Doll House

XII. The Getaway

The Overall Man was trying to be conciliatory, but failing. The bear knew him like no other, which meant he knew the old man didn't mean it, didn't really want to go through with this pathetic retirement fantasy.

"Only a matter of time and you know it. And you didn't answer."

"What? What I'll be doing? Well, what do you think, my dear? I'll be dead. I've lived long enough. Longer than I should have, longer than anyone should have to live."

"But your work is important."

Tara listened to this exchange with silent fascination. She didn't want to say anything, not yet. Slowly, an idea was forming inside her mind.

"Yes, but no calling is forever. My work has kept me from my rightful place long enough, I think."

"Says who?"

"I do, of course," the old man sighed. "Look, what would you have me do? No, I know what you'd have me do, but I can do that no longer. I've put off this moment long enough. I need to go now."

"You need to abandon us."

The bear knew how to play the old man, but he wasn't sure it would be enough this time.

"That's not what I'm doing. We all knew this moment would come, you, me and whoever gave me this...unusual talent, which leads me to think I was always meant to retire at some point."

"But you don't have to."

They both turned, or rather, only the Overall Man did, because he was the only one he could and because from his vantage point atop the fake wall, the bear could see everything. They both regarded Tara, one with suspicion, the other with a calm sort of curiosity.

"Not technically, no," the Overall Man conceded. "In truth, my little one, I should have been dead a long time ago, but my work has kept me on this earth. It's a magic trick that comes with the territory."

"Why?"

"Because," he hesitated. He'd often wondered the same thing himself. "There will always be others left to save, I suppose. More in need of my help."

"So you could live forever, if you wanted to?"

Touched by the passing of time, though never quite dead. Perhaps a little like her. Like them all, here.

"No, that would be pushing it more than even I can. I would fade, in time, much like any other human being. And eventually, all that would be left of my soul, for lack of a better term, would simply be dust. I was given this gift, many moons ago, but it was a gift that came with a price."

"What, not dying?" the bear cut in. "Doesn't seem that bad to me."

"But if I died, then my suffering might end. Or my sin be punished, as it rightly should be."

The old man was impossibly calm as he said this, like it wasn't his own eternal torment he might or might not be discussing.

"But if things had been different, then you would've never known us. Don't you see, things had to happen as they did, so you could discover your calling."

Part of her wanted to look up – as much as possible – at the bear, and yet part of her was glad she couldn't really see him, his beady eyes as he said these things. There had been something incredibly chilling in the bear's words, and yet something very true.

"Yes," the Overall Man agreed. "But that doesn't change things, doesn't make what happened any less horrible. And it doesn't make what I did, or rather failed to do, forgivable. It was a crime that must be answered. Staying here would just be a delay of punishment, and I've grown tired of delays."

"But you could stay," Tara intervened, grateful for the silence atop the fake wall.

"If I wanted to, yes, I could keep saving toys, restoring them, as I've done up until now."

"But what if this time, you didn't save a toy, but a human being? You wouldn't be delaying anything, it would be... what you called it."

The Overall Man gave the doll a sorrowful smile.

"I don't think saving your friend would be the penance that's meant for me."

"How do you know? You could try and if not, at least she'd be saved."

"And all alone in this world. I fear you don't understand how this place works, Tara."

He paused, to arrange her necklace again. He ran a finger along her red, cold cheek.

"How long would your friend survive out here on her own? Do you have any idea? A week? A month? Six? Because I doubt she could take more, even considering her talents. Lone children do not fare well in our world, Tara. The woman from the orphanage would look for her, she would call the police and they would find her, drag her back up there and then, it would be much worse for your friend. People like Miss Francine don't take kindly to children who run away.

"And even if she managed to, shall we say, elude capture, what would she do then? I have little money to give her. She would need to make food, she would get sick. She would need to fend for herself. There are a lot of bad men out there, and it wouldn't take long for them to hear about a little girl living all alone, even in a small mountain town, such as this."

His brow had grown darker as he spoke and his frown had turned outright frightening. Once again, Tara remembered the bear's words in the night – he can be extremely cruel when he wants to, that one – and looking at the Overall Man as he was now, she wasn't so sure it was a good idea for him to find Tara, after all.

The old man's face twitched.

"There are other perils out there, also," he said curtly. "Ones that no one could protect that girl from. Your friend is where she is supposed to be at this moment. They want her there and wouldn't let anyone take her, even if I was foolish enough to listen to you."

"But that doesn't make sense," Tara argues. "If she was supposed to be there, in that horrible place, then maybe I was meant to be there, too. Maybe we all were. You claim to save us, but all you do is pick up the pieces. The truth is, you're just there to take us away when the time comes. That's not saving, that's just...it's cowardly. What you do is catch us when we fall, but it's not preventing us from falling altogether and I'm afraid, because no one will help Vicky and she's all alone there and something horrible might happen to her. Something no amount of paint and pretty clothes could fix."

And she doesn't know where this came from and suppose it doesn't really matter. And it's true – it's a truth the old man's been running from for many years and perhaps that's why his penance hasn't really seemed to work. Because there are some falls no amount of care can clean. The doll was right and as he looked at her crudely chopped curls, he understood. He'd always known she'd be special, that she'd usher in a new era in his life, but that era wouldn't be the end. She was not his key to the afterlife, she was his key to redemption. If such a thing was possible.

The doll's plan wouldn't work, he was certain of it. The things that lurked inside those woods would never let them leave. And he'd made his peace with that long before the call came. If he was to die in there, at least it'd be quick. Painful, most likely, and maybe not quite as quick as he hoped.

Wounds had a way of dragging on, and he might be left in agony inside that forest for days before he finally took his leave of this earth. And then what would happen to his toys?

Someone would find them. Even though he didn't actually speak to the other residents, by now, he'd become a permanent fixture. Someone would notice he was missing, sooner or later. They'd come look for him and find them all here. He'd become a favorite town story, for the residents to tell their grandchildren. The strange old man who repaired lost toys. It'd make for a nice enough story, he supposed. And they'd find them a purpose – take them home to their children, give them away, perhaps even back to the old orphanage. It was doubtful Miss Francine would recognize any of the toys now.

Life would go on, even if he went inside the dark forest and never came out again.

"Alright."