A/N: So, this is a one-shot that barged into my head one snowy night and wouldn't leave until I wrote it out. It all stemmed from one too many glasses of wine, with a friend who was re-watching S04E5 (and S04E11) when the legend that is David Hasselhoff/Dondo tells the Sons about the lifelike sex dolls - you can literally see the moment Tig's mind breaks at the very idea.
This is a one shot, never to be repeated -or continued- but I thought I'd share it here for your amusement. I hope the idea hasn't been done before.
Please review if you read; I hope you enjoy it! (Oh and that is an actual "Real Doll" in the cover picture... I did some research. God help anyone looking at my internet history!)
As always, the Son of Anarchy are not mine, but the words of this bizarre little story are!
Enjoy!
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Tig Trager and the Soulless Siren
Fifty-eight hundred bucks.
Five thousand, seven hundred, ninety-nine dollars and ninety-eight cents to be exact.
What the hell had he been thinking?
All the hookers he could have bought with that money! All the strippers too! Hell, he could have taken a croweater and it wouldn't have cost him a dime!
He knew it was a moment of madness - just one of many! He hadn't been in his right mind when he sneaked on to Juice's laptop and muddled his way through the internet to find what he was after.
At the time, what he was doing didn't really register. It was like something had taken him over, making him act crazy. He'd felt that before but never when it came to dolls; he fucking hated dolls! Yet no matter how hard he tried to stop thinking about what Dondo said, or what he'd seen at Georgie's studio - he couldn't shake the urges that had burrowed under his skin and took root.
So many bad things had happened; so much death and destruction - he guessed he'd been feeling masochistic when he blindly placed the order. Finding pleasure in suffering, punishing himself in one way or another for his mistakes and failures.
Bobby was stuck rotting away in a jail cell. Miles was dead, buried deep somewhere near the reservation, Piney had died alone in a dilapidated cabin probably scared shitless, and Kozik? Well, was barely cold in the ground. Fuck! He'd felt his death more than he ever expected too. That blond haired asshole had actually started to grow on him again, but now he was gone for good.
He'd never appear out of the blue from Tacoma again; never annoy him with his dumb blond ways or steal the chicks he'd earmarked for himself. What worried him the most was the thought that maybe Kozik had got what was coming to him. Karma catching up to him for all the shit he'd done for SAMCRO -and for what had happened to Missy- but if karma had that in store for Kozik, what the hell was it plotting for him?
With Clay still in the hospital recovering from the apparent Niners attack, days seemed so much much harder to get through. Guilt ate away at him constantly. He kept asking himself over and over why he'd turned his back on a brother. How he'd let Gemma get to him the way she did; how he'd got caught up in another man's private business. It hurt so badly to see her face all broken and bruised, an illustration of the death of the relationship he admired, took comfort in, and almost coveted. It still stung to think of how he could do nothing to help two of the people he loved most in the world.
He felt so much regret for handing in his SA tag; deep remorse for what that action had led to. Painful thoughts running through his head, reminding him of who he'd hurt in the process of getting revenge. He knew the kind of trouble that would bring to his clubs doorstep, it was only a matter of time.
Thankfully, for the moment there wasn't much happening for with the club. Everyone was still reeling over recent events and keeping a low profile. The lull in everything allowed for no drama or action, giving him no way to step out from under the dark clouds that loomed over him, and all he loved.
Those were always the worst times, no distraction, no purpose. A fading sense of belonging. Those factors always bought him to the point where he'd do crazy shit, and this was no exception.
Jax had leapt into the top seat so damn fast, and Tig knew there was a part of the new president that had delighted in pushing him down a seat at the table. It was getting harder and harder to walk into the clubhouse with so much simmering beneath the surface.
And Dawn. How could he get his mind off poor, sweet, crazy Dawn. Just what on earth had she needed so much money for? What drove her to come to him this time? He couldn't bear to consider what trouble she'd got herself into, knowing there was little or nothing he could do to help. Not without risking pushing her even further away than she'd already drifted.
Bad things were brewing in all corners of his life and he needed a distraction from it all. Focusing on the horror and excitement of having this new plaything ought to help - or so he hoped.
