In Loving Memory

Casey steps through the door solo, thinking she just needs a charger or whatever. Instead she finds Morgan's big secret wedged in the closet: a full-size sex doll staring back at her with dead, silicone eyes. Later, Morgan walks in and gets the third degree. He doesn’t even try to lie. The doll, he tells her, is a copy of his late wife. It keeps her close. He shrugs and lays it out flat: Casey stays and learns to live with "her," or Casey hits the road. Casey’s head spins, but she isn’t ready to call it quits. She swallows hard, nods, and says she’ll give it a shot. Morgan grins like a kid on Christmas. Minutes later the three of them are tangled on the bed—Casey, Morgan, and the soft, silent duplicate. Morgan’s hands roam both bodies in turn, fingering the doll’s molded lips while he kisses Casey. He pushes into Casey first, then slips out and slides into the doll, the wet slap of lube loud in the quiet room. He wants Casey to touch it too; she hesitates, then trails shaky fingers over the cool breast, the stiff nipple, the open thighs. She strokes where he thrusts, feeling the doll give under her palm. They move the toy between positions—Casey on all fours, the doll flat on its back so Morgan can watch both faces while he pounds her. He pulls Casey’s hair, urging her to kiss the doll’s open mouth; plastic lips meet hers, flavorless and strange. He laughs, low, and tells her she’s doing great. Sweat soaks the sheets. Morgan finishes inside Casey, still gripping the doll’s waist, and the room goes still except for their breathing. Outside the window, traffic hums. Inside, nobody says what comes next.