Miss Mannequin

By E. L. Merriman

Following a string of murders, an unraveling company, and whispers of a dollmaker, will Vallan survive the socially engineered environment?

Graduating from The Fashion Academy, Slay couldn't wait to join Onyx, the wealthiest, most admired company in the world. Born on Vallan Isle, Onyx is

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paperwaif Books
• Release date: Jan 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985450002

E. L. Merriman

E. L. Merriman is the author of Miss Mannequin, a horror science fiction novel inspired by her time in fashion design school. She has written other novels over the past decade but is focusing on new content going forward. Her latest work can be viewed at Paperwaif.com, a contemporary shelf featuring style, travel, and fiction novels.

Book preview

ONE



Line Line

SOMEWHERE AT SEA

Plunging through the perils of the sea, the large cargo vessel slipped between the shadows of the midnight hour, distancing itself from the isles as the sailors settled into their nightly routine. Far away lights shone from the towering structures that swayed in the breeze.

On the stern, Howler, the deep throated sailor with a cauliflower ear, checked the containers while scanning their load. Onto Malaysia, then Japan. One by one, he noted the special deliveries that only his skeleton crew was aware of, hesitating as he stood in front of container eleven. No one was allowed to unlock eleven. The container was on route to the North compound where the contents would be examined, then tested. Howler didn’t understand the perilous nature of the delivery; he was just a grifter of the sea after all. But orders were orders, and spines were spines.

Tapping the container, he whistled smokily to the howls of the hour as he continued to secure their cargo, cataloging each item for transfer. A moment later his eyes drifted to the side when he caught a glimpse of something unusual floating in the water. He sprinted to the side, eyes tapering at the red tips. It couldn’t be. Quickly, he wrestled the net and tossed it into the thrashing sea, taking several tries to collect the oddity that sneakily bobbed.

Grunting, Howler grappled with the strong currents that pushed the floater further away. Come on... he hissed, dusk voice crowing. Seconds passing, the net finally enveloped the item, landing onto the stern with a thud, the mysterious item, which appeared to be a woman’s arm, catching Howler’s eye as it tumbled forward.

Howler narrowed his eyes suspiciously, chills dusting his brawny frame. The red nails sent quivers to his stiffening lips. The vessel was miles away from land, even Vallan, and the seas weren’t for lighthearted souls. Feeling unusually alarmed, he bolted to the cabin.

Hart glanced over. Containers accounted for? the wayward sailor with a scarred upper lip wanted to know.

Caught something. Think you should take a look, Howler said, shaken.

Waylen, take over. Boss is on target.

Howler and Hart strode toward the stern, pausing as they neared what appeared to be a woman’s severed limb, but upon closer examination the texture didn’t look right, and there appeared to be no weathering from the sea. Hart cautiously picked up the arm, analyzing the scarlet nails that mesmerized his eyes, knowing for certain that it hadn’t come from a body, at least not the kind of bodies that he was accustomed to doctoring.

Should we inform Boss? Howler said.

She already knows. Probably came from Onyx waste. They discarded a load hours before we departed.

And traveled this far out to sea?

Onyx discards souls faster than any other entity, Hart said, uncertain about the curious catch. He studied the sleek, smooth arm that didn’t have a single scratch or Onyx emblem. Disliking the find that felt neither human nor mannequin, his eyes rested on the barely there light that grazed the edge of the ocean about two miles out from the distant isle.

Secure it in container eleven, Hart instructed.

Howler shifted uncomfortably. Why not toss it to the bottom feeders?

Too dangerous. Hart handed the arm to Howler, who at a brawny six foot seven felt spooked. The seas were knowingly dangerous because of the gritty sailors who lived like vagrants but guarded the ports like predators on the prowl. But the tides had shifted as something evil began to brew underneath.

Watching Hart return to the cabin, Howler gave a throaty sigh, then did as ordered. He selected container eleven and tossed the arm inside, immediately latching the door, although not before catching a glimpse of the vertebrae in the very back corner where darkness veiled over. For a split second, he could have sworn that the fingertips on the arm danced to the left, which made him question his sanity as a scurvy sailor. A tremor jarred the vessel, shifting the heavy containers. Container eleven’s door swung open and clanged against the side, leaving Howler scrambling to secure the perilous contents before he truly felt terrified. He madly locked the container, grabbed a smoke, then approached the cabin, wishing that he hadn’t tried to save the poor unfortunate soul from the ocean.

