Amy Chelsea Stacie Dee by Mary G. Thompson Page A

out.
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    Kyle had a lot of dolls. Not a lot of dolls like a toy store. Not a lot by the standards of some ten-year-old girls. Lee, for example, had more dolls than Kyle. But Kyle had more dolls than a man should have. A man shouldn’t have any dolls unless they’re action figures and their purpose is so boys can pretend to fight each other. Is that sexist? I don’t care. Because Kyle never should have had dolls.
    He had several Barbies and their friends, including Chelsea and Stacie. He had ballerina Barbie, wearing pink. He had doctor Barbie and mermaid Barbie and bride Barbie. He had baby dolls—one called Lola and one called Dream and one called Brianna. They were all sitting on the bed in that one room, staring at us as we walked in.
    â€œWell, hello ladies,” Kyle said. He smiled at them.
    I ran to the bathroom. At that moment, I didn’t care about the dolls. All I cared about was emptying my bladder. It had been so long that it hurt to pee. And while the pee was flowing, all I could think was that Dee was out there with him, and I had to get back out there.
    He had let her go, but he was standing between her and the door. “I told you there’s no place to run to,” he said. “Why don’t you sit down with the ladies, and I’ll make us some dinner?”
    Dee ran to the bathroom. I stood outside the door andlistened while she went, and once she was done, she didn’t come out. She started crying again, deep, guttural sobs. She wouldn’t come out for dinner, but I couldn’t help myself. Kyle had made spaghetti—whole-wheat spaghetti, I later learned, because Kyle thought white pasta was bad. I ate it, but I ate it slowly, because my stomach was so tight that it felt like there was a belt around my middle. I wasn’t sure I was breathing except when I opened my mouth to take a bite.
    He sat across the tiny table from me. “Your friend will be all right,” he said. “She’s just in a little funk.”
    â€œAre you going to kill us?” I asked. “They tell you if you get in the car with somebody, then you’re dead.”
    He laughed. It filled his whole narrow face, that big mouth smiling. His shoulders jiggled. “That’s a silly rule. What’s so special about cars?”
    I didn’t answer, but a tear rolled down my face. The hand holding my fork shook.
    â€œI can tell you’re a good girl,” he said. “All you have to do is be good. Better finish that.” He pointed to my half-full plate of pasta.
    â€œSomeone will find us,” I said.
    He picked up my plate and with a single motion, dumped the whole thing in the sink.
    I could still hear Dee crying, and I started to stand up, hoping she would let me in the bathroom, and then we could at least be together.
    â€œNope,” he said. “Sit.”
    I sat.
    Dee didn’t come out of the bathroom all night. Kyle locked the cabin door from the inside and put the key around his neck. This was before I saw the scissors, before I thought I had a chance to escape.
    I went to the bathroom and sat down outside it. “Dee,” I whispered. “Dee.”
    The door opened a crack, and I crawled in. She wrapped her arms around me, and she was still crying. Maybe there isn’t a limit, I thought. Maybe she can cry forever. And that was when I started, not just the few scared tears that had been coming and going, but full-on sobs. In a cabin that small, I’m sure Kyle must have heard us.
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    Kyle made us stand in the middle of the single room, next to the little kitchen table. I tried to hold Dee’s hand, but he pushed me away from her, leaving a couple feet between us. He looked from one of us to the other, eyes lit, as if this were a huge, momentous occasion. He held up the brown-haired doll. She smiled at me in her purple dress with hearts on it.