It was totally a chick thing to do, wasn't it? To spend thousands of dollars in the name of mourning and emotional distress. The credit card bills in Charming and Tacoma had probably gone through the roof the day the croweaters and local skanks found out Kozik had been killed.
Fuck! He couldn't believe he'd spent such a shit load of money to make himself feel better? Had he really purchased such a crazy thing to make himself feel better? What kind of sense did that make?
None! That's how much! Now there was little doubt that he was certifiable!
There was no going back now though; the five foot by three-foot crate was finally sitting smack bang in the middle of his living room.
Waiting there, like some bizarre modern art statue. A piece that would fetch a hefty price in a gallery; given some emotive name like "promises" or "gifts from afar"...but it would still be just a shipping crate to anyone who glanced its way. A shipping crate that contained Tig Trager's biggest fear.
He looked at the prybar on the pockmarked coffee table and then back to the crate again. He had to get it open. Get it over with! Get a look at what the best part of six grand had actually bought him.
He'd been waiting and worrying about it for weeks now, struggling to not think about what he'd done. How to deal with the frivolous purchase he'd made. Scaring himself as he wondered just what the hell he was going to do with the damn thing when it took up residence in his house.
Bravely, he stood up; took off his kutte and made sure his gun was within arm's reach. There wasn't much point in that, he knew. The thing in the box didn't breathe and it certainly didn't bleed - so how could he kill it?
The contents of the crate was an enemy he had never faced before and the only person he had to blame for the rapidly building terror inside his gut - was himself.
Trying to ignore the fear and apprehension he picked up the prybar and set to work, jemmying the front panel of the box free. It was harder work than it looked but it didn't take long to pry it loose. Sending it crashing onto the floor; revealing a white panel of polystyrene.
It was behind there - waiting for him, and his heart was already beating like a war drum. Adrenaline building up his defenses, helping to keep the terror inside under control. He just needed to suck it up and indulge his crazy desire. Get some bang for his buck and be done with it!
He dropped the prybar and started working his fingers into the gaps between the rough white and the splintering yellow. Loosening the panel before pulling it out of the way and setting it against the couch.
He could already feel its eyes on him.
A shudder ran up his back; what the hell had he been thinking?
He looked to the gun again and felt some warming reassurance sink in against the coldness of fear. He knew it was crazy to be so afraid of inanimate objects but the more he tried not to be afraid, the more shit they scared out of him.
Slowly he turned to the open crate, nervously looking to it. Braced, in case an animated body was to leap out at him and grab him around the throat.
The daylight didn't quite reach inside the box, creating a haunting image. All he could see were rubber knees and false hands. The curve of a covered fake breast and beady little eyes staring at him through the darkness.
"Jesus Christ!" He winced, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck go up. This was madness; absolutely madness!
He knew if he had any sense left, he'd pack up the box and call the courier company to come get it the fuck out of his living room, but he couldn't find the fight in him. He was still far too curious and bizarrely aroused by the idea of such an experience.
He took a deep -confident- breath and told himself it was okay. Nothing was going to happen; as long as he didn't panic it would be fine.
"Alright bitch!" Tig said to the shadowy guest. "Let's do this!"
With that, he shakily reached both arms into the box and touched soft, silicone arms. He cringed. Coiled tight, expecting the limbs to wrap around his and yank him into the darkness, but to his relief they remained frozen - and he relaxed a tiny bit.
Pushing back the trepidation he felt, he bent a little more and took a firm grip, dragging the life-sized body out into the light for the first time. It was an awkward object to grip and its face was pushed right up against his; synthetic skin against organic flesh. So close it stopped him from seeing any other features but a close up of those cold, glassy, hazel eyes.
Fear pounced on his back, blowing it all out of proportion. The fucking thing was on him - attacking him!
Clapped on like a limpet!
Panic ripped through him and he tossed the hundred pound doll as far as he could. Sending it crashing onto the couch with a dull thud.
He stumbled back, grabbing for the mantelpiece to steady himself. The fucking thing was more real than he remembered seeing. It was terrifyingly realistic. Jesus! What kind of freak bought -and enjoyed- these kinds of things?
