The Doll: Part 3

   

    I was glad for the wine when Crawford began to talk about his Dolls and the ideals he had projected onto them again.  Paris returned to the room carrying a tray with a crystal decanter with a silver bracelet around the neck of the thick bottle that said "cognac" in cursive English.  Two low-ball glasses were set on the side of the decanter.

    "Very good," Crawford said to Paris when he set the tray down on the table.  "What appointments do I have this afternoon?"

    Paris placed the glasses on the table and carefully poured the cognac into them as he spoke.

    "You have a two o' clock meeting with a Mr. Chang from Hong Kong.  A four o'clock meeting with the representatives from India.  Then there's a cocktail mixture with the investors at Hotel Le Meridian.  I have already made arrangements to have your tuxedo cleaned and sent to the office by five."

    Crawford rewarded Paris with a gentle pat on his ass.  Paris filled the glasses and pressed one into Crawford's hand. 

    "What do you think of him?" Crawford said and nodded at Paris was he walked around the table toward me with my drink in his hands.

    "Very nice," I said.  "If I had a talking date book like this one, I don't think I would have left the house to make any one of the appointments."

    "Aren't you curious?"

    Paris paused a step away and bent down to put the glass on the table in front of me.  Crawford gestured for Paris to sit down and he pulled out the chair next to me and sat down.

    "Curious about what?"

    "If he felt like the real thing? If he's everything he's meant to be?"

    "I would have been more adventurous in my curiosity if I didn't know about this project.  Perhaps it's just my old fashion sense that's making me cautious," I said and took Paris' left hand in mine.  "I would like to think of anyone I chose to sleep with as more than just a receptacle where I deposit my sperm.  A Doll is nothing more than a receptacle with very attractive face and body."

    Crawford laughed and took a long sip of the cognac.

    "So you are really just an alpha male with a romantic heart," he said and nodded approvingly.

    "You're the first and most likely the only person in the world that would accuse me of being romantic.  You misunderstood me, Mr. Crawford," I said and ran my hand up Paris' arm and shoulder then laced my fingers into the soft blonde hair.  "To me, he...and the Dolls like him amounts to adolescent masturbatory fantasies.  The centerfold in the smut magazine who will spread open for anyone who needs that kind of visual aid to help them get off."

    "He is a lot more than a sex aid, Mr. Redfield.  He is exactly what you want him to be.  He does more than provide sex."

    "I'm sure he does, but it still sending my own visions and desires into this Doll.  It's like adopting another version of myself."

    "Do you not project your needs and wants when you look for a mate?"

    "To a point.  I would also like to have that mate project their needs and wants onto me.  A mere validation of being human and being with a human."

    I withdrew my hand from Paris' hair and picked up the cognac glass but I didn't drink it.

    "Which brings me to a point I've wondered," I said.  "If they are willing to do anything to please their user, what if their user wished for harm or death on another person?"

    Crawford shrugged.

    "There's always a danger of that," Crawford said.  "Once the Doll becomes a regular product anyone can buy, it's a matter of time when people exploit other possible uses for them.  Assassins who can destroy itself right after a mission so no one can trace the killing to the one who dispatched them.  Things like that.  For now, none of them are capable of harming others...not even to defend themselves.  It's simply a command they do not understand because it will never be put in their programming.  Once someone tries to hack into their programming, the Doll will cease to function completely."

    "Like de-clawing the cat and set them loose in the wild?"

    "Mr. Redfield," he said.  "It's rather impossible to victimize a thing that was never alive."

 

 

   As soon as Bulldog dropped Leon onto a threadbare sofa in his living room, Leon scrambled off and dashed for the door.  Tears ran down his face as he clawed at the door that would not open.

    "Don't waste your time, honey.  I have the key," Bulldog said as he walked into the kitchen to get himself a beer.

    "Please let me go back to papa..."

    Bulldog walked back to the living room and took a long drink of the beer as he stood watching Leon.  He rubbed at the scratches Leon had left on his arm absently and sat down on the couch.

