Amy Chelsea Stacie Dee by Mary G. Thompson Page B

“You’ll be Chelsea,” he said. He put the doll down on the kitchen chair and picked up the blond one, the one in the pink skirt and the pink blouse. “And you’ll be Stacie.” He grinned at Dee. “Stacie is my favorite.” He ran a single large finger over the doll’s hair.
    I didn’t say anything then because I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten since the night before, when he’d thrown half my meal out. Now there were three boxes of cereal sitting on the little table, waiting for Kyle to finish talking.
    He put the Stacie doll down next to the Chelsea doll. Theywere in a row of Barbie and her friends, all sitting facing forward on the chair, all smiling.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” he asked Dee. He leaned over her.
    She burst into tears. I didn’t know how there could physically be tears left.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” he said again.
    â€œStacie,” she whispered.
    â€œThat’s wonderful, Stacie,” he said, and he put his arms around her. He pressed her face to his chest, and she stood there, shaking. He patted her head. “My little Stacie. We’re going to be happy,” he said. “Aren’t you going to be happy?”
    â€œYes,” she whispered.
    Not letting go, he turned to me. “And what’s your name?”
    â€œChelsea,” I said. I wanted the food.
    â€œGood.” He smiled. “Which cereal does Chelsea like?” He pointed to the table. The three cereals were a generic brand, each one bland and boring and healthy.
    I walked to the table and poured myself a bowl of dry wheat sticks.
    â€œAll right, what about you, Stacie?”
    Dee was shaking, wiping tears from her eyes. Kyle’s hand on her shoulder couldn’t hold her still. She didn’t answer.
    Kyle guided her over to the table and pushed her down into a chair. He poured her a bowl of the same cereal I had.
    She sat there and stared at it.
    â€œDee—” I started.
    Kyle grabbed my bowl from the table and tossed the cereal in the sink. He glared down at me. “What’s her name?”
    â€œStacie.”
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œStacie.”
    â€œWhat’s her name?”
    â€œStacie.”
    Dee shook in her seat.
    â€œStacie,” I said. “You have to eat.”
We’re going to get out of this,
I thought. I tried to tell her with my eyes.
    â€œStacie, honey,” said Kyle. He kneeled down next to her and took one of her hands. “You’re my precious little girl. You have to be strong. Now why don’t you take a bite?”
    Dee picked up the spoon in her other hand. She scooped up some cereal, but her hand was shaking so much that by the time she got it to her mouth, most of it had fallen out.
    â€œTry again, honey,” Kyle said.
    She tried again, and again almost all the cereal fell out. She stared at me, and she was saying something with her eyes, but I couldn’t tell what it was. I didn’t think it was,
Yes, we’re going to get out of here.
I thought maybe it was,
He’s going to kill us,
or
We’re going to die,
or maybe nothing that coherent.
    Just play along,
I tried to say.
We’ll think of a way out.
    She closed her eyes and took a bite, but it only took a few seconds. She threw up right there on the table.
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    That night, I was on a pile of blankets on the floor, and Kyle lifted Dee up and dropped her on the double bed. Dee screamed, and Kyle told her it would be all right. He told her she was his precious little girl. She screamed and cried, and shesaid the word
stop
over and over. But he said
It’s all right,
and
Shhhh,
and
It’s all right. Stacie, it’s all right.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    The next day, I told him my name was Amy, and he kicked me. I told him someone would find us, and he threw me against the kitchen counter. He didn’t try to patch my cut,