 
INANIMATE

By Deryck Jason

Prologue

The beauty of youth is as follows:

There is a time, before you understand the ways of the world (and some never do) when you attribute latter day common facts with monsters. When, as a child you would lie awake in bed wondering if the creaking in the hallway was a creature on its way to your room, or if the sound of a mouse in the attic was really some hideous beast scratching its way through the ceiling above your head. You would not dare to have an arm or a leg outside the blankets, for fear of it being eaten and you certainly would not dare to have any limb dangling off of the bed. Before you learned that thunderstorms were natural phenomena, (relatively harmless in the grand scheme of things) you may have believed they were the work of a demon; some great behemoth illuminating the skies and roaring terribly. You may have believed the creature that caused these things was a creature you saw on television and you may even have thought it had taken up residence in your bedroom. As you lay in bed, eyes stared back at you. Your favorite doll in the daytime suddenly became an outcast in the evenings; a shadowy figure that was possibly the cause of all of the strange goings on. Now I cannot say that all children look at their own dolls and picture horror, I cannot even say that all children believe in monsters, but it is a fact that most children do.

In my case, I had shelves full of toys. I had stuffed toys, large robots, action figures and various other human-resembling playthings including one, bearing the likeness of a particularly famous cartoon character which I will not name. I am unsure as to when the fear started to manifest but I can tell you that it carried on for years. All these dolls had rigid, set smiles and in the darkness, when your eyes like to play tricks, was when they were at their most destructive.

Nations all over the world adored this (unmentionable) character. The fact that he had such a loveable persona during the day and such a sinister one at night was not even the scariest part for me. The scariest part was the pull string on his back. One pull and a random phrase from six pre-programmed sayings would spew from his tight-lipped mouth. If, after pulling the string, you didn't release it fast enough, a deeper, scratchier and more menacing version of the same phrase would come out. I knew these catchphrases by heart, millions did also, but no-one heard them as I did. Whenever I closed my eyes or turned my back on him I would hear one heart-chilling sentence. Whenever I was brave enough to turn around I would see him (and the others) staring back at me. Their faces had the same fixed smile they had during the day but it seemed different in the darkness. As if using the night for their own devilish purposes they could trick my eyes into seeing scowls or even winks. Some nights it would take hours, some nights, minutes, but in the end he would always break me. I would bawl, I would yell... carefully. Careful enough to wake up my parents but also-in my childish mind-careful not to let my tormentor know I was trying to tell on him. After I would yell I would survive one more night, but only because I got to sleep in my parent's room. At the time I knew that tomorrow I would be alone with him again and that then I might not be so lucky.

I woke up in a cold sweat; I must have dozed off quick that evening, but it was nothing to celebrate. Now I was awake and he was watching me again. As I stared back into his dead eyes I wondered if tonight was the night he would finally make his move. A master of patience it seemed he took his pleasure in making me wait, knowing there was nothing I could do. Who would have believed that he was trying to get me? The blankets felt tight around my body. They had to be. My mind allowed me to believe the blankets would save me so long as my body was wrapped in them. Really, what I wanted to do was hide my face, but I was convinced that if I took my eyes off him for a second then he definitely would get me. The air was cold around my face. The heating wasn't switched on tonight but I didn't care, heat was the least of my worries tonight. I had to do something. I had already called to my dad the previous three nights and I didn't want my tormentor to get suspicious of me. So I got up. Carefully I got out of bed, swallowing hard as my little foot touched the carpet. I wouldn't put it past my tormentor to have an accomplice under the bed, waiting to grab me at any moment. Trying not to arouse suspicion, I looked down the hallway to the bathroom at the end. It was silly that I did this. If this monster could read my mind he would know that I was not actually going to go to the bathroom (as my rouse would suggest) but was, in fact going to my parent's bedroom just beside it. My eyes could not see the walled staircase that lined the now pitch black hallway but I knew it was there. Despite my young age I already had my route committed to memory. Stealing an innocently veiled glance at my tormentor I started to walk slowly out of my bedroom. My brain was screaming at me to move faster as now I had my back turned to him but I couldn't let him think I was going anywhere except the bathroom so I kept my pace slow. It was pitch black but still I knew my parents' door was closed. It always was. The feeling of eyes burning into the back of me was overwhelming. I had to turn around. I did. Nothing but eyes. Nothing but staring. The little moonlight trickling in through my pale, star covered curtains caught every one of their eyes, illuminating them ever so slightly. I turned back around and approached the door quickly; darkness seemed to be enveloping me. With a trembling hand I grasped the brass door handle. Snores from within told me I was so close to safety, but my next problem was right in front of me. Memory told me the door handle was stiff and loud. I knew that as soon as I tried to open it I had to be quick, for the noise would alert my tormentor of my intentions and I would be in trouble. I could hear my parents snoring on the other side of the door. With a breath I counted down from three in my head. Three. Two. One. I turned the handle downwards but it didn't open, it did however, make that loud grunting sound I was so morbidly afraid of. And then it happened, something dropped from that high shelf in my room. I heard the thud in the darkness. Swallowing hard I looked down the hall at the murky pool of darkness filling my bedroom. As if he had planned it all along, a faint flicker of air nudged my curtains just enough to allow a sprinkle of moonlight through. That moonlight illuminated the face of my tormentor just enough to allow his eyes to flicker in the darkness. The curtains silently closed over, as if they were never open and for a moment it was completely silent. I could no longer hear snoring, nothing. Footsteps. Awkward, clumsy but constant footsteps. I had to end this, and fast. I turned towards the handle, frantically pawing at it with my boyish hands. It wasn't working, it had given up. Footsteps grew closer and closer. I couldn't breathe, hot tears streamed down my cheeks. Why wouldn't the handle work? Then it got me. I was tackled hard from behind, pinning me to the ground. I smelled breath, as foul as decay. I felt hard plastic that pulsed like cockroaches were running around underneath it. And then I felt blunt, crooked teeth. And then a large mouth clamped down on top of me. And then it was over.

This time I really woke. It was a nightmare. But it was not all imagined. I awoke, wide-eyed, frozen in terror as my tormentor was where he always was, watching me from his shelf. The night shaped his face into mocking, he had created nightmares for me and he was proud of the fact. I could not escape now, it didn't matter if I was awake or asleep he would get me. Losing hope I cried out. Dad had only a few hours before he had to be up for work and he was fed up with all this. I had been waking him up for some time and he felt I had not given him a legitimate reason as to why. Until tonight. His bedroom door swung open furiously; he stomped down the hallway into mine.

"What is it this time? I need to get some sleep."

He was careful not to yell, there were others in the house.

"It's them, they're scaring me."

I whimpered, careful not to single out my tormentor.

"Them?" Dad asked contemptuously.

This one word showed more defiance to my tormentor than I had ever shown in all the years combined.

"It's taken care of" he said, quietly regretting ever buying me any toys at all. Grabbing each one from their shelf as if he wasn't concerned for what they would do to me he stormed down the hall and tossed each one down the stairs.

"Now, get some sleep" he said as he powered back down the hallway and closed his door firmly. He knew I didn't like to sleep with my door closed but I wish he had closed it that night. There was no way I could sleep. My frightened little ears alerted me to every sound, every creak that was going on around me. I was scared enough when I knew exactly where my tormentor was, but now, he was out of my sight. In my kind, he could have been anywhere.

To this day I still recall what happened next. And to this day I swear it really happened. Footsteps. Little footsteps, plodding up the stairs. Intent on coming after me. I stared down the hallway into the darkness. I didn't want to look but I couldn't bring myself to look away. The top step of our staircase had a distinctive thump when it was stepped on; this was the sound that made me hide under the blankets. This was the sound that caused many, many sleepless nights afterwards.

Underneath the blanket I lay trembling, my tormentor's eyes sporadically flashing into my head. I heard creaking that sounded like footsteps. I would later learn this is caused by the house contracting/expanding in different temperatures. I heard whispering. I would later read somewhere that wind coming in from open windows can sound like whispering to a frightened child. I was sure I even heard my door slowly creaking closed but that was probably just my imagination. Either way it took me a long time to get to sleep after that.

Currently, as I write this, my tormentor is still in the house. Through unconnected circumstances I switched bedrooms with my sister years ago but all my "toys" are still in my old room, buried deep in the back of my closet. I have no intention of getting rid of him. Knowing he's there, in my old bedroom serves as a reminder that all the scientific explanations on earth will do very little to calm a child's imagination. Beliefs in dark, mysterious and often evil things are common place in a young mind but as we grow older we tend to dismiss them as foolish stories. It's odd knowing that, although billions of people believe in some variation of an unspeakable place called Hell, hardly anyone would believe that a child's darkest fears could actually exist. I believe there are those who have the power to make these fears a reality if it serves them to. I believe omnipotent beings like demons get bored in the underworld and come up to us from time to time to remedy their boredom.

The boy in this story does not have the same fears as I did when I was a child. Instead, he develops a bond with his dolls, a bond that will come to aid him in what becomes his mission in life. Together, they remind others of the fears they shared as children, but only for the length of time he chooses to keep them alive...

CHAPTER 1

7:45 am. The bedroom door opened and a kindly looking man poked his face in.

"Time to get up son."

But Connor didn't need anybody to wake him; he was already up and looking forward to leaving.

"Ok dad" the boy said excitedly.

"I'm going to work now, but I'll see you when I get back ok? Have a good first day." The man said while leaving the room.

"Thanks dad" the boy replied, stepping out of bed leaving his bear tucked in behind him.

The boy stood in front of his stuffed toys. A colorful clown, two small ventriloquist dummies and a toy Labrador dog his cousin gave him all stare back at him from the corner of his room. "First day boys!" The youngster stated with an air of confidence, pausing a moment before nodding in acceptance as if imagining their approval. Connor trotted down the hall into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. The house was well kept, the hallways meticulously clear, due solely to his dad being overly conscious about fire safety. Many seminars at his job had drilled that concept into him and he felt it important to be overly careful at home. The whir of Connors electric toothbrush made him happy. He liked to have clean teeth and the noise of the brush helped him believe a job was being done well. With a click, he set the brush down and turned on the shower. After lathering up his hair he quickly wiped the soap over his body. His hair was the most important thing to wash. That and under the arms. His dad told him that; his father was always giving him clever little tips like this.

"If you don't wash your hair people will know you haven't showered. That's why when I'm running late for work I just put some water through mine, deodorant does the rest."

His dad would say this to him as a joke. Connor could never remember him ever being late for work, but still, the concept was sound. So he washed the hair on his head and then went for the second most important area, the smelly place: The armpits. Although he was nowhere close to growing hair under his arms, he liked to make sure he smelled clean. His mother would know if he didn't shower properly and he didn't want to have to shower again. He didn't want to be late for his first day of school.

Toast and strawberry jam. That's what Martha Williams liked for breakfast. "Simple, sweet and elegant" her Scottish mother used to say. "Alongside a cup of tea you couldn't ask for a better start to your day." Connor was brought up this way too. So when he came out of the shower, dressed and ready for breakfast he knew exactly what to expect. Given his mother's background, tea was always Orange Pekoe but she would never refer to it as that, it would simply be tea. Still, Connor never took it; orange juice was good enough for him.

"You know you probably should have eaten before you got dressed." Martha said with a drizzle of sarcasm.

"I know," retorted the youngster as he carefully bit round the edges of the slice, avoiding the dreaded crumbs on his shirt.

Watching the care and deliberateness of her son's manner in which to eat toast without making a mess Martha could not help but be amused.

"Are you all set to go?" she asked

"Yep I have pencils, crayons, a ruler and an eraser in my pencil case, all packed up in my bag. I just need my lunch and I'm ready to go."

"Lunch?" asked his mother. "You didn't tell me you needed that. I thought they fed you at school."

Connor was slightly put out. "Well I need money then, for the cafeteria."

"Money? What's that?"

Connor suddenly realized his mom was just joking with him. "Come on, mom!"

"No, I'm serious, you might have to starve then I'm afraid."

Martha gestured as if to say "oh well" but Connor wasn't buying it, he was too smart.

"I'll meet you by the door" Connor stated, turning his nose up in a snobbish fashion.

"Wait!" demanded Martha "What do I get?"

Martha and Connor both looked at each other for a long moment, the woman's long dark hair framed her pretty face. The boy relented, running to his mother and giving her a hug. Martha did enjoy her little games.

"Smile Connor!"

The camera flash dazzled the youngster and he rubbed his eyes.

"Mom, I'm going to be late!"

Fondly, the woman smiled at her son.

"I just want to get one more picture before we leave. You look so handsome in your uniform."

"This is not a uniform mom; it's just my school clothes."

"Same thing!" His mother giggled as she snapped another picture.

Martha Williams wanted her son to wear a uniform like she did when she lived in Scotland. But this was America. And in America, public schoolchildren seldom wore uniforms. But she would be damned if Connor was going to go to school looking "like a scruff." She picked him up a nice brown opened necked polo shirt with a classic pair of blue jeans. "Stylish yet comfortable" she called it; but Connor didn't care, he was anxious for his first day of class. He was smart for a five year old. Although most children were 6 when they move into the first grade, Connor's kindergarten teacher had suggested he start a year early due to unusually high intelligence level. As a mother, Martha could not have been more proud to hear this.

"You'll wipe the floor with them Connor."

Connor smiled. "Can we go now mom? The bus will be here soon"

Connor waited patiently with Martha on the sidewalk. His stomach tingled when he saw the big yellow bus pull up alongside him.

"This is it, my first day."

Connor fidgeted as Martha fixed his collar and patted at his chest, clearing off some fluff. Patiently, the driver waits; he knew this would be his longest trip of the year, with all the protective mothers reluctant to let their kids go for the first time. Martha smiled proudly, her joy that her only son had grown up shone like the sun from her face.

"Mom, you're embarrassing me."

"Oh, of course, sorry" she said, smiling fondly.

"Go on then, have fun. Me and dad will be here when you get home"

Connor jogged on to the bus. Unlike most children his age he was not shy; instead he smiled at the burly driver and went to find a seat. Since his was one of the first houses on the driver's route he had his choice of almost any seat. So he chose one next to where his mom was standing. Martha waved at him, mouthing "Good Luck" and "I Love You" as the bus pulled away from the curb. Connor sat back and smiled. Today was his first day of school and nothing was going to spoil it for him.