Storm coming?

Hart shook his head while thumbing his overgrown beard. Route is clear but we’re carrying the unknown.

Howler, Hart, and Waylen exchanged uneasy glances as the vessel forged ahead.

Along the shores of Vallan, an isle known for technology, a long lost frame slipped between the waves that slammed against the port near Onyx Towers, the famed social brand that had shaped decades of design. An ominous tone washed over as islanders slept, and the hatch to the towers loaded waste from the basement to the freighters, directly delivering it to the mainland.

Slipping below the ocean surface, the frame shifted with the swift currents, then floated toward Tower Two of Onyx, edges fraying. The glow of the moon shone over, outlining the shifting shadows within the frame. The evil presence stirred, and tremors jolted the ocean floor. Strong currents pushed the frame into the basement of Tower Two where waste was transferred to and from. It tumbled among the broken, used, and unwanted items from Onyx until ultimately resting against a one-eyed mannequin head that had been dislodged from its body. Hatch locking, and freighters departing from the isle with another load of waste, the moon slipped behind the clouds, disappearing altogether when darkness veiled over.

Locked in the damp basement, the long lost frame that had traveled a far distance began to splinter ever so slightly, although barely noticeable to the naked eye. And the presence that had been locked away for some time suddenly had an escape. The splinter grew with each shifting moon, revealing the thread’s true colors.

TWO



Line Line

VALLAN ISLE

Wake up, Slay. Wake up, Mint instructed, head cocked, tail wagging as she obediently sat by the bed. You’re late for day one.

Slay lazily flopped onto her stomach, one eye opening. She caught a glimpse of Mint, her TekBot.

Gal Goddess is expecting you. Your absence will upset her.

Mint barked.

At 3:58 a.m., Slay only had thirty minutes to arrive at Onyx for her first day of work before receiving a pink slip before even setting foot in the famed towers. She clumsily stumbled as Mint warned, You now have twenty-four minutes.

I know, I know, she stammered, yanking on her grungy boots while staggering to the door. She tossed a handful of Tech Chow at Mint and watched the pup gobble the tablets.

Bolting to the rail line, which was one of the only modes of transportation on Vallan, and the only way for Slay to reach Onyx on time, she swiped a coffee from Muggs and weaseled her way through the growing crowd that hovered. She tried to slip onto the last rail car but hit the glass with an abrupt thud, coffee sloshing her white shirt while Vallan commuters nearly trampled her.

Finally reaching Onyx Row- the famed street on Vallan which highlighted the most socially recognized company on the grid- Slay’s eyes rested on the dusky structures that towered over the shores, excitement pulsing through her veins. She had made it! She had finally secured a position at Onyx and couldn’t wait to display her work.

But as her eyes lowered, an unsettling feeling washed over and suddenly her arms tingled. A crowd had gathered out front, presumably associates since the property was heavily secured. Whispers wove through, and frightened eyes dampened, but Slay wondered. Was Gal that heartless to her associates and guests that they were terrified to enter? She had heard the rumors; Gal was icier than a winter’s night. But then she saw the line of flashing lights that came to an abrupt stop in front of the tower.

Wriggling through the whispering crowd, Slay desperately wanted to get a peek, not understanding what the hold up was. She only had two minutes before Gal locked the Emerald Vault, which to new recruits was known as the pink slip room. You either made the cut or you didn’t, and she didn’t have time to wait in line.

As an associate murmured to another, Wish it had been her, Slay caught a glimpse of the Vallan officers entering the tower, wrapping crime scene around the entrance. That’s when she realized that the crowd wasn’t just disgruntled associates or new recruits. Something had happened and no one was allowed inside. An incident like this had never occurred before, not within the walls of Onyx.

She looked around, noticing the hesitant expressions, the horrified eyes. Something happen? she curiously asked the girl next to her.

