PROLOGUE
The sun is bright and pouring down on me enough to force beads of sweat to slip down my neck. It doesn't bother me, though. I love the warmth and welcome it with open arms as I spin around the field back behind Mr. Delton's vegetable garden with my trusty sidekick dolls in either hand. I spin until my world starts to blur together and then I spin some more, laughing the whole time. Once I lose my balance, I fall to the ground with a thud and squint up against the sunlight. Everything is perfect. I can feel the grass starting to poke against my bare legs, but I resist the urge to scratch. My skin will adjust in a moment, and I can spend the rest of the day sprawled against the soft earth. The sun is high enough in the sky that I know I still have the whole afternoon ahead of me. And where else would I be on such a particularly lovely day?
Daddy never likes it when I venture all the way to Mr. Delton's garden, so today I made it a point not to tell him. I already know what he would say. He would sit me down at the kitchen table and say, "Now, Madge… you must be on guard and realize that not everyone will be as nice to you as you are to them." I never understand these speeches when he gives them, but I think maybe someday I will. For now, I'll just enjoy the summer sun and the company of Cora and Calen, my two favorite dolls that used to belong to my mom and my Aunt Maysilee. Cora was my mom's doll and made specifically to look like her, and Calen belonged to my aunt. The first time mom saw me playing with them, she pulled my hair and told me to never touch them again. I think once she realized daddy was mad at her, she apologized and told me I could have them.
I don't really have many friends, so I like to keep the company of my dolls and pretend that they're my friends. Cora fights with me a lot, but Calen is my favorite. It's probably silly to fight with your dolls, but if you imagine hard enough, it really makes sense. I mean, you can't get along all the time. Nobody gets along all the time. If someone says they do, I think they're just pretending. It's okay, though. I'll let them keep pretending their way, and I'll keep pretending with my dolls. I pull Calen to my chest and hug her against the fabric of my dress.
"Calen, do you think he's still there?" I ask her. Of course, I'm referring to Mr. Delton's vegetable garden monster that growls when he's hungry. I know it's not real, but it's the whole point of playing make believe. Not everything has to make perfect sense. "Let's run before he gets us!"
With that, I leap up from the ground, Cora in one hand and Calen in the other, and I run away from the garden where our pretend monster lives. I turn my head to look at the garden as my feet continue to carry me in the opposite direction. It's a mistake, I soon realize because I run hard enough right into something that knocks the wind out of my lungs. It's enough to make me fall back and land with a soft thump on the ground. It stings whatever bone that is at the very bottom of my back, but I quickly look up to see what I've hit.
Turns out, it isn't a "what" but a "who." I know his face, the boy I ran into. Cormack Holmes. He's older than me. I think he's twelve, but I can't be sure. I recognize his friends too. The dark haired boy is Rhys, and the one with the curls is Bennett. I'm not sure who the fourth one is. I don't recall ever seeing him before this moment.
"I'm sorry." I say sincerely as I hoist myself up off of the ground and attempt to walk around them.
Something's not right, though. I realize this as soon as Cormack steps to the side to block me from passing, and I look up in time to see a nasty smile that looks anything but friendly. I start to feel anxious, and the palms of my hands begin to sweat uncomfortably. My fingers grip around my dolls a little tighter than usual as I make another attempt to walk around this group of suddenly menacing boys. My second attempt was just as pointless as my first because it appears as if they have other plans for me. Plans that I'm still unaware of but sure I'll find out soon enough.
"Careful there, little girl. Don't want to ruin that pretty dress of yours." Cormack reaches down and tugs at the blue bow on the front of my dress until it comes undone. I glance down at my dress and frown at the sight my bow falling lamely against the white cotton. I love my blue bow because daddy says it brings out my eyes, but I realize now isn't the time to be thinking about that.
"And aren't you a little old to be playing with dolls?" Rhys chimes in and grabs Calen right out of my hands before I have a chance to protest.
"I'm eight!" I snap as I jump forward in an attempt to get my aunt's doll back, but it's useless. Cormack grabs me in an instant and lets out a harsh laugh as he holds me tight. I can't move really.
I can feel the tears starting to burn at the back of my eyes. I know what's coming next. I watch helplessly as Rhys pulls on Calen until her arm rips off, and I let out a cry. Who are these boys, and why are they doing this to my doll? Calen never hurt anyone in her life, and now I'm watching as she's getting pulled apart, piece by piece. All I can do is struggle against Cormack's grip, but he's too big for me. He must be at least twice my size. So I stop struggling and instead focus on clinging Cora as tightly as I can to my chest. Calen is already torn to bits, but at least I can try to save Cora. I can't lose them both.
"Hold her!" Cormack orders Rhys. I'm not sure if he's referring to me or to Cora, but it doesn't take long to see he's referring to me. Rhys grabs my shoulders and pulls me into his chest so I'm facing Cormack. I'm not sure what they're doing. I look at Cormack helplessly, and I'm sure I must look scared. I think it only makes him more angry, or maybe more pleased. I can't really tell by the expression on his face. That's when he pulls out the knife from the waistband of his pants. My eyes widen, and I feel my heartbeat increase.
"Please let me go!" I scream. Tears start falling freely down my cheeks as I kick and scream against Rhys. The more I struggle, the tighter his grip gets, but it doesn't keep me from struggling still. I kick and plead and dig my nails into his arm. "Stop! Stop!" I cry as Cormack inches his way towards me with the knife waving in front of him. I don't understand. I just don't understand.
"Tell me, little girl. What's it like living in your little fantasy land?" Cormack's words have some kind of venom laced in them, but I still don't understand. What is he asking? What does he mean?
