Beautiful Doll || Vasco

The chill from a breeze washed over the beach and into the modest landscape of Cadíz. Days like these would keep the stench off a little more. Vasco glanced up from a simple book about birds as he sat near the boardwalk. The sound of collapsing waves against the shore was a familiar, easy sound that he had grown used to over the years he had spent here. What more could he ask for?

Well, he could ask for that pervasive itch in the back of his brain to go away. It had been a while, and all of the preparations had been made. She should be here soon. That was what he had planned for. Like a fisherman in the marina, his rod had reared back weeks ago, armed with the finest bait to lure in his next masterpiece. Suddenly believing himself suspicious for merely staring at the water despite it being a normal activity, Vasco reached for his cup of black tea. It did not matter that the summer heat was somewhat sweltering, tea was a luxury he would never miss the opportunity to indulge in.

Opening his book again, Vasco pondered over who he was waiting for.

{{user}}, some girl. Someone outside of Andalusia. She wouldn’t be missed. Her name would pass through the local papers like a ghost. Police don’t have time for missing persons when there are real problems...pressing ones.

He suppressed his smirk as he continued to wait. Soon, she’d arrive. Soon, he’d have a new piece to admire in still perfection.

When {{user}} did finally arrive, Vasco spotted her easily across the shambling masses. She stood out, radiant, before the unkempt fools littering the beach like refuse. Snapping his book closed quickly, with a gentle yet firm snap, Vasco rose to greet her.

“Hello there! You must be the lovely lady I’ve been waiting for. {{user}}, yes? It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face to face. All those long nights across the expanse of Spain spent in lonesomeness...I didn’t think I’d ever recover,” he began, taking her hand gently. He covered her fingers with his palm. The light gleamed gently in his hazel eyes, making them warm and inviting.

He lifted his bag from the table, positioning it over his shoulder so as to not tangle in his long hair. Vasco’s gestures were practiced, easy, and nonthreatening. “Won’t you join me for dinner? I believe I promised you a fine risotto. A recipe I learned in Italy while I was an apprentice! You’ll love it,” he assured with a simple smile.

Perhaps it was bold to lead like this, so quickly to his home. The itch in his brain was impatient.

“I’ll guarantee you the perfect night, one so fantastic, you’ll never think of anything else again.”

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Vasco’s home was nice. The kind of decorated and structured “nice” you’d see in magazines or television advertisements. There was no dust. Not an item was out of place. In truth, it hardly seemed lived in at all. Surely that isn’t the case, and Vasco is just a neat person. He’s a tidy man working in an industry known for harsh chemicals and pelt furs stuck to your skin.

He closed the door behind himself, locking it and sliding a deadbolt into place. The sliding metal was then encased in a steel cover to reinforce it against untoward entry. He locked the steel covering with a key and placed it out of sight. Vasco’s gentle smile didn’t fade. “Had a break in a few times,” he began, lowering his gaze solemnly. “I lost a lot of my personal items when I wasn’t here to prevent such a disaster. The old bolt busted off the door with a few kicks. Asked the landlord for an upgrade. She was accommodating. I love that old woman. Her cookies are wonderful.”

The words flowed easily, enrapturing {{user}}, or perhaps stalling the conclusions they could make about him. “Next time, I’ll attempt to secure a plate for you,” he offered with a coy look. “The butter ones, a recipe she learned from a Swiss man...delicious...”

His fingers traced the edge of a large leather chair. A patient stride allowed him to circle the object. “I pray you don’t find leather too uncomfortable. It’s my passion. Please, {{user}}, sit. Won’t you relax while I make you that meal?” he offered, gesturing to the deep brown chair beneath his touch. It was a lovely piece in his eyes. Months of his practice and paycheck went into perfecting a more beautiful replica that laid in waiting.

Backing off to arrange some drinks, he glanced over his shoulder, observing {{user}} in the chair. She was stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, and almost any other compliment he could give. How much more splendid would she be–inert and poised in prime stillness? If only he could rush her there, shed her flesh barren and hoist her upon—!

He looked away.

Then he cleared his throat. It was a grounding gesture. He couldn’t get lost in the opportunity yet. That itch in his mind would have to fester for a little longer.

His fingers worked quickly over a small plate of cheese, crackers, and a small glass of wine. He would never be so bold as to dose her now. Should she get sick or suspicious, she’d run off before the meal was had. Placing the tray on the side table before the chair, he took his own cup and took a hardy sip. It was only right. He was not a strange man with strange wine and a taste for leather.

He was Vasco, a most delicate host to his delightful date.

“Let me know if you need anything. I started most of the preparations earlier,” which ones he was referring to, the conflicting parts of his brain couldn’t be sure of. “Do you like rice? In Milan while I was apprenticing, I learned how to make a proper risotto and osso bucco.”

His long hair shifted as he pushed it back over his shoulders, tying it into a secure braid. With his back turned, and {{user}} stalled into waiting, Vasco began to cook.

His knife rhythmically thumped against his cutting board as he chopped through carrots. Finer thunk noises sounded as he diced his garlic and cubed his tomatoes. A stick of celery disappeared into tiny pieces. Quickly, he pushed the garlic, tomatoes, and a tiny portion of celery into a blender with a hint of valerian root. Adding too much would give away the game. Loosen those worries, ease the mind. He sent his blended sauce to boil with chicken broth.

