Harper's Hill, Chapter 11: The Dolls in the Hallway

As a child, Raymond Pierce spent a lot of time alone in his room while his parents inhabited the rest of the home. Whether they were sprawled across the furniture, drunk and exhausted; yelling at each other from opposite sides of the very small and dingy apartment; or having relations in their bedroom at an inappropriate volume — they were ever present and he felt like his room was his only safe space.

He always knew that his parents were sick in some way, but he didn't know how. When he was in second grade, he told his teacher at school that his parents were sick and needed help. He had no idea of the implication that this would have.

In Raymond's mind, he was helping his parents when they couldn't help themselves. In their minds, he was ratting them out and their parenting wasn't good enough for him. After that, there was more chaos. That's when the black outs started.

Years later, Raymond was 14. The night was hot and staticky, and life felt like it could explode with just the smallest misstep. Raymond sat with his back to the bedroom door, listening. It was hitting 4:30 in the morning, and the sun was going to be rising soon. He was listening, but mostly, he was waiting.

As soon as he knew his parents were asleep, he took his packed bag and snuck down the hallway. He cursed the floor that creaked with every step, trying to avoid the stares of the set of porcelain dolls that lined the top of a shelf in the hallway. Each doll had a distinct, unsettling expression — some with vacant stares, others with faint frowns, and a few with small smiles... smiles that weren't necessarily friendly. Raymond knew that the dolls had never been dusted, and he was happy to get away from these silent witnesses who saw every dark moment that happened in this apartment.

Once he was out of the house, he ran. He didn't know where he was going, but it was the East side, and there wasn't far to go. Eventually he hit the forest. Not wanting to risk his parents coming after him (though he didn't think they would), he started walking down the overgrown path that led to the abandoned train station. It had been shut down for almost 10 years now. As he walked through the old wooden building, he could hear the wind whistling as it squeezed and squished itself to fit in-between the smallest cracks of the stacked log walls. Outside, the railway itself was dim, and Raymond only looked down the shadowy tracks once, feeling the weight of the darkness stretching endlessly into the distance. After that, he never looked down the tracks at night time again.

He spent many days and nights alone, but the more he got to know the streets, the more he got to know the people who lived on the street. He made friends. Friends who would help him survive with food, and a couch to sleep on, and a warm bath. However, some of these friends experimented with substances he'd only heard about — things that made the cold nights seem a little warmer. Before he knew it, he was following their lead.

When Raymond met Sharon Leigh, he knew he had to have her, whatever it took. She was like sunshine in a bottle, couldn't be held down, and that inspired him. She was magnetic, but somehow tragic, and it never really occurred to Raymond that he could have been the reason why she never reached the stars like she wanted to. He wanted to give up his reckless ways for her and have a stable life with her, but the hold that drugs had on him was too strong at this point. Not even the births of his children could help him see the light, even though he desperately wanted to be a family man and the father that he had always wanted.

He had always wanted a son to play ball with. He saw it on all the shows, in the movies, and his own father had never done it with him. When James was born, he swore that he would teach that little boy everything he needed to know. But by the time James was old enough to play, Raymond was too tired. Being an addict was tiring, especially while trying to still maintain some semblance of a normal life. He wanted out of his groundhog-day misery, and as he watched his son throw the ball up in the air and try to hit it himself, he was reminded of another little boy who had to spend a lot of time alone. Unfortunately, it was too late. Raymond didn't care anymore, because he just didn't have the capacity to.

Things were very dark for many years. When it was too much to handle, he went away. He had his reasons — reasons that he still couldn't speak aloud, reasons tangled up with situations that he wished had gone differently. Walking away was safer than staying, even if it meant leaving everything behind.

In 2020, the rise of the COVID-19 pandemic forced Raymond to re-evaluate his life. He was going to die if he didn't stop his drug addiction, and he was missing his family. Somehow, someway, he wanted to get back to him. 2020 was the year he decided to get sober, and it took everything he had. He changed who he was completely, transforming from an angry and bitter man to someone who was just trying to fix their life the best they could. He knew he might not have fully deserved this chance, but he wanted to pursue it anyway.

Throughout his recovery, he made new friends and even found a place to live and a job. He knew that the only thing that would complete everything was if he could reunite with his children. Especially his daughter, Emily. He missed her so much. He wanted to reunite with James too, but he didn't think James would be as perceptive. He felt like Emily would have actually missed him. Maybe.

He hadn't meant to knock over the flower pot in front of the house that one night when he had visited. He knew he shouldn't have been there, but he wanted to knock anyway. Just before his knuckle touched the wood, he stopped himself, knowing the time wasn't right. The situation wasn't right. As he turned to bolt, the flower pot had gotten knocked over on accident. He swore that if they allowed him back into their lives, he would buy them a new one. This was a promise that he wouldn't break.