Little Doll
Chapter One
Laila
“For the love of all things holy, Laila! Are you planning on using all our funds on photocopying?”
“They'll just take it off your salary, Doug,” I smiled, endearingly, at my friend who worked as an NYU librarian. His dark eyes met my gaze as he looked over his thick-rimmed black glasses. “Consider it your contribution to charity.”
Doug’s audible scoff raised some annoyed eyebrows of overzealous students at the surrounding study tables. “With all my millions this job pays me,” he laughed mockingly with a dismissive and somewhat effeminate wave of his hand. “Trust me, honey – I wouldn’t be the one scanning decrepit books and wiping the food crumbs from between the soiled pages if I earned that kind of moolah.”
While Doug’s over the top jibe made me smile, I couldn’t have cared less if I put the college into debt with my photocopying. I was on a mission and time was pressing.
The cheerful face of my brother stared back at me from the photo I was holding and suddenly the world felt empty with the possibility he was no longer in it.
Ethan was a handsome man with tousled straight blond hair on the darker spectrum to mine. We shared the same dark blue eyes, his containing a playful nature while mine exuded a more serious element. His sun-kissed skin tone was courtesy of the habitual surfing regime he followed, unlike my pale porcelain flesh that rarely saw the light of day.
A determined tear welled in my eye as I focused on Ethan’s cheeky smile. Even though it was a difficult pill to swallow, I had to accept the fact I was on my own in the search for him. After filing a missing person report with the NYPD and turning a begrudging back to the indifferent glances of the condescending officer at the front desk, I'd decided to take matters into my own hands. I could understand the people assigned to serve and protect us might become apathetic to the copious amounts of lost person reports submitted, but I simply could not stand by and allow Ethan’s life to be treated as one of an inconvenient tally.
Doug’s husky voice woke me from my thoughts. “After you finish beating his fine ass for pulling this vanishing act on you, be sure to send him my way.”
“Trust me, after the ass kicking I’m going to dish out, there won’t be much to send your way,” I said, trying to sound lighthearted to subdue my internal fear, but I knew my best friend could see through the façade. He had tried to talk me out of this trip suggesting it was too dangerous and that Ethan will make contact soon. But I couldn’t sit around any longer. Now, his attempt at humor was simply to put my mind at ease.
Doug planted a swift kiss on my forehead. “Be careful little one,” he said, eyeballing me. “If I could swap shifts I'd come with you and make a day of it, but you know…” He gestured widely to his surroundings. “Nobody else can withstand the smell of yellowing paper and dust mites quite like me.”
I laughed outright at his mixed attempt at manly protection and womanly fancies. “Don’t pretend you don’t love your job. You know this place better than anyone, and besides, there is a wealth of knowledge to be found between those pages. You should try reading something educational for once.”
He chuckled, accepting my tease. While Doug worked in a library, the only text he ever read were his Twitter updates and the gossip column on his iPad.
“Point well-made, lovey. Now, two phone calls a day and no night time prowls. Deal?”
“Deal”
“Good, now scoot and bring that delicious boy back.”
***
The next morning I flew from JFK to San Diego where I knew Ethan was last staying. The thought of having to speak to strangers about such a dubious matter concerning missing persons made my stomach twist with anxiety. A chaperone would have been ideal, however Doug was my only male friend and, as it stood, I would be the one most likely protecting him.
The size of San Diego city was not as grandiose as where I was from so I decided to focus on the Gaslamp Quarter where Ethan had last claimed to be staying.
The mundane, almost five hour flight had given me enough time to create a mental mind-map of the impossible task I was setting out to achieve.
By the time I deplaned, the anxiety I had failed to suppress earlier was swirling around my gut like an unevenly loaded washing machine.
By the time I wheeled my luggage out the glass doors of the airport, bile had risen in my throat and each step I took further fuelled my doubts.
By the time the taxi pulled into a street I was certain wasn’t the one I asked for, sweat had pooled between my breasts and ran down my spine in consistent rivers.
None of the ill at ease sensations could throw me off the scent, however.