The backwind from the bus blew Martha's hair a little, along with blowing a selection of fallen leaves from the overhead elms gently down the street. Motherly she stood, watching the big yellow cheese-wagon disappear round the corner. Not one to get overly emotional, Martha simply smiled fondly at the realization her little boy had grown up. The light breeze disguised the subtle sun, poking through the clouds at points. One glance off to the distance let her know that in a few hours the day would be beautiful. Now however, it was just starting out. Still though, there was a little chill in the morning air, so she folded her arms and turned to head up the garden path. She didn't slow down to admire the flowers Andy planted in the summer; the roses and the tulips sure did have some color in them. This pleased her because the summer was over and still the benefits were lingering. As she walked briskly, noise seemed to disappear. The neighborhood was generally quiet in the morning but not like this. She hadn't really noticed earlier, what with all the hustle of getting Connor ready to go, but she definitely noticed now. The wooden porch stepped thump as she jogged up them. She turned the door knob but something stopped her entering, a feeling she was being watched. Still holding on to the knob she turned her head to the left. A large man startled her. Dressed like he had been jogging the man stared at her, poised like he needed to tell her something. Confidently, Martha looked back at the man, but her apprehension was showing more than she'd like.

"Can I help you with something?"

The chiseled, clean shaven face looked back at her, eyeing her like she was candy.

"Maybe" he said softly.

In an instant he pulled a hunting knife from the waistband of his shorts and dashed towards her. Martha frantically twisted the knob and opened the door, but her care not to open it too wide cost her valuable time. The man thrusted his arm through the gap and used the leverage to barge his way in. Backing up towards the staircase she wanted to dash for the phone but knew it wouldn't do her any good.

"Please" she said strongly "I have a family."

"Oh do you?" said the man softly. "Why don't you lie down and tell me all about them."

The man lunged at Martha quickly. Grabbing her shoulders with his strong arms; he threw her hard to the floor.

"Now don't fight it, it will be worse for you if do!" he threatened as he knelt down over the top of her.

Without trying to regain her balance the defiant Martha turned all her body weight into the man and landed a strong punch to his jaw, almost pushing him over. Taking advantage of the moment she tried to get to her feet but he was not as dazed as she thought he was. Athletically, he tackled her, pinning her face down to the ground. The large man grabbed her hair with his fist and lifted her head off the ground.

"I told you it would be worse for you if you fought back" he said before smashing her face onto the hardwood floor.

Laying there, blood spackled her face, the smell of mahogany in her nostrils, Martha was helpless. Barely able to keep her eyes open she surveyed the room. A serious concussion hindered her vision. Using what little energy she had left she lifted her head just slightly and focused what she could on a family picture hanging on the wall above the staircase. Andy, Connor, and herself from a year ago stared back at her. The picture gave her comfort while her mind slowed down. Her attacker violently pulled off her jeans and panties before pulling off his shorts and, as aggressive as he was she simply lay there in the beautiful hallway staring at that wonderful picture. Neutral walls and vivid black and white contrasting ornaments stood ornate on the tables in the entranceway. The cat clock shifted its eyes back and forward (a joke present from Andy when she mentioned the black and white contrast). The attacker continued his brutal assault on Martha's body while her mind moved into that photograph. Beautiful memories with her son and her husband: The fishing trips, the amusement parks and the family vacations glided through her mind's eye. She was there, not here. After what seemed like a lifetime the man was finished. Slowly, he stood up, pulling up his shorts. Martha, coming back into the present and struggling with her senses felt her defiance flow back into her.

"Coward!"

Martha's shaky voice startled him. This was no amateur rapist. Martha was not his first victim, but he had never been spoken to like this after an attack. Martha started laughing, still lying face down she started laughing. She wanted him to know he had not broken her spirit, her pride would never allow him to think that. Still laughing she spoke out.

"You're not man! What kind of man would beat up and rape a woman? You're pathetic!"

"Lady, you better be quiet now!"

"Or what? You'll rape me again? Go ahead! Do it again you fucking coward!"

The attacker was getting aggravated, he was not used to being spoken to like this by women he thought he just dominated.

"Are you fucking nuts lady? It's not smart to push me like this. I'm warning you"

"You're a fucking loser!"

By now, Martha in full force, not giving a thought to her own safety.

"Go back to the basement suite of your mother's house you fucking cockroach!"

A twitch of his right eye signaled a snap in the attacker's head.

"You stupid whore!"

It was clear Martha struck a nerve as he lunged towards her with his knife, thrusting it down into her back. The knife easily penetrated Martha's flesh, searing straight through her organs. Instant silence contrasted the rapists fear. He hadn't planned to kill anyone. He liked the women he raped to see his face, it was part of his thrill. He was a traveler. Once he had found a victim in one town or city he would move on, staying in motels on his country wide spree. He had found throughout his illustrious career that police were not as eager to catch rapists as the public were led to believe. Especially if they thought it was an isolated incident. But now, he was a murderer, and the police seemed to care more about that. He got to his feet. Panic slowly settled in. He watched Martha's eyes flicker a little before closing completely. Scuffing his feet over little traces of footprints he saw, he tried desperately to destroy any evidence of his presence there. When he was finished scuffing the footprints he ran into the kitchen. Stepping back over Martha's body with a roll of kitchen towel he frantically wiped at the door knob and the door itself. He took more roll and tried to wipe down Martha's body, especially her lower area. Martha could feel very little in the minutes she had left on the earth, her last thought was that she was that she got to see her only son go off on his first day of school, and that thought would be with her from every moment on.

The attacker lifted his knife off the floor and clutched all his paper towels together. Using one to open the front door he gave one more fear induced look towards his victim before jogging off to his nearby car. Speeding off, the backwind from the vehicle blew leaves once more down the quiet street.

CHAPTER 2

The school bus closed in on Connors house, slowing to a stop in front of a policeman who waved them past. The kids on the bus flocked to the right hand side to try and get a glimpse of what was going on. Yellow tape stretched between two trees on either side of the garden blocked off the scene to pedestrians, while police cars blocked the road to all but single lane traffic. The bus driver drove past the house, looking for somewhere to stop safely. Connor didn't know what to think. He just stared at the police officer waving him through, hoping his facial expression would offer a clue to what was happening in his house. The buildup of neighborhood traffic forced the driver to stop a full block away from Connor's house. The boy got up and walked briskly to the door but the driver stopped him before he could leave.

"Hey son?"

Connor turned around.

"I'm sorry!"

He knew what the yellow tape almost always meant, even if Connor didn't. The boy looked at him for a second, reading the man's sympathetic expression and then turned and ran back to his house.

A common theory was that those who were gifted with brains were usually not gifted with athletic ability. Well today, nobody expressed this theory to Connor. He ran as fast as he could towards his house, not slowing even to turn corners. He ran so hard he felt sick but he didn't stop. Even at a young age he knew something was wrong. Approaching the yellow tape guarded by a policeman he still did not slow down. His backpack, arched above him as he sprinted, did not affect his speed as he went to duck under the tape and across the garden. As he flew under the "Do Not Cross" warning he misjudged the height of his backpack and it tore straight through the police line. A young cop smoking on the lawn spotted Connor as he ran through the line. Grabbing the boy by the backpack caused him to come to a shuddering halt.

"Hold on son! Don't go in there!"

Connor wriggled the backpack off his shoulders, narrowly avoiding the cop's grab at him as he ran into his house. Although there was little noise outside it felt extremely chaotic. Between the flashing lights, localized gridlock and a tense police presence, the neighborhood transformed itself from a quiet place to grow up into something which more resembled a prison. Just as he entered his house he locked the door behind him. Facing the white wooden door he tried hard to settle his breathing. Something in the air had changed, there was something so different in the mood of the house and he felt it straight away. He turned around to face the hallway, but something stopped him cold. What he saw that day would change his life forever.

A bright flash of light dazzled Connor, much the same as it did earlier this morning. But this time, instead of seeing his mom smiling at him when his sight returned, he was met with a much more horrifying sight. Martha Williams lay on the ground, covered from the neck down by a white sheet. Face down she lay; her body twisted so her dead eyes pierced Connors. Frozen in place Connor stared at his mother, only a few hours dead, her skin still retained its color, but her eyes had lost all life. Unable to look away, Connor's brain tried to make sense of this dreadful thing. This was not his mother; not anymore. Instead, this shell watched him through big glassy windows, burning itself into his consciousness forever. Emotions bubbled up inside the boy. A perfect broth of anger, confusion and sadness spewed out all at once, melting into an earth stopping cry. Up until this point no-one had seen Connor enter the house except the policeman who was now banging on the door trying to get in. Not even the crime scene photographer who was snapping mug shots of Martha noticed him standing only a few feet away. The shrill, piercing cry of a distraught boy announced his presence to everyone. Connor's father was sitting with a policeman when he heard the sound and ran to his son's aide. Hastily the photographer covered up the body, but it was way too late for Connor. With his eyes closed tight the boy wailed until his lungs were out of air, he then reloaded and wailed again. Throwing his arms around his son, Andy Williams tried his hardest to calm him down. Burying Connor's head in his chest he embraced him closely and together they wept. Andy already knew what Connor yet didn't, that this day marked the end of Connor's childhood.

CHAPTER 3

Poor grades came as standard with Connor now, as did a lack of enthusiasm and general unresponsiveness towards his schoolwork. The real shame in Connor's poor performance was that there was nothing to compare it to. Since he just started grade 1 when his mother was killed he never had a chance to excel. If it had happened a couple of years later, there may have been an obvious change from A's to D's. But it never happened that way. In fact, all his teachers knew about him was that he always got bad grades. He never tried; was never willing to apply any effort and was not interested in socializing with other children. A tragic case; every teacher knew about his past; they knew what he and his father had been through so they tried to give him a little extra help wherever they could. The problem was always that Connor wasn't stupid; he just didn't see the point in trying. He wasn't angry or rude to his teachers so really there was very little action to be taken against him. He simply responded to questions with his patented "I don't know Miss" or "Sir" depending on what grade he was in. Usually after the first couple of verbal battles with a teacher (with Connor's answer always unflinching) they would give up and ask someone else. All Connor really wanted to do was go fishing with his father. Today was Friday, and that meant Saturday was only one more day away and the two of them were going fishing.

It had been over three years since the death of his mother but Connor had not forgotten her face staring right through him.

"There was an accident" he remembered his father telling him.

"Your mother tripped and fell down the stairs, she was already gone when I found her. She's in heaven now."

The vast landscape of Millbrook Valley was a favorite of his to come and fish with his father. The air was warm; the valley was alive with life. Birds, insects, rabbits, squirrels and deer all inhabited this territory. Standing knee deep in the shallow, slow moving part of the river Connor enjoyed the feeling of the cold water surrounding his waders. All around him the spring grass blew softly in the wind. Connor used this land to project his thoughts out in front of him, like an artist used a pallet for his creations. He tried to understand why his mother had to die. He missed her so much. His father unscrewed the lid from a hip flask and took a big swig of Kentucky's then called to his son.

"Any bites yet buddy?"

"Not yet dad."

If truth be told, Connor didn't care about the actual act of fishing. He enjoyed the time he and his father had together and the peace of the valley. Catching a fish was just a bonus.

Another swig of the bourbon:

"Keep at it son. Remember, we eat what we catch."

"I know dad."

Connor returned to his thoughts, the quiet helping him to come to terms with his loss.

The light from the refrigerator illuminated Andy's soft yet ageing features.

"You want a cola?"

"Yes please," answered Connor while taking off his waders by the front door.

Andy, on the other hand didn't stop to take anything off he just went straight for the beer in the fridge. While Connor had his peaceful fishing to take his mind off his mother's passing, Andy found solace in alcohol. Although he was careful never to let Connor see him too drunk or too out of hand, when he was not at work you would seldom see him without a drink in his hand. Connor never thought much of it. He was eight now and his dad was his hero. Andy remained strong for his son through the tragedy; if drinking helped him remain strong then Connor saw no problem in it. He had heard the warnings in school and on the television that alcohol was bad for your health but he took no notice, instead choosing to believe his father knew best.

Connor stripped down to his underpants and carried his fishing gear to the laundry basket in the kitchen. He threw his waders out the back door onto the concrete beside the grass. Andy watched the boy, so careful not to dirty the house. With his beer in hand he looked down at himself, still dressed as if he was leaving to go fishing again. His eyes drifted back to his son. The judging look from the youngster was enough to evoke a response.

"Ok, ok I'll get changed; I wasn't going to sit on the couch like this anyways. God, you're worse than your mother!"

Andy chuckled and playfully punched Connor in the stomach.

"Ok, go shower and come watch the game with me."

"I don't want to watch the game dad." Connor said smiling.

His father wanted him to be a sports fan so bad.

"Still not a football fan eh, now I know you're your mother."

Connor looked at the floor. After fishing was when he thought about his mother the most. Had she still been alive she would have been waiting for them with dinner at the ready. Whenever he entered the house now there were no aromas, no scents for him to get excited over.

"I miss her, dad."

Andy put down his beer and looked at his son thoughtfully.

"I know Connor, I know. I do too."

After a moment Andy spoke again

"Well go on up to your room then, I'll call you down for dinner in a bit."

Andy picked up his beer and took a big drink.

"Well dummy, who gave you tickets to the circus?"

"Well dummy, I believe I was invited here! Who gave you tickets to the circus?"

"Who are you calling dummy? Dummy!"

"There's only one dummy here. And it ain't me!"

A fight broke out. Two small ventriloquist dummies attacked each other, butting heads and flailing arms, clicking as their wooden limbs collided.

"Myaaa break it up you dummies!"

The two small dummies fell to the floor and a larger one stepped in beside them.

"I invited you both remember? We have to take down that clown! He's getting too big for his boots around here. Come on. He's about to start"

In the middle of the big top, thousands of spectators cheered for the bear announcer. The surly brown bear held the microphone well.

"Ladies and Gentleman, thank you all for coming to the Williams family circus!"

The crowd cheered emphatically.

"Now, the act you've been dying to see; please put your hands together for Basket the Clown!"

The crowd went wild, cheering as the clown entered the arena, back flipping and somersaulting his way to the podium. He held his chin up high as he looked at the audience who waited for his performance with baited breath.

"And now..." Announced Bear...

"...Basket will attempt his greatest feat ever for your own personal pleasure. He will be raised high into the air on this swing; he will then jump off, flipping five times in midair and land safely... All without a harness!"

The crowd hushed in unison, awestruck at the thought of this incredible feat. A swing was lowered into the middle of the big top and Basket gave a bow. He hoisted himself on as it raised into the air. The crowd held their breath as they stared at the clown swinging from side to side, higher and higher on the swing.

"Oh my god he's going to die!" yelled a crowd member as she swooned on top of the man sitting in front of her.

Basket continued swinging until he was almost at the peak of the big top itself and then let go... Cries rang out all over the arena as Bear counted the summersaults.

"One!"

Basket was still rising from his jump until the second turn.

"Two!"

He started falling rapidly to the ground, turning all the while.

"Three!"

"Four!"

"Five!"

Basket crashed to the ground, the sandy floor sending up a thick cloud of dust.

Everyone, even Bear held his breath. The large Dummy nudged one of the smaller ones.

