Dollhouse

E I G H T

G E N E S I S

The scent of Pan de Muertos [bread of the dead] and Champurrado [hot chocolate with dough] fills the house areas closest to the kitchen. I take a bit of my calavera de azúcar [sugar skull]. I moan in delight. Yes. These are perfect. Vanessa, our personal chef, has been baking all the Día de los Muertos specialities. She was awesome. I helped her decorate the sugar cookies as I have seen I was a young girl. I’ve gotten better at icing. I could probably open my own bakery, if I ever wanted to. Sarah made the flan [caramel custard] and the horchata [drink made with milk, rice, and cinnamon]. All that was left to make was the shrine where we’d place photos of our dead loved ones and offer them food to satisfy their souls. My mother and sister would be on it, along with Emily’s parents.

I’ll have to get it from the basement.

If I go, I’ll be tempted to walk through the door leading to the Dollhouse. What if I can send someone who doesn’t know about the secret door? I look at sweet, naive Sarah. She doesn’t know about it.

“Sarah, would you bring the shrine up? I’ll help Vanessa finish the baking preparations,” I smile at her.

She grins back. “Sure.”

“Thank you, baby,” I reply as she walks off.

Just then Marcos walks in, he looks after Sarah. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. He knows what I just did. I shrug.

“Adrian told me to not go to the basement, so I’m avoiding it by sending Sarah to get the shrine.”

“Aren’t you afraid that one day she’ll find it?” Marcos asks.

“Ella no lo encontrará [she won't find it]. The shelf with mom’s and Valentine’s stuff is in the way,” I say.

“You never know,” Marcos sing-songs as he walks away. Son of a—, my thoughts are interrupted as Vanessa calls me over. I turn around and walk back to the frosting station. I’m met with some more sugar skulls.When I’m frosting the last one of twenty skulls, Sarah comes in. With nothing.

“I didn’t find it,” she says. “I looked everywhere.”

Damn it! I sigh.

“Okay, I’ll take a look. Will you finish this cookie, please?”

“Yes,” she smiles.

I remove my apron. I leave on the counter as I walk out of the kitchen. I make my way down the hallway towards the basement door. It’s dark inside. I flip the light switch and walk down the stairs. The quietness is eerie. I search through it all looking for the damn shrine. I have no luck. I look at the shelf. Had he taken it inside? I debate whether I should go inside. Damn it.

I pull on the shelf, opening the door. I close it behind me as I’ve done every time. I have no idea where to look from here. The plastic curtain at the end catches my attention. I feel the electric pull to walk towards it. I do, passing the several door down shít. Behind the curtain are stairs leading to the second level down. Cones frame the entrance of the stairs. I walk past them, going down. Walking past several other doors looking for the shrine, I come across a new door. It looks brand new and just molded in place. I turn the knob. The light inside is provided by candles on the floor and on tables. On one wall I see the stupid shrine with candles and food. On a corner is a red loveseat with armrests, a doll sitting on it. She wears an elaborate traditional Mexican dress, her makeup is the typical Day of the Dead skeleton makeup. She wears a big flower crown on her curled hair. 

I take it in the room, I realize what I’m looking at. The walls are covered with photographs. Alba, Cain, Yaretzi, Matthew and I are featured in those photos. Many of them are recent. There’s photos of Alba, Yaretzi, Matthew and I from lady’s night a few days ago. There’s many photos of Alba on her own. With Cain from before he disappeared. With Naomi, their daughter. I look at the shrine again. 

Oh, God.

The main photo is of Alba. The other is Cain. The more I look at the photos on the shrine and the photos on the wall, a pit of emptiness and dread fills my stomach. Cain is presumed dead. Alba is not. If her photo is on this shrine, it only means one thing. I look back at the doll. I take in her face, her hair, everything about her.

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

If Vicente Villalobos doesn't kill my father, I will. All I can think is he knows. He has felt me drift away. There's a conflicting turmoil of emotions within me. He's using her to get me back on his side. Then I feel his presence before I see and hear him.

"No te había dicho que no te quería aquí [didn't I tell you I didn't want you in here]?"

"Yes, Dad," I replied.

"Then why are you here?"

"I was looking for the shrine. If Villalobos finds out that Alba is here, he will kill you," I say.

"She's poisoned your mind. No necesito a una niñata contra mí [I don't need a little girl against me]," he says.

"Papá, nunca te he defraudado [Dad, I've never let you down]. I don't want her here." I look at him, begging with my eyes.

"Send her to the warehouse," I blurt out. My father raises his eyebrow in question.

"Villalobos will never know his daughter is there," I continue. "Sure, he owns it but he never goes there anymore. He has him in charge. He will know what to do with her."

My father nods. "I like that idea. You'll prepare her later after mass. Now, take your shrine upstairs."

I remove everything he has set-up, placing it on the floor. I disband the table to make it easier to carry. I take one last look at Alba before walking past my father. I’ll have to call Yaretzi. It would be the reasonable thing to do, right?

“Oh, you found it!” Sarah exclaims as I re-enter the kitchen.

