Bloody Red Doll

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Warning: Contains a scene of past tense child abuse. Reader discretion advised.

Part 68

We were twenty minutes from the curtain opening one night when I saw Sarah practically running across my path and wringing the corner of her gown. Her path went immediately for Georgia, though Georgia looked a little preoccupied with finishing up George's makeup. The kohl stick was crumbling more than usual and her full attention was on the misbehaving stick than the girl rushing up to her with pleading eyes. The poor thing looked close to tears.

I walked to Sarah and gently tapped her on the shoulder.

"Are we having a costume problem?" I asked.

"I stepped on the corner at the hem just ripped right open," she grunted with frustration. "I can't go out with it like this. Dammit, why did this happen now!"

I took her arm and pulled her aside, then tugged on the garment. She let go and I took a good look at the damage.

"Oh sweetie, it will take me five minutes to fix that," I said.

Her face lit right up, but her sad look remained.

"But Grell you're already dressed and ready, I don't want to burden you…"

I cut her off with by patting her shoulder and shaking my head.

"I'd be delighted to help even if I were wearing the crown jewels," I replied.

She wrapped her arms around me with a little cry of glee; I hugged her back. I then took her to the side where I got out my own sewing kit and started to work. I sat on the floor and fixed the hem, all the while we merrily chatted. I was so busy and enjoying myself so much I suddenly looked down and saw I was on the last few stitches.

I finished my work and pulled the hem a little to make sure it was secure. It was perfect. I rose to my feet and she pulled me into a tight hug again.

"You're a lifesaver, thank you do much!" she exclaimed.

"Anything for you, my dear; it's all in a day's work," I replied, taking a look at the clock. "And look at that fifteen minutes to spare."

We hugged again and she went off to brush up on some lines. Suddenly I heard a snicker off to the side. I took a glance at the source; Sam met my gaze with a smirk he suddenly tried to wipe off. Ephraim was next to him shoving his nose in the script though I saw a little smile across his face too. What the hell were those two on about?

I stared at Sam and he averted his gaze. I walked over too him, not breaking my stare the whole time. Ephraim pulled his nose from the book but Sam still made a point not to look at me.

"And what the hell was that?" I asked in a soft but biting tone.

Sam let out another snicker, I wanted to knock him off that chair but that would not go over too well.

"What?" he said. "Nothing, I just thought you and Sarah were adorable."

"Is that what that was?"

"Yeah, it's good to see you two getting on so well."

My guard lowered a little; had I misread him? It crossed my mind maybe he thought I was chatting her up, that was a bit more innocent than what I thought his meaning might be. I still kept my gaze up, I saw Sam try to stay casual but he was shifting a little. That felt good.

"Thanks," I said, then walked away.

I took a sideways glance at Sam to see him and Ephraim looking at each other with little smiles. I left it at that but I wasn't amused; that was a little more than schoolboy chiding for liking a girl.

I went about the night as usual though with a hollow sense of satisfaction. Perhaps I was a little more transparent with my fellows than I thought. No, it was a gradual change; I had been around the ladies for so long perhaps I was picking up more of their manners. Or maybe I had stopped hiding, maybe my mask was slowly lifting. By my estimation this was a wonderful thing.

The next evening I greeted Sam warmly then conversed with him a little a few inches from his face. The way he regularly snapped himself back when I got closer made my heart leap.

Sarah and I were chatting a little more following the previous evening. She was actually rather witty and it was fun to join along. The Lady was peeking out and joining the conversation. I occasionally looked over to Sam or any other of the boys. I saw mostly sideways glances. Sam, Ephraim, and Peter would try to hold back smirks. I swore I saw little scowls from George. Oh dear me was I that obvious?

My mask was slipping and it appeared my fellows weren't exactly appreciative of what they saw. What an exciting revelation.

The following Sunday, Colin announced this show would continue on two extra weeks into September.

"Our numbers have been sky high, this has truly been our most successful production," he declared. "I have decided this will continue for a few extra weeks. This will take a few weeks away from the fall comedy, but it will be worth it."