You haven’t heard? The girl choked back tears. Someone was murdered last night at the tower.

Slay froze. Onyx had few incidents over the years, most stemming from resentful associates that had been let go. The isle of Vallan had only seen a handful of murders since becoming established and each of those had been linked to the ports, sailors, and drugs, which had little to do with Vallan itself. Murder? she expressed, body numb, thoughts no longer on impressing the creative director.

The girl wiped tears from her eyes. They’re saying it’s bad. Really bad. Chest mutilated and removed.

Miss G probably left heel marks in the woman’s back, another said. Scissors. The poor woman bled out after being brutally stabbed over two hundred times. Probably forgot to polish the mannequins again. A jaded smile crossed the associate’s face as she pushed through the crowd.

A lump formed in Slay’s throat, heart racing. She watched as four officers carried a body bag to the nearby ambulance, all eyes resting on the bag, wondering who the unfortunate soul was. Noticing the entrance to the main tower open, her lips parted in silence when a flamboyantly styled woman strutted toward the whispering crowd.

And there’s the bitch.

But Slay tried to get a closer look. Was it really Gal? For nearly a decade, she had admired the fashion icon and entrepreneur. Supposedly, Gal was once the highest paid model in the states prior to the downturn of the economy. Because of her stature and wealth, she was able to come to Vallan. Once established, she single-handedly built Onyx and turned Vallan into one of the wealthiest places on the grid. Very few people knew her, truthfully, but it had been claimed that she was exceptionally tough on her young associates and was a ripe fifty-eight years old despite resembling a svelte twenty-two; followers didn’t even track her cosmetic alterations anymore.

But plastics were a right on Vallan. Every woman and man wanted to stay on the isles and appear valuable to the market by appearing in as many social ads as possible. The more revenue and publicity brought to the isles guaranteed that Vallan would remain in the top tier. For Slay, plastics weren’t an option. She had promised her mom that she wouldn’t alter her appearance for any reason. She also believed that her talents outshined her features and plastics weren’t necessary.

As Gal neared, her heart hammered against her chest as this was the moment that she had been waiting for since she was four.

To work. Now! Gal barked impatiently, furious that the Vallan officers had the nerve to disrupt their demanding schedules. Onyx associates scurried to Tower Two. If it’s your first day, follow me. Quickly.

Slay followed the recruits to Tower One, realizing that they were walking toward the blood smeared doors with the tape around the outside. Gal callously ripped the tape aside, ignoring the officers’ objections, which made Slay hesitate. She couldn’t help gaping at the horrific scene along the grand entrance that had yet to be cleaned. A pair of dirty scissors had been left behind as if the killer had carelessly forgotten them, and four spools of thread had unraveled, creating a strange maze that almost looked intentional. The knot at the bottom of her stomach tightened, making her feel ill. Onyx was heavily secured and nearly impossible to gain access into without a print on file, which made her question her new employer. That’s when Gal led them directly across the gruesome scene and into a nearby room commonly known as the Emerald Vault.

Slay stood to the left, body stiffening.

One by one, each recruit was given directions. Some had to finalize paperwork. Others hadn’t completed their portfolios and were dismissed until a later date, and a few unlucky souls were simply dismissed for not appealing to Miss Goddess.

But Slay twitched excitedly, knowing that her portfolio and resume were flawless. Not one glitch. Absolutely nothing could go wrong because Miss Goddess had plucked her designs from the latest show at The Academy and insisted that she apply for a position with the elite department, the most respected department of all Onyx.

But the inevitable then happened.

Did you kill that woman? a girl asked nosily.

Gal’s eyes tapered coldly. You’re dismissed.

But I… I… The girl nervously glanced around until Gal snapped her fingers sharply. The girl scurried out of the room.

Tension filled the air and Slay shifted as Gal studied her from head to toe. Gal rubbed the ends of her shorter hair.

I don’t like blue hair and your shirt is filthy.

Slay grimaced, forgetting that coffee had splashed onto her tie and shirt while trying to slip onto the rail line.

Pants are not a part of the dress code. Neither are those. Gal nudged Slay’s tall combat boots. Perhaps, you should review the dress code again. You’re dismissed.

