Porcelain Skin and Glass Eyes
It was very dark and very damp. In the corner of the room, barely visible, was the thrashing body of a man. He coughed once, twice, blood spurting from his mouth and a gaping hole in his chest.
"R-Rebecca…" he gasped, clawing at the hole in his chest. Rebecca sat up, the stiff fabric of her dress crinkling as she did so. She put her hands to the floor to help her stand and was shocked to hear the clink of glass against hardwood floor.
"James…" she croaked, raising a hand to her throat. What happened?
"Re…" James gasped again, his final breath escaping him the way air rushed from a punctured tire. His hand, desperately reaching for Rebecca, fell limp against the ground, the dried blood being washed away from the damaged water pipes overhead.
Rebecca sat up and slowly walked towards the mirror hanging on the wall. She stepped lightly, because for some odd reason she couldn't feel anything very well. She felt numb, but perhaps that would fade quickly, like how one's leg wakes up when it has fallen asleep. She found that she was very short, far shorter than she last remembered; she needed to climb onto the bed in the corner to climb onto the desk to look into the mirror. Her reflection confused her. Why was she looking at the image of her treasured porcelain doll and not herself? Then, realization struck her: she had died. A serial killer had kidnapped both her and her brother James. The last thing she could recall was the killer slitting her throat and bleeding to death. It was only natural to assume that James had either killed the killer or escaped. James was an accomplished alchemist, nowhere near the caliber of the alchemists of the state, but good enough to apply if he had wanted to. The only logical conclusion she could reach was that he had breached taboo and transmuted her, making a soul attachment to the doll.
"James, you fool…" she mumbled, her voice less scratchy and her limbs less numb. "Didn't you think about the exchange? I thank you for this new life, but now I have to mourn the loss of yours."
Rebecca hopped down from her perch and slowly inched past James's corpse. She would have to tell someone about it; it was far too large for her to move on her own. She made her way outside. It was raining rather heavily, but a few people were out and about. A little girl and her mother passed by and she propped herself against some soggy cardboard boxes nearby, hoping to pass for a real doll instead of a living one. They passed by without noticing her and she resumed her trek into the rain-soaked East City. After a good deal of walking, she soon grew tired of having to walk around puddles instead of just walking through them like she would've if she had her human body. She relaxed against a wall, smoothing out the fabric of her ornate dark purple dress as best as she could. She heard the footsteps of someone come closer and stiffened up instinctively.
"What's this?" a male voice asked aloud though no one was near to hear him. Rebecca tried very hard not to look at the man as he inspected her, lest he panic because she was alive. "It's pretty wet but otherwise it's darn near new." Rebecca tried not to choke on the smoke from the man's cigarette as he spoke.
She stiffened up more as he lifted her off the ground.
"It's pretty big for a doll, almost like a little kid. Kinda heavy too," he tucked her under his arm. "Maybe I'll spruce it up and give it to Gracia's kid."
Rebecca mentally rolled her eyes. People who talked to themselves were often weird in some respect. James had often talked to himself, but he had repeatedly said that it helped sort his thoughts. Rebecca had tried it herself and while it did help, it felt too odd to develop as a habit. There was not much she could do in this situation, so she let herself be carried off to who knows where to have who knows what done to her by this strange man. She let herself fall asleep, having nothing else to do.
"I guess this is as good as it's gonna get," the man's voice rambled some time later.
Rebecca dared to open one eye. She was sitting on a table in a mostly bare loft, wearing a shirt that was far too large for her, even if she was in her human body. It smelled faintly of smoke, so she guessed it belong to the man who took her from the street
"This is really pathetic… I'm a grown man and I'm playing with a doll," the man mumbled to himself. Rebecca watched him through slitted eyes. He shook out the dress she had been wearing and brushed off cigarette ashes with his hand. "Again, I'm really sorry about this," he apologized, taking a deep breath.
'What is he apologizing for?' she wondered to herself.
"I don't know why, but you don't seem like a regular doll. I guess that's why I keep talking to you. I dunno… you just seem… more real than the dolls I've seen in stores," he rambled as he removed the oversized shirt and put on her dress. Rebecca was glad her face was made of porcelain, so the man wouldn't see the furious blush he would've if she had been in her human body.
