I took another drink of vodka and decided Pepper might like a souvenir of the island. I set the bottle at the base of the tree and withdrew my keys from my pocket. Attached to the keyring was a Swiss Army knife I’d purchased at La Merced, a public market on the eastern edge of Mexico City’s historic center. I used to go there to buy chili peppers and other vegetables, and to stuff myself with the street food. There was one particular stall that sold what might have been the best quesadillas and tostadas in the world. Nevertheless, I hadn’t been back to the market in a while because I got tired of the underage prostitutes propositioning me at ten bucks a pop.

Anyway, I bought the pocket knife because, given how much I’d started drinking over the last year, always having a bottle opener handy was a no-brainer.

I opened the knife’s sharp blade, gripped the doll, and was about to cut the string securing it to the tree when its eyes blinked open.

I started, looking around for Jesus or Nitro. They weren’t anywhere in sight, of course. This was not another prank. I’d caused the eyes to open when I gripped the doll. I’d disturbed the pendulum inside it, or whatever mechanism was responsible for controlling the eyelids.

I used my fingertips to close the doll’s eyelids, the way you might close the eyelids of a recently deceased person. As soon as I ceased contact, however, they flipped up again, so the doll stared at me with its disturbingly lifelike eyes.

Cutting the little monster free, I stuck it in my pack, collected the vodka, then started back the way I’d come.

5

I chose a different route back which I believed would reveal more of the island while offering up a whole new freak show of dolls. I wasn’t disappointed, as Solano’s obsession seemed contained by no boundaries. As the forest closed around me, the canopy and understory blocked out much of the sky to create a syrupy, shadowed world. Birds cawed and chirped and beat their wings far above my head. Cicadas whirred louder than before, an angry, palpitating sound that could suddenly and inexplicably stop before starting up again. Bugs bit my legs and arms and neck, and the sensation of being watched returned, making me feel suddenly alone, isolated.

Jack, a doll to my right whispered. Its voice was like the rustle of leaves, so close and clear I turned my head despite myself, my eyes searching the cluster of dolls wedged into the various crooks of a tree. Are you lost? You’re going to die—

“Shut the fuck up,” I said, to hear my voice, a real voice.