"Looks like we might not have to kill him after all. He's done it himself."

A tense moment passed and finally the dust cleared. Basket crouched in a successful landing pose. The crowd erupted in ecstatic applause.

"Ladies and gentleman, the one, the only...Basket the Clown!"

(More eruption)

"Come on fellas" said the large dummy, and the three of them pounced onto the sandy ground beside Basket.

The crowd fled in terror, these dummies meant business.

"This is our town clown! Time for you to leave!"

"Now fellas, let's not cause any trouble" said Bear.

"Quiet you!"

One of the smaller dummies muscled in on Bear while Basket readied himself for a fight.

Connor's bedroom was a far cry from the big top but in his mind, something big was about to go down. He hadn't bought any new toys since his mom died, nor had he played with any others bought for him. He would much rather have had clothes for Christmas and birthdays. His mother gave him almost all the toys he had now and so he felt a special bond with them. All except Betsy. Betsy was a porcelain doll that stood up to his waist. His mother gave her to him one night when he was scared of a storm outside. She said Betsy had looked after her when she was a girl and so, she would look after him too. Connor slept well that night knowing Betsy was beside him but he never played with her. For one, Betsy was a girls doll and for two he would never have forgiven himself if he broke her, knowing how much she meant to his mom.

"You forget I have friends in this town" said Basket.

"Yeah, like who?"

Connor grabbed his toy dog and mashed the dummies with it while making barking sounds.

"Retreat!" Connor yelled, mimicking the Dummies voice.

Forced by the human hand the dummies were whisked off to the side of the "Big Top" allowing Basket to assume center stage once again.

Mimicking a real crowd, Connor instilled life into Basket. Making his favorite toy the object of affection for the masses meant Basket could be real outside of his head as well as in. Connor found his collection of toys to be most versatile. With the right imagination a boy could play circus games or gangster games, war games or even westerns, with the dummies usually playing the "goon" roles. War games were fun as Connor had his little plastic army men which he used to provide cover fire for any one of Basket's adventures. Bear was a big hero of his too, though Basket, due to his color and generally happy demeanor was the clear front runner. The dolls were large compared to most children's collections. Basket and Dummy were the largest, standing the height of Connor's neck and shoulder respectively. The two smaller dummies were the height of Betsy and dog only came up past his knees. Bear was a little shorter than the smaller dummies, but his chubbiness helped him appear larger. His mother bought him these dolls above others as these were the ones he showed interest in when they were out. He would pick them up from the shelf himself and so, Martha knew those were the ones he wanted. Uninterested in toys from television shows like other kids, Connor chose these dolls because they weren't already popular children's characters. Much in the same way people prefer reading a book to watching a movie, Connor loved the fact that he could imagine whole new personas for his dolls instead of having their personalities written for him by a TV show. Timing the game just right, no sooner had Basket defeated the dummies when Connor got called down for dinner. Oven pizza with fries was Andy's after fishing specialty, and Connor could smell the pepperoni.

The emblem of the local corporate coffee house seemed softer on Sundays. People have certain misgivings about coffee hangouts like this one. Having a pretty local girl serve you a drink to a setting of soft jazz and local rags could fool anyone into believing this was a family run place. Pale colors of eggshell and lime green mixed with creamy brown carpets and hardwood sanitized surfaces. Oversized, odd-shaped mugs set in a euphoria inducing sunk-in dark felt chair made everyone's cappuccino taste better. At the end of the day, no-one cares about the corporation behind the company, as long as the corporation pretends (like everyone else) that it is a simple outfit. A few sips into his Sunday tall breve double shot latte with one hand grasped firmly on the sports pages Andy was at peace. Alcohol was not in his Sunday service. Instead, a nice relaxing afternoon with his son and his coffee was the order of the day. As Connor sipped on his hot chocolate with an extra pump of vanilla he appreciated the ambience. He enjoyed the peace of this weekly ritual much like he did fishing. Sitting quietly he was lost in his own thoughts while Andy quietly read his paper. Connor felt something on him. A pair of eyes gazing towards their table. He had felt these eyes before but never so intensely. Looking up he saw the face of a woman that would change his life forever.

"Single father?"

Andy wouldn't normally have engaged a strange woman in conversation but when he lowered his paper he realized this was a particularly beautiful woman. This meant all new rules applied. Taken by her beauty Andy nodded while rolling his wedding band with his thumb. Unable to tell how she knew that seeing as how he was clearly still wearing his wedding ring Andy looked at her intensely, trying to figure her out.

"How did you know that?" he asked

"I asked about you," said the woman, gesturing to the barista behind the counter.

"I noticed you came in here a lot so I asked them who you were."

Andy was taken aback by how forward the woman was, but he was also extremely flattered. Pulling out a chair and sitting down the woman said softly.

"The girl told me you used to be married."

Andy looked down at the table

"I'm sorry" The woman said, immediately backtracking,

"I didn't mean to pry. I was interested in you and all I had to go on was your name."

"Well, it is on the cup" remarked Andy.

The two shared a smile at the coy comment.

"I'm Beth." The young lady said, oblivious to the fact that it was written on her nametag in pink chalk marker.

Andy couldn't help but feel completely at ease around her, she was very pretty, with a very natural smile. There was a pause, Andy was not used to interacting with women anymore.

"Oh, I'm sorry; this is my son, Connor."

Beth extended her hand to Connor who reluctantly shook it.

"Nice to meet you Connor."

"Hello." came the response.

Beth looked at Connor and smiled "He's very handsome...just like his father."

Andy was instantly smitten. Amongst the warm colors and ambient sounds of espresso machines and jazz; Beth and Andy clicked. Her sharp blue eyes had an allure which Andy was unwilling to break himself from. All Connor could do was sit there and accept it.
CHAPTER 4

"Where's your friends loser?" Beth stood in the doorway of Connor's bedroom, high on a combination of Gin and Valium. "Did you hear me you little faggot? I asked where all your shitty little friends were!"

Connor sat with his back to her, playing with Basket. The house seemed darker now, dirtier, with less color.

"You just going to ignore me like you do every girl you little homo?"

Pointing a bottle of "London Dry" at the boy she continued her abuse

"You're going to end up a loser, just like your father!"

A single angry tear streamed down the child's cheek. It reached his mouth and he tasted the salty bitterness. Stewing, he thought back to when things got this bad.

For over a year things were good again in the Williams house. Andy had been drinking less and Beth was bringing in a second paycheck. Connor was even warming to the fact that he had a mother figure in the house again. Something he craved but never talked about was finally becoming a reality. Connor remained much the same in his attitude towards school and friends, (namely that he didn't believe either one was worth much) but he did start to enjoy being out amongst other people much more. When the three of them would go out to the circus for real, Connor would take Basket and imagine he were the one performing death defying acrobatics. Or when the fair came to town Connor would go along and play the carnival games; even though he would always refuse to take any toys that were won from them. Time seemed to pass quickly in this period and before he knew what was going on; Connor was another year older. It was just after Connor's ninth birthday that things started to go decidedly sour.

Still in her early thirties Beth was a definite looker. Family roots entrenched deep in Scandinavian blood gave her a light complexion complete with long legs and a naturally generous bust. She held a good job as an aesthetician at a trendy salon in the city brining in a decent paycheck every fortnight. Positions for this job were scarce and thanks to every little city girl who got through life based solely on her looks, there was never a shortage of candidates to fill the few positions available. Still, with her experience and strong repeat customer base she was never short of work. She would often supplement her income by giving manicures and facials from the home she now shared with Andy. One Tuesday afternoon Beth managed to get away from work early. The long weekend had just finished so a lot of customers had their hair done the previous Thursday before they left town for the holiday. This meant business was slow so she left early trying to avoid the rush hour. Andy could not get away early to pick her up so she headed for the train; which Beth didn't mind doing. Popping in her ear buds and heading out the door she waved goodbye to her colleagues before heading into the windy street outside. The train from downtown was still fairly busy, though not as it would have been had she left an hour later. As the pop music pumped in her ears she heard nothing of the dozens of conversations going on around her. Nor did she hear the beeping of the train doors closing behind her; she heard nothing but the music. Having committed the short route home to memory long ago, she did not require the assistance of the train's automated announcer. Despite the southern weather being normally mild that time of year there was a chill on this day. The wind picked up, blowing dust and leaves around in mini cyclones all over the neighborhood. The house being a fifteen minute walk from the station was like a challenge to her. She planned to make it in ten, cutting a third of the time from her journey in order to avoid as much dust being blown into her face as possible. Risking safety for speed, Beth jaywalked across small roads with nothing more than a quick glance for moving dangers. Only a few blocks away was a driver in a solid black SUV. With a few beers for lunch and some heavy metal in the CD player the driver was paying just as little attention to the road as Beth was. The two were on a fateful collision course, which would prove to be an extremely one-sided event. If recent surveys are to be believed, the average American vehicle weighs over 4000 pounds, whereas the average American woman weighs 166 pounds. Unfortunately no-one showed these numbers to Beth who weighed in at a paltry 126 pounds. At over thirty times her weight the SUV hardly felt a thing, Beth on the other hand was not as lucky.

CHAPTER 5

The hospital was a different experience for Connor. He knew people went there when they were sick or hurt but he had never actually been in one. If he was being honest with himself he liked it. He liked how quiet it was, only a PA system calling Doctors to rooms and the hum of the pop machine to listen to. It seemed like a peaceful place to him.

"Good news Mr. Williams" said a portly, balding doctor.

Miss Gray is going to be fine. We had to insert a steel rod in her arm to keep the bone in place but it should heal in six to eight weeks. Her leg on the other hand, will heal a lot faster than that, she'll be up and walking in no time."

The news was a welcome relief for Andy.

"Thank you doctor" he said as the doctor headed off to see about his other patients.

Andy's medical insurance plan from work was generous so he wouldn't be out of pocket from the incident and more importantly, Beth wasn't badly hurt, so he was pretty optimistic overall. However no-one could have foreseen the events that would unfold after this.

It all started two days after Beth arrived home. Andy took a little time off work and brought everything to her in bed. After a week her leg healed up and she regained mobility. She couldn't wait to get up and about again. The first two weeks were mind numbing for her, nothing to do but lay in bed watching daytime drivel on television, being waited on like the temporary invalid she was. For a woman so proud and strong, this was hell. Because her arm was far from healing Beth was unable to return to work. When she informed Sally, her boss, she would not be available for another couple of months she had no choice but to replace her.

"A busy salon could not afford to be understaffed" she said.

Beth was hurt, she felt let down, years of loyal service unrewarded; she was not even able to give services from home due to her arm being sore all the time. As the days turned to weeks she sat at home self-medicating. Alone most of the time while Andy had to work and Connor had school; she began to convince herself she wasn't worth anything. Being cut from her job she was so good at for so long brought up feelings she had suppressed from years ago. Issues of abandonment stemming from her own father leaving her as a child started to creep out from her subconscious. With Andy out working, earning money to pay the bills, she started to feel like she was being abandoned again. Left alone in the house all day with nothing but movies and the internet to keep her company she became disillusioned with the outside world. Initially she took meds to stop the pain in her arm, but after a while she simply enjoyed the feeling the pain killers gave her and took them more often. Alone all day she would snack, gaining weight as she sat doing nothing all day long. Andy noticed the weight gain but it didn't bother him. What did bother him was the arguing. Andy was not a confrontational man, generally mild mannered and soft spoken even while drunk. As Beth sat alone all day long, dwelling on her past she would start looking for arguments instead of dealing with her resentment. This manifested itself in constant nit-picking and one-way squabbling which Andy did not know how to deal with. Things were never ok for her. She started finding things wrong even when no-one else did. Since he was never one for confrontation Andy would convince himself this constant negative attitude was simply a side effect of her being temporarily house bound. He would never understand why she degenerated so quickly because she never told him of her past. Deep secrets about her family history that she would never bring to light haunted her, but instead of dealing with it she took out her pain on those closest to her. Andy had never pried too deeply into her past after she politely asked him not to once before, and now he would have no reason to associate her behavior with her past. He simply believed all of it would go away once she got a new job...

Six weeks came and went but Beth still hadn't found work. She sent out a few resumes to high end salons, refusing to reapply at her old job and refusing to apply to be anything else except an aesthetician. For the few weeks she was looking for work she was still medicating herself. Whenever Andy was brave enough to voice concern she told him she was "in pain" and if he dared question her further he was in for a long night of bitching. Andy gave up hassling up after a few months, he couldn't handle arguing every single night so he starting accepting her behavior in any way he could; justifying it so he would feel more of a man. Since her accident she had gained thirty two pounds and practically stopped her job hunt altogether. The issues in her head, coupled with the fact Andy made a comfortable living for her meant she was content to do nothing but sit at home, high on pain killers. "Inventing" phantom ailments, she would be in and out of the hospital. Each time she would have new medication to enjoy at her leisure. It was when she was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder that Connor really started to notice her behavior. He heard the constant arguing, watched his father get verbally abused time and time again but for the most part he would stay in his room, playing with his dolls and ignoring the situation as much as possible. Beth was unpredictable, sometimes she would spend a few days extremely happy, and the simple gestures she made would fill Andy with hope. Gestures like making dinner, or buying him something nice from the store on the rare occasions she left the house. These were Connor's favorite days. Then other days she would stay in bed all afternoon and then stay awake all night watching television. Connor didn't mind those days. What he did mind were the days where nothing made her happy. Constantly angry on those days, she would find the slightest thing wrong with anything and jump on it, deliberately starting arguments with Andy. She knew she would always win these arguments thanks largely to Andy's passive nature. Most times she would simply berate him for no other reason than she was bored. Like the one day he bought a washing powder she wasn't used to and she screamed at him for (what seemed to Connor) half an hour, eventually making him go back to the supermarket and change it. She tried justified this by saying she was allergic to certain types of washing powder and if Andy loved her he would have known that. Although there was absolutely no truth to this claim it didn't matter, Andy didn't argue with her and Beth felt an element of control she desperately wanted. Sitting in his room Connor listened to the constant yelling, all one-way. He tried to drown it out by playing with his toys but it was impossible. He heard every word and even at a young age he could see right through her. He would sit in his room stewing; he wanted to intervene but didn't think it would do much good. On the days he did try he would ask.

"Why does she yell at you dad?"

The response was always the same:

"Beth is sick son, she can't help it."

Connor was never satisfied with this answer. She didn't look very sick to him. She looked like she enjoyed yelling at his father, taking lots of medication, sleeping all day and watching rubbish on television. He always admired how strong his father was; able to take all this after working hard all day even if he couldn't understand why he did. Even though he thought it would be in vain, on one occasion he had tried to talk to her, his childlike simplicity trying to highlight the situation they were in. However, just like his father, she had given him what seemed like a pre-rehearsed response.

"This is between me and your father; it has nothing to do with you. Now go to your room and leave me alone!"