    "What kind of shit were you two running from? Your old man looked too clean to be a user or dealer....and you are too good looking to be a common whore."

    Leon looked at Bulldog.  His question didn't make sense.

    "Please let me go back to papa..." Leon said.

    "I'm your new papa now, honey.  Come here," Bulldog said as he patted his lap.

    "Want to go to papa..." Leon said, more tears spilled out of his eyes.  His fingers bled from trying to pry the door open.  "Please let me go back to papa..."

    Bulldog drank the rest of his beer in one gulp and crushed the empty can in his hand before he threw it to a corner of the room.

    "You are really pissing me off," Bulldog said as he stood up.  "When I say come here, you come."

    "Want to go back to papa -- "

    Bulldog stalked over to Leon and stared down at him.  He fought back the urge to kick or hit Leon.  He was probably as fragile as he looked.  A blow might crack a bone or do some internal damage.  Bulldog was determined to keep this pet around for at least a couple of weeks, then maybe sell him to a whore house if he refrained from hurting the face.

    "If you won't shut up about your old man -- " Bulldog growled as he undid his belt buckles and unzipped his fly.  "Then maybe I will just give you something else to cry about."

    Bulldog grabbed a fistful of Leon's hair and drew him up to his knees.  He pried open Leon's mouth with his fingers and as soon as the opening was big enough -- he shoved his half-hard cock inside.  Leon's body went rigid, then he started to choke on the thickness that was lodged too deep down his throat.

    "Get use to this, darling.  This is what you'll be doing for the rest of your fucking life."

 

 

    My cell phone went off in middle of Crawford's other theories on why he thought the Dolls made for better companions than a human mate.  As intriguing his mad rambling were, I was also bored and a little drunk.  I wanted to leave but I didn't know how to do so eloquently without interrupting Crawford's rhapsody.

    Crawford watched me impatiently as I took the call.  I was determined to use the call to excuse myself but as it turned out, it was about a lead on Leon from one of my informants.

    "Souma's been here for about a week.  People had seen him come out a couple of times but no one had seen the other one."

    "I doubt Souma would let him be seen," I said.  "Give me the address and I'll meet you down there."

    Pete gave me the address of where he was.  

    "I'm sorry but I need to leave now," I said as soon as I hung up the phone and slipped it back into my pocket.  "One of my informants might have a location on Souma."

    "What about Leon?"

    "I'll go there to confirm if he is there with him," I said and pushed my chair back and stood up.  "There's no sighting of your Doll since Souma's been there."

    Crawford nodded and told Paris to escort me out.  

 

    While we were descending down on the fancy elevator, I leaned in and kissed Paris on his mouth.  He was a little startled but he gave into the kiss.  He tasted and felt like what I expected -- warm but empty.  Perhaps he had been better and I had already had my mind set on what he would be like.  

    "How did you feel about Crawford and I talk about you as if you weren't in the room? Like you were just an inanimate object?"

    He titled his head and thought about the question for a moment.

    "Nothing really," he said.  "I don't mind how anyone talked about me."

    I smiled and slipped my arms around his narrow waist.

    "I didn't think so."

    "What is "adolescent masturbatory fantasy"?" 

    I cupped his ass with my hands and gave them an affectionate squeeze.

    "This," I said.  

    The elevator slowed as we approached the ground floor.  I untangled my arms from around him and straightened my suit.

    "Be good," I said as the elevator came to a stop and the doors hissed opened.  He gave me a splendid little smile as he nodded and waved me good-bye.  Cute toy, but I would probably be tired of it within days.

 

    The address Pete gave me led to a drug and prostitute infested part of the city.  A thing like Leon would not fare very well in this kind of place.  I hoped Souma did manage to hide the Doll away.  

    As soon as I parked my car along the trash strewn curb, a group of young men in over-sized sports jacket sauntered up.  The leader and the mouth piece of the group, probably no more than eighteen, gave me a snide smile as I stepped out of my car.

    "This is our territory," he said as he gestured at the expanse of the block.  "So there's a parking fee involved."

    "I see."