Everyone cheered; I clapped along but was waiting for my proper thank you. Of course it never came, Colin wanted to keep us all humble after all, no stars. There would be no recognition for how our numbers go up with every masterful performance I put on. Every show I have been in I heard more and more about our numbers going up. No, this was all the efforts of he whole team; I had to remind myself of that though it never rang true.

I thought on the announcement at home later. I sat in my plush couch, a glass of brandy in my hand and my feet kicked up on the foot bench. I officially had a month and a half left to play Mark Antony. It would have been a month but the Prince was given an extension.

Then what would happen? My moment would end and I would be pushed back to the line for the fall comedy. The whole time I would still be getting snickered at, or the whole time I would be doing my best to ignore everyone.

The foregone conclusion rose to the surface of my thoughts though I didn't want to look on it. The thought made my stomach turn but a large part of me had already accepted it. Cue all the fond memories of the past three years trying to force past the thought, trying to tell me it was a ghastly, incomprehensible concept. I just needed to remember everything about Hamish and all the ribbings from Sam about my friends to put everything in perspective.

It was fun while it lasted, but now the journey was ending. It was time to embark on the next stage of my life.

It was a thrilling thought and a bit frightening. Mersey Hall had been a passion with a little pocket change, now it was my only source of regular income. The end of the Hamish saga meant the end of my side work. My assets were still generous though; the patents kept earning and I had just invested in a few promising stocks.

I took a look around my new, glorious flat. The rent wasn't economical; it was manageable but having some regular coin certainly helped. I could live on my assets but modestly and perhaps not forever. Interesting that I was thinking more on how I would lose wages by leaving than lose an opportunity to shine onstage. It was a telling thought that made my head sink back to the cushion.

I thought on every day of rehearsal going through the motions. I thought of every night onstage caring only for being noticed, I thought on how the Prince had a voice for a few hours but then would go to bed the rest of my days while the Lady played. Maybe I was losing my passion, or maybe I could fly free from this stifling environment and my passion would soar.

I would give myself a few weeks to decide what I would do. That settled my head as I laid it on the pillow that night. Then another thought went through my brain, one that had been going through with a little more frequency. It was a thought I shooed off with a torrent of mental obscenities and internal mocking laughter every time it came through. It was only that night when I realized just how frequently this idea was popping up.

That thought again went through my mind as I drifted to sleep: Jacob's job offer.

The thought of working for that cock again turned my insides, but this wasn't sitting at a desk all day surrounded by well-dressed drones. This wasn't fulfilling Matthew and Jacob's visions of a family business: a business that fills their pockets on the backs of the younger generations. This wouldn't involve having to do someone else's bidding to teach me "discipline."

This would be snuffing the life from people and getting a generous amount of money to do it.

I thought on this a little more through the next day. This one thought was a little louder than my abhorrence of working for a family member. This would be dirty, bloody, ghastly work. This would be going after people Jacob didn't like all that much, but what did I care why these people were dying? I would get the privilege of ending someone's life in a way I didn't have to hide and getting money for it.

I stopped laughing at the idea and was now thinking on it a little more seriously. I was gradually silencing the voice begging me to ignore this idea, a voice that sounded more and more like my own except from the time before leaving for Oxford.

The more I thought on this the more intrigued I was. I would do my backstage duties and the thought became bolder; these arseholes around me would be looking at an elite assassin. This little poof you're snickering at now has killed people better than you.

In truth that was the case already. I normally tried not to think on this amongst this company; it was something I had to hide after all. Now it made me hold my head a little higher. The Mersey Hall blokes didn't care I was nobility, they sure as hell cared about the very breath that I could be a buggerer, how much could they accept a murderer in their midst? The thought put a smile on my face.

This thought would even cross my mind onstage; all these people were marveling at the performance of a murderer. Then I would think they were looking on a man who would kill countless more people. It was that very prospect that made me shiver in glee. Once I had felt a tinge of guilt at all my crimes. Perhaps now I now was casting off all my shame, or perhaps I wanted thought to make myself feel more superior.