She had covered all her bases, closing down any avenue of discussion in one sentence. Connor was not impressed, he would go to his room but his mind could not leave it alone. She was all he could think about. He would wonder why this woman thought she was his mother. She was not. After months of systematic mental abuse on Andy and Connor, Beth was still not satisfied with her work so she decided to up the ante. She started drinking. Although not heavily, she always mixed it with taking pills which created a much more terrible monster in her. Not content anymore with simply yelling at Andy when she was displeased with him. She evolved to throwing things like the candy bars she perpetually had in her hand or knocking glasses off counters in the kitchen. Also, not content with just Andy she would start making comments to Connor.

"Where's your friends?" she would ask him.

Going to go play all by yourself again?"

She would laugh and mock him until he left for his bedroom. He could still hear her laughing from the couch as he trudged upstairs. That laugh was extremely irritating to him, like a grain of sand in his brain, giving him no rest. Andy had become a subservient being, controlled at his every turn, and any attempt to step out of line met with an evening of yelling. All he wanted was calm. Andy still loved Beth and made every excuse for her behavior, he stuck by her regardless of how awful she was to him. When Connor came home from school he would move upstairs as quietly as possible to avoid her. She was always sprawled across the couch watching television. More often than not he would make it upstairs out of her way, however sometimes he would hear her dolloping up the stairs to come into his room just so she could be mean to him. Abusing Connor was something else that made her feel in control of her life. This almost ten year old boy would do his best to ignore her but she pushed and prodded at him with jibes and insults until he finally had to physically close the door on her. Taking this as a sign of victory she would waddle back downstairs to sit on the couch and wait for her next target to get home from work. Connor listened to the fat thighs causing creaks on the staircase and he knew his father was never aware of the mental abuse he endured at Beth's hands because Connor never told him. Connor didn't want to add to his dad's burdens but mainly he wasn't sure if his father was strong enough to do anything about it. This was something Connor did not want to test; the boy would have been crushed if his dad didn't protect him and so, instead of trying, he just kept quiet. Laundry, cooking and cleaning was Andy's reward at the end of the work day. Beth kept claiming she was too ill to do any housework and Connor was usually up in his room playing. If truth be told Connor deliberately didn't help out with the chores, passively protesting against Beth's sham excuse, hoping Andy would tell her off but he never did.

Connor loathed that woman. Every day his hatred continued to grow. At school, Connor's lack of interest stopped bothering anyone. His teachers had already given up hope on him, choosing to offer help to pupils who actually wanted it. Andy was never bothered by teachers and that was the way he liked it. He knew Connor was bright and that was all that mattered to him. At work, Andy was very good at his job, it was the only place he felt in charge of his own life and it showed. He made good money and was widely respected by his peers. The sad fact was that the one person he actually wanted respect from was Beth but she would never give him that. Instead she would make up wild unfounded accusations that Andy was having an affair. All he had to do was mention a female colleague in passing or be seen chatting to one and that was it, immediately there would be yelling and accusations.

It was a Thursday when she hit him. Connor was unsure of the details. He remembered the usual one-way yelling but then that ominous slap stopped everything. Running to the stairs he peered into the kitchen through the gaps in the bannister and, watching the events unfold he pieced together what had just happened. Andy's face was that of a beaten dog. Just like his mother's death, he would never forget that moment. Standing beside him, arms folded was Beth. She had just landed a powerful slap to his face because he made chicken for dinner when she claimed she told him that morning she wanted beef. This time, instead of yelling, Beth casually poured herself a half vodka half Coke and walked past Connor into the living room, smirking as she did as if she knew he was watching all along. Andy stood in the kitchen staring at the floor while a tear of frustration slipped out. With a deep breath he lifted his head. His thoughts weighed heavy on his mind. He spotted Connor staring back at him and wondered how long he had been there. The boy's eyes gazed into his and he wondered how he let it get to this.

"What kind of father am I? What kind of man am I?"

He felt he had betrayed the memory of his wife and so, was an embarrassment to his son. The kitchen grew silent around him as his thoughts closed in. Everything disappeared and all that was left was Connor's stare, the stare that spurned a thousand more thoughts, fighting to be contained. Unable to face his son Andy strolled past him, lifted the car keys off the hook by the door and left. Getting into his car he pulled out the driveway, heading off for a long drive. He knew Beth's wrath would be waiting for him when he got back but he had to leave. He did not want his son to see him breaking down.

CHAPTER 6

"Where's your friends loser?"

Beth stood in the doorway of Connor's bedroom, high on a combination of Gin and Valium.

"Did you hear me you little faggot? I asked you where all your shitty little friends were!"

Connor sat with his back to her, playing with Basket. The house seemed darker now, dirtier, with less color.

"You just going to ignore me like you do every girl you little homo?"

Pointing a bottle of "London Dry" at the boy she continued her abuse.

"You're going to end up a loser, just like your father!"

A single angry tear streamed down the child's cheek. It reached his mouth and he tasted the salty bitterness. Connor had put up with this abuse for some time now but this time it was different. Connor heard her slap his father the night before and the atmosphere had been tense ever since. After returning from his drive Andy was spared a night of screaming, but they all knew the game had changed. Even Connor always thought his father would stand up for himself if he was being physically assaulted, but since he never did Beth now felt powerful, she felt real again. Connor's emotions inside him were bubbling up like a volcano, only the sense of right and wrong his mother instilled in him kept him from lashing out but even that value was wavering now.

"It's in your genes" she slurred, words lined with malice.

"Your dad is weak and you are too you little prick. Aren't you too old to be playing with dolls?"

Laughing, she pointed at Betsy.

Connor seethed "My mom gave that to me."

"Well mommy aint here is she? I am. Tell you what kiddo; I'm going to help you become a man!"

Beth stumbled over and grabbed Betsy.

Reaction kicked in. Connor grabbed her arm and fought back.

"Let go! That's mine!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

The drunk Beth however was double his weight (triple while drunk) and was able to dust his arm off hers with ease. Laughing as Connor sobbed on the floor she headed back to the doorway to get a better look of the broken child in front of her. Connor's tears were hot. Anger fighting it's way to the surface quickened his breathing. She stood swigging her gin, proud of what she had accomplished. Downstairs, a key turned in the door as Andy came in from work. Hearing Connor crying upstairs he dropped his stuff and headed upstairs. Beth was too drunk to hear him coming allowing him to unintentionally catch her off guard.

"What's going on?" Andy asked, as he swiftly went to his son's side.

"She took Betsy!"

Andy shot a look at Beth as he held his son. Andy seemed genuinely angry Beth would turn her attention to his son which made Connor a little happier, suddenly thinking maybe his father was not aware of their previous encounters.

"What do you think you're doing Beth? He's just a boy! Put the doll down!"

Connor slowly stopped crying, feeling his father would actually stand up for him.

"What the fuck ever!" Retorted Beth casually.

That kid needs to man up and this isn't going to help."

Beth drunkenly tossed the doll over the bannister to the wooden floor below. Only a dull thud indicated its heavy landing. Connor held his breath. Betsy was his mom's doll and if it was broken he would be devastated, furious even. Connor pressed his face against Andy's chest and shut his eyes tight. Pent up rage was fighting to get out but instead only a few words quietly escaped.

"I miss mom."

"I know you do son, but mom's gone. She had an accident and she's in heaven now."

"What?" said Beth chortling drunk from the doorway.

An accident? Is that what you told him?"

For the first time in years Andy spoke to Beth in a tone that would not resolve any argument.

"Beth, don't!"

Beth grinned.

"Connor..."

...Your mom did not have an accident..."

"Beth shuttup!"

"She was murdered! She was raped and murdered down there in the hall where your dolly is now."

Do you know what raped means?"

Connor world shut down, his mind collapsed in on itself and he was silent. Furious but composed Andy leapt to his feet and slammed the door in Beth's face as if the door would be his revenge for months of torment. The backdraft blew his hair gently but Beth didn't flinch.

"He had to find out sometime" came the voice from behind the door.

Andy rushed over and put his arms around his son. Appalled by what Beth did he held him tight, wondering if he would ever be able to express into words how sorry he was. He tried, poorly he thought.

"Son, I'm so sorry she said that."

Connor was mute. Something inside him had snapped. He had heard the term "rape" on one of the police shows Beth was watching and he was smart enough to figure out what it meant. His little body was stiff and his brain was numb. For the first time in his life Connor felt rage. But his brain was trying and failing to contain that rage, instead it jammed up his mind and closed it down. An image of Beth's grinning face as she spoke those terrible words was trying to show itself but another part of him tried to choke it down, knowing what happen if it surfaced. Tears felt like they should be coming out but they didn't. He wanted to scream but he couldn't. He felt this incredible urge to be destructive but his body wouldn't move. He knelt, staring at the closed door while his father quietly embraced him. Feeling like he was actually consoling his son Andy held him tight, trying to shoosh away the anguish. Connor's didn't know it but his brain was writing new scripts for itself which would recreate him. A destructive force was being born in the depths of his mind, overruling intelligence and rational thought patterns his mother and father had instilled in him.

The only image he could see in his mind when he went to bed that night was Beth's mocking face. And her words; he did not hear them out loud again, he couldn't, but some deep part of him was hearing them. Connor did not dream that night; instead his brain added the final touches to its rewrite, the coup de grace, changing his personality forever.

Connor's routine started out as usual the next morning. Out of bed, he bath robe and slippers on then headed to the bathroom to shower after his father did. Andy still remembered the events of the previous night, it had weighed on him all night. Straight after coming out of the shower Andy saw Connor standing in the doorway of his bedroom looking particularly somber. Dressed only in a towel Andy knelt down beside his son for a moment.

"How you feeling today champ?"

Connor replied emotionlessly "I'm ok"

Andy squinted into his son's eyes, searching for the truth.

"You're sure?"

Connor simply nodded and although Andy didn't believe he was telling the truth he didn't really have time to talk about it, he had work to go to. No father could have seen what was about to happen.

"Ok, we can talk more when I get home then."

Taking one more look into his son's eyes Andy got up and headed down the stairs, leaving Connor to disappear into the bathroom. Lifting his briefcase from the living room he wanted to yell up to his son to say goodbye one last time but he knew that if he woke up Beth he would get an earful when he got home for sure. Andy did love Connor but the truth was he didn't really want to stand up for him. Selfish motives always took over. He believed Connor would eventually get over the trauma of being told the truth of his mother and so, he never felt he had to say much more about it. Part of Connor's newly developed psyche came from this constant "shock and ignorance" way of life where something would happen within the household that was detrimental to Connor's mindset but essentially nobody cared. Beth sure didn't. Her twisted mind would constantly put her own "illness" above anything else, particularly the feelings of others. Andy cared but his attitude was always to ignore it as best as possible, hoping it would all go away. He reasoned that if he never asked Connor how he felt about Beth then he wouldn't know the truth. And, if he didn't know the truth then he certainly wouldn't have to act upon it. Andy closed the front door behind him, plunging the house into quiet. The shower had not been turned on. Instead, the bathroom door slowly opened and Connor emerged dressed in his pajamas. His eyes were dark, he felt nothing. Drifting down the wooden staircase he heard Beth snoring behind him, her breathing was heavy through her fat nasal passages. The kitchen was not as neat as it used to be, not like when his mother would clean it. Connor easily unhinged the child-safety lock on the top drawer by the sink. His mother had installed them years ago but Connor wasn't an child any longer. They simply remained because it was on no-one's priority list to remove them. Staring down for a moment at the metallic menagerie in front of him he was confronted by options. Had he not been nearly catatonic he would have realized the sadness in the fact that the kitchen had all the tools a gourmet chef would need to create sumptuous dishes but he and his father never ate more than oven pizza, tinned goods and microwave meals. This depressing fact was due to the lack of a maternal presence, with the drunken drug-addled Beth being the furthest thing from that. Surrounded by the "Easy Blend" blender, the "Coffee Boy" bean grinder/brewer and the hanging selection of ladles, spatulas, pronged forks and pastry brushes he felt a gentle comfort attempting to creep into him and change his thoughts. Although he had never used any of these tools, he remembered this was his mother's domain and it was where she was happiest. Without any notion towards sexism Martha was simply a passionate cook. She always believed in fresh ingredients and loved slow cooking. Some days Connor would watch her for hours on end buzzing around making meals for dinner parties. Dinner parties had long been a dead tradition though, along with fresh ingredients. Looking down at the glimmering selection in front of him he made his choice.

His mother had always told him she chose a knife by the weight of it, how it felt in her hand. So he carefully lifted his tool and flicked it up and down, feeling it out like a pro tennis player feeling out a racket. After a long minute of careful testing he confirmed his choice was the right one. Leaning forward he looked into the blade. The shiny stainless steel reflected an image of a dark haired child, his once angelic eyes now overcast. Locking eyes with his reflection he watched a smile form that was truly his own and slammed the drawer shut.

Standing at the bottom of the staircase he heard the snoring again. Every noise she made irritated him further and further, driving him to push on up the stairs to his goal. The knife by his side glided effortlessly through the air as he neared the top. The stairs squeaked as if sending out a warning that someone was coming. He got to the top and opened the bedroom door. There she was. For a long moment he watched her lie sleeping under her tacky pink blankets like some great slumbering marshmallow. Her stunning laziness was just one more reason Connor hated her. Moving round the side of the bed to see her face, he remembered her words the night before.

"She was raped,"

Do you know what that means?"

Staring at her face, he felt no anger, no purpose, he felt nothing, this to him was as natural as breathing now. His face cracked into a scowl as he stared at her contemptuously, the weight of the decision he had already made wrapped him up tight but he tried to hold off a little longer. A twisted side he never knew he had before urged him to savor the moment before it was gone forever. He had been standing over her for minutes simply watching; waiting to make his move. Beth stirs slothlike, opening her eyes slightly she saw him standing there. Unable to see the knife from her lying position she sneered at him with a tongue laced with disdain.

"What do you want?" she hissed.

The unapologetic, resentful tone was the final ingredient in Connors pot. With a twitch in his eye he raised the knife above his head and sandwiched it in his small palms. The sudden look of terror in Beth's eyes only served to motivate the boy further. Driving the blade down hard into her flesh, his aim was off, slicing through the shoulder of the fetal sleeper, stopping only an inch into her breast tissue. Reloading, he yanked the steel out and went in for another plunge. This time lower, through the ribcage, puncturing the base of her lungs and mincing up other organs. Her cries were not for help but for pain, no-one would hear her on the quiet street outside. Again Connor thrusted, changing aim again, this time higher, unintentionally cutting into her larynx. Later Connor would think back to this moment and this specific stab. He wondered if he did it to stop her screaming or not. He could not remember any noise that day. He remembered everything in detail; except if there was volume on his attacks, as if someone pressed a mute button to make the whole event easier to deal with. He remembered Beth doing this while watching scary films. She would mute the volume, as if that would make the horrifying scenes easier to view. Stabbing her again and again, each thrust represented a painful moment in his life, with much of the thrusting because of the loss of his mother. With no organized stabbing pattern, by the time was arms were sore he had managed thirty-four wounds to the torso and groin, fourteen to the arms and legs and eight to the face over a span of four minutes. The grisly scene in his mother's old bedroom put a smile on a young boys face. Standing proudly, spattered in a crimson spray he wiped the knife on Beth's pink dressing gown. In his mind, the day started out perfectly.