    "It'll cost you your ride," he continued and looked at the keys in my hand.

    "I am kind of partial to this car at the moment," I said.  "Had to get it imported from Germany.  Waited three months for it."

    He elbowed the boy standing next to him and they all broke into giggles.

    "Tell you what," I said and reached into my jacket pocket. "Let me give you something else instead."

    Their laughter died down and they looked at me expectantly.  All at once, they took a step backwards when I pulled out my gun.

    "No need to get like that, mister," the leader said.  "We were just kidding with you."

    "So am I," I said.

    They looked at each other and scattered, running down the block in a loose pack.  I shoved my gun back into my jacket as Pete stepped out of the alley where he had been watching.  He was laughing so hard that there were tears in his eyes.

    "Glad you found this entertaining," I said and nodded at the dilapidated building with most of its windows either broken or boarded shut.  "Is this the place?"

    "Unfortunately, yes."

    "Who's in charge of this mansion?"

    "A big mean bastard by the name of Sean Hopkins.  He kind of look like an angry bulldog."

    "How appropriate."

    "Lives on the first floor, the last door to the left is his place."

    I lit up a cigarette and took a long drag out from it.

    "Stay here and watch my car," I said.  "Only come in when I call for you to."

    He shoved his hands into his pocket and leaned against my car hood.  I unsnapped the gun strap that secured the weapon into its holster before I walked up the crumbling stone stairway and entered the building.

    The rancid smell of the soiled carpet in the hallway was partially masked by the cigarette I was smoking and I was glad for it.  Then as soon as the front door sealed me from the outside world, the cacophony of misery that existed in that building truly came to me then.  There were stale scents of different kinds of drugs smoked or cooked in small steel spoons.  There were lingering odors of cheap beer, vomit, urine, and probably shit grounded into the carpet itself. And there were also death.  The entire building stank of it.  There had been more than one death in the hallway and their blood had become dark patches in random areas along the gray-black carpet.  

    As I passed the doors, I heard an argument between a couple which often paused only long enough for one of them to throw something against the wall.  There was an unattended baby crying and someone's dog was whimpering.  Behind the door across from Hopkin's, a man in deep voice sang a cheerful religious hymn about being saved by Jesus Christ.

    I pressed my ear against Hopkin's door and listened.  It was quiet inside.  No sound of a television or radio.  I waited for a few more moments, trying to make out any sounds of movements inside. There weren't any.  Then when Hopkin's neighbor finished his song, it was quiet enough for me to hear someone crying inside Hopkin's apartment.  The sound was slight, almost like a child.  I tried the door but it was locked.  Hopkin's neighbor began to sing again, this time a hymn about the glory of Jesus Christ.

    I took out my gun and held it to my back as I knocked on the door.  Lightly at first, just to see if I could hear some movements inside the apartment.  There weren't any.  No one inquired who I was and no one came to the door.  I knocked louder this time, pounding at the door with my fist.  The same result.

    I spat out the cigarette that was dangling from my mouth and grounded it into the dirty carpet.  I held the gun in front of me then after a countdown in my head, I kicked the door in by its door knob.  The old door gave and banged open on the first kick.  I pointed my gun into the room but no one was there.  I closed the door behind me the best I could just to drown out the horrid singing, then followed the sound of the crying child.

    However, it wasn't a child I found.  It was Leon.  He was naked except for a dog collar that hung loosely around his neck.  From his chest down, he was covered in blood -- some had already dried.  He was half sitting, half kneeling in a corner of the bedroom, shivering and crying while he clutched a torn, soiled blanket in his left hand.  He looked at me when I came into the room, but he didn't seem to understand what he should do.  He only stared at me as tears continued to pour out of his eyes.  The way Leon looked didn't startle me, the body on the bed did.

    I walked around the bed and looked at the purplish face of the victim -- by description, it was Hopkins.  His dead eyes bulged out of their sockets and stared at the ceiling.  His mouth was open and the tongue hung out and over the corner of his mouth.  His neck was the source of the blood that had already soaked half of the bed.  I leaned in closer and studied the fatal wounds.  His windpipe had been crushed and one of his carotid arteries had been ripped open.  He was naked and by the look of the semen stain on his leg, Leon had killed him during or right after intercourse.  

