Dollhouse

N I N E

G E N E S I S

    It only took us ten minutes to go from our luxurious seven-bedroom mansion to Turnbull Canyon. A hill with a bicycling dirt path and a road with a chilling history. My father makes a right turn towards a gate barely being held up by blue concrete pillars. He exits the car, looks around before pulling the gate open. 

Fűck, we're really doing this. 

He comes back into the car to drive it through before exiting once again to close the gate. He drives us on the dirt tail, through dried trees and brushes. I hate coming here. Though Puente Hills is a sunny, chaparral-covered landscape, Turnbull Canyon is historically known to be a terrifying place. Cults have been known to do Satanic rituals here. 

Let's not forget the UFOs and the Indigenous people curse at what they called Hutukgna or the dark place. The Indigenous people were forced into this land, kicking and screaming in fear, where they were to transform into Christianity or be killed. It is believed by many to this day that the ghosts of the Indigenous people killed there remain, waiting for the sun to hide.

During the Great Depression, the men and women in dark robes arrived at Turnbull Canyon. They were numerous and organized. Their business in the canyon was horrifying: satanic rituals. One where a young, struggling child was strapped to a cross. They hoisted the cross up, only to bring it down again upside down. These people proceeded to strike him multiple times. A town resident of Puente Hills who witnessed this ritual, who lived to tell the tale, wasn't believed until the kidnapping and disappearances came to town. When the town was finally ready to fight back, the people in the dark robes vanished. The young boy was never seen again.

I could see the appeal - the reason why Vicente Villalobos was attracted to this place to do his vicious business here. Alba wasn't prepared for what would happen once we got to the warehouse. I couldn't begin to imagine how she'd react. 

We parked outside what is known now as The Warehouse. It was opened in the nineteen-thirties as an insane asylum. The place lasted less than ten years before it burned down in a mysterious fire in the early forties. It was not a place of rehabilitation or healing.

The building had been somewhat remodeled a few years back. Not too much to bring attention from the outsiders. I've been here a few times this year. One of the other things my father cared about was being supplied with girls to turn into dolls. Vicente's human trafficking business was his primary place to go, apart from the clubs in the city.

I exit the vehicle and make my way to the back door where Alba resided inside. I helped her out. My father took her from me. He led her to the entrance of the warehouse where we are met with two males. One of them leads us inside. I follow in tow. 

    The inside wasn't much nicer than the outside. It was dark. Only dim lights color the room we've entered. There were small puddles of water on the concrete floor. Jesus, how could they work here? This place is disgusting. We're led to the next room. A blonde woman stands there, waiting. She smiles when she sees us.

    "Mr. Ferreira, Ms. Ferreira," she greets us. She turns to Alba. "Mrs. Callahan."

    "I'm a widow. It's Ms. Villalobos, Lindsay," Alba snaps at her.

    The woman's smile came back. "Hm, sure. I see you remember who I am."

    "You're the one who helps my father keep all those girls here. You're the one who did my makeup in that pageant so many years ago."

    "You won that pageant," Lindsay says. Alba rolls her eyes. "Of course, thanks to your father."

    "That's right."

    "Would you mind getting a move on, ladies?" My father interrupts their dispute.

    "Of course, Mr. Ferreira," Lindsay replies. She brings back her attention to Alba. "I'm going to need you to strip down."

    Alba lifts her tied hands out. I step forward. I take the small dagger off the vanity I saw behind Lindsay. I look into the mirror at them. I turn, imagining what it would be like to stab Lindsay in the throat and watch her bleed out. I close my eyes and inhale. I walk forward once I've calmed down. I place the dagger between Alba's hands and thrust it against the rope. The black rope falls to the dirty floor. I nod at her.

    Alba takes the hint. She begins to undress. Her tattoo on her upper arm becomes visible. My father has turned away, his back facing us. At least, he has the decency to give her privacy. I help her remove the flower crown from her head. I take it in my arms as well as the black dress. Lindsay comes with what looks like a muzzle. She places it over Alba's head then over her face. It covers her mouth, leaving her eyes exposed. She then brings a sheer black robe and helps her into it. It covers absolutely nothing. It matches everything they do here: degradation of women.

    I want to leave. I still have something to do here.

    "Please, follow me," Lindsay says. "I'll give you the grand tour."

Before leaving I place the dress and the flower crown on the vanity. I'll come back for it. She leads us through another door to a long hallway. One I am quite familiar with. That door changes the scenery of this building. Everything before is crap. Everything beyond it is modernized. Lindsay stops before Studio A. She opens the door. There's no one here. The only thing in the room is a circle platform being illuminated by spotlights above. The rest of the room is dark.

