Strings

Chapter 10

As implausible and ridiculous it may be, especially for a down-trodden and broken man, whose only solace was gin for the past 12 years of his isolation, Jack Collingwood had unwittingly interrogated a doll, and allowed it to stay with him.

 It wasn't something that Jack had expected to do as a child when he thought about growing up. Meeting a girl, sure. Getting married and then get divorced shortly after, acceptable. But what was happening now, was just plain xxxxxxxx. He almost considered taking the doll back to the store and lock it back in the basement. Or perhaps, even throw it away in the trash. Or, if he was giving enough, and that insanity had not touched him, he'd try and give it to a friendless child so they could have someone to talk to and play with.

 But being the sentimental person he was, and always has been, Jack dismissed all of this. And instead, different kinds of options were beginning to list themselves in his mind in place of the old ones. Like, where would the doll stay; how was he going to take care of it. He supposes, that the main reason why he was letting it stay with him, was when it begged him: "Please don't take me back to that toy store." One pouting look, and one childish plea, and Jack's mind was set.

 About a brief 18 minutes they talked, questions and answers bouncing back and forth between man and toy. In that short span of time, Jack learned that the doll had been locked up in that basement hidden under Gordon's Toy Emporium for only God-knows-how-long. Just as the doll itself had said to him.

 The doll had a name, one which it asked Jack to call it by. "My name is Chrissie." It-- She, she said, because she has a name now, so there was no need to keep referring to her as an object. More or less.

 Jack took a moment to wonder why anyone would name a doll Chrissie. Others would choose pretty simple and spot-on names for dolls. Like 'Dollie'. That was a name that Jack had heard one too many times. Or maybe if they were fancy or posh, they would've called it 'Elizabeth'. But there was just Chrissie, and unintentional or not, Jack was going to have to call it that, now that she was going to be staying with him.

 Chrissie answered his questions as best as she could. Apparently, the time that she spent alone, and the dust that her body had garnered over the years had corroded, not only her sense of time, but also her sense of memory. She was built, like all other dolls, but she couldn't seem to remember who created her, or even why for that matter. And the one very vital question, also had to be one of which she couldn't answer. How she was alive and talking.

 "I don't know." She'd answered very bluntly. She was having a hard time keeping eye-contact since her head wouldn't stay where she wanted it to. "All I know is that I could breathe and talk for like, ever." Chrissie finished, even adding a little smile as if though what she had been saying was all normal. (But then again, it's not like what he was doing, talking to a supposedly living doll, would be considered normal either.) Jack could only imagine what was going through her mind as he stayed there in his seat, processing all of the new, very unbelievable information.
 

He wasn't aware that while he was lost in thought, Chrissie was staring at him. When he became aware, and his attention reverted back to her, Chrissie said: "You're taking this pretty well." There was no guarantee that she could've been concerned about how all of what was happening was affecting him, so Jack made no mental note on it. But now that the doll herself had voiced it out, he was more than surprised. "Well, it's not like I can just scream my head off and run around my house asking for help like a girl, now can I?" Jack replied.

 Very faintly, Chrissie laughed. It wasn't a sound-automated laugh. It was the real kind. The one you could only find as miracles in children. And oddly enough, it made Jack's heart elated. It had been a while since anyone, or anything for that matter, had made Jack even slightly delighted to the point of not being completely xxxxxx all the time. Not even gin could do that for him. But now, all it took was a doll's laugh.