    Suddenly I was confused.  A thing like Leon could not have killed...but he had.  I looked over my shoulder at Leon and realized he was whispering something.  I walked up to him as I tucked my gun back in its holster.  

    "I want to go back to papa..." he said softly.

    I crouched down and tipped his face up by his chin.  I undid the collar from around his neck and tossed it to the side.    

    "I'll take you back to papa," I said.  I wrenched away the dirty blanket he held to and threw it next to the collar.  "Are you crying because you did this?"

    He stopped crying and looked at me, completely mystified by my question.

    "No," he finally said.  "I want to go back to papa."

    I frowned, suddenly realizing his hair had been cut.  The bangs and the edges were trimmed too nicely to be by Hopkin's clumsy looking fingers.  Crawford would probably be angry his Doll had lost his long beautiful hair.

    "Are you hurt?" I asked.

    He shook his head.

    "Can you stand?"

    He nodded.  I stood up and gestured for him to do the same. He did so slowly, as if he was still deciding whether he should attack and kill me as well.  Then I realized why he was having difficulty standing.  Blood and semen were still trickling out of his ass and down his thighs in thin ribbons.  The insides of his thighs were rubbed raw.

    "Before I can take you to him, you have to wash the blood off, understand?  I can't have you walk around naked and covered in blood."

    He didn't say anything for a long while but he finally nodded.  I took him by his hand and walked him into the bathroom.  The bathroom stank worse than it looked.  I pushed aside the glass shower door with rusty frames and ran the water.  The water didn't come out clear and it was only lukewarm at its hottest.  It would have to do.  I nudged him into the shower and told him to clean himself off the best he could. 

    While he showered, I rummaged through the apartment for his clothes.  I found them in different rooms of the apartment, and they were in pieces.  Hopkins made an art of stripping Leon.  I went through Hopkin's closet and took out one of the shirts he had hung in there.  It was the only one that didn't seem to be too dirty and had most of the buttons still attached.  It was probably a shirt Hopkins wore to church on Sundays with his singing neighbor.  I draped it over my arm and walked into the shower to check on Leon.  

    He was still trying to scrub some of the more stubborn dried blood stains from his chest, but most of the blood's already washed away.  He had a lot of bruises made by fingers and belts.  His lower backside was covered with crisscrossed welts, and his both cheeks of his ass were turning into a shade of purplish yellow.  It would become a big bruise in a few hours.  

    "Are you in pain?" I asked him.

    He looked over to me and continued to scrub at his chest.

    "A little," he said.  "But I will be fine."

    "How long have you been here?"

    "I don't know."

    "Did you kill Hopkins?"

    Silence.  He didn't understand my question.

    "Did you do what you did in that room?"

    He nodded.  There weren't any emotion in his eyes when he admitted it.  

    "Because he was hurting you?"

    He shook his head. "Because he won't let me go to papa."

    I drew in a breath and let it out slowly.  

    "Would you do that to me if I told you I wouldn't let you go to papa?"

    "I don't know.  You said you would take me to him."

    "I will," I said with a smile.  "I was just asking a rhetorical question."

    We didn't say anything else.  I was immersed in my own thought, thoroughly amused that Crawford idealized lover had become a psychotic killer.  Perhaps Leon had to be mind-wiped after all.  Somehow I felt a little sad by it.  This creature had known nothing but pain all his life and his only reward was death.  Perhaps it would be best if he didn't exist.  

    "What are you thinking?" 

    I came out of my thought to look at a dripping wet Leon standing in front of me, staring at me with the most perfect sea-blue eyes I had ever seen.  He looked at me curiously, like I was a new animal he had never seen before.

    "Nothing," I said and gave him the shirt.  I didn't want him to towel off with anything from that bathroom.

