002: sacrificial lamb
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CHAPTER TWO OF TWENTY
❝ SACRIFICIAL LAMB ❞
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"...I SLICED MY PALM OPEN YESTERDAY, RICKY," (Name) informed, bandaging her palm in the off-white bandages in the small First Aid kit from underneath the sink, replacing yesterday's bandages.
The following morning was a rainy one, bleak as usual. The raindrops pounded against the glass of the windows of the former rectory, hailing against the glass like bullets. (Name) placed the First Aid back underneath the sink, closing the cupboard door.
Eric was sat at the two-seater kitchen table, eyes fixated on the glowing computer screen. His raven-coloured locks were messy and in their usual curly state, whilst a pair of reading glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, protecting his brown eyes from the harsh glare of the screen.
His eyes had their usual vacant look to them as if he wasn't in the moment. He nodded, and let out an "mhm" in response. Eric's tone of voice was void of emotion and clipped as if he was rationing his words. (Name) sighed, sitting opposite her husband.
"It could've got infected and I could've died," (Name) said.
Eric, or rather 'Ricky' as pet names went, nodded. "That's lovely, (Nickname)," Eric responded. He almost sounded bored. (Name) scoffed.
"So...d'you know what box the garden tools went it?" (Name) asked, "I think it's fantastic weather for gardening, Ricky,".
Eric let out an extended, bored sigh. "No, (Name)," he responded, eyes practically glued to the screen, "You packed the boxes, remember? And another no to the gardening. Rain makes mud, mud makes a mess,".
(Name) scoffed. "One, you weren't bothered to pack anything. Two, you wouldn't even be cleaning the mud," the (hair-coloured) woman clarified, "I can't bloody believe it...you're writing a book about plants and you hate dirt,".
Eric sighed, taking a rare glance up from his computer screen and looking at his wife. "It's not a book about plants. It's a book about alien plants. It's a sci-fi novel for God's sake," Eric corrected.
(Name) dramatically stood up, about to exit the kitchen. "Oh, (Name), some dude left this for you on the front porch," Eric casually mentioned, pushing a large, bean-shaped wad of newspaper with a note taped to the front across the table.
(Name) picked up the newspaper, picking the note off the front. It had (NAME) written on it in somewhat neat handwriting. She opened the note to find a message scrawled on it in black ink. Hey (Name), look what I found in my Grandma's old trunk. Look familiar? -Wybie P.S. the cat wants to see Leela.
(Name) opened the newspaper to reveal the last thing she expected. A doll. That looked just like her. It was creepy how much the doll looked like her. And Wybie had found this in his grandmother's trunk? It couldn't be just a coincidence.
The doll was a miniature doppelganger of (Name), from the strands of (hair colour) yarn to the facial features. The doll was dressed in the same outfit wore the day she moved to the Pink Palace. However, there was one small difference. The doll had black buttons for the eyes.
"Huh..." (Name) mused, examining the doll thoroughly, "A tiny me,".
The doll caught Eric's attention with ease. He raised a brow at the hand-sewn doll. "Who's given you that?" Eric asked, "And why?".
(Name) scoffed, limply holding onto the doll in one hand. "The landlord's grandson. Wybie," (Name) casually replied, "And he's got a boyfriend. And, he said in the note,".
Eric nodded boredly, eyes returning to his computer screen. (Name) smiled bittersweetly, exiting the kitchen with Leela in tow and the button-eyed doll limply in her palm. (Name) changed from her pyjamas and into an outfit of choice. She did up the clasp on her gold coin necklace, wrapping her blue blanket around her shoulders.
She sprayed her body with some lavender-scented body mist before exiting her bedroom, Leela loyally following behind and the doppelganger doll loosely held between (Name)'s five fingers. She took an opportunity to explore her and Eric's section of the Pink Palace apartments.
The house was a former rectory, a church when a mixed group of Russian, Irish, Spanish and British settlers came over back in the 17th Century. Before that, the land belonged to a tribe of Indigenous Native Americans.