A perfect slender body formed by a skeleton made of metal poles and mechanical joints. Flesh made of soft rubbers and plastics to create hauntingly realistic human imitation.
Slim legs and hips; an artistically sculpted stomach. Perfect French manicured nails on delicate but unnaturally smooth looking hands. Full, round breasts covered by a skimpy white tank top with the logo for the "Real Doll" company who made her.
The body wasn't unwelcoming, in fact - he could already feel her calling out to him. Luring him over with feminine wiles. A tingle blooming at the thought of playing with the dolls womanly parts, but the face? That was something else entirely.
It looked so real and yet so lifeless, though not in the way a dead body did. It wasn't deflated and void of light, it was just cold and soulless. It was horrifying to him.
Its full peach lips were frozen open as if it was about to speak. A fixed expression on lips that could never utter a word of his dirty secret. A mouth that he would never dare kiss - or touch. Teeth were dangerous, he knew that better than anyone. Even if they were supposed to be plastic he wasn't taking any chances; he wanted to keep the use of his tongue.
The dolls creator had tried hard to make her as realistic and beautiful as possible. A perfectly proportioned nose and defined eyebrows. The chestnut brown wig - which was apparently interchangeable. The perfectly long eyelashes and heavy, dark make up around those empty hazel eyes - making them seem even more sinister.
Fuck! He knew it was so wrong to have this thing in his possession, but the idea of using it for his pleasure felt so nauseatingly right.
He knew he had to face a phobia head-on to get control of it. He'd been to the morgue and found himself a cold one to violate, just so he could stare death in the face. Gain pleasure from what scared him, so he could convince himself it wasn't something he needed to live in fear of.
He knew he had to do it; he needed to derive some kind of gratification from that terrifying thing. Then maybe afterward, all the other dolls he encountered would seem insignificant.
Jesus, it looked so weird! Yet still, the artificial womanly curves were calling to him. Urging him to come closer and caress that which made his blood run cold.
He'd seen, touched -and made- enough dead bodies to draw a comparison. When a body was devoid of life, it still looked like it had lived. Lines on its face, scars and blemishes on its skin. The years of emotions, events and movements left traces of themselves across a body.
Even if you didn't know the owner, you could tell just by looking at them in death that they had laughed and cried, loved and lost, suffered and triumphed - all of that was missing in this object.
Really, it should have been an ideal toy for him. A still body of cold supple flesh. All the erotic draw of a lifeless body but with none of the guilt. Yet, no matter how lifelike the manufacturer made the doll look, it was missing that spark that made it truly realistic.
The body was perfect, yet it had never been graced with movement to gain experience or a voice that could express itself to the world. A mind to think, or a will to do. It was a body that had never been fitted with a soul to feel, and that was what scared him the most.
It was an object that looked so real yet was missing so much humanity - an embodiment of how he felt on some of his darkest days.
He chuckled to himself, thinking that she really should be the perfect woman. Silent, obliging. Always ready for any kind of sex he wanted. She wouldn't expect flowers, or whine and bitch when he didn't cut the lawn or change a broken plug.
She wouldn't call him an asshole or a waste of skin, and take away things he loved. She couldn't walk out on him; cut out his heart and leave him for dead.
She was all the benefits of a female body and none of the drama. Yet he feared humanizing a doll; worrying that giving it a name or a personality would breathe life into it in some way.
The mere idea of that just made the fear worse. Thoughts of the silicone and fake hair being animated, moving towards him, reaching out to him...
He shuddered again. He must have been totally wasted the night he placed the order. His senses had completely checked out, leaving him to do the craziest thing he could think of - without getting himself killed.
Wanting to get it over with before he really started to freak out, Tig got up and stood over the doll. "Come on sweetheart...at least I won't have to buy you a drink!" He laughed nervously. Picking up his gun and tucking it into the waist of his jeans before grabbing the doll by the arms and hoisting it from the couch.
Instantly he rejected the idea of carrying it face to face - that was way too creepy. So instead, he turned the dead weight and wrapped his arms around its waist and lifted from behind.
