Chapter 10 - Living Doll
I've got the one and only walking, talking, living doll
- "Living Doll" by Cliff Richard
Mid morning, the police cell door creaked open. Murdoc hadn't slept. Exhaustion had stopped him pacing around 6am, but sleep was still elusive. He was sitting on the bed, his head in his hands when the policeman came in. Murdoc looked up.
"Stu-Pot? Is he dead?" Murdoc said. The look on his face was so piteous that the policeman felt sorry for him.
"He's not dead," said the policeman and added, "Pick up your things, you're being released. You need to go to the waiting room."
Murdoc wasn't exactly himself after a missed night of sleep and didn't grasp what the policeman had said. "I'm out on bail?"
"No," said the policeman. "You're free to go. Charges have been dropped."
Murdoc stared in complete confusion. "How...?" he began, but his voice trailed off. The policeman stepped away from the door, waiting. Murdoc got to his feet, his legs shaking slightly. Free to go? He couldn't explain it at all, but he managed to put a cocky expression anyway, stretching and sauntering after the policeman, past the rows of holding cells, towards the waiting room. He peered through the window in the waiting room door and saw two very familiar people. Stu-Pot was there, wearing a dull green hospital gown. He was sitting slumped in a wheelchair, his eyes closed and his head bandaged. Behind him, stood Dr Whinge.
Murdoc took a moment to master himself before sauntering in, looking as confident and casual as he could, though he suspected Dr Whinge wasn't taken in for a moment. "Glad you could get me off the charges, doc, but you took your time, didn't you?"
To Murdoc's astonishment, Stu-Pot opened his eyes. Both were coal-black now. A heartbreaking, sleepy smile spread over his face. "Murdoc!" he whispered. All the recognition that had been missing when Murdoc had last seen him had returned with a vengeance. He looked like a sleepy puppy who had just seen its owner.
"Ever the grateful one, aren't you Mr Niccals?" said Dr Whinge wryly. "Actually I got here hours ago. I saw you in the papers this morning, charged with assault against Mr Tusspot here so I came to work early and found him in the emergency ward. I couldn't believe my eyes. He was conscious and humming Stravinsky's Rites of Spring. What did you do to him, Murdoc?"
"I used my delicate, sensitive touch, Dr Whinge," Murdoc tried to give a cocky grin, but it came out looking worried instead. He crossed the waiting room and crouched down next to Stu-Pot, looking him up and down. Was he alright? He looked ready to fall unconscious again at any time. Looking Stu-Pot right in the face, Murdoc said, "How do you feel?"
"Tired," Stu-Pot murmured.
Dr Whinge spoke above his head. "I've seen the x-rays. Mr Tusspot has a second dint in his head. He's been kept in all night for observation."
"Doctor gave me some pills," Stu-Pot whispered.
Murdoc took Stu-Pot's wrist and felt for his pulse. He felt a gentle touch on his own wrist as Stu-Pot reached for him with his other hand. The touch tingled.
"I told Mr Tusspot what you'd done for him this past year," said Dr Whinge. "He insisted on coming here and having the assault charges dropped. That was a couple of hours ago."
"You looked after me. You're my best friend," Stu-Pot whispered. The heartbreaking grin hadn't left his face.
Stu-Pot's pulse was slow. Murdoc lifted his fingers from Stu-Pot's wrist but left his hand in place with Stu-Pot's hand still on it. Dr Whinge's words sunk in.
"A couple of hours?" said Murdoc. "What took them so long?"
"They already had the bail papers ready," said Dr Whinge. "Your parents are here. They saw you in the papers, nice couple by the way, and they were about to have you released on bail, when we turned up wanting to have the charges dropped. The bail papers had to be cancelled and new papers made. It took a lot of time."
A furious look came over Murdoc's face. "My parents are here? Where are they?" He let go of Stu-Pot's hands and stood up.
"Outside. After talking with them I thought Stu-Pot and I should talk to you first," said Dr Whinge.
"Why? So you can persuade me to let them talk to me? The ones who kept their younger kids but adopted me out? I had the shit kicked out of me everyday at the foster home."
"They did mention that," said Dr Whinge. "But they have a very good excuse for giving you out for adoption."
"A good excuse?" Murdoc said, his voice getting louder until it turned into a scream. "I bet they've got a good excuse. They've had 30 years to think of one! I don't want to hear it. Was I too ugly to keep? What possible excuse can they come up with that will excuse years of hell?"
Stu-Pot's whisper cut across the shouting. "They were ten."
"What...?" said Murdoc.
"They were ten when they had you," said Dr Whinge, loudly and firmly. "They were forced to adopt. They couldn't raise a child together at that age. Maybe you think they're making it up? I know I haven't heard of many people who have gone through puberty at the age of eight. It seems very unlikely."
The change in Murdoc's expression was startling. From being almost incoherent with rage a moment before, he now looked like he had seen a ghost. "It's not as unlikely as you think," he said faintly.