A knock on the door made the man stop. He got up and went to see who it was. Rebecca took this opportunity to finish what the man had started. She heard two voices talking and deftly finished buttoning the back of her dress. As two pairs of footsteps drew closer, she resumed the position the man had left her in when he went to answer the door.
"What an odd thing for you to have Havoc," a woman's voice commented.
"Oh, I found that on the street," the man replied. "I was thinking of giving it to Elysia."
"The craftsmanship is astounding. It looks like a real little girl," the woman said, leaning closer to inspect Rebecca.
"Do you mind?" she snapped when the woman picked her up. She reflexively clamped her hands over her mouth. "No! You didn't hear that!"
"You can talk?" the man said, slightly shocked.
"Um… yeah?" Rebecca grinned sheepishly. She jumped down from the woman's hands and landed on the table. "My name is Rebecca Morgenstern. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance," she said as she curtsied.
"I'm Riza Hawkeye. It's nice to meet you Rebecca," the woman replied.
"Uh… I'm Jean Havoc," the man grinned.
"You're not frightened?" Rebecca asked.
"By what?" the two answered.
"By… a talking, moving doll?" she clarified.
"We've seen something similar," Jean said, taking a long drag from his cigarette.
"You've seen a soul attachment?" Rebecca blurted. She was doing an awful lot of that lately.
"You know about attaching souls?" Riza inquired.
"My brother was an alchemist," Rebecca admitted bitterly. "He's the one who gave me this body."
"That story sounds familiar," Jean sighed.
"How rude!" Rebecca said hotly.
"No, we really do know someone who is in the same situation as you. Maybe if we talk to them, they'll help you get back to normal," Jean suggested.
"Doubtful. Those boys have enough on their plate," Riza cut in, slapping his forehead.
"Before we do anything, there's something I need you to help me with," Rebecca said heavily, tucking a raven black ringlet curl behind her ear.
"I have to get back to the office. I'll see you tomorrow Jean," Riza smiled as she made her way out the door.
"What? But…" the smoker started. "Great, now I'm stuck playing servant to a doll. Alright, Beck, what is it you need done?" he sighed, turning to Rebecca.
"It's Rebecca, and we need to go bury my brother's body," the doll-girl replied.
An hour later, Jean stood before a ritzy gated community far from his apartment. His heart was beating very fast; he hadn't even known this part of the city existed, and yet he was about to set foot inside. Rebecca, having refused to pose in a box as a gift, shifted uncomfortably in the backpack slung over Jean's shoulder. She tried kicking him to remind him to get the key she had carried with her when she left her house the night before. He pulled the small silver object out of the pocket of his pants and stared at it, looking up at the person manning the gate.
"What do I do again?" he whispered.
"Just say you're here to visit the Morgenstern's. My parents are dead but my brother James and I live in their house. Or… we used to," Rebecca replied.
"Used to?" he asked, slowly approaching the gate.
"Well, James died when he transmuted me and I don't know what's going to happen to me now," she answered glumly once they were inside.
"Wait, we're going to recover your brother's corpse?" he asked, stopping. Rebecca wriggled her way out of the top of the pack and leaned over his shoulder.
"I refuse to let it sit there and fester. It's the least I can do after what he did for me," she muttered in his ear. She tried unsuccessfully to avoid inhaling the smoke from yet another cigarette. "Do you always smoke?"
"Does it bother you?" he asked, flicking off some ashes.
"I'll adapt," she sniffed. "Now hurry. The more time we waste the more decomposed James's body is becoming."
"Are you sure no one's going to report this? Wouldn't the neighbors notice a dead body?" he inquired though he kept walking forward.
"He died last night. I doubt they'd notice so quickly," Rebecca said stiffly, pointing to her right. Jean turned and she hopped down from her place in the backpack. "All the same, we best be on our way before they do find out."
"You're gonna walk?" he asked.