Damn! For a piece of plastic it sure was heavy and difficult to maneuver. He winced, taking the strain in his lower back. He'd hauled more than his share of dead bodies before, if they were fresh they weren't so hard to shift. The flesh was still malleable and gave when you pulled it one way or another. This thing -this doll- well, she wasn't giving an inch! Frozen in a sitting position and about as yielding as a chunk of Redwood!
He struggled down the corridor to his bedroom, bumping its legs and his elbows into walls and door jambs. Cursing the awkwardness of the doll and its weight as he went. Carting her around was a great way to ruin a perfectly good hard-on!
Finally he crashed through the bedroom door and unceremoniously dumped the body onto his bed. Wiping his forehead, checking for sweat as he looked down at her and the absurdity of it all.
Laying there, legs bent at the knee, arms bowed at the elbow. It looked as if she was riding an invisible bike or climbing up a ladder. This would never do...
Touching his hand to his forehead, he figured he'd be safer if her limbs were straight, so he set about adjusting her legs into a better position and then smoothed out her arms. Flattening them down into the bed so they would remain in his peripheral vision at all times - for safety!
He knew it was crazy but the thought to tie the damn things hands up entered his head. If there was the slightest movement from the inorganic mass before him, he would surely die of heart failure! Right there, alone on his bedroom floor - which wasn't exactly how he planned to exit the world.
"Just get it done man!" He told himself, knowing once he'd played with her, she wouldn't seem so scary.
Right?
He took his gun out from the small of his back and placed it on the bed besides the doll. Shooting it wouldn't do any good - he knew that. Yet there was something reassuring about having the cold, deadly steel to hand. He found it bought him comfort in any situation; eased his every fear.
Wanting to get a good look at what he'd paid so much money for, he began removing the dolls clothes. Pulling off the skimpy tank top carefully; picking at it like he was plucking out a floating fifty dollar bill from a bucket of garbage water.
Nervously he drew the top over her head, sending the dark brown locks flicking and flopping as he pulled the clothing free. It made the wig look a little more natural - softened and windswept but still those dead eyes stared back, so vacant and dark; yet somehow so seductive.
He cast his own eyes away, looking at the full breasts bared to him. Pert and perfect. Still, with no breath lifting them up and down. Just there waiting for him to touch.
It was sick how turned on he was. Six grand for what was essentially nothing more than jerking off? Hell, it would have only cost him a couple hundred bucks to have Skeeter leave him alone with a cold pack for a few minutes.
He swallowed hard, forcing back heavy hesitation, a hint of regret and a shitload of dread. Moving around the bed to get to work. He was going to do it. He was going to get it over with. Fuck the damn thing, and try to at least get a little of his money's worth!
He didn't bother to undress himself, he just straddled the doll at the knees and looked up at the silicone breasts in front of his face. Feeling a tingle and tightening in his jeans as he moved his hands up and cupped them. Squeezing hard and massaging them, enjoying the cool softness against his rough palms.
He'd felt many breasts in his years - far more than any Average Joe of his age. He knew a good pair of tits when he felt them and although the ones cupped in his hands felt firm but soft and delightful. They didn't feel or look as real as they were supposed to.
The perfect pinkish-brown nipple had all the ridges and bumps a human womans had, but they seemed so two dimensional. The rubber flesh appeared almost translucent against the soft light coming in from the window. Empty of lifeblood and cells that gave the gift of life to a body.
She was alluring in some twisted way but missing that sparkle; the essence of life which was an ever-present reminder that this thing beneath him was no a woman at all, but in fact his biggest fear.
He ran his tongue over the smooth, flawless skin of one breast and then the other. There was no muted, salty taste like that of a real woman. No soft, warm scent or spring to the body underneath him. No returned motion, no matter how subtle. He hadn't realized how much he could miss those things.
He moved his mouth to the perfect erect nipple and slipped his lips over it. Running his tongue across the hard nub; instinctively expecting to hear a reaction -a gasp, or a moan- but the room remained silent. The silicone slut didn't much care for foreplay.
With a cruel smirk, he closed his teeth around it and bit down hard - until his teeth met. The rubber felt so unnatural -almost squeaky- but it soothed the urge inside to be more vicious. A desire that most breathing women wouldn't often allow him to indulge.