CHAPTER 7

Water gushed from the faucet, gradually getting warmer the longer it stayed on. Small hands rinsed off in the flowing water, the blood splashed off creating long red veins down the white porcelain. Connor did not like to be dirty; he cleaned the blood off his hands like he was offended by it. Rubbing quickly, adding soap periodically he removed the last of it. Childishly he patted down his body creating dark patches on his pajama top. Relenting to the fact he would not be fully clean until he changed clothes he stepped back from the sink (water still flowing freely from the tap) and stared straight ahead out the window. His thoughts were heavy, submerged in his head. The full weight of what he had done was sinking in but Connor had no regrets. In his mind, he and his father were free now, free to move on with their lived without Beth, free to go fishing as they pleased and certainly free to relax in their own home. Connor was not stupid. When Beth spoke those insidious words to him his mind was forever altered; he did not believe he would be punished for his crime. In his mind he was right and anyone who knew Beth at her worst would confirm that. His eyes followed the leaves falling softly from the trees outside. Landing gently, they flew nowhere, instead sitting on the grass as if that was where they were meant to be.

Beauty was the first word in Andy's thoughts as he cruised round the corner on his quiet street. He was always optimistic on the drive home as his happiness from being at work had not yet faded. He loved the fall season in the south. It was not normally cold yet and thanks to an unusually warm year it had been forecast not to get cold at all that year. Yet the beauty remained, the leaves still changed color all along his neighborhood and he loved it. Connor was only a passing thought in Andy's mind until he saw him sitting outside the house in his pajamas. Knowing right away something was wrong; Andy did his best to suppress his instincts to speed up, knowing that could be dangerous in a suburban neighborhood. Slowing down as he entered the driveway he parked carefully, giving himself a moment to process what he was seeing. With a snap of the key he stepped out the car.

"Connor? What's the matter?"

"I did it for us" came a droning reply.

"You did what for...what have you got over yourself? Huh? All over your clothes?"

"I did it for us. We're free now."

Andy was extremely worried. Connor's speech was never this dreary.

"You did what for us? Son, you're scaring me, what are you talking about?"

Connor just sat a moment before Andy senses something was very wrong inside the house.

"Where's Beth?"

"I did it for us?"

Andy leaned down and grabbed his son by the shoulders, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Connor! You're making no sense?" Andy's voice cracked as he panicked. "You did what for us? Where's Beth?"

Connor's eyes remained dark as a smile danced from the corner of his mouth. Andy had never seen this look in his son before and in an instant his brain summed up what had most likely happened.

"No!" Andy uttered, doubting the truth ahead of him as he ran past the boy into the house. Connor listened as his father searched frantically around the house. Staring dead ahead he could hear all the sounds of his father's vain rescue attempt. Doors burst open, footsteps thunder; all the while Connor sat still. The only stir in the boy's emotions was the harrowing voice of his father upon finding Beth's body. Andy's anguish was felt by Connor but only very deep in his soul. Deep was the only place Connor still existed in the form he once was in. With great love for his father it pained him to hear him cry. Even though he did not regret his crime, he definitely regretted his father having to witness it. As Andy screamed loudly, the open front door carried his voice all the way to Connor. Dusk was approaching but still Connor sat amongst the scream. The scream that told him everything was going to be ok from now on.

A shrill grinding noise repelled Andy; the steel legged chair from the police interrogation room dragged the floor like chalk on a blackboard.

"What's wrong with your son Mr. Williams? asked Sergeant Jacobs as he sat down in front of him.

"This isn't the sort of thing that just happens. There is always a back story."

The sergeant's suit was ruffled from long hour days; he was above average height and doused in day-old stubble. A quick shave in the staff bathroom was all the grooming time his double shifts would allow him most of the time. None of his peers cared however, the sergeant was committed to the job and they all knew it.

With a hand in his hair, tired, traumatized and worried to death about his son, Andy sat for a long moment before answering.

"I don't know. Beth and I had problems sure, but I never thought they extended to Connor. And in a million lifetimes I never would have thought that Connor would...

Unable to finish; Andy broke down.

"I mean what father would? What kind of father would suspect his own son, or even consider their child capable of..."

Jacobs was sympathetic but duty forbade him to show it.

"Look Mr. Williams, let me be straight with you. Connor is a minor, which in almost all cases exempts him from being tried as an adult. All except a case like this I guess."

Andy's grief got the better of him and he lost his temper, yelling "I know sergeant; I know. I know what he did but he's my son dammit, and he's still a kid! My kid..."

Jacobs allowed Andy his grief but did not flinch. Sitting calmly in his chair, he apologized with his hands before continuing.

"The D.A will take into consideration the age of your son and the nature of the crime. It will affect where the place him but I'm afraid to say it will not affect the sentence. He will almost certainly advise indefinite care at Hallcombes psychiatric facility."

"Do you know that for sure?"

"Call it an educated guess."

With a sniff and a long breath Andy asked.

"What are the doctors like there?"

"They're very good Mr. Williams, they'll take good care of your son."

Jacobs was impressed by how fatherly Andy was in spite of what happened. Andy took a minute before speaking, allowing the information he had just received to process fully.

"I'd like to see him. I'd like to see my son."

It broke Andy's heart to see his son like this. Unresponsive, cold, mindless were only a few adjectives he tried to push from his thoughts while looking at his only child. As Connor perched himself on a chair in a solitary cell, with bland walls and only a glass panel to peer through; Andy pushed other thoughts from his mind, selfish ones.

"What kind of a father must I have been to allow this to happen?"

"Why didn't Connor feel he could talk to me?"

"What do I do now?"

Choking down the urge to break down, to melt into his surroundings he pulled his thoughts back to Connor.

"Can I go in?"

The rugged sergeant reluctantly nodded and motioned for a nearby nurse to open the door.

The great padded door opened with only the slightest wisp as cloth brushed against the sterile linoleum floor.

"Son?" Andy said quietly, trying not to startle the staring boy.

Connor moved his head round to meet his fathers.

"Hi dad."

Andy stepped through the door, suddenly aware of how cautious he was moving towards his own flesh and blood. Jacobs moved as Andy did. Crouching down Andy looked at Connor head on. The man was confused. On the one hand, he had in front of him a boy that murdered his girlfriend, while doing so killing any chance Andy had for a normal life. On the other hand this boy was his son. He had been through a lot in his short life and Andy loved him dearly. If he was being honest with himself, Andy had a third hand, one that understood why Connor did what he did even if he couldn't condone it.

"Son, how do you feel?"

"Good. How do you feel?"

Connor's question was piercing in its apparent naivety.

"I've been better. Connor? Do you know what happened today?"

As Jacobs watched Andy interact with Connor from the doorway he could not help but admire the man's strength. Dead conviction sat in Connors stare as he believed he had did what his father wanted him to.

"I set us free."

"You killed Beth, Connor. I know she didn't seem like a nice person. I know she said and did things that weren't always right but she didn't deserve that son, she didn't deserve that."

Andy looked to the ground. On route to the floor a few tears slip down the bridge of his nose and swan dived silently. Surrounded by the holding cells' opposing shades of eggshell and ivory Andy tried to find peace in the floor below him. Etchings on the walls made by other prisoners completed the padded wrap that surrounded them. With a wipe that was more for composure than anything, Andy looked back at his son, longing for a reason to justify what he had done. Connor stared back, unable to match the same emotional level as his father even if he tried. The truth was Connor had a reason for his actions, and he believed it was a very good one.

CHAPTER 8

"Come on man, pass it already!"

With a big inhale, a hold, and then a slow release, a thick plume of marijuana smoke swirled its way into the night sky. The two teens sat in the flat of an old Dodge truck, relaxing under a clear starry canopy with the crickets for company.

"I'll pass it in a minute, just let me enjoy this."

The stars were clear and the horizon was dim, a contrast always underappreciated by locals used to the beauty.

"You want to see me blow an o?" asked the cocky freshman.

"No! I want to see you hand it over!"

"So do I!"

A voice from behind the two boys made the toker choke.

Deputy Lynch moved in quickly, allowing the boys no time to react. They knew it would be pointless running. Besides the fact they were a little baked, they would have had to leave the truck behind, and the deputy would have found them through that anyway.

"Come on boys, you know the score. Weed is against the law. Hand it over."

The two college boys never saw it coming. Hot to the tip, Lynch turned the lights off on the Sheriffs cruiser five minutes earlier, using his expert knowledge of the county roads to sneak up behind them in total darkness.

"Come on Dylan, give it here" repeated the deputy.

"Come on Lynch" protested the teen,

It's just a joint. Be reasonable!"

As if called upon by the boy's rebellion, a sturdy older man emerged from his wait in the cruiser. Approaching the van, his ominous footsteps encouraged the teens to remain silent. In his late fifties, the man was an imposing figure. At just over six feet, the natural physique of the man was framed with a strong jaw.

"What's that Dylan? I believe Deputy Lynch instructed you to hand it over."

Dylan dutifully stubbed out the joint, quickly handing it over to Deputy Lynch. The silence was cutting as the big man watched the resolve.

"Well alright then" the big man said heading back to his cruiser, content that the situation was over.

"It's just a joint Sheriff! Why do you have to be such an ass?"

Freddie Lynn yelled from the flatbed; Dylan had no time to tell him to be quiet. Stopping in his tracks, Sheriff Oates turned and headed back to the truck, prompting silence from both Lynch and Dylan. Oates' footsteps crunched loudly on the dirt road as he approached the truck.

"Its Freddie right? Come down here son."

Six foot six Freddie was a whole five inches taller than Oates. All two hundred and thirty pounds of him showed off his college football physique. Dylan shook his head as his friend stepped off the flatbed, bouncing the axel as he did so. Oates paced up to the larger male, scoping the size of him as he neared.

"Freddie Lynn right? Oates asked, moving his head up to meet Freddie's eyes.

"You moved here a couple of years ago. I saw you play against the Buffalo's in last year's cup"

"Yeah, that's right. What about it?"

"Well Freddie I just want to say that you were phenomenal on the field, some of the hits you were dealing out were unbelievable."

Freddie smiled. "That's what I do Sheriff, on and off the field, if someone gets in my way I take them down."

Oates swallowed hard.

"Well, that's good to know Freddie; I certainly wouldn't like to see anyone get in your way."

Oates broke eye contact for a moment, which prompted a smug smile from Freddie. Lynch and Dylan watched intently as the two men stood toe to toe. It appeared Freddie was actually intimidating the Sheriff.

"Here's the problem though Freddie! You and I never had any run in's before and that's the way I like to keep it. This town here, it's my field, and I don't like people to get in my way either. So why don't you get back in your little truck and head on home before I get the feeling you're in my way."

Dylan and Lynch recognized Oates' theatrics. The swallowing, the break in eye contact, they recognized it right away. Sheriff Oates was not intimidated by Freddie. Sheriff Oates was not intimidated by anyone. The only person present, who didn't know that, was Freddie.

"I ain't leaving here without my weed!"

"Freddie let's go." Dylan protested.

Having lived in this town his whole life he knew Oates always got his way.

"Dylan, stop being a pussy! I'm not leaving. That shit cost me $40. I ain't leaving without it."

"Ok Dylan" said Oates "I'll give you a choice. You can leave here with your weed or you can leave with here your teeth. You're choice"

"Freddie let's go!" Dylan protested

Freddie smiled.

"I think I'll take both."

With that he swung a strong punch at Oates who simply ducked it. In one motion Oates grasped his baton and swung it upwards into Freddie's ribcage. As Freddie reeled in pain Oates stepped in and grabbed him firmly by the throat stopping him from falling over.

"I'll let you keep your teeth this time but don't ever forget today. The next time we meet you better know your place or there will be trouble."

Oates pushed him to the ground and turned to Dylan.

"You two go on home now."

"Yes Sheriff" Dylan said as he jumped off the flatbed to help up his winded friend.

Oates walked back to the cruiser with Lynch.

"That was a strong hit Sheriff. You put so much force into it I thought your hat was going to fall off."

With his back to the teens Oates smiled, privately breaking his tough exterior.

"Don't exaggerate Deputy."

CHAPTER 9

A dull click marked a teapot's landing on the bedside counter then a soft pouring sound aroused a man from his slumber.

"You know, if you weren't so pretty I might have to beat you for waking me up this early" the man said, eyes still closed.

"Come on doctor wake up, if you don't go to work who'll be there to lobotomize innocent patients?"

The woman's retort was quiet and dry. Her eastern European accent was prominent.

"That's it! said Greg MacNamee, opening his eyes.

"Now I'm definitely going to beat you."

MacNamee sat on the side of the bed beside his freshly poured Earl Grey. Greta, his dark haired Polish wife moved in beside him and kissed him on the cheek.

"You couldn't beat an egg."

"I could..." said MacNamee while running his hand through his thick brown hair,

"I just prefer it when you do it."

Greta flaunted her firm twenty-eight year old body around the master bedroom, in between getting breakfast ready as MacNamee sat, yawning by the bed. MacNamee was six years older than his wife and still completely smitten by her. The couple often joked with and jibed each other, getting away with it because they knew how much they loved one another, even if they didn't say it often. Catching glare from the large window, the morning news on the flat screen television opposite the bed talked of a brutal murder.

"Did you hear about this?"

The slender Greta asked while wisping around in her black nightgown.

"Hear about what?" MacNamee asked through a yawn.

"The little boy who killed his step-mom, it's been all over the news."

"Of course I did. I hear he's soon to be our next patient. And she wasn't his step-mom; she was his dad's girlfriend."

"As if that makes a difference. How could he do that to her?"

"Maybe she kept waking him up." MacNamee said sipping his tea.

Greta frowned at her husband who was finally starting to wake up.

"Well you had better get ready Greg, you have to be at work soon and I'm pretty sure Crass will be calling you any moment."

"Yeah, as if he thought I don't watch the news."

"Look, your tea's beside you. I'm going to put the shower on."

Greta glided off into the en suite bathroom; their large townhouse provided high ceilings and lots of room to move. Heavily, Greg pulled his body up and stood up. He pushed a hand through his hair a second time, hoping a quick head rub would reset his memory of a long week at the hospital. No such luck. He noticed Greta come out the bathroom so he decided to over exaggerate his fatigue as he walked towards her.