Dr Whinge looked at Murdoc and a suspicion crossed his mind. "You were eight, when you reached puberty, weren't you?"
Murdoc nodded, and swayed a little. "Must run in the family," he said. He took a deep breath, trying to stop his knees from giving way beneath him.
"Your parents been looking for you for years," said Dr Whinge, a frown of concern crossing his face. "They were separated right after you were born by their families but they managed to track each other down ten years later. They married, had more kids. They've been looking for you for decades. Their little living doll. That's what they called you. Your mother was barely past keeping dolls when she had you. They couldn't find you. I suspect the fact you live out of a Winnebago might have had something to do with it. You wouldn't have been easy to find with no fixed address."
There was a long, long pause. Then Murdoc said, "Give me that wheelchair. I need to sit down." He picked up Stu-Pot in his arms and sat down heavily into the wheelchair with Stu-Pot on his lap. Stu-Pot's long arms and legs dangled and he gave a faint gasp of pain.
"Sorry, Two Dints," said Murdoc and on top of everything else, a strange blackness, shot through with lines of fire covered his vision. He heard a voice in his head, a voice from a dream:
"If you say my name, my real name, all will be well."
The blackness faded, and Murdoc realised he was face to face with Stu-Pot, who was staring at him intensely, his mouth open. The sleepy look had vanished. "What did you call me?" said Stu-Pot, his voice no longer a whisper.
Taking in the alert face in front of him, the truth about his parents flooding through him, Murdoc gulped, then mastered himself. "Two Dints," he said emphatically. "That's your name now."
"That the most heartless name I've ever heard. Nearly as heartless as yanking him out of his own wheelchair," said Dr Whinge, over Murdoc's shoulder.
"He likes it, don't you Two Dints?" said Murdoc, grinning.
Two Dints started laughing, "Yeah, I do!" His pain was forgotten.
But Dr Whinge wasn't placated. "You can't call him Two Dints. Two dints is what your pelvic bone makes above your arse," he snapped. It was the first time Murdoc had heard him swear.
Murdoc felt a gentle touch on his lower back, just above his jeans. "You really do have two dints above your arse," said Two Dints.
Murdoc spluttered, while blushing like a fire engine, "Get off! Leave my arse alone, you're tickling me, Two Dints." He pulled the straying arm around from behind his back but Two Dints grinned cheekily and tried to put it back again. "Stop that!" said Murdoc. "Look, I warn you. Keep playing silly buggers and I'll call you 2D for short. Everyone will think you're two-dimensional."
2D drew his hand back, "2D? I LOVE that!" He looked wide awake.
"2D's a bit better than Two Dints," said Dr Whinge. "Not by much though. Put 2D back, Murdoc."
"Yeah, OK," said Murdoc, getting to his feet with 2D in his arms and depositing him back in the wheelchair. He took a deep breath. "Satan, I need a cigarette now." He lit one with a practised movement and then, through force of habit, popped it between 2D's lips before lighting another one for himself.
2D grabbed the cigarette with a weak arm and pulled it out his mouth. "I don't smoke," he said.
"Yeah, you do," said Murdoc.
2D took an experimental drag and looked up at Murdoc in surprise, "You're right! I do."
They could both hear Dr Whinge behind them grinding his teeth.
Murdoc blew out a lungful of smoke, "Now I've got to meet my parents. They're outside, right?"
"Let's ALL meet them," said 2D cheerfully. "Let's take 'em to the pub. Never been to a pub before. Not awake, anyway."
They all went to a pub in Nottingham.
"Hello babies! I knew you were only pretending to be comatose! Come and join us!"
Murdoc had been deep in conversation with his parents but he looked up, There was a blonde women in the corner, grinning like a maniac at them and waving. She was with a group of people wearing bulky pants, as if they had nappies on underneath.
Murdoc drained his beer with one swig. "We're going," he said.
"What, right now? We've barely sat down. Do you know those people?" asked Murdoc's mother.
"Vaguely, they're adult baby fetishists," said Murdoc. "You have no idea of the horror that awaits us if we stay here and talk to them. We're going to another pub right now. Don't worry about the wheelchair, Dr Whinge, we don't have time for it." Adopting the quick get away posture he'd used throughout the year he draped one of 2D's arms over his shoulders, put an arm around his waist and held him. But it was nothing like carrying the unconscious Stu-Pot. As they got close, the cheeks of both blushed red and the walk to the next pub seemed to take forever.
Dr Whinge pushed the empty wheelchair after them, watched them both and nodded to himself. What he had suspected was true. But what he actually said aloud was, "I am going to SCRUB my garden gnome when I get home. I'll explain in a minute, Mr and Mrs Niccals."
Yes, 2D wasn't the living doll. It was Murdoc all along!
I had planned to leave the story at that, but then the epilogue wrote itself...yes, it's a happy ending, as promised. I had an angsty one lined up but I thought I'd save that for the sequel, Hero.