As he squeezed and teased the fake pair of breasts before him, he began to grind his hips into the stiff synthetic body beneath him. Feeling the heat in his groin and the sensual friction that radiated from his motions.
The body under him felt so odd but all his senses were heightened. His fear and adrenaline pushing his body into overdrive. It felt like he had the barrel of a gun pressed against the base of his skull. The thrill of such danger; the buzz of facing a fear arousing him yet horrifying him at the same time.
"Alright!" He barked, snapping back the contemplation and pushing up off the doll. "Let's get this done!" He reached over to the nightstand and opened the draw to reveal his stash of sex paraphernalia.
He put his hand out for a box of condoms but stopped himself and laughed. Did he really need to use a condom? It wasn't like the rubber bitch could give him herpes or the clap, but it was a habit he couldn't risk falling out of.
He grabbed a metallic blue packet from the box and slammed the draw shut, before he could laugh at himself anymore. Next, he snatched up a half empty bottle of lube - knowing he'd need it; for his pleasure - not hers!
Kneeling over the doll, he tried hard not to look at that dead-eyed face as he unbuckled his belt and freed himself. He was surprised by just how excited he was. The doll was no more attractive than any of the women he'd been with before, but the way his dick was acting made it seem as if he had a virgin-come-porn star in his bed.
He knew it was the fear driving him -exciting him- and he also knew, if he stopped to think on it too hard, he'd freak the fuck out and bail!
Determined, he hooked his fingers in the tiny white thong she wore and pulled it down. The friction of the silicone surface made it difficult to remove. He began to wrestle her rigid form, lifting her up off the bed like a plank of wood as he desperately tried to pry the panties off. It was a battle - one he didn't want to fight. Too much movement was giving him the serious creeps.
Instead of struggling any further, he took the fabric in his hands and pulled it apart. Ripping his way clear to the expensive body he'd craved to touch. The one that was calling out to him in such a twisted way.
Now that there was nothing denying him access, he quickly put the condom on and moved back a little to assess the situation between her legs. The website said that area would be the most realistic feeling, but Tig doubted it. If anyone knew how to judge a vagina - it was Tig Trager. He'd been in enough of them to know what a real one -a good one- should feel like.
He poured out a handful of lube and carefully rubbed it over himself, before moving his hand down to the doll and squirting a little over his point of entry. He could still feel those plastic eyes on him, staring! Blank, yet somehow lusty and encouraging. Following his every move, as if at any moment she would ask just what the hell he thought he was doing.
Letting curiosity override the apprehension; he slid two fingers inside and felt around. It was unnaturally tight and cool inside. The soft but firm silicone wrapping firm around his digits. He could feel out the carefully implemented grooves and contours to provide a realistic feeling but it all felt oddly clinical and false. Which it was of course; he wasn't under any illusion but he had hoped for something to blow his mind. Something to justify such a costly form of glorified masturbation.
Keen to get things moving, and over with. He settled over the doll and guided himself inside. Wincing at the unwelcoming lack of give. He had expected it to feel odd, but this was something else.
He couldn't liken the feeling to anything he'd experienced before. It was so blindingly unnatural, so static, but before he knew what was happening his hips instinctively began to move back and forth. The tight grip she had around him creating a soothing, yet somehow deficient sensation.
His arousal piqued and suddenly he need more. He began to thrust in and out as hard as he dared. Lust and desire for release rushing in to chase away the dread in his blood.
Watching as the fake breasts stayed near perfectly still, lacking the soft bouncing motion a real woman's chest had. His eyes caught on her face -its face- sending cold chills racing up his back.
"Look away!" He ordered in a gruff whisper. Pulling a spare pillow up and pushing it over the dolls face. He closed his eyes tightly but saw a horror movie playing out on the back of his eyelids. Visions of her coming to life, grabbing at him. Those creepy, flawless hands going for his throat.
His eyes snapped open and he gulped down a breath. Pushing the horrific image back into the dark corner in his mind that it ran out from.
He demanded that he relax into the moment and just enjoy the sensations. Let his release flow forward but the fear of it all was making it difficult to let go.