"Shower's ready" stated Greta, ignoring his obscene yawn.

Putting his arms around his wife's waist he looked into her beautiful brown eyes.

"I don't deserve you. How did I get so lucky?"

Greta brushed him off of her.

"I needed a green card."

Feigning shock Greg ambled into the bathroom.

"I'm calling immigration when I get out of the shower! Better start packing!"

After starting the car in the garage MacNamee slowly pulled out. His blue two-seater sports car was his pride and joy. He knew that soon he would have to give it up if he wanted to start a family, but right now he had more urgent things on his mind. He thought about his words to Greta.

"I hear he's going to be our next patient."

While it was true he was one of the top Doctors at Hallcombes psychiatric hospital, and it was also true they had a lot of very disturbed patients, they were never usually this high profile (or young for that matter). The drive to work took around twenty minutes; time Greg used to build up an image of the boy the media had already dubbed "The Baby Killer."

The main corridor in the west wing of Hallcombes was very long, with many numbered doors adorning either side of it. The building had served many uses in the past before it's conversion into a mental facility including a palatial home and a military hospital. Effectively, what it was now was a hospital for those never expected to see normality again. Budget constraints coupled with a laggard economy stretching back many years meant the staff had to make do with aspects of the hospitals infrastructure politely classed as "dated." Head physician Doctor Benjamin Crass was fond of using the adage "If it isn't broken, then don't fix it" and so he justified cuts to surveillance, plumbing repairs and lighting as "keeping the old ways." This notion suited him just fine until something actually broke, then he would be bullish in pushing to get it repaired. A stubborn man with a penchant for clinical psychology; he found himself a worthy ally in the young Greg MacNamee, a thirty something up and comer who became Crass's right hand man and unofficial second in command. Other Doctors found this a great balance and the nurses liked it too, because it meant they had more opportunity to deal with the dashing young MacNamee.

The poor design of the building meant doctors were constantly moving in order to get to their destinations; they spent more time walking to and from rooms than they did actually dealing with patients. Standing at the nurse's station alongside the imposing figure of Doctor Crass, MacNamee reviewed the information on their new patient. He could feel the nurse's adoring stare but was used to ignoring it. He read the notes.

"Is he in 101?" asked MacNamee.

"Of course" Crass matter-of-factly retorts.

MacNamee did not like the fact the boy was in this room. Dr. Crass only looked after a very small amount of patients directly. His job was mainly as an advisor and boss to the Doctors below him. However every now and again he would take charge of a particularly troubled individual and, being a creature of habit, he always housed them in room 101. This made the occupant somewhat of a celebrity within the building, drawing unnecessary attention to them from staff, select outsiders and even patients who were "with it" enough to be aware of such things. Frankly speaking however, the latter number was so low it was almost non-existent. That said; MacNamee still did not like the fact. The boy was getting enough notoriety as it was; he didn't feel there was any need to add to it. Still, he said nothing to Crass, his objections had been noted in the past and his boss was aware of them already.

"Have you tried speaking to him yet?"

"Give me a chance Greg. He only arrived a couple of hours ago. Plus, I wanted to wait till you arrived, you know I don't handle children well."

Crass was right, he didn't handle children well. He had two of his own; both had grown up and left for college already. The word in the doctors lounge was that the successful parenting of the two Crass boys came not from Doctor Benjamin Crass but from his wife, a lady completely different to her husband in almost every aspect (except for her love for her other half). Although it was universally understood by those who knew them that they complemented each other well, Dr. Crass's stern personality was never praised too highly in parenting circles. The two men said little as they approached room 101. Meeting a new patient was always daunting, the doctors never knew what was going to happen in their first meeting and this day was no exception. Standing in front of the shiny brass plate marked "101" MacNamee noticed just how clean it was. Henry the janitor had been performing his job well. Crass's deep voice brought him back from his momentary loss of focus.

"After you" he said, unlocking the door and gesturing towards it.

MacNamee could have peered through the window before opening, but he didn't. He didn't want to appear frightened. Though deep down, he was. The fact that the person in this room was a notorious killer was bad enough, the fact that he was only a child was even worse. They had never housed such a person and to the best of MacNamee's knowledge he had never came across such a person either. This was boy nicknamed "The Baby Killer" and Greg MacNamee was about to meet him.

A scratchy meowing sound bounced off the walls in the Williams house ten times in a row. The joke present Andy bought for his wife all those years ago was still going strong. Andy stared blankly from his armchair; his eyes were red from a combination of a lack of sleep and excessive alcohol consumption. Minutes after the last meow, Andy shakily got up and took a stroll around the house; his eyes graced from room to room searching for someone to be there. The ticking cat's tail was hypnotic, quietly keeping Andy's pace like a morbid metronome. The family home had no family now; all the rooms had one thing in common: They were all empty. Andy didn't want to sleep in his room after the incident so the couch was where he ended up. Even if he wanted to, all his bedding had been stripped by CSI's and now the bed frame lay there, naked, a mausoleum of the memory of what happened. As if staring at it would reverse the past he stood there solemn, trying to piece together what went wrong. He tried to picture his family life before the incident; unable to think of any good memories before Beth's voice interrupted him; screaming inside his head over some trivial situation. Connor's face flashed in. It was sad, miserable.

"How could I not have seen it coming?"

His whole domestic life was immersed in anger and pain for years and he did nothing about it. As his heart rate rose, his emotions rushed to the surface.

"Fuck!"

Andy screamed and with a solid square right he attacked the bedroom door. Splintering the white timber, he bloodied his knuckles in the process. Standing, fighting for composure Andy's shallow breathing made it hard for him to get oxygen. The fist opened the clouds in his head, allowing clarity to shine through for just a moment. Interpreting it as best he could he headed down the stairs and snatched his car keys which were hanging on a push pin by the door. He needed to get out; he was suffocating in his own house. He convinced himself he was not running away from his responsibilities as a father, he genuinely felt he would be serving people better if he were out of the way. Andy pulled the door shut behind him, leaving the cat clicking away in the house alone.

Connor Williams looked up at the two Doctors standing before him. The older Doctor Crass stood in the doorway observing as the younger Doctor MacNamee pulled up a chair beside him. The boy's mind felt a little clearer than it was few days earlier. "Beth's passing"-as he called it-removed a weight, a weight that had dissolved itself and dissipated back into his subconscious until such time that it may be required again.

"Hello Connor..." said the younger Doctor in a low voice. "I'm Doctor Greg MacNamee, and this is Doctor Benjamin Crass. How are you feeling today?"

The high pitch of Connor's pre-pubescent voice only served to feed MacNamee's fear of how young the boy actually was. "Fine. How are you?"

Before MacNamee answered, his psychologist brain took note of the boy's tone, and how it didn't seem like he was aware of what he had done.

"I'm very well thank you."

Connor turned to Crass.

"And you?"

Crass had been studying the boy intently and almost stuttered when he was engaged by the youngster.

"I'm good, thank you for asking."

"Connor, do you know where you are?" MacNamee asked, smiling at Crass's reaction.

"Yes. I'm in hospital"

"Very good. But this is a special hospital; here we help people who have problems with their mental health. Myself and Doctor Crass here were your Doctors"

"I have two?"

"Yes, you happen to be a very lucky boy Connor. You have both of us to help you here."

Connor switched his glance back to Crass who stood by the door. Uncomfortable with the boys stare, he forced a smile and a nod. Connor just stared back at the awkward Doctor for a moment before looking back at the much warmer MacNamee.

"Connor?"

"Yes Greg?"

"Do you know why you were brought here?"

MacNamee's question was more for his knowledge of the boy's level of awareness than anything official.

"Yes" Connor looked down at the floor. "I did a bad thing."

Satisfied, MacNamee breathed easy.

"Yes son. Yes you did. But we're here to help you through it. I'm going to set you up with a colleague of ours, a Doctor Paul Frieda, he's a very nice man and he'll talk to you some more ok?"

MacNamee got up and put his chair back against the wall as Connor simply stared at the floor. MacNamee was walking out the door when he heard Connor say something, it was quiet and his brain had to replay it to make sure he heard it right. He was sure he heard Connor utter:

"It was fun though."

MacNamee stopped dead and turned around, trying to be friendly but not accusing.

"Did you say something Connor?"

Connor slowly turned and lifted his head to meet MacNamee's.

"My bad thing... I said; it was fun."

MacNamee held his breath and focused on composure. His eyes never left Connors. Later he would think about how he had misjudged the youngster, lost sight of the fact that although this was a child in age, the crime he had committed was purely monstrous. At the time though, his mind had no thoughts except composure. All he decided to say was:

"Dr. Frieda will talk to you."

Connors eyes followed MacNamee's as he left the room. When Crass turned the key in the lock he saw the shock in his young colleague's eyes.

"Try not to think about it."

"I can't not think about it Ben, he's so young."

"We have other children in here Greg, and we have had others in the past..."

"I know Ben but not like this" MacNamee interrupted "We've never had a kid who basically committed matricide in his own home."

"He's a very disturbed little boy Greg, nothing more. Let's get him in with Frieda; he's the expert on children here. He'll help the boy more than we can."

Walking away from the room, MacNamee couldn't help but glance over his shoulder at "101" getting further away. He wondered if he would ever know what was going on in Connor's head.

CHAPTER 10

Andy Williams approached the city limits. Driving far, he hoped, would quell some of his guilt. Still partially intoxicated from his all-night bender his driving was fast and erratic. He didn't stop to think that if a police car saw him he almost certainly would have been pulled over, and if so then he would have been spending at least a night behind bars. He just drove on, past the city limit sign, leaving, he hoped, all of his problems behind him.

In a small room cleverly concealed behind a one-way mirror the two doctors observed Connor's interaction with Doctor Frieda. Compared to the much larger room where Connor sat this one was dark and very functional. Crass was right, they did have other children in the hospital but they were not often permanent guests. Children with illnesses like autism or severe learning difficulties would come to the larger room to be treated by Frieda. MacNamee did not feel right here. He did not like the fact that children were tricked into feeling safe and comfortable while they were secretly being watched from the next room. However, this was one of Dr. Crass's generally praised initiatives, designed to allow the Doctors to observe the behavior of disturbed children while they themselves were completely at ease. This ease allowed the children to be able to talk openly without feeling the uncomfortable presence of eyes upon them. Connor sat, in a room surrounded by colorful toys. A selection, chosen by Doctors who had kids themselves in order to get away from the banality of the usual garbage toys you would normally find in GP's waiting rooms or low-brow pediatrics departments. Nothing here was second hand or broken beyond repair. Connor sat reading a book entitled "The Tastiest Squirrel" under the quiet observation of Doctor Paul Frieda. An expert in child psychology, Frieda knew the best way to open up a child was with patience. Noticing the rate Connor turned the pages he decided to open with a compliment.

"You're a very fast reader Connor; you must be a very bright boy."

With a flick Connor turned another page. He didn't acknowledge the doctor at all.

"I know that book, it's very good; I read it to my kids.

This comment did get Connor's attention and he looked up from his book.

"You have kids?"

"Yes" replied Frieda "I have a girl and a boy about your age."

"And you read them this?"

"We read it together yes. We read together often."

This comment drew anger from behind the mirror.

"Why is he lying about having kids?" MacNamee asked Crass sternly

"I don't know. To get the boy talking perhaps?"

"What do you think of the book?" asked Connor.

Frieda searched his memory banks. Despite the fact he lied about having children, he had read the book, in fact he had read all the books in the room just so he could talk to the kids about them.

"I liked it"

"I like it because it's a simple story" stated Connor.

"You like simple stories?"

"Things don't need to be complicated. Are you a good father?"

"Yes, I think so, I read to my kids every night."

"Does your wife not read to them? Or do they have a bad mother?"

"No, my kids have two good parents, my wife and I take it in turns to read to them."

Aware that this line of questioning was leading them off topic Frieda tried to change it.

"But let's get back to the book."

Connor had noticed that the doctor's story seemed to be changing. First they read together, then he read to them, then he and his wife took turns. His answers seemed to change to appease Connor.

"You don't wear a ring" Connor interjected as he looked at Frieda's hand.

Frieda cleverly tried to dodge the boy's probe with another lie.

"Oh, I must have left it at home. Now let's talk about the book."

"Do you enjoy lying to children Doctor Frieda?" Connor asked sternly.

"Pardon me?"

"I asked you if you enjoy lying to children."

"I don't know what you mean."

Behind the mirror MacNamee bit on his fist while Crass watched intently. Both knew this was a crucial breakthrough in Connor's treatment that Frieda may be about to mess up.

"Yes you do Paul. You're not married, and you don't have children."

"I don't know why you would think that Connor but I can assure you I am married. I must have taken my ring off when I was washing the dishes last night. I left it at home, I told you that."

Frieda tried to remain composed while he dug his lie in deeper.

"I don't think you did Paul."

Connor was looking right through him now.

"You see my Dad used to take me fishing, which meant we would spend hours on boats or wading in rivers. Before we left the house he would always take his wedding ring off to make sure it was safe. When he did there was always a tan mark due to the fact he almost always had it on, stopping the sunlight from getting to it. You don't have that mark, which means you don't have a wedding ring which means you are not married."

Frieda shifted uncomfortably in his seat, with no answer to give.

"And since you lied about being married I'm going to assume you lied about having children also. So I'm going to ask you again, do you enjoy lying to children?"

Half garbled words slipped out of Frieda's mouth. He was making no sense. Connor's shrewd observation had left him absolutely speechless.

"Well that's it isn't it!" yelled Crass from behind the mirror.

"Frieda has screwed it up, the boy won't talk now!"

Crass slammed Connor's files on the desk and walked out, followed by his younger colleague. Coursing up the hallway MacNamee knew to keep his distance for a moment until Crass vented his frustration.

"Idiot!"

Crass yelled uninterested in how many other staff could hear him.

"I'll have him disciplined for this! Why would he lie about having kids?"

"Come on now Ben you said it yourself, it was an ice breaker and how could he have known Connor was so perceptive. None of us knew."

"But that's why we use Paul Frieda Greg! To find this stuff out, so we don't make any rookie moves like that! But what the hell's the point in using him if he can't even hold a simple conversation with a ten year old without blowing it?"

MacNamee veered across the front of Crass and ushered him into his office. Storming up to the window Crass stared out at nothing in particular. The warm surroundings of MacNamee's office were calming to his senses. A plush mahogany desk with matching leather couches and an oak bookcase suggested this young Doctor had more taste than anyone would expect. Crass spied the Scotch decanter; however he knew better, they normally kept that for after hours.

"Look Ben, Connor is going to be with us a long time, this is just a temporary setback. Give Frieda a chance; he is good at what he does."

With a sigh, Crass relented.

