nose. She inhaled sharply as the acrid smell chased away the haze.
His doll glimpsed her creator with a lovely face of bewilderment. Yes, her open eyes completed the look.
He snapped his fingers. “Time to wake up.”
She stirred and her eyes fluttered, but the sedatives still lingered. She was confused as she stared up at him. “Where am I?” she asked. “Am I getting better?”
“You’re perfect.”
She blinked, focused, and looked down at her hands, now tattooed white like her face. She tried to rub off the ink, and when it didn’t smudge, confusion turned to worry. She pushed off the couch, but her legs wobbled as her head no doubt spun.
“Not too fast, Destiny. It will take time for the drugs to clear.”
She staggered a step, crumpled to one knee. “What’s happening? What have you done to me?”
“I’ve made you perfect.”
She looked at her delicately painted fingernails, and as her gaze rose she caught her reflection in a large mirror he kept in his studio. She froze, shocked. Tears mingled with disbelief. “What have you done!?”
He didn’t like the judgment in her voice. A perfect doll didn’t judge. It didn’t get angry. A perfect doll was still.
“Shh,” he said. He put his camera aside and reached for a drink cup with a straw. “It’s okay. You’re fine.”
With a trembling hand, she touched the wig and then her bow lips. “I look like a freak!”
Worry crowded out his happiness. “Don’t say that. I’ve made you perfect.”
“I’m a monster!” Her hands began to tremble. Red-rimmed eyes spilled more tears.
He hated to see a woman cry. “Don’t be ungrateful.”
Shaking her head, she raised her hand to her head and the wig “My hair?”
When she tried to tug the wig free, he brushed her hand away. “Don’t do that,” he said, trying to remain calm. “It took me a lot of time to get it just right.”
“It’s not my hair. Not my skin.” She forced herself to stagger toward the mirror. Her face inches from her reflection, she gawked.
“You must be pleased with the work. You’re one of my best creations.”
She rubbed the round blush on her checks and the dots of freckles. Worry ignited in her eyes. “What have you done to me?”
“I’ve made you beautiful.” He snapped more pictures, enthralled by this instant of discovery. She might be shocked now, but she would be beholden to him when she realized the beauty of his work.
Her fingers curled into fists. “You have ruined me.”
“I’ve made you a living doll.”
With a yank she pulled the wig off and smoothed her hand over her bald head. She screamed. The shrill sound cut through his head, shattering his calm.
With growing horror she glanced wildly around the room at the large four-poster bed, the rocking chair, and the small table with tea set. When she saw the door, she stumbled toward it. Her knees wobbled as her skirt skimmed the top of her shins.
She yanked on the knob, and realizing it was locked, she screamed. “Let me go!”
“No one can hear you.”
She pounded her fist on the hard wood, crying for help and mercy. “You’ve ruined me.”
“You need to calm down. It’ll be all right. I have taken such good care of you.”
Her eyes blazed hate and disgust. “You have ruined me, you fucking freak!”
Her harsh words belied the angelic features. “That’s not necessary.”
“Like hell it’s not! Let me out of here! Let me go!”