A Fluttering Heart and a Fleeting Dream

I called my sister on the way home to tell her the good news. She was shocked at how much money I had received and started peppering me with questions, asking if I had done something shady or illegal. I laughed it off, but I realized I would have to explain everything properly to prevent further confusion if I was planning on carrying a mannequin through our door the next day. I decided to put that conversation off. I considered coming up with an excuse, like saying the mannequin was an antique collectors item, but I thought I should be truthful out of respect for both my sister and the porcelain girl.

I spent the day worrying, and the hours dragged by. I passed some time job hunting on the computer—despite the large sum of money I had just come into, I couldn't afford to slack off. I didn't find anything particularly good, though, and I was having trouble focusing anyway, so I took a break and sprawled out on my bed. I sighed and massaged my forehead, thinking of the girl sitting in that dim room, waiting for me.

I remembered what her captor had said—that she had tried to kill someone. Was he just trying to scare me? He was laughing, after all... No, she was too kind to kill, and too weak. Though, I could imagine her getting upset at being taken away by strangers. Maybe they had given her good reason to be angry. I again considered the possibility that I was being tricked. If I freed the girl from the confines of that room, would she reveal her true nature then? Would I, my purpose having been fulfilled, be disposed of? I couldn't imagine it. Instead, I imagined a life with her: Lying side by side watching TV, driving around sightseeing... but that was difficult, too. There were things we couldn't do. I couldn't walk around with her, couldn't take her to a restaurant. Introducing her to my friends would be a challenge. Her dreams were just out of reach.

"We'll figure it out," I told myself.

In the evening, I finally told my sister about the girl. She didn't believe me, of course, but we eventually came to an agreement. "If you can prove there's a talking mannequin, then whatever you do with it is none of my business," she said, "but if this turns out to be a bunch of baloney, you're gonna take the rest of that money and go to a freakin' therapist, or something. Ya freak." That was good enough; she'd see in the morning.

That night, I dreamt that I was in a magnificent mansion. It was all dark hardwood flooring and fancy patterned rugs. Ornate mahogany furniture with velvet upholstery littered the many large rooms of the house, and candles and chandeliers illuminated the place with a glow not unlike that of the white concrete room that housed the porcelain girl, except the light here was far more inviting. I heard a rustling above me and looked up to see a figure round the corner at the top of the grand staircase. It was the girl, in the flesh, and she came gracefully down the steps with not a hint of twitchiness. Her flaxen hair was put up in an impressively-tied bun, and she wore a long crimson gown that trailed behind her, fluttering as if it were submerged in water.

As she took the final step, she raised both arms slightly, palms up in invitation, and I placed my hands in hers and pulled her closer, staring down into her beautiful, dark eyes. We shared a lengthy kiss, and I swept her off her feet and carried her out the door. She was incredibly light in the dream, and we both laughed as I cradled her and waltzed around the garden with joy.

My bliss was rudely interrupted by my alarm, which I had set to go off at five, and I reluctantly threw off the covers. I always hated waking up during a good dream—all the pleasant things I thought were real were washed away, and I was faced with the reality of my not-so-happy life. However, this time there was an upside: Soon my dream would be made reality, at least in part. There was a feeling of excitement that permeated my body as I got dressed and made myself an instant coffee. My hands were shaky, and my legs were restless, and occasionally I would think of the girl and feel my heart skip a beat.

It was still twilight when I left the apartment, but the sky was clear, and I was happy that the girl's first sight of the outside would be of a bright, sunny morning. When I reached the site, there was another car there, so I waited for a few minutes. The man with the bushy beard eventually arrived and knocked on the rusty steel door, and a middle-aged woman came out, got her payment, and walked to her car. She stopped for a moment to look at me, and her face, though not making any particular expression, looked very sour. It reminded me of my aunt, and I averted my gaze, not wanting to provoke an interaction by making eye contact for too long. She stood there for a few seconds. I could see her staring from the corner of my eye, and I started to worry, but before long she got into her car and drove away.

The man came over to me as I was getting out of my car. I had hoped to avoid talking to him as well, but he had other plans.

"Good morning, sir!" he said.

I bowed my head with a forced smile, and he asked me if I knew the woman who had just left. I told him I didn't. 

"She was, ehh, staring you, sir." He laughed. "Well, we get a lot of weirdos here." I chuckled nervously, and he put his hand on my shoulder, suddenly looking very serious. I froze. "I see you later, yes?" he said, and he walked off, got in his SUV, and left. That all made me uneasy, but I had no reason to think that anything had gone wrong, so I took a deep breath, checked my surroundings to make sure everyone was gone, and headed toward the little concrete building.

The door creaked open, and there she was, exactly as she had been when I last saw her. It was as if no time had passed at all, and yet, at the same time, it seemed like it had been an eternity. I limped forward and tore away the talisman.

"Dorian!" she cried. I crouched down and took her hands. She sniffled and twitched. "I—I missed you, Dorian! I'm so glad..."

"Come on," I said. "The sun is rising." I slipped one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, and, arching my back, lifted her up with a great effort. She made a quiet squeak of excitement, and I smiled down at her. I was just barely able to hold her, and it took some focus to not lose my balance, but it would have to do until I could get her to the car. I went to the door, which I had left ajar, and pushed it open with my shoulder, angling my body carefully to avoid knocking the girl's head or feet into the walls. As we passed over the threshold, she reached up and touched my face.

"Am I heavy?" she said. My strained exertion must have been visible.

"No, I'm just not very strong," I said, not wanting to hurt her ego.

"It's OK. Here, put me upright. I want to try walking."

"What? Are you sure?"

"Just hold onto me." She grabbed my torso for support, and I tilted her onto her feet, keeping hold of her waist. "It's like we're dancing," she said.

I laughed and smiled at her, and I pulled her in close and kissed her. As our lips came apart, she saw the rays of sunlight peeking through the trees, and she jerked with elation.

"It really is... Oh, Dorian, it's wonderful!" she sobbed. As she cried, her legs and torso jolted, and I clutched her tighter to keep her stable. With a series of clicks, she stretched out one arm to the sun like she thought she could grab it. "It's so bright! And the grass—it's so green! The sky is so blue! I—I love you, Dorian! I want to... I want to run! I want to run!"

Her convulsions grew stronger and more frequent, and my balance gave way, setting her free. Her legs pushed confidently against the soil, propelling her into the air with a yelp of pure joy, but with one powerful bound her energy was used up, and she fell onto the asphalt of the parking lot and shattered. I rushed to her side and called out to her, but she had fallen silent. In disbelief I groped at her broken shards, trying in vain to piece them back together, but as I shoved my hand into an opening in her torso I felt something soft and warm, and I recoiled in fear.

Frantically, I pulled at her dress, and it came away with the snapping of one of the shoulder straps. There, in the gaping cavity of her porcelain chest, staining the rough interior surface a faded red, was a small, still-beating human heart. I slowly reached down and picked it up, cupping it gingerly with both hands. It was grey and shriveled, but it was somehow alive. I brought it close to my face and began to cry.

And as the heart's pulse slowed, I closed my eyes and felt it stop, and another happy dream came to an abrupt end.