I open the drawer to the filing cabinet, and my eardrum is punctured by a scream. I quickly realize it’s coming from me and clamp my mouth shut.
From the depths of the drawer, two evil eyes stare back at me, glassy and unrepentant.
“What the hell, Chucky?” I wrench the doll from his hiding spot and glare at him as though he might actually offer up an explanation. If any doll was capable of such a feat, it’s Chucky.
I tuck him under my arm to return to his rightful owner. I sort of wish Chucky could talk, if only to tell me about the Charlie he glimpsed when no one was looking. Was the rest of his body as rock-solid as his chest, not that I was scoping him out? Everybody here has noticed his physique, and Charlie has talked about his athletic past.
“Why am I trying to justify having a set of working eyes?” I ask Chucky.
The doll only stares in response.
“What’s it like sharing a room with him?” I picture Charlie making his bed in the morning, complete with hospital corners. I think of my own bed, unmade with the sheets in a ball at the foot of it. Where I kick them to in the middle of the night is where they stay.
I march toward Charlie’s cabin. Before I get there, I’m intercepted by Adam out for a walk with Chewy.
“What are you doing with Chucky?” he asks.
“Charlie decided to get back at me for my prank by leaving him in my file drawer.”
Adam laughs. “I didn’t think he had it in him.”
“I know, right?”
“So you’re going to give the doll back and let him do it again?”
Adam makes a good point. “I’m listening.”
“What if we hide him? We’ll make a game of it.”
I contemplate Chucky. “Bury him like treasure and draw a map?”
“More like a ransom note. We find a spot to stash the doll and make Charlie work for it.”
I like this idea. “What if he doesn’t?” I wouldn’t blame Charlie for leaving the doll wherever we chose to hide him. We’d give him the ideal excuse to abandon Chucky without losing face.
“I bet you anything Charlie’s too attached to let the doll go for good. He’ll take the bait.”
I smooth back Chucky’s red hair, and the ends stick straight back up. “Okay, but let’s not bury him. That seems cruel.”
Adam observes me. “You know that’s a doll, right? He can’t breathe.”
I cover Chucky’s ears. “You wouldn’t feel the need to point that out if I was holding a Yoda doll right now.”
“Point taken.” He glances over his shoulder. “You should hurry before you run into Charlie. I saw him leave his cabin about five minutes ago. Not sure when he’ll come back.”
I waste no time sneaking into Charlie’s cabin. I take a second to digest the state of the interior. He’s exceptionally neat and tidy, which shouldn’t surprise me given the condition of his shoes. His laptop is open on the small table, and I resist the temptation to sneak a peek. Besides, the Internet is garbage here anyway. With my luck I’d try to glimpse his socials and end up freezing his screen on some Instagram model’s boobs.
I quickly brush off the notion. Charlie doesn’t actually seem like the kind of guy who follows models on IG. He seems far more likely to follow businesspeople he admires.
Do successful businesspeople post on Instagram? I have no idea. I’m only on there for the dogs in costumes.
I set Chucky up with a kitchen knife in Charlie’s bathroom sink. It isn’t easy to get the doll in position, especially with the knife, but I finally manage it with an ingenious use of the toilet plunger and duct tape, which truly is the greatest invention since the printing press, as my grandfather espoused.
Outside the cabin, I hear Charlie’s voice and freeze. The front door clicks open, and I look around frantically. There’s only one place to hide. I dart into the shower and cower behind the curtain. I fervently hope he doesn’t choose now to have a bowel movement.
His footsteps head straight toward the bathroom. Shit.
No! Don’t manifest shit by thinking the word.
