GLASS DOLL

I should have been strong enough to kill my kidnapper.

Instead, I was made of glass.

They say everyone has their Christmas traditions, and so I have mine. Return to the orphanage I stayed in after my rescue to lavish gifts on the children and meet Noah, who’s been hunting for the monster who abducted me for the past ten years.

There aren’t many out on the street this day in New York City, but the ones who pass me stare and whisper. My neon pink fur hat and coat over a simple black outfit is a contrast against the slowly falling snow. Above me is the quiet hum of a drone following me. I raise my chin, and a fat flake lands and sticks to the tip of my nose.

I don’t hide. I’ll always be in the limelight after becoming a news sensation. Rescued on my shotgun wedding day. A sixteen-year-old child bride enamored by the world. My fame came in an unconventional way, but it helped me find modeling and with the job came money. Something to be admired but never known is all I understand.

I stop in front of a huge stone church. The steps are lined with poinsettias, and the arched doorway is a faded red, like dried blood.

Father Timothy waves from the top, his cheeks rosy from the cold. He wears black, like me, with an added bit of white to his collar.

Someone behind me calls out my name, “Calla!”

A man bundled up in a wool coat, scarf and gloves. The German Shepherd by his side is a robot because the ears are shiny metal. The drone lands and clicks into place on the robot dog’s back. There’s a photo and a pen in the man’s hand. “Can I have an autograph?”

The dog’s tail wags.

It’s Christmas, so I agree, internally cringing at the one he wants me to sign. It’s my young, pale face. Black braids in my hair. White lace. My wide, heterochromia stare of one blue eye and one brown as Noah carries me out from the home I’d been a slave in.

So fragile.

“Picture?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer as he moves in beside me.

I’m quick to pose and plaster on a smile. The drone has been recording this entire time, anyway.

A heavy hand falls upon my shoulder as Father Timothy whispers, “Calla, the children are waiting for you.”

The man focuses on Father Timothy for a moment before tipping his head in thanks and leaving.

My clenched muscles relax.

I turn to catch the stern look on his face.

The familiar kindness returns to his mocha eyes when his gaze returns to me.

He’s all business when it comes to protecting those under his care.

“Did they enjoy the gifts?” I ask, forcing the tightness from my tone as we hurry inside.

“You are always generous.”

“What about Noah?” Our quick footsteps echo in the large hall as we pass between wooden pews and rainbows filtering in through stained glass windows depicting various scenes from the Bible.

“In the back.”

My stomach flips. I’m the one usually waiting for him, never knowing for sure if he will come, but he always does.

I shed my fur coat and hat and visit with the children first. It’s a bright room with a tree decorated with colorful ornaments, ribbons and silver tinsel. There’s torn wrapping paper from all the gifts I sent scattered across the floor along with toys including robotic pets of cats and gerbils. Kids with frosting on mouths and noses from iced cupcakes rush over to me, and I welcome the messiness that comes with their hugs and kisses. The older ones are a bit more star-struck, thanking me for a video game or hot tech they received.

Long sleeves and a choker hide the numerous pinpoint scars, reminders of what I’ve endured.

The younger ones comment on my beauty or ask if I’m going to be their new mommy. I’d love to adopt them all, but I’m not fit to be a mother. Not yet.

It’s another hour before I descend into the basement. A cold stone chamber with one high, skinny window letting in a narrow stream of light. There’s no furniture other than a single chair in the middle of the room where a creature sits. The appearance of a man with impossibly long limbs, sallow skin and stringy hair. Sulfur permeates the air. He’d always been so immaculate in his appearance, but he has no luxury afforded him here. Pointy metal fangs protrude from his mouth. Sharp and etched with engravings. A genetically engineered vampire loosed on the world.

His pupils dilate, turning his yellow eyes dark when I enter.

He’s secured with chains, hands behind his back, but my heartbeat still races. I’m a doll again. Breakable and weak. Parents murdered. A slave for two years. Others came and went, their beauty faded under his abuse as he pitted us against each other. A survivor can be another word for monster when you become good at it.

Noah clears his throat and peels himself away from the far wall. My roguish hero. His hair is the color of an orange autumn leaf, his skin tan, soft gaze of mossy green. A monster hunter with a license to rid ourselves of what mad science has unleashed.

“You found him,” I croak out, my mouth dry.

“His days of killing are over,” he assures me, running a hand down my arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

Even through the material, his touch sends sparks along my skin, an unrequited desire I’ve never been able to act upon. “This is closure,” I assure him.

Noah nods and offers me the handle of a knife.

