The Mafia King’s Doll

Skylar

Waking up in the middle of the night, I’m still clutching a pen. I fell asleep while making a list of things I have to do when I get released from the hospital.

I’m so excited about the second chance I’ve been given, I can’t wait to get out of here.

While I set the pen down on the bedside table, I pat the covers in search of the notepad. When I don’t find it, I reach for the remote so I can turn the lights on.

Movement catches my eyes, and as they flick to the door, I don’t see anyone.

I could’ve sworn I saw something move.

Switching on the light, I glance at the covers, but not seeing the notepad, I frown and search the floor around the bed.

“Where did it go?”

Just then, my eyes land on the bedside table, and I see the notepad.

I must’ve put it there before falling asleep.

Getting comfortable on the bed again, I pick up the notepad and pen and flip to the page I was writing on.

I read over the list I’ve made, then my eyes widen, and a gasp escapes

me.

A life for a life.

The words are practically carved into the page.

What the hell?

Staring at the harshly written words, I’m filled with confusion.

I have no idea how the words got onto my notepad. Surely I didn’t write

that before I fell asleep?

Why would I?

Still, the pen was in my hand when I woke up.

Unable to make sense of it, I close the notepad and set it down on the bedside table.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

Lying back against the pillows, I stare up at the ceiling.

Weird things have been happening since the surgery. Besides the man I saw the night of the surgery, I’ve been seeing shadows move. As if someone’s watching me.

If I believed in ghosts, I’d think whoever donated the kidney died, and now they’re haunting me.

But there is no such thing as ghosts.

Right?

Zipping the bag closed, I grin at Dad. “Let’s get out of here.”

Dad takes the bag, and smiling from ear-to-ear, he wraps his other arm around my shoulders. “Finally, I get to take you home.”

As we walk out of the room and toward the exit of the hospital, emotion builds between us.

Neither of us thought this day would come.

After the car accident, our lives came to a standstill, and I’ve practically lived in the hospital ever since.

It feels like I’m being freed from prison after having been handed a life sentence.

When we walk out of the hospital, and I’m met with the sun shining brightly, tears sting my eyes.

I’ll never take life for granted again. Every day will be special.

A happy smile curves my lips when we reach Dad’s Mercedes, and when I open the passenger door and climb inside, I exhale a breath of relief straight from my soul.

Dad climbs in behind the steering wheel, and as he starts the engine, excitement bursts in my chest.

“I’m going home,” I shriek, and leaning over the center console, I hug the everloving crap out of Dad.

He pats my back and chuckles. “I can’t wait for you to make me something to eat.”

Pulling back, I say, “We have to stop at the store so I can get fresh ingredients. I’m going to make so much food that all you’ll do for the next week is eat.”

Dad steers the Mercedes away from the hospital, and my eyes drink in every car and person on the road. I stare at the buildings and trees.

Everything looks brand new as if I’m seeing it for the first time.

The leaves on the trees are greener, and every other color looks brighter than I remember.

When we reach our neighborhood, I’m hit with another wave of relief. I get to live.

I’ll get a job at a five-star restaurant. I’ll create my own dishes.

I’ll get married, and Dad will walk me down the aisle.

My cheeks hurt from all the smiling, and when Dad parks the car by the store, my body vibrates with strength and energy.

Grabbing a cart at the entrance, I head down aisle after aisle to stock up on everything I’ll need.

“Can we stop to get some meat and fish?” I ask while I search through the vegetables for the freshest ones.

“Sweetheart, consider me your chauffeur. We can go wherever you want,” Dad says.

I grin at him as I put a bunch of carrots in the cart. “You’re the best.” “Don’t you ever forget that,” he teases me.

“Not a chance.”

When I have everything I can think of, we head to the checkout. Before I can start scanning the shopping, Dad says, “I don’t want you to overdo things. Let me take care of this.”

Watching Dad scan product after product, I feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

The worst is finally behind me, and I can breathe again. I can hope and dream.

I can live.

“What do you feel like eating?” I ask. “Anything, sweetheart.”

“How about lamb rib eye with garlic and sage roasted potatoes?” I ask, watching Dad’s face closely.

His smile wavers for a moment before brightening again. “You’re mother’s favorite. I think it’s fitting for today.”

Leaving the store, we stop by the butcher shop I love before heading home.

When I walk into my family home, it feels like the love of a million memories wraps around me. It feels like Mom will come down the grand

staircase at any moment and scold us for going to the store without her.

Or her laughter will sound up somewhere in the house.

“Oh my God,” Louisa, our housekeeper, shrieks from my left. “You’re home!”

She’s worked for us since I was in elementary school, so she’s practically family.

She comes to give me a gentle hug, then says, “I’m so happy.”

“That makes two of us,” Dad murmurs. “Louisa, will you get the bags from the car, please?”

“Of course, Mr. Davies.” She pats my arm. “Get settled in bed. I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”

I let out a groan. “I’m not going to bed.” “You need to rest, sweetheart,” Dad says.

“I’ll rest in the living room,” I negotiate. “I’ve spent months in a bed.” “Okay. As long as you’re not on your feet for long periods of time.”

I give Dad a playful scowl. “Dr. Bentall said moving around is good. It promotes healing.”

“Yes, but I know you. If I give you half a chance, you’ll stand in the kitchen and cook for the next three days.”

I scrunch my nose and pretend to pout as I walk in the direction of the living room. “I’ll rest for two hours, but then I’m making food.”

“Listen to your father, Skylar. We don’t want you to go back to the hospital,” Louisa chastises me.

“I promise to get a lot of rest, but I also want to get back to cooking. I need a lot of practice before I can return to work.”

“You’re going back to work?” Dad asks as he follows me.

“Eventually. Dr. Bentall said I should be able to return to work after three months.”

I sit down on the couch I’ve adopted as mine and grab the remote for the TV. Lying down, I tuck one of the throw pillows beneath my head.

Giving Dad a sweet smile, I say, “I won’t overdo it. I promise.” “Okay.”

“Can you bring my pillow from my bedroom?” I ask as I switch on the

TV.

“Sure. Should I bring your blanket as well?”

I point at the throw draped over the back of the couch. “I’ll use this one

if I get cold.”

Dad looks at me for a moment before he leaves to get my pillow.

I hear Louisa carry the shopping to the kitchen and then become aware of the familiar sounds of the house.

I missed this.

Using the remote, I scroll to my selection of cooking videos and press play.

Dad comes back into the living room with my pillow, and after he places it under my head, I snuggle into it.

“Can I bring you anything else?” Dad asks.

“No, thanks.” My eyes leave the TV screen to rest on him. “Are you going into the office today?”

He shakes his head. “I’m working from home this week.” When he heads to the doorway, he adds, “I’ll check in on you later.”

“Okay.”

I turn my attention back to the show and watch as the chef rubs spices into a filet.

Before the meat even gets to the pan, my eyes drift shut.