Abigail awoke lying on the bed, naked except for a blind fold, and with the familiar taste of alcohol in her mouth. Her arms were tied to the bed frame, but her legs were loose.
She could hear scraping near the foot of the bed and remembered the revelations of the previous night. He has a wooden doll to finish carving. It’s a doll of me.
She remembered that her hair colour had changed and her hair had been cut. He no doubt had the hair he needed for the doll. He would have probably cut the pieces of cloth he needed from the school uniform that originally belonged to Bethany, a fellow abductee.
After a few minutes she heard the scraping stop. Joshua walked up to her and removed the blindfold, holding the same piece of wood she had seen the night before, but it was much smaller and had a shape that much more resembled the female form.
He drew the chair closer to her and sat down within reach of her head. He reached out a hand and caressed her left cheek, then moved his hand under her chin. She felt her lower lip start to tremble. It felt like the only thing she could move. He’s trying to replicate my face on the doll.
Several minutes later she saw him move away from the head of the bed and get something else from the suitcase. With the aid of a small file and small squares of sandpaper, he smoothed the rough edges of his new creation.
It seemed to be next to no time at all when Joshua unveiled the smooth, finished wooden doll, without paint or clothing.
Joshua knelt next to the bed and untied Abigail. She discovered that she was able to sit up before being handed the doll. She let the doll lie across the palms of her hands. As she was about to hand it back, Joshua reached out and touched the face of the doll, stroking it with his forefinger. With the creepiest of smiles he said, “I think it’s a good miniature likeness of you.”
His fingers moved from the face, across the chest and rested on the midriff of the doll. Abigail couldn’t help but follow his finger with her eyes. “The face, the body, it all seems true to life.” Abigail felt a shiver running through her that she managed to suppress before it became obvious. This man worried her, scared her and sickened her in equal measure. She looked at the level of detail on the doll. There was more detail than she would have expected on the breasts and crotch of the doll. She felt as if she could have thrown up at any given moment.
He continued to run his finger along the surface of the doll, across one of the legs, and then moving his hand away. “I’ll make the clothes tonight,” he continued, “and then I’ll have the perfect doll by which to remember you.”
Abigail wanted to see if she could snap the doll, to break it into pieces. Sadly, she knew he would just make another one, and would likely be frustrated at her attempts to thwart his hard work. It was also likely that such actions would keep her as his prisoner until a replacement was made.
She tried to repress her revulsion and looked closer at the doll. It was flawless. The detail was stunning. This guy was talented in woodwork, but spent his time abducting, raping and killing girls, only making these perversely detailed models as a reminder of his past victims. I’m sure there are so many other things he could do with a talent like that.
Joshua reclaimed the doll and held it the palm of his right hand, rubbing his thumb over the top of the doll. At the same time he put his left hand down the front of his trousers. “These dolls help me remember what it was like to touch these girls.” He paused, sounding slightly breathless. “Now I have something to remember you by. How you look and how you feel.”
Abigail once again felt a loathing for this man engulf her entire body. She wanted to get away from this man. She wanted her dad to find him and to make sure he couldn’t do this to anyone else.
She looked around the room, desperate for something else to look at but this loathsome individual. It was only at that point that she realised that they had moved rooms. The décor was the same, but the room was smaller with a rather ugly addition of an en-suite that seemed like it was made from sheets of plastic bolted onto the walls. Regardless of the room, escape seemed as unlikely in the new room as it had seemed during the night.
She retreated into her thoughts again, wondering how harshly the law might deal with her if she managed to point a gun at this man and pull the trigger. She wouldn’t kill him, of course. She would point the gun at his genitals in the hope of stopping him from ever taking pleasure at the expense of a young girl for the rest of his miserable life. She could claim self-defence for such actions, but anyone would wonder why she would shoot for his groin instead of his head or chest.
The line of thought did nothing to help her. The chance of her gaining possession of a gun were minimal. For a few short seconds she considered whether she could turn anything else into a weapon against him. The irony of stabbing him with his own carving tools almost brought a smile to her face.
Her fantasies on stopping this scum had subsided as she looked around the new room. The bed, the furniture and the television looked identical. They were still in the same guest house, but he had seemingly asked to change rooms early in the morning, and had done so carefully and quietly as she, and any other guests, had slept.
Jake must have considered it too high a risk to share a bathroom with other guests. It made sense. He clearly didn’t always make sensible decisions, but she understood this one.
Interrupting her increasingly random thought process, Jake returned the doll to the suitcase, closed it. He stood up and turned around in one movement, holding a familiar handgun in his right hand, and a familiar pair of handcuffs in the other. “I would like you to handcuff yourself to the radiator under the window,” he said, using the barrel of the gun like a pointing implement. “I need to leave for a little while. I have to obtain a new vehicle for future travels now that mine has been plastered all over the news.”
With no sensible alternatives, Abigail stood up and walked to the window, sitting on the floor. All of the time he was pointing a gun at her head with his finger ready on the trigger. She could have tried to hit him, catch him by surprise and grab his gun, but she had a pretty good idea how such a struggle would end.
He threw the handcuffs towards her. They landed on the floor in front of her feet, skidding slightly and resting right next to her heels. “You can use one hand to fasten yourself to that pipe,” he said, pointing with the gun again, “and I’ll check you’ve done it right when you’re done.”
She did as directed, and he checked the cuffs as promised. They were secure enough to satisfy him, but that didn’t stop him from clicking the handcuff around her right wrist once more, making sure she had no possible opportunity of slipping free. He picked up the suitcase that held the wooden dolls and walked towards the door.
“I should be back in a couple of hours,” he said, as if he was just heading to the supermarket for a typical food shop. With that, he left the room and locked the door.