Its stitched eyes wouldn't close. It had to watch.
Once the guys had finished, they left her. She lay twisted, on one hip but facedown, her green dress with the black polka dots rucked up, just another pile of refuse in the gutted mill.
It watched her from the dark corner, stuck there and poisoned to life by need. It could see no life in her, except once in awhile a jagged breath, an inhale that caught, an exhale that sounded almost like a dog's whine.
Dusk snuck in. In the neighborhood behind the mill, beyond the ditch and the access road, children yelled. Through the bay doors it watched the sun fall into the river trees and burn orange light across the concrete floor and sheet metal walls. It prayed, then, as it did every sunny evening when its god went away.
The sun dropped below the horizon and drew night like a hand snuffing a candle. Sound became the world. To its ears, the river murmured curses, branches clacked runes, car doors cut voices to silence. Soon the curses and clacking were all, and the girl's ragged breath.
An hour passed. The night grew old. Toenails of a dog, or maybe a coyote, clicked into the far end of the mill. The toenails shuffled around down there, shuffled around closer and stopped, shuffled and stopped. The toenails stopped dead when the snuffling animal smelled human. Softer, quieter nails gave the girl a wide berth, but moved toward the corner where it was propped.
“Get out of here!” Her shout shocked. The animal, definitely a coyote, scrambled out yipping, a protest that faded away along the river.
Blue-white light sprang into the girl's face. Her eyes shadows, she sat on her knees twisting to look one way and another. She splashed light around the room. She pointed the light so that it bathed the doll.
She stood up, came limping over, the phone in her hand dancing light across the walls and floor like a strobe. She picked the doll up with one hand and shone her light into its stitched eyes.
“You,” she said. She gripped the doll in her fist until stuffing screamed against its stitches. “You're supposed to protect me.” She dug in with her nails, grinding, shoving the phone toward its face.
A thread broke in its eye before she released. After, she hugged it to her breast. And this time she brought it along to her corner, into her cardboard and blanket shelter.