It was working, though on a shallow level. I thought about taking out my letter kit and writing a note to Jacob. I would ask him to meet me somewhere for a chat, getting my things back made for the perfect lead-in. Then I would ask him again about that job offer, tell him I rethought about my response. The letter kit remained in a drawer; the mental rehearsal of what I would write was a halfhearted effort for now. Something still held me back; pride probably. To the last I just couldn't admit I needed his help.

I would have to make a decision soon; staying at Mersey Hall was not that much of an option now. Quite frankly the thought of auditioning for other parts in other theaters was not one that thrilled me. Wasn't I just the model of personal motivation? Was I just content to remain pissed off at everything and not do a damn thing about it?

It was now three weeks before the end of the production and still I had done nothing. At the very least I rehearsed my going away speech to Colin. I figured by this point I had little to explain but still he was owed a decent sit down. It was a Friday night and Colin made reference to considering what he would do for the fall comedy. He did not provide a timeline, though we all knew it was going to be in another week and a half. By then I needed to say something, or maybe I didn't.

Maybe I should just stay put; that was another thought that was tugging at me. I allowed the thought again as I stepped offstage for intermission, my ears still ringing with the thunder of applause. The Prince was in full form that night; I felt I could take on the world. This was my territory right now. I would return to the stage with a spring in my step, my mind was that of Antony the second my shoes hit the wood.

It was another amazing show, another grand applause at curtain call. A few flowers landed at my feet when I took my bow. I left that stage the star of the show, kicking myself for wanting to leave all of this. I met my adoring public in the lobby, savoring every word of praise and every high-pitched adulation from the enamored ladies.

I went backstage with the others and cleaned off my makeup. I still chatted lightly with the others. We were all capable of small talk, though how much did I care if they laughed about me behind my back? Colin then approached me and leaned down in my face; "Can I pull your ear for a moment?"

I nodded and got up from my stool, following him across the room. Now what was this about? I expected him to take me into his office once again, instead he stopped when we were a little outside the dressing room.

"Ebenezer Carrington from the West End Gazette is outside and he has requested to speak to you," Colin said. "He wants to do an interview."

I gave a few profound blinks. I knew who exactly Ebenezer was; he was one of the leading theater reporters in London. His writing style was wonderfully flowery though he did not spare the jabs when it came to shows he disliked. And here he was, asking to speak to me.

"Well well, wouldn't want to keep him waiting," I replied.

"Just don't knock us too bad," Colin snickered. "Remember all the little fellows."

I swore I heard a slight pointed nervousness in his tone. I laughed back, but this grated against my nerves. It would have been funny if I did not recall how Colin disliked prima donnas in this company. Did that apply to prima donnas who made him more money? I really did not want to think on that right now.

Colin gave me a pat on the back and walked away as I walked toward the lobby to great my guest. Right there was a tall, round man with a perpetual scowl and a poofy black wig. Beside him was a younger man in nice clothing, brown hair pulled up in a ponytail. I assume that was his assistant, or perhaps his playmate. Carrington's beady eyes lit up when he saw me, then he took my hand and shook it with passion.

"Mr. Warren, it is such a pleasure to meet you," he said with a hint of marvel.

"The honor is all mine, Mr. Carrington," I replied with a hearty handshake.

"I was absolutely astounded with your performance," he said. "Word of your talents has been getting out around London. I believe all of London needs to know of your glistening talent. I would like to do a feature on you; the jewel of Leicester Square destined for greatness."

"Oh sir how you flatter me," I replied. "Of course I would like to do an interview with you."

"Splendid!"

We arranged to meet at a coffeehouse near Drury Lane, Three Yorkshire Brothers was the name; his secretary took all the details and read them out. We then shook hands and parted ways. I returned backstage and finished cleaning up. A few of my fellows asked who I went to see.

"Just an admirer," I replied.

No, I wasn't sharing this information. I wanted them all to read about it. Of course I glanced at Sam after this and saw his little smirk, George just kept his eye on the wall though I swore he gave Sam a pointed look.

Half an hour later I was walking toward the door, Colin subtly followed me into the lobby and gently tapped my shoulder. We stepped aside face-to-face, I knew what he was going to be asking me.

