Dolls
The bloody show from the night before, when Jimmy lost his virginity in the rose garden had washed away in a quick summer shower. “You are cordially invited to the inauguration of the St. Astoria Hospital,” the industrialist read aloud with a hop to his step as soon as the night took over, “O the souls will be reaped by yours truly and we might be able to afford for James to be a man.” “Barbs like those really don’t do much these days, dear brother,” the former clergyman retorted with, serving him some bovine blood when they both heard piano music play from the upper floors.
“That’s how he lures them, you know,” Patrick commented, “He plays entire symphonies for his victims, catches a few in his trap then he proceeds to enthrall them.” No one gets that confident overnight, he thought to himself, curious on this development. “And why wouldn’t they?” “You’re being petty, Jane,” Jimmy replied as he read some Psalms from his Bible. “No, you’re being ambivalent now; either something happened last night or I’m petty. And since that’s my default demeanor, talk,” Jane said while sneaking around Novak and hovering his glass nails over his neck.
“Poor Baby Jane; he’s jealous,” boomed from up the main foyer, its owner reclining on the reeling then disappearing in a flurry of movement. “But if only he knew what he was missing out on.” “And what’s that?” Patrick continued his inquiry, “Because all I’m seeing is a lot of smoke and mirrors.” Just as he vanished, House reappeared and held the fledgling’s hand and wrist up to Jane’s face and said, “Taste him and you’ll understand.” “Do I have a say in this?!” Jimmy exclaimed, quite caught off-guard. “No.”
Without further ado, the industrialist bit down, arousing a pained gasp from the priest. After a few seconds of savoring boring old cow blood, Jane caught it; it was a subtle change from the norm to an almost distilled after-flavor, classic sign of a body that died unsullied by sex. “You’re-” The conclusion was obvious and it made Jimmy flush rather mortified. “Yep.” “But that’s-” “Improbable? Not really,” “But then, with-” “It’s exactly what you’re thinking and, no, you can’t have any,” House concluded with a clever grin, “even if it heals back. Now, what’s this about a party? “The usual upper crust soiree, the rich pretending to give a damn about the little people, my usual haunt,” Patrick clarified while licking his sibling’s blood from his lips, “I think it’s time we went about and made our donation.”
As a life spent sheltered in a church, Jimmy wasn’t as confident as either Jane or House to walk about town but he had an excuse; he was their valet. “Am I becoming your doll for you to dress up?” he inquired mischievously as he stole some fancy clothes from previous guests. “More like undressing but semantics,” the doctor corrected, “now, pay attention to what Jane says; he’s a specialist in these matters.”
“Mingling around the affluent streets of Astoria, as in any other gilded town, is a game. Men and women build images and they use those images as masks and dolls to play and parade them around,” Patrick explained with a grin and pointing out examples for Jimmy. “But they’re easily broken with a quick lie or a misplaced action,” House concluded for him. “We see right through the masks and see what they want to hide; that’s how we pick our prey. Now, enjoy the sight.”