Slay froze in shock, not believing what she had just heard. You’re fucking joking, right? We live in the twenties and pants aren’t acceptable? I was hired as a designer, not a model. You personally selected my designs in a class of over twenty-thousand and now you’re letting me go because of a fucking code, she stressed angrily.

Gal stepped closer to Slay, eyes glaring.

Slay inched back.

The remaining recruits stared in stunned silence. Objecting to Gal was unacceptable.

Designer you say? Gal purred, rubbing the edges of Slay’s outfit. She didn’t remember the designs but did remember the girl who swore like a sailor and dressed like a brat. There was something about her that hadn’t escaped Gal’s mind. You’re dismissed, she said, stepping away.

Slay scoffed, feeling her dreams slip away from her fingertips within seconds.

Don’t forget to visit Klea on your way out, Gal instructed, handing Slay a Shadowbox card.

Slay frowned as she studied the floating card. Who was Klea? She wandered along the tower, angrily scuffing the floor with her boots. She cursed to herself, then confronted the only associate in the area. I was given this card and told to visit Klea. Who’s Klea?

The associate studied her appearance and smirked. Of course, you were. Three buildings down. The associate disappeared.

Walking away, Slay realized the only exit was through the main entrance where the murder had taken place. She passed the bloody scene, but little had been cleaned. Vallan officers analyzed the stairs, railing, and broken glass, appearing perplexed by the grisly circumstances. She overheard one of them say, No prints, no evidence? Better check the vault. Noticing her, the officers hesitated.

But she quickly exited Tower One and went to locate Klea, and a moment later stood in front of Shadowbox, the only place on the grid that detailed Elites, socialites, and associates. Every show, shoot, and collection filtered through Shadowbox first, and though it was touted as an inclusive place, only those who had access and enough money could enter, leaving Slay kicking herself for not looking in the mirror before sprinting into Onyx.

Entering, she swore under her breath. You’ve got to be shitting me. She handed the Shadowbox card to the associate and followed her to the private overhang on the third floor.

Klea. Special request from Gal. No notes this time.

Klea turned and approached Slay, thumbing Slay’s cheeks, eyes, and lips, lingering for a moment as Slay fidgeted.

Immediately, Slay realized that Klea was blind. She remembered reading about the talented makeup artist who could create the most stunning canvases but couldn’t admire her own work, though she never believed that Klea really existed. When she was instructed to sit down, she did.

You have amazing bone structure. Some of the best that I’ve ever felt. Which doctor was so lucky?

My mom and sperm donor number 501.

Klea smiled softly. I like you. Don’t ever let anyone mess with your nose. It’s perfect. Model? she asked, nudging Slay’s feet. Nope. Spoke too soon. Can’t be an elite model with size seven.

Designer.

The profession that everyone wants. We’ll see. Klea thumbed the counter for her tools. Some don’t last long around here.

Why? Slay noticed the darker tone of her voice.

Pausing, Klea abruptly turned and exclaimed, The flowers are here!

Slay glanced over, frowned. There were no flowers. But two seconds later an associate entered the third level with a large bouquet of white roses, placing them by the window. How did Klea know flowers were going to appear? Sixth sense or something she supposed.

Now. Where were we? Klea asked, smiling as she brushed Slay’s hair.

Eight hours later around two, Slay departed Shadowbox feeling thoroughly plucked and stuffed. She didn’t recognize herself, and her beloved sailor cut was gone. Sadly, if she wanted to become an Onyx designer, she had to adhere to Gal’s code of conduct. She also had to pay for the many products that Gal had insisted she have, styles included. But why pay for garments when she could easily pattern them?

After spending what little savings she had, and hoping that the transformation helped her career opportunities, she departed Onyx feeling disappointed and frustrated. She thought about the disturbing scene that had put a damper on her first day. The bloody trail had been cleared, yet cops loitered around as if they were searching for something or someone. Even she thought it was strange that Gal had dismissed the entire incident as if it was business as usual. Was she acquainted with the individual who had been murdered? Did the officers question her?