"Did you two schedule an interview?" he asked softly.

"We did, we're meeting tomorrow morning," I replied.

Colin nodded, I didn't know if I saw a smile on his face or an upturned grimace.

"I believe this is the first time someone from this company has received such attention from such a prestigious publication," he said with a nervous chuckle.

I smiled; I guess I was waiting for a "congratulations" but that never followed.

"I did want to give you just a few words of advisement," he continued.

I managed to keep my upper lip from curling and kept a polite expression. I quickly got myself in the mindset of a young man about to receive some important advice from his beloved mentor. One must stay in character when hearing lines one might personally find vile.

"You know, all of us knows that we are not exactly the most lauded company in the city; I know we've spoken about this quite a few times," he started. "The few times we have gotten any big eyes on us they've found a way to point and laugh."

One word out of his mouth smacked me across the head, I tried to pay attention to everything else he was saying to keep in character, but that one word was a stinking mass of moist manure dropped right on my feet.

"We"

Who the bloody hell was "we?"

"Even the most complimentary words usually are followed with 'humble,' 'common,' or even once 'lacking,'" he went on. "I am sure you remember that review we received in the Times a few years ago. It was most complimentary to our show and our company, especially to you, but it still had that bite."

Yes, the writer from the Times praised my performance in "The Taming of the Shrew" to the heavens. That's right, it was found lacking because of how it painted the rest of this company. Pay no mind to how it praised your talent; pay no mind to who was actually selling tickets. It was all about everyone else.

"Given Mr. Carrington's reputation for bluntness, I am sure he may try to throw some stones at us as well, or perhaps try to mock you for being in our company."

Then why the hell should I be in this company? I believe I had that decision made already.

"Just be aware of the approach he may take. You know full well our mission. He has decided to feature you, but I am sure you need no reminding that you are part of the whole of this."

I gently pressed my thumbnail into the pad of my index finger trying not to make a fist. Everything coming from his mouth was just lines and I, as the masterful, acclaimed actor I was, had to continue my flawless performance. I smiled a little and nodded.

"Of course," I answered, successfully prying my throat open and emitting sounds that were not yelling or growling. "Don't trouble yourself, Colin, I have this well in hand."

"I know you do, son, I have great confidence in you," he replied with a smile.

Did he really? Now there was the real question. After all these months of tense politeness I wondered if perhaps he was questioning his faith in me. Maybe this lecture wasn't so much overprotection but a subtle reminder. Was there now a measure of mistrust? I'll admit I found the thought a bit…satisfying.

We parted with the usual pleasantries. I waited until I was halfway home before kicking walls and elbowing passersby. I savored all their yelps, curses, and sputters; at last I heard something sincere. I finally returned to the comfort of my lovely abode, pouring myself a glass of brandy and sitting down for some thinking.

I didn't even want to recall everything Colin said to me. Everything that came out of his mouth were words I might have agreed with at one point in time, though now was a different time. There was no question now as to my future course; there was only the path away. As of tomorrow morning I had a lovely jumping off point to wherever I was destined. Whatever became of this, I left to the fates.

I simply toasted to my success. I was tempted to come up with a script that would go into Ebenezer's article, but what was the fun in that. What better way to test my acting abilities than improvisation?

The next morning I put on a smart suit and went out for my destination. The bell on the door rang as I stepped into Three Yorkshire Brothers. I immediately saw my host sitting at table by the fireplace beckoning me with a wave, his assistant dutifully beside him. I walked over to his table with a spring in my step.

The secretary then pulled out a seat for me at the ornate table and I sat right down. A coffee service was already prepared and ready for us and the assistant poured me a steaming cup of coffee. I wondered what other ways this man served Mr. Carrington.

There were some warm greetings, then Ebenezer put out his hand. His man placed a notebook in his palm, which he put on the table and then put his hand up for the writing kit. He then laid everything out methodically, now his pen was in his hand and he was ready for business.

"Now tell me a little about your history," Carrington said. "From what background did such a fine actor come?"

