Imola Read Free

like it was just a shell. “I think I did have a doll.” Her own voice seemed to echo, like it was almost mechanical, from somewhere in the distance.
    The pencil scratched at the tablet. “Can you picture the doll?”
    “I think so.”
    “Did you play with it?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Lilin took it.”
    “What did she do with it?”
    Hurt it
.
    Agnes didn’t answer. She was sliding back, a little too fast. She felt her eyes well with tears.
    “Agnes. What did Lilin do with your doll? Do you remember?”
    “Yes.” Barely audible.
    “What did she do with it?”
    Agnes took a deep breath and let it out fast. A flash of memory. A closed door, opening. “She took it intothe bad room.”
    Dr. Leahy uncrossed her legs and sat up straight so fast her pencil tip drew a line across the tablet. “Agnes. What’s the bad room?”
    The tickle of tears rolled on Agnes’s cheeks. She could feel her mouth move, but no sounds came out.
    Dr. Leahy sat back into the chair and rubbed her chin with her thumb. “When Lilin took your doll into the bad room, did you try to get it back?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you follow her into the bad room?”
    “Yes.”
    “What did she do to the doll?”
    Hurt it
.
    “She hurt it.”
    “How did she hurt it?”
    No answer. Agnes didn’t move. The room was bright, like her eyes were wide open, staring through the opposite wall, to an open door in the distance. She tried, but she couldn’t close her eyes—not even to blink.
    “Agnes?”
    The door swung wide. “Oh no.”
    “Agnes. What is it? What’s happening?”
    Agnes. Stop him
.
    “Him!”
    “Who’s him? Is there someone else in the bad room?”
    Help me
.
    Tears again, with sobs.
    “Is it your father?”
    Agnes. Please
.
    A deep breath. A large figure hovered. Speaking in incomprehensible words. A feeling of panic pierced her, but as soon as it penetrated, it swirled away, like it was being pulled down a drain. Then, an overwhelming sense of calm. “I’m not Agnes.”
    Dr. Leahy leaned forward again, pushing against the table. She stared into Agnes’s eyes. “Who are you?”
    “I’m No One.”

CHAPTER 4
    Jason Powers knocked on the door of the second floor apartment. The building was not yet a flophouse, but it had great potential. It was difficult to tell the paint color on the walls of the hallways and stairwell. Where the paint wasn’t peeling, it was smudged with who-knows-what, or decorated with graffiti.
    The door opened and Jason barged in, walking carefully as if the hallway dishevelment were contagious. “Hey, big brother. Place looks the same. Maid on vacation?”
    Donnie Powers’s laugh echoed in the small apartment. “Thanks for stopping by. Did you bring me anything?”
    “It’s just a social call. I haven’t seen you in a long time. I’m on my way over to Napa.”
    “Imola again? I always knew one of us would end up there. I just thought it’d be me.”
    Jason looked for a place to sit. “If I’m a passenger on that train, you’re pushing the throttle.”
    “All aboard.” Donnie slapped his knee and faked a loud laugh.
    Jason walked to the only upholstered chair in the room and snatched a copy of
National Lampoon
from the seat cushion. “I see you’re into classic literature.” He dropped it on a pile of newspapers, cheeseburger wrappers, and unidentifiable paper products.
    Donnie clapped both hands over his heart. “Why do critics miss the brilliance of good satire? It’d be a boring world without a few out-of-round wheels. Besides, who’s going to keep all the suits honest?”
    “National Lampoon
keeps people honest?” Jason flopped into the chair, and a spring jabbed his right butt cheek. He adjusted his position.
    “The best way to stagnate this country is to have coast-to-coast conformity,” Donnie said. “Anybody or anything that pushes an envelope contributes to societal evolution.”
    “What does that have to do with honesty?”
    Donnie leaned against the bathroom