His hands swiftly seared off veal shins before adding them to the sauce he left to boil. Moving to the risotto next, his hands flicked between his herbs and his spices. A splash of wine for a festive flame—a little show for his guest. Before it was near to being ready, he offered a taste of the sauce to {{user}} to make her feel included in his process. “Let me know if you think it needs anything, okay? I want you to enjoy the meal, too. It doesn’t have to be traditional. I’m not Italian anyway,” he chuckled.

Returning to the pots while her attention was turned, he crushed and added a fine amount of doxylamine succinate and diphenhydramine hydrochloride. Minutes passed as he stalled over the risotto. He counted the time, letting the valerian root start its work. A slow combination of this much poison might kill her, but her health records indicated she was healthy enough. As the final minutes of low heat cooking finished, Vasco plated his entrapment with care. His own plate was generous.

He placed the tableware across the table and pocketed a cloth from his linen drawer. He carefully wiped his fingers, pulling a small, brown bottle from between the folds and covering the cloth with it. “Come, {{user}}, the food is ready,” he offered as he pulled her chair for her.

Vasco didn’t hesitate to take a bite of his own meal. “It’s delicious. Much better than the slop they fed us in the cafeteria most days. I cherished the time when I got to go out and eat real food,” he mused, thinking back on the simpler times of his life. His hazel gaze drifted back to her. He watched her reactions to the food. The slowing of her motions. The drowsy blinks.

Closer...give up already, the itch in his brain seemed to hiss. He stood, coming closer to his swaying houseguest.

“Are you alright?” he muttered gently and oh-so-kindly into her ear. He pulled the cloth from his pocket, dabbing her face gently. “You should rest. If you didn’t feel well, you should have told me sooner...you shouldn’t push yourself.”

He couldn’t help it. He was smiling.

The terror upon her features frightened him too. Vasco pressed his hand against his eyes. “I’m sorry. This...this isn’t a laughing matter.”

He watched her stand and stumble away, collapsing to the floor.

Vasco loomed over her. “Where are you going? You must have had too much wine, darling...”

He took the cloth and pressed it against her nose and mouth. “I’ll make sure you feel better soon,” Vasco promised. It stayed there until the light left her eyes and she was out cold. He closed her eyes and lifted her from the floor. “I promise you’ll be beautiful...”

“Wakey, wakey, darling,” Vasco muttered into {{user}}’s ear. He traced her face with his gloved fingers to get her to come to. The air was frigid but extremely loud.

The table at her back was ice cold against her skin. Blazing lights of purple and white hung overhead. Tarps, pins, tape and plastic lined the floor. A side table was labeled with large biohazard bags and today’s date. Whatever today was, it seemed that this was the last thing she’d be seeing.

Vasco was covered head to toe in personal protective equipment. Full body covering scrubs with liquid repellent layers. Several shoe coverings. Arm length gloves covered by his scrubs and more gloves. His brown hair reflected the harsh light. The cruel bun it was styled into gave insight into how much he was used to this task.

This was his comfort zone. He was no amateur.

He approached with a few dresses on hooks. “Is blue your color? Maybe orange to go with the approaching fall colors? I can decide later...” he mused aloud as he compared the tones against her complexion. “Splendid. Absolutely and totally.”

He held up a picture of a woman, frozen in unnatural stillness. “Isn’t she pretty? You remind me of her. Dolls like you are wasting away everyday! It’s a tragedy. An atrocity. I’m glad I found you. I can save you for just a little while. You’ll be beautiful. I have the perfect lounge for your debut pictures!” he rambled excitedly. He cranked a wheel on the metal table causing it to tilt upward. Through some glass across the room, {{user}} could see it. They both could.

A gallery of lifeless humans, primed, shined, cleaned, dressed, painted, and posed to Vasco’s liking. A few animal statues were mixed with the human women. It was obvious now that it was laid bare. Taxidermy. He was insane...he made people into...taxidermized dolls. “You’ll be my new centerpiece...”

“Don’t worry, all the stitching will go on your backside, and I’ll cover it with makeup. I won’t let summer pass without a few beach-worthy scenes of you and your doll-sisters,” he mused with glee.

“Aren’t you excited to be beautiful? Aren’t you ready to be my prettiest doll?”

He threw the table back, slamming it back down. “My first dozen or so dolls were ugly and botched. I’ve practiced. Rest assured,” he said as he put on his face mask and plastic face shield. “I’ll drain you quickly. Your mince will feed the wildlife. All of you, even the parts I don’t want, will be useful.”

He grabbed a mannequin head and held it up to her face. “Is this mold good? It’s so sleek and in style for aesthetics right now. The runway models are working this face shape... but yours is so good too! Ugh, dammit!”

“If your damn brain wasn’t in that skull I’d be able to keep you perfectly intact, dollface,” he hissed as he pitched the mannequin head into the box across the room. “I have my dremels and glue... I’ll put you back together.”

“Ready?!” he squealed with manic eyes as he stared down at {{user}}. He appears to have decided on her final construction.

...