Disclaimer: Not for profit, just for fun. I don't own LOCI or Annie Get Your Gun. Please don't sue me.

The girl that I marry will have to be

As soft and as pink as a nursery

Daddy has been humming ever since he got his new subject four days ago. He makes Daddy happy when he comes down to dinner, and Daddy hums and snaps his fingers and smiles at me and waves his hands through the air talking about how Broadway Bill dismembers female genitalia with a tablesaw until Mommy shushes him.

I hate Mommy. She's boring and not exciting like Daddy. All she does is lie in bed all day and cry. Mommy and Daddy tell me big girls aren't supposed to cry, but she cries all the time. She never, ever plays with me and my birthday party today was stupid and horrible because she wouldn't get out of her stupid bed to decorate or make me a cake until way too late and then it came out all wrong and now it's her fault all the stupid stupid kids in my class who don't even know what "mutilation" means are making fun of me.

Daddy forgot about my birthday but that's okay because Daddy works, Daddy does really big important work learning things that nobody else knew before and he does it better than anybody else. So it's not his fault he didn't come to my party, it's Mommy's fault for not reminding him because she just sits here all alone and cries and doesn't do anything.

So now I am sitting all hunched up in the corner cupboard of Daddy's very private study where I am not supposed to be so I can listen to his Daddy-humming, and I am sitting here clutching Miss Liza Rose (who is my absolute favorite doll and was a present from Daddy on my fourth birthday when he had to go away to interview Arthur Willitz before he got the electric chair, so Mommy went and bought her to be from him to me). And through the crack in the cupboard I can see Daddy dance-shuffling back and forth, picking up things and putting them down, glinting in the light, hum hum hum humhumhum…

My foot is getting sleepy and it slips, thwack! And Daddy jumps, finger slipping on the blade, swears loudly and whirls to the cupboard with booming footsteps and he is monster-angry with loud sharp eyes and giant voice: "Jo! Get the hell out of there! How many times have I told you to stay out? How many times have I—"

There is blood on his finger where he cut himself, and it shines like molten glowing magic rubies as it spreads across his skin.

The girl I call my own

Will wear satins and laces and smell of cologne

Today I got an A++ on my science test, and I was the only one because our teacher accidentally gave us the sixth grade science test and I was the only one who knew the difference between arteries and veins and what it meant when a bruise forms because everyone else in my class was too stupid to know. And so I ran right home and knocked and knocked and knocked at Daddy's study door because I knew he would be so proud of me and it would make him happy because he hasn't been happy for days because the LAPD sent him home when he couldn't get Jaime Rodriguez to talk to him (but he'll come up with a new strategy, Daddy always does, Daddy always wins, he helped catch the Midnight Strangler in Dallas just two days ago). And finally he snapped at me to come in, and I opened the door, and—

Daddy has tied down Miss Liza Rose to the lampstand, and her beautiful face is all slashed up and ruined. He is standing next to her with a scalpel, and on either side are two big boys looking very hard and impressed at her, where Daddy has made little markings in red and black and black and where next to her he has cut up all her pretty blue and gold clothes into messed-up ragged tears. They glance up at me and look very annoyed, and maybe this was a very very bad idea because Daddy isn't even looking at me as he sinks the shiny blade in Liza Rose's leg right at the knee. "Well, Jo? We're busy. What's so urgent. Spit it out."

"Daddy, that's…that's Miss Liza Rose, she's…she's my doll." It's not fair it's not fair it's not fair.

"Too old to be playing with dolls." Daddy flaps his hand at me, wrenches off her knee. "She's the closest thing we've got to an anatomically correct model, needed a visual aid. Go do your homework." He spreads Liza's legs apart, turning to the big boy on the left. "Sebastian's getting more advanced in his knifework, you can expect to see him starting to take trophies, probably both pre- and post-mortem."

"B-but—" and I do a bad thing, I touch his shoulder which is bad because There Is No Touching In This House, "you gave her to me."

"Well, then, I can take her back, can't I?" he snaps. "Go do your homework."

Nobody makes me supper that night. Mommy tells me she's proud of my test, but she won't get out of bed.

Her nails will be polished, and in her hair

She'll wear a gardenia, and I'll be there

"How would you like to help me with something very important?"

Daddy wants my help.

Dad wants me…to help him.

Of course I say yes.

Mom has been dead for two weeks now. She was getting better, I thought. I really thought. She was smiling all the time even if it was a scary smile all sharp hard edges and too shiny like it hurt to do, but it was still a smile. Smiling people don't kill themselves.

(the bubbles had turned pink and that's all I remember before my brain started screaming)

And she helped me with my English homework and baked cookies and took me to the store to pick out a dress for my first school dance, which I wore to the funeral instead because Daddy said "waste not, want not" and it was black anyway. And I cried and cried until Daddy squeezed my palm like a vise and whispered, "God, Jo, don't be loud, it's ridiculous."

That night I sat outside his study and listened to him punch the wall again and again and again.

"Jo. Concentrate." And Dad starts in again as he pulls the fluffy pink dress over my head, loosens the bodice: how I'm supposed to act, what I'm supposed to say, exactly how I'm supposed to play into Jeffrey Holmes' fantasies as based on Daddy's profile. But I've already memorized it. I know what the intonation of my voice should be when I flirt with him, his precious little princess come to life, how to alter my posture when he won't cooperate, the key phrases that will trigger information, and I recite it all back to Dad and he grins. "That's my girl."

And everything is warm and right inside me.

"When we get back we'll play a game. Matching game, eh?"

I'm not going to be a coward like Mommy. I'm not going to give up, or be foolish, and disappoint him.

I'm going to be Daddy's girl.

'Stead of flittin', I'll be sittin'

Next to her, and she'll purr like a kitten

I'm done with the third doll. She made such pretty noises and her skin opened up all nice to muscle and bone, and Daddy will be coming soon. Daddy will figure it all out.

Daddy went away but he will be back with me. Quantico was a bad idea but this is a perfect idea and he will love it. Not getting Sebastian always hurt him.

Daddy appreciates thoughtfulness.

The second and third dolls went much better than the first, but they were all such good jobs for no practical experience. They screamed so wonderful when the branch shoved inside them and the shears too and then the shears all up and down and everywhere. And the red was everywhere outside and inside and I was hot and panting as the deliciousness seized me up and they begged and whimpered, pleaded, so hot and good as the blades bite in out in out, so good.

But now the third doll is all done and it's time for number four. Daddy will like this one. He'll think it's a genius stroke when he figures it out, and he'll be so proud and visit me every day to talk about it.

I take off the gag and stroke down her cheek and of course she doesn't want to scream just yet but the way she's breathing's almost as good, all fast and harsh, and I wish I had a camera so I could give Daddy this.

I'm going to make this one so special.

Bobby's too old to be playing with dolls, anyway.

A doll I can carry

The girl that I marry must be.