"My legs are stiff from sitting around all morning. Besides, you heard what Ms. Hawkeye said about me: 'The craftsmanship is astounding. It looks like a real little girl.' Just say I'm your niece or something. It'll be fine," she assured him, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. She then began leading the way to her old house, though it wasn't long before she was running to keep up with Jean's long strides.
"Am I going to fast?" he asked over his shoulder.
"You think?" she panted, pressing a hand to her chest.
"I could carry you if you need me to," he offered.
"There's no need; we're there," she pointed to a massive building before them. It was three stories tall, with a grand entryway with a chandelier and marble columns. Jean carefully fit the key into the lock on the polished wood door and turned it. There was a satisfying click and it swung open slowly, releasing an eerie creaking noise. Rebecca stepped inside and looked around at the polished stone floor and darkened ceiling. She jogged for the stairs and began climbing them.
"What's that?" Jean asked after something made a loud thudding sound.
"I don't know," Rebecca replied. The pair made their way up to the third floor. "We were in the attic. That's what I remember seeing when I woke up."
"If you don't mind me asking, why did your brother transmute you?" Jean chattered.
"I was murdered by a serial killer," she replied bluntly, smiling.
"That's nothing to smile about," he chided, pushing open the attic door.
"Especially when the killer finds out that one of his victims has already died," a voice cooed from the shadows. "But another victim has come back to life. That means I can kill you again, little girl."
"Who's there?" Jean demanded.
"I've long forgotten my civilian name, but you can call me Marduk," a dark blob chuckled from the shadows.
"Marduk? Weren't you arrested ten years ago?" Jean questioned.
"I was, but I broke out. Do you have a problem with that?" Marduk asked, his voice dripping with false sweetness. Rebecca saw the glint of metal and tugged on Jean's pant leg.
"I think he's armed," she hissed up at him.
"You're pretty observant, little girl. Of course I'm carrying a weapon. How else would I be able to slice and dice your big brother?" Marduk chuckled, tossing something in their direction. It landed on the floor heavily and rolled along the hardwood, "And you're far too kind, bringing me a new victim," he added as the object stopped at Rebecca's feet.
"What the-!" Jean cried, backing away. Rebecca screamed when she saw what the object was: James's head.
"Mr. Havoc!" she cried as Marduk charged forward, knife ready to be sunk into someone's body. She felt something wrap around her waist and heard two gunshots.
"You insolent brat!" Marduk spat. He pressed a hand to the two holes in his left shoulder. He nimbly tossed the knife into his right hand and charged again.
"Get outside, Rebecca!" Jean snapped as he pointed his gun at Marduk again.
"What?" she asked, confused.
"Do you really want to die a second time?" he barked.
"No, I'm not going to leave without you!" she protested hotly. Another gunshot echoed in the still mansion. Jean tightened his grip on Rebecca and sprinted for the door.
"You can't escape from the god of death, little girl!" Marduk cackled as Jean fled the house.
"Marduk is revered by some cultures as a god of death, guiding people to their graves prematurely simply because of bloodlust. Others say that Marduk is a savior, taking the souls of people who are suffering and guiding them to heaven. No matter how we look at it, Marduk is involved with the taking of peoples' lives," Jean said when the pair was safely back in his loft. "His civilian name was Mark DeFleur, formerly a math professor at East City University. It says that he had a breakdown due to the stress of his job and was diagnosed as mentally ill. The next day officials found his wife and children killed. They had been strangled, maimed, drowned and finally had their throats slit and bodies decapitated. After that it was reported that he murdered twenty people a year." He flipped the page in a packet he had had delivered to the loft not too long ago.
"Twenty murders in a year?" Rebecca cried incredulously.
"Shh! I've got neighbors," Jean hissed. "Marduk was the most feared serial killer ten years ago, accomplishing twenty murders on average per year, but that's not what got him into the record books. He's most infamous for brutally torturing his victims before killing them. He was locked up in prison, specifically the psych ward. What irks me is there's been no mentioning of his escape, especially since he was sentenced to be there for life."
"If he has escaped, isn't the city in some form of danger?" she pressed.
"Yeah, you have a point there. Now that I think about it, I was one of the people who helped arrest him ten years ago," he mumbled.