She should have been focusing on her position at Onyx since she had waited years to enter the towers after studying diligently at The Academy. She spent months perfecting her collections and portfolios just so she could be selected to represent the design department. But on her first day, she staggered over a crime scene, boldly spoke to Miss Goddess, and was dismissed from Onyx, only to be tweezed, plucked, and painted by a blind woman.

Groaning, she hopped off the rail line, grabbed a cup of coffee from Muggs, then entered her coffin apartment a moment later, tossing her belongings aside, Mint happily wagging her tail as a welcoming gesture.

Hey girl, she sighed, patting Mint’s head. Hope you had a better day than mine.

I warned you.

Slay frowned. Warned me? About what?

Gal. She’s not what she seems.

Slay studied Mint. Even her pup appeared to be acting strange today. I’m thinking we should cut back on the Tech Chow. Wouldn’t want you to overdose on bytes.

Setting Mint on her bed, she walked into the bathroom. Without Mint, she’d be lost. Mint was the last gift that her mother had given her before she had died. TekBots were the hottest products that have continued to thrive over the years. Animals weren’t allowed on Vallan due to the fear of disease, so the tech industry created TekBots, a loyal partner but also the inside source to everything. With the same capabilities as any phone or software program, they gain knowledge from Tech Chow which offers them new information based on the type of bytes.

She never thought much of technology but Mint had become her confidant, assistant, and best friend over the years. Vallan could be a lonely place at times, more so if your family was still on the mainland or gone altogether, and people weren’t so trusting anymore, making dating nearly impossible especially for individuals who were trying to secure a career at Onyx. There was little room for friendships, which Mint provided.

Hearing Murder at Onyx Tower she stepped into the main room and glanced at the social feed above her dress forms.

The woman has been identified as Graden Blay, a wealthy socialite who was known around Onyx Towers for her exquisite style. Little is known at this time and there are no suspects. Gal Goddess, the creative director and owner of Onyx, has asked for privacy following this heinous act. Graden was a beloved friend and guest at Onyx. This is the first murder at Onyx and the twelfth on Vallan. If you have any information, please text Vallan Crime.

Slay studied the photo of Graden Blay. Even she had heard of the privileged socialite who had become the face of plastics for decades. At the tender age of eleven, Graden had had a nose job, lip fillers, a chin implant, and liposuction, but was stunningly beautiful regardless. At sixteen, she requested breast implants, which were also stunning, although strange. From what Slay had learned, her breasts had been brutally removed with a pair of scissors and Gal (Graden’s dear friend) thoughtlessly sauntered over the crime scene as if nothing had happened. The entire incident was bizarre, and the cops weren’t talking.

Turning away, she collected her tools, tablet, and three bolts of material, then sat at her sewing machine for the next eight hours to design four new garments for work. Instructing Mint to dim the lights around two, she lay on her bed and gazed at the lagoon below. Despite being seventy-eight stories high, the water gleamed under the moon. A moment later her eyes shifted to the photos on the nightstand, her mother smiling beautifully despite the pain. Unlike other citizens, Slay was fortunate to have been born on Vallan instead of the mainland. Resources had become sparse as viruses ran rampant and crime thrived. The government couldn’t control the population and many of the hospitals had fallen to the gangs, scavengers, and vagrants. Elites along with a few other blessed individuals were offered a one-time option of traveling to the unknown isles that had over time formed along the outer south rim of the continents, though only one of the isles could sustain living organisms. No one knew what the isles offered in the beginning. Most believed there was no alternative since the west and east had fallen to overpopulation. And the oceans and ports were controlled by the hard-hearted sailors who didn’t align with the territories, instead, governing the seas, where taking a wrong turn could cost you your life.

But on Vallan industries thrived. Tech controlled the infrastructure, doctors developed cures, and Onyx associates were the dolls of social media. Through Vallan, the world had hope. Everyone wanted a slot just so they could live safely on the isle. Very few were given the opportunity, however. Even those who attended The Academy weren’t guaranteed a slot on Vallan.

Most islanders didn’t live a glamorous life despite the privilege of residing there. They lived on the boats floating along the shores or rented coffin abodes in one