"Of course you're right Greg. The youngster was probably exhausted too. We'll try again tomorrow"

Crass looked back at the decanter and felt he was allowed to give in to his temptation; after all he was the boss.

"How about a drop of that Scotch?"

CHAPTER 11

He pulled off the interstate only thirty minutes ago leaving no discernible trail. Stopping only once for gas he decided it would be best if as few people as possible spotted him. It was only dusk but already the neon signs on the outskirts of the town were starting to come on.

"Welcome to Staunton" the sign read.

Perhaps there was a message indicating population but Andy didn't notice. He only just saw the name. In fact there could have been a picture of Andy's deceased wife on the sign but he still wouldn't have noticed. The motels advertised their rivaling wares with gaudy green and blue signs with names like "Morning View" or "Pit Stop." Oddly enough the one with the most cars and therefore the most business was named "La Cookeracha." He paid attention to these motels as he wanted to stay in the quietest one which turned out to be the "Morning View." Having already driven past it, Andy waited for his chance. He swung the wheel and made a U turn to double back to the "Morning View Motel."

The door jingled as he entered the office. It seemed like it got darker, faster outside. The large glass window to the outside showed a practically empty parking lot with night creeping in fast. In the quiet of the office, the only noise seemed to be coming from a television in a living room behind the desk. A man laughed at America's Funniest Home Videos; Andy recognized the theme music from the days when he would watch re-runs of it with Martha. Andy dinged the bell and allowed the dull sound to work its summoning power. After a few moments a voice was heard before the throaty operator even appeared through the door.

"Room for one?" asked an overweight popcorn-muncher, still with kernels in the corner of her mouth.

As Andy accepted her assumption he wondered if it was butter on her cheeks or she was just that greasy.

"Well sir it's your lucky day." She spattered, firing out crispy chunks of popcorn in Andy's general direction.

The girl started off on a morbid store jingle with all the enthusiasm of a turkey at Christmas. Her numb voice did nothing to hide the tackiness of her speech.

"Here at the Morning View Motel chain, we're having a room fallout for fall only. In fact you will fall over when you hear our prices."

The girl paused.

"That will be $19.95 please."

With a delay the woman poked out her T-Rex arm to a confused Andy.

"You don't have to sell me anything. I already want to stay here."

"I need to say it, it's part of our marketing campaign."

Andy glanced over his shoulder to the empty parking lot.

"It's working" he said dryly and handed her a $20 bill in return for a key.

"Room 12" the girl said, ignorant to his jibe.

The darkness seemed to have closed in fast around him. Poorly maintained trees loomed over the building that housed the rooms, stretching out over the top like arms reaching out for him. His head down, tunnel vision guided him down the road to room 12. Without even bothering to look around the room he had rented, he dropped his coat and looked at the one thing he cared about; the bed. Having brought nothing with him, Andy had nothing to unpack. Leaving everything behind that reminded him of home meant leaving everything behind. Mentally wracked with exhaustion, Andy collapsed on the bed, his eyelids closed like vault doors. Face down he slept while the latch on the door swung behind him, he didn't care enough to lock it.

Two zombies watched television in the motel operators living area. Drivel drifted from the screen to their eyeballs, feeding gluttonous lethargy. As the end credits rolled up on another program, Amanda ordered her slovenly partner Kyle to get more snacks from the built in kitchen. As he rummaged through the cupboards, finding nothing right away, wrestling with a deathly fear that they could be snackless for the remainder of the evening, he was surprised to hear Amanda's first enthusiastic sounds of the night accompanying the local news anchor. He turned his meaty head round just in time to see a news report updating its viewers on "The Baby Killer" case in the city. Amanda spotted a picture of Andy, listed as "Father of Baby Killer" which was the reason for her gurgling with excitement.

"That's the guy I just served! Room 12!"

"The news anchor?" Kyle asked, generally uninterested in anything but snacks.

"No retard! The baby killer's father!"

"Fuck off."

"No, I'm serious. That's the guy! He's staying here.

"Well...so what?"

"So? So, I'm going to call Sandy, she's not going to believe this!"

CHAPTER 12

The sky around Hallcombes had broken up and it had turned into a clear crisp morning. MacNamee arrived earlier than usual today as he normally did with a new patient. Despite the fact he did not really want to be treating this particular patient, he couldn't change the fact that he was. So it was his duty to try and make the transition for the boy as easy as possible. He knew that being institutionalized was never easy for anyone; insane or not. MacNamee was certainly early today but no matter how early he got there he was never earlier than Crass. Studies say there are only a very small percentage of people who could function on less than four hours sleep a night and Crass was one of them. Crass normally arrived at work at 6am; he would have his paperwork completed by 6:45 daily while most didn't start their shifts till around 9. MacNamee found this quite extraordinary really. The man was never seen with a coffee in his hand either; quite often a glass of water was all he needed to stay alert in the morning. Not MacNamee though. Regardless of whether or not he really needed it, he certainly enjoyed his early morning coffee stop. "Triple Tall Americano with vanilla" was his tipple, which he happened to be savoring on his way to meet up with Crass in his office. Two knocks today, that's all Crass was getting. MacNamee's passive resentment towards the fact Crass always beat him to work took a luke warm form today. The way Crass yelled "Enter" always reminded MacNamee of Star Trek, the way Captain Picard had yelled it many times. This always made MacNamee smile as he entered the room to the busy old doctor. In many respects, MacNamee thought Crass was somewhat like Captain Picard, minus the baldness. They were both distinguished, older gentleman with a lot of responsibility. They commanded respect wherever they went and had rugged, intimidating demeanors. However MacNamee would never raise the comparison, as Crass did not enjoy watching a lot of television, much less science fiction.

"Good morning Doctor"

MacNamee spouted as he pulled up a chair opposite Crass.

"Good morning Greg. Americano?"

MacNamee lifted his cup to him in acknowledgement.

"You'll give yourself high blood pressure"

MacNamee didn't respond to the comment, thankful the old man didn't know there was an extra shot of espresso in there.

"How has your morning been so far?"

Organizing some papers Crass responded.

"I called Frieda."

MacNamee almost choked on his coffee.

"You called Frieda? Why?"

"I wanted to talk to about yesterday"

"It's six-thirty in the morning Ben. Couldn't it have waited until later, he isn't due in till nine."

"What difference does the time make, you and I are here...and no, it couldn't"

MacNamee conceded, he had said his piece. He simply smiled. He was sure Frieda would not have enjoyed being woken up by Crass, but he would have liked to have seen his face when he got the call.

"So?"

"So what?" replied Crass

"Well, aren't you going to tell me about the call?"

"It's simple really, I want Connor to open up. And, after yesterday, I didn't want our future chances dashed. So I asked our resident expert on the best way to allow the child to feel more at ease here. He suggested toys"

"What kind of toys?"

"His toys, Connor's toys, the ones he kept in his room at home. It's no hassle, it's not like they were evidence. I already called the police station, they're bringing them over later this morning."

MacNamee looked at his mentor in admiration.

"You don't waste any time do you"

A wry smile crossed Crass's face.

"Come on Greg, you know me better than that."

The two Doctors strolled down the long corridor.

"Now..." started Crass

I don't know if he'll be coming personally, but our contact for the boy at the station is a Sergeant Jacobs. He was the officer in charge of the case, dealt with Connor and the father too; it was him I talked to on the phone. You might want to remember that, it could come in handy."

"Sergeant Jacobs, got it."

"Ok, now let's get some breakfast shall we?"

The two men headed off to the canteen for a quick bite.

Outside the city, in the little town of Staunton, Andy Williams slept soundly, the pillow rose slightly as his great snores sucked the cloth towards his mouth. Beside him, the unlocked door belied a bad habit of his. In times of haste or fatigue he never got the hang of closing doors properly. This bad habit was about to lead to the expeditious discovery of his disappearance. Right now, in the city, a police officer was approaching his door in midst of requisitioning some toys for Andy's institutionalized son. One notoriously heavy policeman's knock on the wooden door sent it ajar. Foul play was on the cop's mind as he drew his sidearm and entered the house.

"Mr. Williams?"

But the place was empty. Calling in the situation from the hallway, the cop searched the house to no avail. It remained empty.

Crass and MacNamee were finishing up their breakfast while chatting slowly. They did not usually sit in the canteen for so long but after yesterday's debacle with Connor they wanted to make sure they had their plan worked out for the day ahead. A call from the PA system interrupted them.

"Paging Doctor Crass. Doctor Crass please report to your office. Thank you"

Crass looked at MacNamee.

"My office? Why would I need to report there?"

"Come, on, let's go see."

The hospital was starting to bustle as staff came and went for their breakfast, filling up the halls as they walked between patient's rooms. As Crass entered his office, he was greeted by two men; both in suits, but both Doctors could tell they were cops right away.

"Are you Doctor Crass?"

"Yes I am"

"I'm Sergeant Jacobs this is Detective Hunt, we brought over the toys you requested."

"Thanks very much Sergeant."

Crass stood for a moment looking at the gritty sergeant standing next to a comparatively clean looking officer. He got the feeling there was something else or the sergeant wouldn't be here.

"Surely it doesn't take two cops to deliver a bag of toys."

"Very shrewd Doctor" Jacobs replied with a hint of sarcasm.

Ok Hunt, go wait in the car."

Hunt obliged.

Crass moved round the desk and sat in his chair, thus asserting himself as dominant while MacNamee sat on the back of the couch, thus asserting himself otherwise.

"Sergeant, this is Doctor Greg MacNamee, the other leading Doctor attached to Connor Williams."

The two men shook hands and Jacobs sat down opposite Crass.

"So what can I do for you Sergeant? I assume you didn't come down here for the food, because I assure you, it isn't up to much."

Jacobs's chuckled.

"No, I didn't come here for the food. Has Andy Williams been in to see his son since he was admitted?"

"No, I don't believe he has been. Why?"

"He's gone missing."

Both Doctors looked surprised.

"Detective Hunt there went round to the house a little while ago to pick up the toys and he was gone, car too, door was wide open."

"Perhaps he went out, for groceries or something" said MacNamee

"I doubt it. A neighbor was leaving for work, told Hunt he saw him leave yesterday. Said he ran out the door looking flustered."

"Well, I would probably be flustered too, under the circumstances" stated Crass.

Jacobs put his hands up, showing Crass his palms.

"Look, I know, I would be too but I'm not here to pass judgment, just to inform. I came over here straight away, I thought since you were the ones looking after the boy, you should be the ones to tell him his father isn't coming to see him."

"We don't know that yet sergeant. It would be unwise to tell the boy anything until we have facts to back it up!" disputed Crass

"Look Doc, I interviewed Andy Williams, the guy was a time bomb. His emotions were all over the place. I called his work on the way over here, he didn't show up yesterday or today and they haven't heard from him."

"Would he be expected to go into work after happened?" asked MacNamee

"Come on guys" reasoned Jacobs, "I'm not the bad guy here. It seems pretty clear to me he's fled. Call it a hunch mixed in with, you know, facts!"

"Are you going to look for him?" Crass asked

"Why would we? He's done nothing wrong. His only child has been passed over to state custody and he was already cleared of involvement in his girlfriend's death, there's nothing more we can do, except tell the boy."

"I don't think that would be wise" said Crass "the boy is already in a fragile state."

"Ok" relented Jacobs "you're the Doctors, I'm just a humble cop but I just think it will be worse for him to keep expecting a visit that never comes. It might be better if you get the bad news out the way quick, like pulling off a band aid!"

Crass looked at Jacobs sternly.

"You will forgive me Sergeant if I don't defer to your medical expertise when I think about comparing a child's mental wellbeing with 'pulling off a band aid'"

Jacobs sighed.

"Like I said, you're the Doctors; I'll leave it up to you, that's just my two cents."

Jacobs got up.

"I had Hunt inventory all the toys so you'll have a note for your records"

He pulled a note out his pocket and put it on the table.

"I'll see myself out. You know where to reach me if you need to. Good luck gents"

Jacobs headed out the office door leaving Crass and MacNamee to ponder their next move, neither one of them said goodbye to the sergeant as he left.

Connor lay awake as the lock in his door snapped open. The large orderly entered with a large black garbage back in hand. Tim could barely make eye contact with the youngster as he dropped off the bag and headed briskly back towards the exit. When he had gone and the lock snapped behind him Connor got up to rummage through his bag. They were all there. Bear, the Three Dummies, his soldiers, his toy dog, Betsy and Basket. Seeing Basket made him the happiest.  
After giving the clown a hug the clown he put him aside while he propped up all his dolls along the wall so they could watch him sleep. Connor used to sleep soundly knowing he was under the watchful gaze of his "friends". MacNamee peered in through the window sneakily, watching the boy arrange his toys in such a way.

"Thanks Tim" MacNamee whispered.

"No problem Doc"

Tim replied just before he headed off down the corridor.

"Ok, we'll give it a couple of minutes and then go in" said Crass.

MacNamee nodded in agreement as he watched Connor finish lining them all up. Minutes later MacNamee knocked on the door and then unlocked it. Knocking was an underestimated technique in his books. By doing so he was trying to establish that "room 101" was Connor's own room where he could be safe. Entering the room MacNamee tried to be cheery, despite his trepidation.

"Hey Connor. How's my little guy doing today?"

Connor didn't respond. Crass watched from the doorway as MacNamee pulled up a chair and sat down beside the boy.

"Not talking much today eh?"

Connor sat with his back to him; he was sorting the uniform on the large ventriloquist dummy meticulously. With his hand round the back, he was trying to tuck the dummies shirt into its trousers.

"Not going to talk to me today? Even after I got you your toys?"

MacNamee watched the boy try to tuck in the shirt.

"Why don't you turn it around Connor? It might be easier to..."

The dummies head jerked to face MacNamee, eyes fixed on his. As if shot, MacNamee pushed back on his chair in fright. Connor didn't flinch even when a high pitched voice said loudly.

"That's the thing about ventriloquist dummies, they move so smoothly you would almost think they were real."

Connor used his hand to make the dummies mouth open and close, speaking words like they were coming from the dummy's mouth itself.

"Hello Greg, I'm Dummyface. Thanks for bringing me to Connor, but he still doesn't want to talk to you. He might talk to Paul though. That is, if he's stopped lying already, ha ha ha."

Connor's screechy impersonation of what the dummy might sound like gave MacNamee a shiver down his spine. The doctor hated this feeling because he was not a coward. He did not normally frighten so easily but something about this boy gave him the creeps.

"Connor, I do need to talk to you."

MacNamee spoke gently

"It's about your dad."

Connor stopped messing around but didn't turn around.

"What about my dad?"

The boy asked in his regular voice.

"I'm sorry son, but he won't be coming to see you for a while. A long while."