He closed his eyes again, tighter this time and imagined that this thing he was inside was not a doll but a real woman; cold or warm it didn't matter. He just needed to believe it was something that once had lifeblood running through its veins.
Replaying some of his favorite sexual encounters -like a private pornography collection in his head- he began to feel the blossoming release he craved. Pumping his hips in and out, over and over until he felt the first pinch of orgasm.
He grunted, grabbing at the rubbery breast and squeezing hard as he thrust faster; triggering the pleasure explosion at his core. Release filling him with the glorious mind numbing sensation he was damn near addicted to.
Breathless, he collapsed on top of the doll for a moment; his head on her shoulder as he felt the slip-stream of fulfillment fizzle through his body. His warm, living, breathing body.
With a heavy -satisfied- sigh he rolled off her, onto his back. Looking up at the ceiling in the final moments of post-orgasmic warmth, as a craving for a cigarette hit him like a truck. Sleepily he moved to sit up and reality suddenly cut through the afterglow.
Those disturbing eyes were staring at him again. So void of emotion and depth yet still looking at him questioningly, like she wanted something from him.
"Goddamn it!" He growled. There was no way in hell he could lay in a bed with that thing. A smoke and a nap would have to wait, the bitch needed to get the fuck out.
He pulled the condom off and tossed it before getting up off the bed and tucking himself away. Re-buckling his belt as he moved around to the opposite side of the bed. Without a word he hoisted the doll back up; this time throwing her over his shoulder, lugging her back out of the bedroom and out to the living room where their date had started.
He carelessly jammed the body back into the crate as best he could. He needed to seal her back inside, and quickly!
Afraid to leave her alone for more than a second, Tig rushed into the kitchen and rummaged around in the cupboard under the sink for his tool box. A hammer and nails would seal her inside and hopefully sate his fears.
He slowed down on his return to the living room, readying himself for a fight as he nervously peeked his head around the corner - his eyes going straight to the box. Half expecting to find it empty and to see her standing there, glaring at him with murderous intent...
His shoulders relaxed a little to see that the room was exactly how he left it, she was still sitting in the box, and he wasn't going to waste another second.
It didn't take long to seal the wooden tomb, he worked fast; trying hard not to look into the blackness and those glistening -questioning- eyes.
As soon as he was sure the crate was secured, he walked the hefty box onto the small red hand-truck and quickly wheeled it out of the living room; through into the kitchen and out of the main house via the internal garage door. He looked around for a place to store the crate and decided the best idea would be to push it into the corner; brace it against a wall.
Wheeling it to the far side of the room he eased the crate from the hand-truck and pushed the opened-side up into the corner, flush against the wall. Knowing that inside the doll would be trapped! Even if she did spring to life in the middle of the night, there was no way she'd get out without putting up a huge -noisy- fight.
He stepped back and looked at his work; the dim light of the garage made it all look and feel so much more creepy and sordid. The uneasiness of it all made him unconfident; it wasn't safe enough. She could get out if she tried!
Quickly, he began to gather up things to weigh the crate down and box it in good and tight!
He grabbed a cardboard box full of random bits and pieces he'd never got around to unpacking and put it on top of the crate. Next he shifted a dusty lawn mower over and pushed it against the far-side of the box, before pulling over an broken and heavy industrial welding machine, sliding that in front - pinning the wooden coffin in the corner. Trapping it hard against the breezeblock wall.
Satisfied that there was no escape for the lifeless woman inside. He stalked backwards to the garage door. Looking over his work for a final time, making sure it was all safe and secure as he backed out into the natural light of the kitchen.
It was stupid to be so terrified of a piece of fucking plastic or porcelain! He told himself it was pathetic at least a million times. Yet it never stopped him feeling the cold hand of fear crawling up his back every time he clapped eyes on one of the ungodly things.
He reached in, flicked off the garage light and closed the door on his fear. Turning the lock and making sure it was firmly in place, while making a mental note to go out and buy a padlock and bolt for extra security. For now though, a chair would have to do.
He dragged one away from the dining table he never used and jammed it firmly under the door handle. Making certain he'd done everything he could to keep a safe distance between himself and the epitome of his phobia.
