first time she is alive, more animated than I have ever seen her. âLeave us alone!â More sutras flow from her lips.
The woman in black hovers in the air, motionless. Then she lifts a hand as if to ward off an invisible blow, but against her will, she is slowly pulled toward the empress doll. The other woman does not budge. She is unmoving, triumphant.
The woman in black lifts her head again, and all the hate is in her eyes. Then the wind dies. The candleâs flame flickers out briefly, and when it returns, only the Japanese woman and I remain inside the room. The woman in black is gone.
The Japanese woman waits for a few moments, panting heavily. When all is finally quiet, she lowers the doll and looks at its upturned face. Its eyes are now a solid, unending black.
The woman begins to laughâsilently, then hystericallyârelieved it is now over. With the empress doll still in hand, she takes a step outside of the wax circle, moving back toward the dollâs stand.
Behind her, one of the dolls in the circle slowly leans over and topples forward to land face-first on the floor.
The woman turns, shocked. As she watches, the other seven dolls follow, sinking to land on their faces, one after the other in the same manner as the first.
She looks down at the empress doll in her hand.
A mask stares back at her, and behind it that maimed, hideous face.
The woman says a curious thing.
â Oneesan ,â she whimpers, beseeching, as ragged nails claw their way up her arms and shoulders, the woman in black extending to her full height. The empress doll falls at the Japanese womanâs feet, its head torn off.
The woman screams, but by then it is already too late.
When it is done, the woman in black stares at me. From behind her mask, she smiles.
The night passes quietly enough for the other inmates at Remneyâs, but when one of the White Shirts comes to check on the woman, that peace is soon shattered. She bursts out of the room in such hysterics that it becomes difficult to distinguish her from her patients.
Someone has cut off the heads of all one hundred and eight dolls, their faces charred by some unknown fire. The room is in disarray with the bed and chair overturned, and faint scorch marks encompass one side of the wall. The headless dolls are lined up in small rows beside the broken bed, which is now drenched in blood.
And underneath this bed they find the one hundred and ninth head.
CHAPTER TEN
Understanding
The air smells like a hundred years of memories. The teacherâs assistant reads through articles scrolling on a large computer screen. Piles of dusty newspapers lie strewn on the floor. There are few people in the local library today and fewer still in this small, musty section of the building that many have already forgotten. Old things still flourish here.
The young woman sits hunched over a large table and scrolls through countless sheets of yellowed, preserved paper. In this small room, she logs on to the Internet and spends several minutes assuring her mother that all is right with the world, lying about her lack of injuries and the exaggeration of the media. Then she begins her research and, within an hour, finds a series of reported murders strangely similar to the one she has just lived through:
Mutilated Body found in Houston, Texas
Bloated Body Located in Florida Swamps
Unidentified Body in Mexico
Remains Found in Brazil
Gruesome Discovery in Queensland, Australia
Body Found Floating in River, Philippines
The list goes on, and the young woman finds the details disturbing. Bodies discovered in the same way: faces bloated and distended as if held underwater indefinitely; the fear in their faces; their eyes rolled back until only the whites show. Of the fifty-eight articles she has found, only twenty-three of the victims have ever been identified. Most were drifters, meeting their deaths in lands far from the countries of their birth. Of the twenty-three
The woman in black hovers in the air, motionless. Then she lifts a hand as if to ward off an invisible blow, but against her will, she is slowly pulled toward the empress doll. The other woman does not budge. She is unmoving, triumphant.
The woman in black lifts her head again, and all the hate is in her eyes. Then the wind dies. The candleâs flame flickers out briefly, and when it returns, only the Japanese woman and I remain inside the room. The woman in black is gone.
The Japanese woman waits for a few moments, panting heavily. When all is finally quiet, she lowers the doll and looks at its upturned face. Its eyes are now a solid, unending black.
The woman begins to laughâsilently, then hystericallyârelieved it is now over. With the empress doll still in hand, she takes a step outside of the wax circle, moving back toward the dollâs stand.
Behind her, one of the dolls in the circle slowly leans over and topples forward to land face-first on the floor.
The woman turns, shocked. As she watches, the other seven dolls follow, sinking to land on their faces, one after the other in the same manner as the first.
She looks down at the empress doll in her hand.
A mask stares back at her, and behind it that maimed, hideous face.
The woman says a curious thing.
â Oneesan ,â she whimpers, beseeching, as ragged nails claw their way up her arms and shoulders, the woman in black extending to her full height. The empress doll falls at the Japanese womanâs feet, its head torn off.
The woman screams, but by then it is already too late.
When it is done, the woman in black stares at me. From behind her mask, she smiles.
The night passes quietly enough for the other inmates at Remneyâs, but when one of the White Shirts comes to check on the woman, that peace is soon shattered. She bursts out of the room in such hysterics that it becomes difficult to distinguish her from her patients.
Someone has cut off the heads of all one hundred and eight dolls, their faces charred by some unknown fire. The room is in disarray with the bed and chair overturned, and faint scorch marks encompass one side of the wall. The headless dolls are lined up in small rows beside the broken bed, which is now drenched in blood.
And underneath this bed they find the one hundred and ninth head.
CHAPTER TEN
Understanding
The air smells like a hundred years of memories. The teacherâs assistant reads through articles scrolling on a large computer screen. Piles of dusty newspapers lie strewn on the floor. There are few people in the local library today and fewer still in this small, musty section of the building that many have already forgotten. Old things still flourish here.
The young woman sits hunched over a large table and scrolls through countless sheets of yellowed, preserved paper. In this small room, she logs on to the Internet and spends several minutes assuring her mother that all is right with the world, lying about her lack of injuries and the exaggeration of the media. Then she begins her research and, within an hour, finds a series of reported murders strangely similar to the one she has just lived through:
Mutilated Body found in Houston, Texas
Bloated Body Located in Florida Swamps
Unidentified Body in Mexico
Remains Found in Brazil
Gruesome Discovery in Queensland, Australia
Body Found Floating in River, Philippines
The list goes on, and the young woman finds the details disturbing. Bodies discovered in the same way: faces bloated and distended as if held underwater indefinitely; the fear in their faces; their eyes rolled back until only the whites show. Of the fifty-eight articles she has found, only twenty-three of the victims have ever been identified. Most were drifters, meeting their deaths in lands far from the countries of their birth. Of the twenty-three
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