My fingers curl around the leather. To do what I should have done years before. All the lives I could have saved. Betsy, Lenny, and countless others.

Father Timothy’s tone is succinct. “This is not a cure for what ails you.”

I don’t expect my nightmares and guilt to disappear. We’ve spoken at length about how I’m still a prisoner in my abductor’s house of blood and pain. Revenge appeals to me. If I kill him myself, will it by the key to being free? We all agree the monster must pay, but differ on my role.

“She’s justified,” Noah says.

Noah kills evil for a living. Vampires. Werewolves. Even men when they break the law and hurt others. He has the authority to be judge and jury once he’s assigned a job. His peace comes from delivering justice.

“Yes,” Father Timothy agrees, “but she’s not you.”

They both fight for me.

Father Timothy has concerns for my soul.

Noah fights to win my heart.

Yet, everything in my life is tainted because of a vampire who never should have existed.

I walk closer, ignoring the screams of my muscles to leave.

“You’ll always be mine.” The monster flashes metal fangs.

The scars peppering my arms and neck begin to itch. He may not need blood to survive, but he’s twisted, designed to like the bitter taste of it.

My steps stall. I swallow down the bile coming up my throat, mustering up the blurry faces of my parents that he took from me. I use the strangling pain for strength. “This is iron you won’t like,” I hiss.

The blade sinks deep, squelching into his skin, but my aim isn’t true and the tip hits a rib bone.

He cackles at my failure. “Blood of my blood, my bride.”

The knife’s handle is now sticky and red.

Father Timothy prays, “My God turns my darkness into light.”

“Join me,” my enemy growls.

Yet, I am not him.

Or Noah.

Or Father Timothy.

When I see pictures or look in the mirror, I don’t know who I am.

He’s still shaping me, and I’ve been letting him.

Cold resolve sweeps through my body, and it’s as if I’m swimming up to the surface of the ocean’s icy depths. I lean in and whisper words I’ve never muttered before. “I forgive you.”

He screams and strains against his restraints.

Snap!

The metal breaks.

He draws me into an embrace.

I’m light as air as he lifts me, the knife clattering against the stone floor.

It’s okay.

I’m free of something sinister lurking inside of me.

Crack!

Noah’s behind him, arm around his neck, those metal fangs sunk deep in the hand over his mouth.

The monster’s head lolls to the side as its body hits the floor with a heavy thump.

My legs give out, but Noah catches and cradles me in his arms.

“Are you hurt?” His gaze roams over my body.

“No,” I say as tears stream down my face while blood drips from his hand.

Moments later, Father Timothy leads us to my old room, furniture ensconced in blue and gold. The breakfast nook has platters of meat and potatoes and various desserts with a view of the East River.

“The room will remain locked until you can send his fangs to the authorities.” Father Timothy tells Noah, then leaves us alone.

The illegal creator will be identified, and Noah will get paid.

We sit at the table in silence.

He eats.

I nibble.

“Thank you.” I tell him. “For saving me … again.”

He nods, his mouth full as he wipes his mouth before reaching out to caress my cheek.

We’ve talked about marriage. He loves me, but he’s never asked.

“I’m sorry it took so long to catch him.” Then, he reaches inside a nearby table before sliding a wooden box over to me. “Merry Christmas.”

It’s too large for a ring, but I push away my disappointment and open it.

The inside is crushed velvet filled with ten golden bands. Center stones of diamonds, emeralds, and rubies glint. Engagement rings. One for every year he’s been hunting.

“Why didn’t you ask me before?”

“You weren’t ready.”

He’s right.

He clears his throat, pushing back a copper lock that’s fallen in his face. “Now that I’ve kept one promise, I’m asking if you’ll let me make another—”

My finger is on his lips, stopping him. “Let me give you one this time. Marry me, and I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

Then, he’s across the table kissing me.

I’m vaguely aware of a mumbled yes, but my head is cloudy from the euphoria of our first kiss.

It’s dusk when we stand in a courtyard of concrete angels dusted in snow and twinkling lights flowing like water from the walled fountain before us. The air is fresh and crisp. My pink fur conceals all the spots of colorful white and lavender frosting and the splatters of blood. I hold a bouquet of poinsettias, while Noah stands like a soldier, bright eyes sparkling in his hunter-green collared shirt.

Father Timothy performs the ceremony.

Orphans in their Christmas coats and gloves are our witnesses.

Our wedding is perfect.

Drones fly overhead documenting everything.

I can never hide.

A glass doll to the world.

Yet, I’m free in an unexpected way.

Able to live once again.