"You worked for the military?" she inquired.
"Still do, actually," he grinned lighting up yet another cigarette.
"Then you are at risk as well," Rebecca concluded.
"As well?" Jean repeated.
"He's going to try to kill me again. I don't know how, but he knows that my brother brought me back to life. And once he figures out that you helped lock him up he'll be after you too," she replied solemnly.
Jean tossed the packet onto the table, taking a very long drag from his cigarette. He didn't much like the direction this situation was headed. He was talking to a living doll, which was actually the soul of one of the victims of East City's biggest serial killer of the past decade attached to a doll. The murderer who had killed her was on the loose and, not only did he know that she had been brought back to life, but was out to kill her again. And it just so happened to be the killer he had helped lock away, meaning that if the killer learned who Jean was, he'd probably be added to the 'to-kill' list. He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke from his cig billow in a faint grey cloud and dissipate into the air.
"Like it or not, Mr. Havoc, we're in this together. You're going to need my help if you want to put Marduk back behind bars," Rebecca said firmly.
"If you say so, Beck," he shrugged.
"It's Rebecca, not Beck, Mr. Havoc," she grumbled. The nerve of this brute, addressing her so casually when they barely knew one another. Perhaps his upbringing had not been as… refined as hers had been, but it was common knowledge that people only addressed each other with a nickname when they were close friends. She and Mr. Havoc could hardly be called acquaintances.
"Call me Jean," he replied.
"If you insist," she sighed. "Jean."
"First things first, we've gotta figure out your… living arrangements," he raked a hand through his bangs and stood up.
"I'd like to stay with you, if you don't mind," Rebecca stated. "It'd be best if we stick together. If Marduk catches us apart, he might see it as an opportunity to knock one of us off."
"You make a convincing argument, Rebecca, though I'm not too comfortable with the whole idea. How old are you?" he inquired.
"I'm eighteen," she replied. "Despite my appearance," she added with a cursory glance at her new body.
"Alright, you're legal. That makes things a bit more comfortable. I'd feel awkward sleeping in the same room with a minor," he grinned. Rebecca sucked in breath sharply. The lout actually had a quite charming smile and more decency than she had thought.
"Who was that woman that was here earlier?" she inquired.
"Oh, that was Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, one of my superiors. She dropped by to return my wallet," he explained. "You'll see her again tomorrow."
"I will?"
"We need to go the military headquarters to dig up more info on Marduk, and I don't want to leave you here by yourself. Like you said, we should stick together," he said, waving his hand around and sprinkling ashes on the floor in the process. "That and we should get you some other clothes. Wouldn't want to get your pretty party dress ruined," he added with a grin.
Rebecca blushed, remembering what had been going on when she had woken up that morning.
"Oh, sorry about… uh… your clothes. If I had known you were alive I wouldn't have…" he trailed off, clearly at a loss for words.
"Don't be bothered. You didn't know and I wasn't ready to reveal myself," she said quickly, her face heating up slightly.
"Um, you can take the bed. I'll sleep on the floor," he changed the subject.
"I appreciate your graciousness, but I'll sleep elsewhere. The last thing I'd want to do is deprive you of your bed," Rebecca stood up and lowered herself from the table top.
"We're gonna get along just great," Jean murmured to himself. This girl was a total aristocrat. Everything about her spelled 'upper-class' from the way she carried herself to her manners to the way she spoke. It was a total contrast to his laid-back country-boy persona. If he was lucky, things would go smoothly.
Well, as smoothly as they could when one is being hunted by a serial killer.
A/N: hello. it's nice to meet you, and it's good to see you again.
as many of you may already know, my name is alchemicmonkey.
what's that? why am i starting a new story instead of working on one i already started?
the answer is simple: i got a new laptop, but all the chapters for the stories i'm currently working on are half-written and are saved on my house computer, which is back in california. i am currently in las vegas, nevada.
be aware, i will be starting a slew of new stories. plese check them out.
and if any of you can think of a witty and intelligent title for this story, i'd really appreciate it. it's a horror story (obviously. look at the genre), so something dark and kinda creepy would work.
R&R please and thank you very much!