    "Who are you?" He asked as he slipped on the shirt.  The shirt had come down mid-thigh and his arms had disappeared completely into the sleeves.

    "I'm here to take you home," I said as I buttoned the shirt up for him.  "Do you remember where that is?"

    He didn't answer.  

    "Do you remember a Mr. Crawford?" 

    He nodded.

    I finished buttoning his shirt and worked to roll up his sleeves up to his wrists.

    "Who is he to you?"

    He thought for a moment and shook his head.

    "I don't know," he said.  "I've never met him.  I only knew his name from papa."

    "Where is papa?"

    "Upstairs."

    "Do you remember where?"

    He nodded and gave me a slight smile.  It was then I came to a full realization that I had forgotten he was a machine and all of his responses were programmed.  He was nothing like Paris, although I was not certain why I had come to that conclusion.  There was something innately tragic about Leon that was too human.  I finished rolling up his sleeves and cupped his face in my hands.  He was a beautiful, living thing.  I brushed aside the damp hair from his eyes and kissed him on his forehead.

    "Take me to papa," I said. 

    His smile grew as he took my hand and happily led me out of Hopkin's apartment.

    

    They lived on the top most floor.  The door was ajar when we got there.  Leon went in first, peering into the room and called out "papa" in a cheerful voice as if he had just returned from the market down the street.  No one answered him.  I felt for the switch for the light and I found it.  The single naked bulb in the ceiling lit up to a trail of blood and vomit that began near the door and led into another part of the apartment.  Leon followed the trail and from the dreadful cry that followed, he found Souma.

   Souma was lying on the floor of the bathroom, a pool of blood formed near his mouth and nose.  I checked his pulse.  He was still alive, but barely.  I opened his shirt and felt for his injuries.  His belly was hard and nearly blacken with stopped blood.

   "Papa...papa..." Leon tried to shake Souma awake.  For a while, Souma didn't move.  Then he started to cough again.  His eyes opened and he broke into a small smile when he recognized Leon.  The smile disappeared when he saw me.

   "You...are here...to take him... away...."

   I nodded.

   "You are dying," I said.  "He has to go back."

   "You can't... He doesn't belong there...."

   "He came from a lab," I said.  "And that's where he will go back to."

   "Please...please..." Souma coughed again and more blood spilled out from the corner of his mouth.  "Please don't take him back... It's inhuman what they do to him there...."

   "He's a machine," I said.  "You threw away your career, your family and now your life for a goddamn machine."

   Souma wheezed and tried to take in a lungful of air.  It took him awhile but he managed to breath again.

   "No...no... Leon...." Tears trickled out from the corner of his eyes as he spoke.  "Leon was a human baby before...."

   I grimaced.

   "I knew...about this....from the start...but didn't do anything....until now...." He paused to take a deep breath.  "Please...don't send him back..."

   He blinked away the tears that were in his eyes.

   "If...you have to....please kill him...."  He sobbed.  "I was...so weak...I was afraid...and let him suffer for....so long...please don't...let him suffer...anymore..."

   He coughed again and this time, he threw up more blood.  He looked back to Leon, who was kneeling perfectly straight by him with Souma's hand in his.

   "Be good, Leon.  Be good for your new papa..."

   Leon looked at me and back to Souma again.  Then there were no more sounds and movements from Souma.  He was dead.  I got up and went to the living room to have a cigarette so I can think.  Pete called my cell and asked if I was okay.  Until he said it, I didn't know I had been in the building for over three hours.  The sun had already gone down.  I couldn't tell from the windows that had been nailed shut with uneven pieces of lumber.

   "I'm fine," I said to him.  "I'm going to do some clean up here and make sure I don't leave any trace of my presence behind.  I should be done in half an hour."

   I hung up and immediately, another call came.  It was Crawford.

   "Did you find Souma?" He asked.

   "Yes."

   "And...?"

   "He's dead."

   "Good," he said.  "Did you find Leon?"

   I didn't answer immediately.  Crawford repeated his question again, this time louder and more insistent.

   "No," I said.  "I didn't find him."

End Part 3

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