"Answer him!" Rhys shouts into my ear which causes me to startle.
"I… I don't know." I answer honestly, which must've been the wrong answer. I think I can start to see a vein sticking out in his oversized forehead.
"You don't know anything!" He says angrily as he reaches out and grabs my hand. I try to pull it away, but I can't.
"I don't know what I did!" I scream.
"You exist! You wear these stupid dresses and play with these stupid dolls and live in that stupid big house!" He shouts back, digging his fingers into my wrist so hard that I'm sure it will bruise.
By this point, Cora is no longer in my hands. I'm not even sure when I dropped her or if anyone else even noticed. I have other things on my mind. Like that knife that is getting dangerously close to me. I continue to struggle and continue to fail. I almost forget that anyone else is there before I hear Bennett's voice coming from behind me.
"Cormack, what are you doing?" He asks. He sounds as confused as I feel.
"Shut up, Bennett!" Rhys shouts at him and Cormack just seems to ignore him. Those crazy eyes are completely focused on me.
"Tell me, little girl…. do you bleed like the rest of us?" Cormack asks through gritted teeth.
I hardly have time to process what is going on before I feel a sharp pain digging into my hand. I scream, of course. I scream and cry and beg him to stop, but the pain goes from the palm of my hand up into the tip of my middle finger. Before I look to see the blood, I can feel it squishing in-between all of my fingers, and even the smallest movement sends shooting pains up through my entire arm. I feel as if it's on fire. I know it's not, but it's what it feels like. Cormack laughs. Someone else gasps. I can't tell if it's Bennett or the other boy I don't know, and I don't particularly care.
My legs give out, but Rhys holds up all of my weight, which really isn't so hard. I'm not very big. I must feel like a sack of potatoes in his arms. I'm just crying and waiting for this to be over because it's unbearably painful. I still haven't brought myself to look at my hand for the fear of getting sick at the sight of blood. I know it must be a lot because I feel a steady stream of it dripping off of my fingertips. I'm waiting. Just waiting.
"I don't care if you bleed. You'll never be one of us." Cormack's voice is so angry, so full of hatred for reasons that I still don't know.
He wipes the blade of the knife against my dress before he shoves it back into the waist of his pants. I feel relieved knowing that the knife is put aside and pray that I'll never have to feel the pain a knife can bring ever again. It's too much. I start to cough from all of the crying. My cheeks are puffy and red. I can tell without even looking at my reflection.
"Let's go." Cormack orders the other boys. Before he leaves, he grabs my face, though. He makes me look at him before he speaks. "Tell anyone about this and see what happens."
It's a threat and one that I don't need to hear the outcome. I already know that I'll take this to my grave. Getting cut in the hand is bad enough. I'll leave it with that and not risk getting cut anywhere deeper. My lips are sealed, and I think he knows this. He doesn't say anything else. He just walks away from me. Bennett and the other boy follow behind him. Then Rhys does too. I can tell when Rhys leaves because he's the only reason I was on my feet. As soon as he lets go of me, I fall to the ground, and my face hits the dirt on the impact.
I just lie there. I don't know what else to do. I'm still crying. How could I not be? I'm scared, and I'm hurt. I use all of my energy to close my hand into a fist into the fabric of my dress in the hopes of stopping the bleeding. It hurts. It really hurts. I can't really feel my middle finger, but that's okay because the alternative is it hurting. I'd rather not feel it. I can feel my palm as plain as day. It still feels like it's on fire, and I can feel the blood soaking through my dress and reaching the skin on my stomach.
Daddy was right. I shouldn't have been so far from home. It makes sense now. He knew people like Cormack existed, but I didn't. Turns out, I'm learning the hard way about how cruel people can be. I don't know if I'll ever understand how someone could be filled with so much hatred towards someone they don't know. I rack my brain to think if there's anything I possibly could've done to deserve this treatment. There's nothing.
Despite the throbbing in my hand, I manage to use my good hand to help lift myself up off of the ground. I can feel pieces of dirt caked on to my tear stained face. My hair must look a horrid mess. My white dress is covered in blood. There's nothing presentable about me, and I'm already trying to figure out what I'm going to tell daddy. Mom probably won't even notice, so I don't think much about her, in general, but even now, I wonder if she'd ever care that this happened to me. I think deep down she would, but I don't think she knows how to show it.
I'm still sitting on the ground when I reach for the torn pieces of Calen and start crying even harder. My poor, sweet Calen who had nothing to do with this. My Calen who was made to look like a spitting image of my Aunt Maysilee. I sometimes like to pretend that Calen is her so that I can talk to her, but now what am I going to do? I could learn how to sew. How hard could it be, really?
I pull the hem of my dress up enough to turn it into a makeshift sack where I can keep Calen and Cora. I can't really carry them with just my one good hand. I don't want to use my hurt hand because I want to keep the blood on my dolls to a minimum. I pull myself from the ground and begin walking back in the direction of home. It's a good thing my feet know the way because my mind is confused. I'm not sure if it's because of the hot sun beating down on me or the loss of blood in my left hand. I'm guessing it must be a combination thereof. All I know is that I need to get home. I desperately need to get home.
This is when I wake up. I sit up so quickly in bed and let out a gasp for air at the same time. I can feel my heart pounding restlessly against my chest, but I know it will slow down soon now that I realize it was just a dream.
"Just a dream…" I repeat out loud. But I lift up my left hand and can still see the puffy pink skin where my scar is, even in the darkness of my room. I use my right hand to trace my fingertip over the smoothness of my scar and know that I'll always have this as a reminder. "If only…"