“Yes,” I smile. “It wasn’t in the basement, after all.”

Not a complete lie. I go set it up in the living room area. The lit candles adorn the shrine complement to colors of true tablecloth. My mother and sister’s photographs smile back at me. This is the only time of year these photos leave my bedroom. They’re the only ones in the house. All the other photos were in the basement or with my grandfather. To say I missed them was unexplainable. I barely remember them; only their faces are kept in my mind with their photos.

We spend two hours, once the clock hits eight o’clock, hanging out and praying for our loved ones. We pray that they are well, as if they could tell about anything in the world now. They couldn’t. I don’t know why this holiday was a thing. The only good thing that comes out from this is the food. Nothing else.

~ ♡ ~

I exhale as we walk out of the church. The air has become chilly. I pull the marigold flower crown from my hair, feeling annoyed with the digging behind my ears. I walk away from everyone wanting to be alone with my thoughts. I cannot believe my father had the audacity to kidnap Alba. Instead of praying for our loved ones, I spent my time praying to God that Vicente wouldn’t kill us both. A soft, cool breeze sweeps through my hair as I make it to my car. I settle in and turn the ignition when the passenger seat opens.

“What happened today? You keep killing dad with your glare,” Marcos speaks first.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself with,” I say. “It’s being taken cared of.”

“You know you don’t have to carry this on your own,” he says.

“Marcos, it’s already bad enough that I’m involved in his crap. You do not need to do any of this. You do not need to go to jail for anything; he does,” I continue. “He needs to be stopped.”

“It shouldn’t be your burden to carry,” Marcos replies

I look at him when I stop at a red light. He’s looking back at me. I give him a bitter-sweet smile. “I’m already in too deep. You are not. I have managed to spare you the reality it is to have a serial killer father. You do not want to know how harrowing that is. I have tried all my life that you get the perfect father because that is what Valentina would have wanted for the both of us.”

“You can’t possibly know what Valentina wanted. She did when you were five! I was one, dammit!”

“I found her suicide note,” I mumble.

“What?” Marcos exclaims. “Does dad know?”

I shake my head in denial. “He will never know she left a note. Valentina knew I would find it eventually.”

“What does it say?”

“She knew about dad. She says she’s sorry for not being strong enough to keep herself alive, to protect us. She knew dad would use me...,” I say.

“As he is now,” Marcos finishes. “What are you going to do with the Matthew thing?”

“Dad doesn’t know I can’t have children. His plan will fail and he will have nothing,” I say.

Father has always been vocal with his plans with me. Ever since he found out about my crush on Matthew Taylor, he made it my mission to get him to notice me. I tried to stall as much as I could, despite my feeling for Matthew. I wasn’t going to let my father get what he wanted. So, I had a tubal ligation once I turned eighteen. Disguised as an appendectomy, I was sterilized in secret. I regret nothing.

“This is all so f*cked up.”

“What isn’t in our house?’

Marcos shakes his head. “Are you seeing Matthew tonight?”

“No, I’ll see him in the office on Monday,” I say. “I have something to do… with Dad.”

“Of course,” Marcos sighs. He opens the door to the passenger seat once we arrive home. “Good night, sister.”

“Good night,” I replied. We go our separate ways; Marcos to his bedroom and I to the Dollhouse. It was going to be a long Saturday night. As I enter the room with Alba in it, I see my father had removed the IV bag from her. He had tied her down tightly enough to prevent her escape. The skeleton makeup was removed; everything else was intact. How would she react to seeing him? Would he care that we’d be delivering Alba to him? I assume he’d keep her safe as he is fond of her.

“I’m going to the warehouse?” Alba speaks up.

“Yes,” I say. “It’s not the way you had wanted but you’ll finally have closure about Cain.”

“I hope so,” she says.

“Unfortunately, per my father’s rules, I cannot untie you. Sorry,” I say.

Alba laughs. “I have nowhere else to go. The warehouse was always the plan.”

I smile. I want to tell her. She needs the closure. I can’t tell her I already know what’s waiting for her. All we have to do now is wait for my father to arrive. He does so just as I think about it.

“Ladies!” he grins. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes at him. Alba does not. He misses nothing.

“Perhaps I should have kept the I.V. in you,” he says.

“I still would be able to roll my eyes at you, Adrian,” Alba snaps.

“Yes but, you wouldn't be able to talk back,” he replies.

“Bite me!”

“No, thank you,” Dad says. “Estoy felizmente casado [I’m happily married].”

Now, I roll my eyes. They’ll bicker like this forever if they could. I’d like to be able to sleep sometime tonight.

“Ladies! I thought we had a show to get on the road,” I exclaim.

“Si, verdad [yes, true],” My father replies. "Asi que, en marcha [So, let's get going]."

Everything after that happens so fast. I don’t remember how long I spent on the passenger’s seat of my father’s car with Alba tied-up on the back seat. Everyone was quiet. It was satisfying to watch the luscious green grass transform into dirt. Everything was going smoothly. I hope it continues to be.