that lined the shelves. Growing up, she hadn't exactly been a girly girl, but she had loved her dozens of dolls, and even when she'd stopped playing with them she'd carefully kept her favorites.
Now, as she secured the elastic around her hair, her gaze ran over them absently, only to stop with an arrested expression on Katrina, as she had named the nearly life-size toddler girl doll that now stood all but forgotten in a corner. Katrina had shoulder-length black hair, deep bangs, and was dressed in a blue velvet dress. With a lace collar and smocking on the bodice.
Looking at her, Lisa drew in her breath.
The little girl. The missing family.
The doll's coloring. Her hairstyle. Her dress. It all made her look eerily similar to the picture of the young daughter of the Garcia family. What was her name?
Marisa.
The name seemed to whisper through her mind.
Arrested, her gaze still fixed on the doll, Lisa felt her heartbeat quicken and her pulse kick up a notch.
"Don't be stupid. Of course it 's a coincidence," she scolded herself aloud, just to break the tension that had held her momentarily spell-bound. Making a face at herself, she turned away from the mirror and stepped into the closet, which despite having had the bathroom carved out of it was as large as most bedrooms. The windows that still remained were covered with heavy closed curtains. As ridiculous as she knew it was, the deep gloom made her uneasy. Quickly she snapped on the overhead light, then knelt in front of the doll that she 'd happily played with for years and was now, suddenly, embarrassingly, just the tiniest bit afraid of.
You're being a complete idiot here.
She knew that, of course, but knowing it didn't help. She 'd had Katrina for as long as she could remember, for so long that she couldn't even remember getting her. Katrina had just always existed in the background of her life. Lisa's mouth went dry and her pulse began to race as she looked the doll over. Designed to depict a child of perhaps four or five, Katrina was pink-cheeked and sturdy, with wide blue eyes that stared sightlessly forward beneath a sweep of bristly black lashes. Warily, with what she knew were ridiculous visions of the evil doll Chucky dancing in her head, Lisa touched Katrina's face. The reassuring smoothness of cool, hard plastic eliminated the wildest flight of her imagination; this was not little Marisa Garcia's somehow amazingly well-preserved body, hidden all these years in plain sight in her closet. It was, instead, simply her own familiar, well-loved doll.
Whew.
Lisa let out a breath she hadn't realized she 'd been holding. She didn't even know what she'd been thinking precisely, but it was a relief to discover that whatever it was was wrong.
But if her memory served her correctly, the outfit at least was, indeed, strikingly similar to the one worn by the little girl in the picture.
Trying not to be unnerved by the blank stare of the china eyes, Lisa slid a questing finger along one blue velvet sleeve, rubbed the skirt between her thumb and forefinger, then touched the smocking on the bodice. The velvet was smooth and thick, obviously of good quality. The smocking seemed to have been done by hand and was adorned with real embroidery. Glad now that she had brought the Garcia file home with her, Lisa quickly got to her feet and went into her bedroom to retrieve it from her briefcase, which she had dropped on the floor beside her bed. Opening the folder even as she returned to crouch in front of Katrina, Lisa looked from the little girl in the picture to the doll with widening eyes.
5
Wow, Lisa thought. The dresses each wore were so similar as to appear identical. In fact, the child and the doll looked so much alike that it was eerie.
It was, of course, impossible to tell much from the small, slightly blurry photograph, but the resemblance couldn't be as uncanny as it seemed. There was no way to know, for example, if Marisa's eyes were blue or if the embroidery on
Now, as she secured the elastic around her hair, her gaze ran over them absently, only to stop with an arrested expression on Katrina, as she had named the nearly life-size toddler girl doll that now stood all but forgotten in a corner. Katrina had shoulder-length black hair, deep bangs, and was dressed in a blue velvet dress. With a lace collar and smocking on the bodice.
Looking at her, Lisa drew in her breath.
The little girl. The missing family.
The doll's coloring. Her hairstyle. Her dress. It all made her look eerily similar to the picture of the young daughter of the Garcia family. What was her name?
Marisa.
The name seemed to whisper through her mind.
Arrested, her gaze still fixed on the doll, Lisa felt her heartbeat quicken and her pulse kick up a notch.
"Don't be stupid. Of course it 's a coincidence," she scolded herself aloud, just to break the tension that had held her momentarily spell-bound. Making a face at herself, she turned away from the mirror and stepped into the closet, which despite having had the bathroom carved out of it was as large as most bedrooms. The windows that still remained were covered with heavy closed curtains. As ridiculous as she knew it was, the deep gloom made her uneasy. Quickly she snapped on the overhead light, then knelt in front of the doll that she 'd happily played with for years and was now, suddenly, embarrassingly, just the tiniest bit afraid of.
You're being a complete idiot here.
She knew that, of course, but knowing it didn't help. She 'd had Katrina for as long as she could remember, for so long that she couldn't even remember getting her. Katrina had just always existed in the background of her life. Lisa's mouth went dry and her pulse began to race as she looked the doll over. Designed to depict a child of perhaps four or five, Katrina was pink-cheeked and sturdy, with wide blue eyes that stared sightlessly forward beneath a sweep of bristly black lashes. Warily, with what she knew were ridiculous visions of the evil doll Chucky dancing in her head, Lisa touched Katrina's face. The reassuring smoothness of cool, hard plastic eliminated the wildest flight of her imagination; this was not little Marisa Garcia's somehow amazingly well-preserved body, hidden all these years in plain sight in her closet. It was, instead, simply her own familiar, well-loved doll.
Whew.
Lisa let out a breath she hadn't realized she 'd been holding. She didn't even know what she'd been thinking precisely, but it was a relief to discover that whatever it was was wrong.
But if her memory served her correctly, the outfit at least was, indeed, strikingly similar to the one worn by the little girl in the picture.
Trying not to be unnerved by the blank stare of the china eyes, Lisa slid a questing finger along one blue velvet sleeve, rubbed the skirt between her thumb and forefinger, then touched the smocking on the bodice. The velvet was smooth and thick, obviously of good quality. The smocking seemed to have been done by hand and was adorned with real embroidery. Glad now that she had brought the Garcia file home with her, Lisa quickly got to her feet and went into her bedroom to retrieve it from her briefcase, which she had dropped on the floor beside her bed. Opening the folder even as she returned to crouch in front of Katrina, Lisa looked from the little girl in the picture to the doll with widening eyes.
5
Wow, Lisa thought. The dresses each wore were so similar as to appear identical. In fact, the child and the doll looked so much alike that it was eerie.
It was, of course, impossible to tell much from the small, slightly blurry photograph, but the resemblance couldn't be as uncanny as it seemed. There was no way to know, for example, if Marisa's eyes were blue or if the embroidery on
Similar Books