Over the centuries, it'd been remodelled until not much of the original architecture remained. The interior resembled a mix of the 18th and 19th Centuries. Sometime later, the house came into the ownership of Mr Lovat and his wife, who (Name) assumed had died. And the house then was divided into three apartments: the basement, the main part of the house and the attic.
(Name) wandered into the living room, placing the doll onto a table, leaning it against a box of her and Eric's snowglobes. The snowglobes had been attained from various holidays and trips. (Name) picked up a snowglobe from Central Park from their holiday to New York in 2004. He'd proposed to her on that trip...it'd been so magical.
She placed the snowglobe on top of the mantlepiece, above the old fireplace and under the old portrait that hung on the wall in solace. The painted portrait dated back to the late 18th Century and it was of a woman dressed in a yellow dress with a sad look on her face. Her husband stood next to her, looking away, whilst another man's hand rested on her shoulder.
It was a sad portrait, (Name) had remarked.
She'd stared at it for a good five minutes before returning to the box and placing all the snowglobes onto the mantlepiece. There was one from their first holiday to Spain, one from their wedding in Portugal and one from their honeymoon in Venice.
The one from Venice was Eric's favourite. Gently, (Name) shook the snowglobe and a swirl of glitter flew inside the snowglobe, making (Name) smile before she placed it on the mantlepiece. Satisfied with her decorating, (Name) turned around to find an odd sight.
The doll, that had been put on a coffee table that went up to her hip, was now laying on the mahogany-coloured wooden floor, almost hidden behind a large cardboard box in which their mattress had gone in. Leela was growling at the doll and something behind the box, making (Name) frown.
Leela was usually a sweet dog, never usually growling. (Name) approached the box, Leela backing away slightly as (Name) moved the box to the other side of the room. Then it was revealed. The oddest sight.
A little wooden door. (Name) crouched in front of the door, running her finger across the outline of the door pressed into the wallpaper. Locked.
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"ERIC!" (Name)'s voice exclaimed from the living room.
Eric, whose mind was clouded by his writing process and workaholic complex, kept his eyes on the screen, typing away at his computer with a void of emotions. "What is it, (Name)?" Eric called from the kitchen, not bothering to take his eyes off the screen.
"I FOUND A DOOR!" his wife called back from the living room, excitement lacing her tone at her discovery, there was a pause, "I THINK IT'S LOCKED!".
Eric scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I'M REALLY, REALLY BUSY!" Eric yelled back in response, "CAN IT WAIT? I've almost finished my chapter!".
"PLEASEEEEEEEEEE!" (Name) yelled.
Eric groaned and stormily stood up from the kitchen table. He huffed, walking over to the drawer that was filled with a myriad of keys. His hand dug through all the labelled keys, silver and gold-coloured until he found it.
At the bottom of the pile of keys, sat a long, old-looking black key with a button on the end. He raised an eyebrow at it. Eric walked from the kitchen into the living room, key in hand, until he found his wife crouched by the small door. She looked up at him, with (eye colour) eyes.
"If I do this for you, (Name), will you let me get on with my writing for today?" Eric bargained, raising his eyebrow, as (Name) feverishly nodded.
He crouched down next to his wife, cutting the outline of the wooden door through the wallpaper, before piercing the small sector of wallpaper that marked the keyhole. Eric hesitantly unlocked the door, hoping that rats wouldn't be inhabiting the space behind the door.
The door opened, with a splash of dust, to reveal..."BRICKS?!" (Name) proclaimed, eyeing the chipped, orange-coloured bricks behind the mysterious door, "Hell's Bells...I don't get it!".
Eric sighed in annoyance, standing up in an effort to return to his writing haven which was the kitchen. "They must've closed it off when they divided up the house. End of story," Eric answered, "Now, please, let me work!".
(Name)'s eyes followed Eric's retreating form, then cast a glance to the open door. "You didn't lock it!" (Name) teasingly called. Cue Eric's groan of frustration in the background.
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