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Elise’s feet scrabbled at the floor, but she couldn't gain any purchase, the floor beneath her was already smeared with blood. The woman’s face was a mass of damage. Her nose had been broken, and dark red blood poured from her nostrils to the floor beneath her.
Dahlia’s teeth were bared like an enraged animal as she struggled to keep Elise under control. I didn’t move, couldn’t move. I opened my mouth to tell her to stop, but there was no time. Dahlia’s arm moved before I could even take a breath to scream.
She snatched a knife from the table, raised it high overhead, and slammed it down into Elise’s stomach. The woman grunted, her face going from red to purple as the wave of pain shot through her. Dahlia didn’t stop. She yanked the blade out and rammed it down again, this time taking Elise in the ribs. She pulled it free again, arches of blood fanning out as the blade pulled free.
Elise continued making grunting and squealing sounds as Dahlia dropped her. The woman’s head bounced on the hardwood floor. She had one second of freedom before Dahlia slammed the blade down into her left eye. There was a muffled and wet pop as the blade slipped in, crashed through the thin bone, and buried itself in her brain.
She should have died immediately, but her ruined brain continued sending short circuited signals out. Her right foot kept spastically twitching. Strange coughing noises gurgled from her mouth.
When she at last went to rest, staring blankly at the ceiling with one eye, I raised my face to Dahlia. "Dahlia? What the fuck?"
She stood above Elise’s dead body, spattered and smeared with blood, and breathing heavily. As an answer Dahlia lifted her hand, pointing at her wrist device. My face was still a mask of confusion and horror, but rage and betrayal raged inside me. My partner had gone too far again. He had always been less controlled than me. Always more easy to anger and overreact. This was another symptom of a sickness I’d convinced myself he wasn’t suffering. How did I fix it? Or had we already gone too far down the path to turn back?
The death of Oliver, our "face" as we’d always called him, had thrown a wrench into the plan. Instead of being judicious and introspective, my partner looked to have gone the opposite direction.
Payton sat at the table, face in his hands, sobbing. Bri stared in open mouthed horror at Elise’s body. Elise had been the closest thing to a friend as Bri had remaining in the house, along with whatever sexual or romantic relationship she’d had with Liam. Now both connections had been severed. I’d need to watch her closely.
Bri tore her eyes from the body and glared at Dahlia. "You fucking bitch. I’m gonna ram that knife in your cunt, you goddamn whore." Spittle flew from her lips as she barked the words out.
Before she could move the tableau was interrupted by Sam. Bong. "Now that the first task is completed, my dolls will enjoy their breakfast."
Bri, knowing an order when she heard one, clenched her fists and muttered a curse beneath her breath. Skirting the body, she took her usual seat. Dahlia gave Elise’s body one final look before sitting down. Barely able to contain my surprise, irritation, and anger, I plastered an appropriately horrified and upset look on my face before walking over and taking my spot beside Dahlia.
Breakfast passed in silence. Twice, Payton turned and gagged, but never actually threw up. The man was my greatest disappointment. Unable to see past the physical torment and witness the glories of punishment. I’d never had one this poorly suited to life in the dollhouse. I could admit when we’d made a mistake, and he was by far the greatest we had made.
Our devices buzzed painlessly as we finished our meal. Sending a message:
Drake will clean out Elise’s room now that she is no longer with us. This will be his morning task.
Of course I would. Was Sam intentionally fucking with me now? A tremor of unease went through my mind as I contemplated the thought. Did he think I’d turned on him? Surely not. This was simply his anger boiling over. I’d play the game until he calmed down.
After breakfast, I headed straight for Elise’s room, but Dahlia rushed down the hall to catch me, grabbing my arm. The warmth of her fingers reminded me of the heat of her body swallowing my cock the night before.
"Drake, wait," she hissed.
"What’s wrong?" Unconsciously I put my free hand on her shoulder, wanting to touch her in any way I could.
She grabbed me and pulled me into a tight hug. Already, my dick stirred in my pants. Flashes of our last time together flicked across my mind’s eye. When she pressed her lips to my ear, I understood what she was doing.
"Move the robe off Elise’s vent. Be careful about it though. Sam can’t notice."
Her voice slid through the air quieter than a whisper, low enough that I barely heard it. She was smart. The cameras. She didn’t want Sam to notice what she said.
With an aching desire, I pulled away from her. If Sam did see, he’d shock us until we broke apart anyway, and I was not in the mood for that.
"Will do. Don’t worry," I said.
The look of relief on her face sent a pang through my chest. She needed to be taken care of, to be protected, and loved. I’d never experienced anything like what I did for her. She’d managed to peel away the walls and barriers I’d erected. Sliding her fingers into the bloody and sensitive parts I’d always kept carefully tucked away and hidden. She hurried down the hall to her assigned morning task, and I didn’t take my eyes off her until she was out of sight.
When I stepped into Elise’s room, I walked straight over to the robe. With a kick of my shoe, the pile of fabric tumbled away. Above me, the camera gazed down, like a sightless black eye. Sam was in the secondary bunker. The one attached to the bunker Dahlia and I had been in before. I didn’t want to think what would have happened if she’d insisted on trying to force open that last door. The truth would have to have been revealed, and I wasn’t sure she could handle the truth yet. One day she could, but not yet.
Looking at the camera, I raised my arms in a universal what-the-hell-are-you-doing gesture. A moment later my response came when my device vibrated. I glanced down at the message he’d sent me:
I am doing what needs to be done. Now clean the damn room, and stop being a bitch.
Asshole. I licked my lips and went to work. The room was spartan as all the others, there wasn’t much to clean up. Strange. A room had become a home to Elise, to the others as well, yet there was no sign of their personality in them. No trinkets, no pictures, no paint. It made me wonder what we ever used those items for. In my mind, humans really only needed four things. Punishment, pleasure, sustenance, and shelter. Anything else was superfluous. It was part of why we’d chosen to give them so little when we brought them here.
After finishing with Elise’s room, I spent the rest of the day in my own, only coming out for lunch and dinner. I lied to the others and said I’d been in the library and the music room. I’d lain in my bed for hours, wondering what had gone wrong with Sam and why he was being this aggressive. Had our other assistant caused some sort of trouble? Had they threatened to leave or speak out? Perhaps Sam had to kill them or send them on an errand. The others were right, things in the dollhouse weren’t going as smoothly as they typically did. It reeked of a lack of help. All of it together made me nervous, and I never got nervous in this place. Out of every spot in the world, the one place I always felt truly at home, it was here. In the walls of the dollhouse, I could guide, and watch, and experiment. I enjoyed the journey of self discovery, the carnal nature of punishment and pain. The real world held none of those delights.