I took a second to get a narrative in place, then it was all out from there.

"I came from rather humble beginnings," I started. "My father is a tailor, he and my uncle have been managing their own business together for quite sometime."

Yes I may have had a little inspiration in this story, but everything else was purely improvised.

"Do they manage a shop?" Carrington asked.

"No they work with private clients, they've got a decent sized portfolio: businessmen mostly and their families. We have been able to have a comfortable existence. I was originally supposed to be apprenticed to them, but they realized my strengths were in the business end."

"A talented actor and a shrewd man of business, what a Renaissance man," Carrington noted, scribbling everything down. "What have you done for their business?"

"I started managing their books when I was fourteen," I continued. "When I was sixteen I had grown enough to look more like a man than a boy. I was the one who managed most of their clients, did most of the transactions, drew in more customers. Both my father and my uncle are a little older, it helps to be able to focus solely on your craft and have the business end managed by the younger generation."

"And yet you still have time for rehearsals and putting on four shows a week."

"Business makes me money, but I theater keeps me alive. It is my true passion, I would gladly put in all the extra hours to be able to do what I truly love."

"You must feel fortunate to have such an opportunity with Mersey Hall. But have you ever given any thought that this passion could be your career?"

"All the time. If I could make a true career out of my passion, I would be so grateful."

"But what of your family? Would you retain your position or would you leave your family's business by the wayside?"

"My family has been most supportive of me pursuing my passions, but my father is a very practical man. He most wants to see me as a success, no matter what the profession. I have discussed this very subject with him and if, God willing, the time ever does come that I can be a success in theater then he would consider what measures could be taken. However, as I said, he is practical…"

And wants to toughen me up. He pulled me out of bedroom to teach me a little lesson. The cow's blood is spurting over my face; I lap it up and taste its warm sweetness. Only it tastes like the little bit of sweet coffee I'm lapping off my lips.

"Your father sounds like a fair man," Carrington said, nodding. "Now, if you don't mind my asking, how old are you?"

"I am eighteen."

"Eighteen, my stars! Just eighteen and look where you are. How did your passion for the theater start? What lit the flame in your soul?"

"I was but a child, I believe around nine or ten. My uncle had been hired to a theater; to this day I don't know entirely what the job was. He decided to bring me along to get a better look at his business. I do remember watching the players rehearse onstage; I sat in the front row in the empty theater and watched them closely. I was entranced, sucked into the very moment.

"We returned the next day, only the actors were in the dressing room getting ready. I snuck out on that stage and put on my own performance. I remembered many of the lines, though I improvised more from old stories and my vivid imagination. I got up there and delivered this babble, trying to mimic all the poses I had seen."

Annette and Geoffrey would watch with smiles on their faces, holding each other's hands. And then there was a knock at the door.

I grasped the handle of my cup a bit harder; the cold sweat was now beading down my back. Oh God, oh shit, why was I thinking on this now? I slurped from my cup and tried to force my mind into a better place.

Their bodies are now on the floor, blood is flowing everywhere. Oh God father can't find me, don't let father find me!

No.

No this won't do at all.

"Well I obviously was not alone," I continued the performance. "I turned around to see I had an audience."

Let him see me, let him do his fucking worst. I'm climbing out of the wardrobe, but I am as tall as he and looking right in his eyes.

"I suddenly heard clapping behind me. I turned around. And there was all the actors and the director clapping behind me, my uncle right beside them…"

His visage is now contorted with rage, but I pull the axe from his hand like snatching a doll from a baby's grip. The blade goes in his chest, then in his neck; his blood is bathing me. His sweet, beautiful life essence is draining and I drain some more. I just keep hacking and hacking, savoring every scream and twitch.

"I just remembered how happy I was to see him like that…I mean so proud, so delighted by his little nephew."

His body is beneath my feet; that unkempt hair soaking up the blood, his neck split open from my gash. I stand with the axe in my hand and stare at my lifeless father beneath me.

My lips quirked into a satisfied smile.

"I was truly the little star right there. I knew from that moment where I was meant to be."