Convinced he was once again secure in his own home, Tig took a deep soothing breath. Searching inside himself for the final tingles of pleasure but they were long gone.
He needed to go find some human pussy to get lost in. Help cleanse his mind of the nightmare visions of that fucking terrifying six grand doll -with the questioning, yet alluring face- coming to murder him in the night.
•••••••••••••••••••
Only three days passed before he couldn't stand it anymore. Just knowing she was in there scared the crap out of him! He couldn't bear to go to the kitchen in the dark, knowing that she was locked away inside the garage. With only a plywood door separating them. Protecting him.
He needed to get rid of the damn thing -and fast- before his last shred of sanity packed up and marched right on out!
He stuffed his hand into his pocket, pulled out his pre-paid cellphone and made a call to the only man he knew who wouldn't push for answers that he wasn't willing to give.
"Hap? Where you at man?"
"Clubhouse. Why?" The former nomad replied gruffly.
"Can you bring the van to my place?" He asked cautiously. "I need your help with something."
"What you done?" Happy asked, knowingly.
"No questions bro, I'll explain when you get here!" With that he hung up and looked back to the garage door that kept her imprisoned. She had to go. It had to go. He couldn't spend another moment in that house knowing what was lurking in the garage. He need to reclaim his home and his sanity!
•••••••••••••••••••
Tig was deeply grateful for Happy's lack of curiosity and conversation. He hadn't asked a single question, as he helped Tig pull back all the obstacles he'd pushed in front of the crate - a makeshift first line of defense.
Not a single curious word was spoken as they set about loading it into the back of the van. Even as they rode out to Chigger woods, the dangerous man still didn't ask. Knowing it was probably better if he didn't know what the crazy son-of-a-bitch had trapped up inside the plywood box.
It didn't take long to find a good spot. Off the beaten track and near enough to a tree; that would mark the spot and offer more coverage to the burial mount from its fallen leaves.
He and Happy dug down in the loose dirt, hard and fast. Stopping only to wipe sweat away and take a swig of cool beer. They both had more than enough experience in digging graves and the sandy, moist earth surrendered to their shovels without much force. Making the job quicker and easier than Tig had anticipated.
He felt an odd sense of sorrow as he stood back and looked at the shipping crate lying opened-side down in the shallow grave. He didn't know why he was feeling guilty; he should be feeling mad at himself! Six grand's worth of sex toy buried in the woods -what a waste- but he couldn't stomach a doll in his house any longer.
His mind had built her -and those glass eyes- into a nightmare vision. He had enough things keeping him awake at night as it was. He needed to known that she -it- was trapped underground, where no energetic human could escape - never mind a lifeless doll.
"She have a name?" Happy asked knowingly. Noticing the remorseful look in Tig's eyes.
Tig looked up, a hint of shock in his eyes. He didn't dare ask if Happy knew it was a doll inside or if he assumed it was a dead body. So, he just shook his head. "Narh!" He dismissed and without another word, Happy began to shovel in the dirt.
Tig watched with a bizarre sense of loss. Standing at the side of the hole like a mourner at a funeral. Dark memories flooded into the forefront of his mind. Visions of all the friends he'd seen committed to the earth. Re-runs of his past dancing before his eyes; burying his first old lady who he'd loved and lost on a highway so many years ago. Visions of Donna and the blue roses on top of her coffin. Then, Veronica Pope...
Guilt -a familiar enemy- grabbed at him again but he swallowed it down. He didn't have time to get over-emotional with his memories. That shit was done, in the past - just like the damned doll.
'So long, my soulless siren...' He thought to himself as he watched the dirt cover up the yellowed wood from view; hiding his twisted little secret in the dark earth. Encasing, her lifeless body in a lonely grave that would stand as silent as her lips. '...thanks for the memories!'
A/N: Ok...so, I just wrote a sex scene with a doll...I dread to think how disturbed that makes me! Hahaha! Hope you enjoyed my interpretation of a glimpse inside the mind and private life of the adorably twisted Tig Trager!
If you read it, please review.
I hope y'all liked it...and if you thought it was sick and weird; oh well - at least you made it this far! ;o)