"This is where the softer films are made," Lindsay says. "You'll sleep another night if you're brought to this room."

Very subtle, Lindsay. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I already know this information.

"Please, move along, Ms. Presley," I say, irritated.

"Very well. I see you are impatient to see the newly designed Studio B," Lindsay laughs.

No, bītch. I want to leave this forsaken warehouse. 

I only smile. Lindsay closes the door to studio A and takes us across the hall to Studio B. Once she opens the door to this one, I see them. The cameras and the blinding lights. There's a hospital bed on the circle platform in this room. A woman is strapped down to it. She's bare of clothing. A man sits in front of her, face between her legs. I stand corrected from any dirty thought  as her screams of pain pierce my ears and she withers against her restraints. I take my sight up and notice it then. Across her chest is a vest of C4 explosive. The amount of it is enough to make a small explosion.  Please tell me they are not going to use this in this film. Please tell me it's only for shock value. I had no intention to make that pun in my head. I look at my father; he looks amused. 

This is sickening. How deranged must someone be to do this to another? To enjoy it? 

Suddenly, everyone was scrambling around putting up protective gear in front of them. The ticking sound finally registered to my ears. The bomb. 

Hell, no. 

They were going to let it explode. The man between her legs ran away. She screamed for help. No one did anything. I find myself moving forward. Someone stops me just as the explosion happens. I gasp as blood and flesh land primarily on me. No, no, no. Please, no. I feel myself hyperventilate as tears run down my eyes. Oh, God. The hauntings and sightings in this place by the outsiders are enough to scare people away from this place. These people in this room are no better than the Spanish or that cult. Neither am I.

“Cut!” I hear someone yell from afar. I look for the source. I see him standing behind the protective gear, on his director chair. He dons a black suit. It's perfect on him as always. Then I remember Alba is here.

Seven years ago marked the day they first met. Six years ago, they’d married and lived what they thought was their happily ever after. Five years ago, Cain disappeared, leaving her to raise their young daughter alone. Four years ago, Cain was presumed dead. Three years ago, Alba’s ex found a clue that Cain may be alive after all. Since then she’d been chasing for further clues. This - in front of me - was scary: the power to break someone. I saw pieces of her chip away as she stared back at him with tears. This was the beginning of the end for them. Only one would make it out alive.

If Alba stayed here, she was the one destined to die. Perhaps not today nor tomorrow but whenever the viewers we're tired of her. Would Vincente come for her before that happens? Or will Alba have to herself? If so, I had a job to do. 

After all, Vicente Villalobos was the reason Cain had become the exploited husband.

"Mierda, no irás en el auto así [Shìt, you're not going into the car like that]," I hear my father say.

Cain has finally realized someone else is in the studio. He glances at me, my father, and then at Linday and Alba. He freezes when he sees Alba. I can practically see the gears moving inside his head, trying to decipher what the hell is going on. Anything reaction he had shown, he masked seconds later. He turns his attention back to me. He walks towards me. What the hell is he doing?

Go to your wife, Cain.

Please.

His hand lands on my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I nod. “Murder is always on the schedule, huh?

“Every three days like clockwork,” he gives me a tight smile. I read between the lines of that smile. 

He hates it here. 

I start to feel the tingling sensation of the electricity that haunts this place. Even now, Turnbull Canyon lived up to its nickname of The Ascension to Hell. Robert Turnbull himself was believed to have been murdered in this land in the late eighteen-hundreds. His body was found by two children in the Los Angeles River. The Quakers, a group of Christians who bought the land from Turnbull, named the canyon in his honor.

I look up to the stage. Hoping to find anything that will make me feel better. I don't. There's no trace of a female form, only flesh and blood. I'm pretty sure I see brain bits slide down the wall across the room.

"Is there a place I can wash off of all this nasty stuff?" I ask. I look down at myself. I heave.

“Lindsay, take Ms. Ferreira to my office to wash off, please,” Cain looks at her.

“Of course, Mr. Callahan,” she replies.

Lindsay leads me to a room down the hall. I walk through the door frame, taking in his newly remodeled office. I see a bookshelf behind his desk. The bathroom door is opened beside it. I walk myself to the bathroom, careful to not leave a trail of flesh and blood. I turn to look at Lindsay. I tell her to bring me the dress Alba was wearing when we got here. Closing the door, I begin to undress and step into the shower. I look at the dagger that sits on top of my soiled clothing. 

Where am I going to hide this?