I pulled my thoughts back to the surface and looked at Mr. Carrington. He looked at me with a smile, his pen scratching merrily on the notepad.

"What a magnificent story!" he declared.

Oh it truly was.

I would then tell Ebenezer how I came to meet the Mersey Hall company as an admirer, then they encouraged me to join their troupe. Everything out of my mouth was noise by this point. I followed Colin's wishes; not once did I speak ill of my colleagues. I spoke of them as a true group of friends and mentors. Carrington didn't seem too interested in pulling them apart, he was more interested in me and that's all I needed.

He asked me about my technique, I went into great detail about my artistic philosophies and my rehearsal process. It felt so good talking about technicalities with a likeminded individual. He would correct me on a few terms, I fully confessed I was still green and looked forward to growing.

It was a lovely conversation. The whole while he scribbled in his notebook, his assistant (Frederick I believe his name was) would sharpen his quills and refill his cup when it got low.

At last Ebenezer looked to his notes with satisfaction.

"I believe I have a marvelous story in my hands," he declared.

"Splendid," I replied.

He thanked me for my time and I did the same in turn. This article would be in this Friday's edition and featured prominently. I left that coffeehouse with a spring in my step. Somehow I felt s much lighter.

Later that afternoon Colin pulled me aside for the inevitable. He wanted to know how the whole experience fared. I told him Mr. Carrington was a most witty and gracious man.

"Did he tell you when the story's coming out?" Colin asked.

"He really didn't give me an exact date," I responded. "He said he would inform me when the time would come."

Apparently I was still in storytelling mode, or rather I wasn't interested in having them wait around for it.

"So typical," Colin tsked, shaking his head. "I doubt this is high on his priority list; no offense to you of course but such is reality."

"I expected it," I sighed.

I expected Colin would sell me short. Are you trying to be a realist or a perpetual victim? Success does not come to those with this attitude; Colin was simply wading in a pit of his own making, wasn't he? Perhaps I would only be successful being around those who encouraged such a thing.

One face came into my mind at the thought of this. That face would float back in throughout the day. By the time I went onstage that night the idea was growing louder. I knew this article could gain the attention of other theaters, though for some reason it was only a fleeting thought. Odd wasn't it; how many times did I fantasize my name on the grand marquee? Perhaps Colin's practicality was rubbing off on me, or perhaps my muse was indeed growing silent. Or perhaps the memory of gushing crimson beckoned me a bit more.

I went home that evening and got out my letter kit, addressing a note to my dearest brother.

At long last I wish to collect the items I left behind at that cursed school. However I wish to inspect my effects before claiming them. Might I have access to the location in which my items are being held? I would like to determine which ones I would like to claim and which ones I will discard, sell, or give to the church.

I will provide libation for your troubles. I also believe we are overdue for some idle conversation. I most enjoyed our last meeting; perhaps we could continue this course.

I signed the letter, then sealed it in an envelope. I sent it right out the next day without a second thought.

The next morning I got a letter from Jacob.

Dearest brother,

I will certainly accommodate your wishes. I will have the cases brought to my townhouse and you can pick through them in comfort. I will have dinner served as well; we can make this a splendid evening.

If you wish I could recommend a talented tailor who can adjust any clothing you have. I certainly know a few respectable brokers who can get you some coin for any items you do not wish to keep.

Come to my place next Monday evening, perhaps around 6. I will have Simon pick you up from any location you wish.

I grimaced at this invitation. I had little desire to ever return to that house again. However it was infinitely better to take care of my business in that environment than in some musty, rat-infested storehouse. Besides I did have a few other things to discuss with him and there was no better opportunity than over dinner and drinks.

I wrote a letter back in the affirmative, giving him the address of my current flat. I had to laugh at this. Once I hid from Jacob, now I was giving him my address for Simon to come with the carriage. Now I was about to actually have dinner with him in that townhouse that had once been my home.

Here I was, about to voluntarily asking for employment from him. Times had changed indeed.

Author's Note: After a bit of a hiatus, I finally got some more ideas for this story. For the time being don't expect any quick updates. I'm still sorting through my ideas.