MacNamee and Crass had decided to take the sergeant's advice and tell Connor. At the end of the day if he was wrong then it could only turn out good for Connor but they weren't willing to take the chance. The doctors also decided on omitting the fact that nobody knew where Andy Williams was, thinking it would be easier on the boy. Connor was motionless for a time. With his back to MacNamee he sat holding the dummy, not uttering a word.

"Connor?"

Connor didn't respond.

"Connor, did you understand what I said?"

Suddenly the screechy voice was back, Connor made its mouth move again.

"Of course he understands what you said! Whad'ya you think he is a dummy?"

"Look son I know it's hard but we're here for you, all of us, we're going to help you get better!"

"What if he doesn't want to get better?" Came the screechy voice "What if I think he's fine the way he is?"

"I'd like to talk to Connor please dummy."

"That's Mr. Dummy to you doc!"

MacNamee smiled out of a combination of frustration and nervousness.

"Ok Mr. Dummy you and Connor can talk to Dr. Frieda then if you want. I promise he won't lie to you anymore. He only did so because he wanted to talk to you."

"Beautiful words doc," the shrill voice rung out dryly.

With a smile MacNamee got up and turned to walk out. It was then when he heard it, a snake-like hiss whispering his name.

"MacNamee!"

The doctor turned around sharply, staring at Connor with the Dummy staring straight at him.

"Connor...who said that?"

Without turning round Connor shrugged his shoulders.

"Crass? Did you hear that?" MacNamee whispered.

"It was the boy Greg. He's just playing with you."

"But it didn't sound like him."

Turning to leave a second time he heard it again.

"MacNamee!"

This time MacNamee closed and locked the door behind him without turning round. Before he set off down the hallway he had a quick look back through the window, instantly wishing he hadn't. Connor still had his back to them but all the dolls were staring at MacNamee.

CHAPTER 13

Andy slowly woke; the motel room was cold around him. Heat regulation didn't operate here, just manual instruments to be turned on at the user's convenience. Sitting up on the side of the bed Andy couldn't help notice the room was bigger than it seemed last night. Not that he could remember much from last night. A few steps into the bathroom and he was splashing ice cold water on his face from the tap. No point in showering, he never brought any clean clothes. The water woke him up fast. The harsh cold liquid shot his brain into action like paddles on a defibrillator. The mirror above the sink provided a sorry sight: a broken man, miserable looking in sobriety. Andy never particularly enjoyed sobriety and he especially didn't enjoy it the last few days. The tile floor was cold underneath his feet despite the fact it was not especially cold outside. The room was getting little sunlight in as the drapes were shut, so even the stained mahogany carpet felt cool to the touch. After checking his watch Andy saw the afternoon was wearing on and needed little excuse to leave sobriety far behind him. Crossing the once rich colored carpet he picked up his light brown jacket. Flicking up his collar and stuffing his hands deep into his pockets Andy set out across the car park. There would be a bar within walking distance he thought; Staunton wasn't that big of a place. Andy unintentionally looked more conspicuous as he headed out of his room like a celebrity in hiding. No sooner had he closed (but not locked) the door behind him, Amanda's gerbil like eyes spotted his movements. She had been watching the parking lot for some time now and she was salivating over the thought of being the first to pass on a little tidbit of information to anyone who would listen. Hungrily watching the direction he was moving in she scampered out into the parking lot for a better look. As she watched Andy cross the street and disappear through the doors of Earl's bar her already over worked heart raced. She had some juicy gossip at last. Waddling hastily back in to the office she used her tiny chipolata like fingers to dial up a friend. And, starting with her rhetorical "Guess what?" intro, Andy was anonymous in Staunton no longer.

A quick measure of Kentucky's finest woke his brain up faster than the cold water did, at least initially. The second: a large one over rocks had the opposite effect. Although feeling the familiar pang of numbness which came from his usual tipple he wasn't drunk yet. His brain just knew what was coming and prepared itself accordingly. Years of drinking to excess had created a well prepared mind for it. Sitting at the bar, Andy's view was only of the rows of bottles in front of him and that was the way he liked it. With a drink in his hand and a meaningless view ahead of him he was amazed at how quickly he could ignore all his troubles. Slowly, the rocks in his drink melted; the top one shrunk in size and tumbled down beside the others. The familiar jingling of cubes in the glass provided a comforting soundtrack to his drinking. They never had enough time to melted fully however, just enough to provide a little more water to the bourbon, giving Andy the illusion that it tasted better the more he drank it. As he sipped, quiet and alone, he thought about his son and if he did the right thing leaving town.

In the city Connor was back in the colorful, toy filled room with Doctor Frieda. Desperate to try and re-establish a connection with the boy Frieda attempted to speak to him again. Connor sat with another book in front of him, this time he read a novel more appropriate for older teens as if "The Tastiest Squirrel" was simply a book he read to get Frieda to believe he was less intelligent than he really was.

"Connor, I'll understand if you don't want to talk to me. But I am sorry about what happened yesterday."

"Why did you feel it was ok to lie to me?" Connor asked somberly as he placed the book face down.

"It was just a mistake. I do have nephews and nieces I read to, I just don't have kids of my own."

"Well then you should have just said that. Would your nephew and niece be happy you lied to them?"

"No, they wouldn't."

"But you did it to me? I that because I'm not as important to you as they are?"

"No of course not Connor, it's just..."

"It's just that I'm a patient, not a real person."

From behind the glass MacNamee shook his head.

"He's playing with him" he said quietly as Crass nodded in agreement.

Connor picked his book back up and started reading.

"Connor..."

Frieda started

"...Don't think that way; we all care about you a lot here, me especially. We want to help you get better."

"Funny, I've been hearing that a lot today."

Connor said from behind his book.

"It's true Connor, you can trust us. You can trust me."

Connor reluctantly put the book back down again. He acted overly suspicious, like a mouse creeping from the pantry trying to avoid a cat.

"I can?" he asked timidly.

"Yes, you can."

"Well I guess I must be able to. I mean, you got my toys for me didn't you?

"Yes, I did" Frieda said boldly.

From the other side of the glass MacNamee's eye's widened and he breathed heavily:

"Oh shit!"

"It was you wasn't it?' Connor's eyes focused in on Frieda "It was you who got them for me?"

"Yes I did Connor. I got them all sorted out for you."

"Well you see; there's another problem."

"Doctor Greg told me he got the toys for me. Him! Not you! Are you lying to me again?"

Flustered, Frieda tried his best to answer.

"No, I'm not lying to you."

"Ah then Greg is a liar too then?"

"Well no...you see I told him to get them for you."

Connor sat with the composure and patience of a metronome.

"Paul, you're getting nervous. You people are no good at telling the truth around here. How do you expect me to trust you if everyone keeps giving me reasons not to?"

"This kid is unbelievable!" blurted Crass "He's making fools out of us! Isn't he supposed to be the sick one?"

MacNamee stood beside his mentor trying to compose himself. He looked hard at the older doctor before deciding to raise a suggestion.

"We need to give him something to relax him. I recommend Valium."

"You want to drug the child just to get a competitive advantage over him? Greg that's not how we do it here, we talk first."

"Ben, with all due respect I am aware of procedure but right now talking isn't getting us anywhere. He's playing with us!"

Crass looked at MacNamee studiously.

"Well what's the rush? The boy will be with us for a long while. It's not like he needs to give evidence in some ongoing investigation."

MacNamee sighed and thought about his response for a long moment.

"I'm worried that the longer he believes he is smarter than us the less likely it is he will open up to us. If he gets it in his head that we can't be trusted then that's it. There will be no chance of us ever helping him."

"And you believe drugs are the best course of action?"

Crass trusted his young colleagues opinion but he wanted to make sure he had the right thought process before approving any course of action.

"I think Connor will talk to Frieda, I think he wants to. But he is way too tense. You know how hard it is when patients first get here. I suggest we give him something before lights out; that way he'll get a good night's sleep and maybe we'll have an easier time with him tomorrow."

Crass looked back into the room. Connor sat back reading his book while Frieda stared at him. Crass didn't like Frieda, neither did he respect him but he knew he needed him. The man had screwed up two pivotal interviews almost irreparably and Crass knew this wasn't the first time. Frieda had many qualifications but Crass simply felt he lacked common sense and the old man found that fact very hard to tolerate.

"Ok Greg, let's do it your way. We'll see how he is in the morning then we'll maybe get him back in that room. But I'm telling you now I'm going ahead with this against my better judgment. I just hope you're sure about what you are doing."

MacNamee sighed and looked in at Connor thoughtfully.

"I hope so too Ben. I hope so too."

CHAPTER 14

Andy sipped on another bourbon. He hadn't bothered to count how many he had had already. The demon known as denial taught him many tricks long ago and this was one of them. His limit was set by himself alone and right now his thoughts were of nothing; his vision was blurry and he was feeling no pain whatsoever, just the way he liked it. The bar was fairly quiet on this early evening but as time wore on a few local patrons began shooting pool and the barflies sporadically swarmed, moving from table to bar back to table. The shades from neon beer advertisements become more apparent as natural light dwindled outside. A bluish tinge encapsulated Andy's drink putting a sparkle on ice cubes slowly melting. Too many drinks afforded Andy the ignorance of missing the mood change in the bar as a group entered with intent in their eyes.

"Is that him?"

The words barely audible with Andy's mind situated somewhere between oblivion and inebriation.

"I don't know I can't see his face" came the female response.

"Hey! Buddy!"

The call, directed at Andy, might as well have been directed at the glass for the response it received.

"Hey! Buddy!"

This time the call, more forceful and accompanied by a treble tap on the back drew a response, albeit a sluggish one. Turning around slowly, Andy was confronted by a half dozen young men and women led by a large twenty-something attempting to provoke him. The broad-shouldered man looked over his shoulder to the girl behind him. His faux-hawk styled hair implied boyishness but his demeanor suggested otherwise.

"This the guy you were talking about Sandy?"

Sandy, a pretty, but mouthy blonde behind him answered.

"Yeah Tony, that's the guy."

Tony sized Andy up.

"I read about you in the paper. You're the guy with the psycho kid aint ya? The 'Baby Killer?'"

Andy tried his best to look annoyed but it didn't work. The alcohol in his blood allowed him only partial control of his facial muscles so instead he managed a weird grimace.

"Look" he slurred "I don't want any hassle here, I just came in for a drink."

"Looks like you came in for more than one!" commented Jimmy, one of Tony's shorter friends behind him.

Fuelled by his friend's comment Tony continued his harassment.

"What's the plan tonight then? Going to get all liquored up and gonna cause some trouble here? Maybe a couple of dead bodies show up tomorrow too eh? I read that bodies tend to follow you. I read about your girlfriend and your wife. Maybe you had a little hand in that eh?"

Andy was clearly annoyed but, even in his stupor he knew when he was outgunned and decided not to retaliate.

"What do you want?"

Andy's words poured from a mouth surrounded by lazy muscles. Stepping forward like bravado on legs Tony laid down his law.

"We want you to leave!"

This demand bothered Andy as he had just bought another drink before the group showed up and had no intention of leaving it unfinished.

"I'm not leaving till I finish my bourbon, now piss off!"

Andy swiveled round in his chair, turning his back on Tony. With a chuckle, Tony looked at the floor.

"Maybe you didn't understand."

Grabbing Andy's shoulders he yanked him hard to the floor, sending a column of ice cubes teen feet across the room. Pain shot through the back of Andy's head as he hit the ground. Luckily for Andy he was too drunk to really feel it. Taking him by the collar despite the bartender's protests Tony easily dragged the smaller Andy across the floor towards the door as patrons hurriedly scattered from their path. With a boot Tony kicked open the door and tossed Andy outside on the sidewalk.

"Ok, your motel is across the street old man. Pack up your shit and head on out."

Andy used a nearby car as a rest and pulled himself to his feet; at this point not caring who knew who he was. He wasn't mad he was bothered during a nice quiet evening. He wasn't even annoyed about the fact he was pulled off his stool. Like any true alcoholic he was outraged he was forced to stop drinking and even worse than that, Tony knocked it out of his hand, wasting perfectly good liquor. It was this outrage that caused Andy to make his first real mistake of the night. Tony was busy joking about the feebleness of Andy to his pals when he was caught off guard. Andy lunged in and landed a square right to his chin, reminiscent of the one he used to crack the wood on his bedroom door. Off balance, Tony stumbled over. This would have been a good start to the fight for Andy but unfortunately for him, his drunken state caused him to lose his balance too. Falling into to the arms of his unsuspecting friends Tony was incensed. The air was still and warm when the fight began, few cars drove past this road this night. Tony's first strike in retaliation was an uppercut to the jaw of the stumbling Andy, causing him to bite down hard on his own tongue; sending him reeling into a parked car. The alarm on the car wailed out and caused a couple of patrons to come out to see what was going on. The rest of them were used to Tony's scrapping and did their best to ignore it. One of Tony's other friends, Brian, ushered the curious patrons back inside where he kept them for the remainder. Unable to see what was happening the people inside could only listen to the blows which rung out, mixed in with grunts from the two men. Andy's tongue was numb but he kept on going. The adrenaline/alcohol blend coursing through his body prevented him from feeling pain. He may have been exceedingly passive when it came to women but Andy did know how to fight. Andy grew up in a small town like this and he was involved in his fair share of scraps. He was angry now and wanted to end this one quickly. Leaning on the car he deliberately wobbled, trying to feign he was feebler than he was, while his hand reached into his pocket and took his motel key. Placing the sharp silver colored door key between his knuckles he made a fist with it, using his fingers to pull the metal tight against his palm.

"You just couldn't stay down could you old man?

Tony sneered as Andy wobbled around.

"Well this time I'll put you down!"

Tony stepped towards him. Believing him to be defenseless he tried to punch Andy with his entire two hundred pounds, but at the last second Andy dodged one step to the side and moved in, striking Tony hard with his keyed fist. Striking Tony's cheek and dragging it downwards, the key tore down Tony's face like a zipper on jeans, getting lodged there temporarily. He let the key go and staggered backwards, allowing the bully to back off reeling in pain. Andy limped back towards the parked cars while spitting blood from his bitten tongue. Tony's friends watched in shock as he pulled the key from his cheek and threw it to the ground, blood spurting out profusely. The sudden sight of Andy standing before him enraged him like it never had before. What started out as a simple scrap was now so much more. Andy had raised the stakes. With a momentous roar Tony charged like a bull, thrusting a big shoulder into the older man's gut and bringing him down. Now on top, he landed strike after strike to his face while the blood from Tony's face splashed all over Andy's. It was only after the twelfth or thirteenth punch that Tony's friends managed to haul him off. It took some time for Tony to get to a level could calm that he could finally feel the pain in his face but when he did he felt it. Screaming, lashing out, all the while holding his cheek as tight as he could Tony yelled every profanity you could imagine as his hand turned crimson.

The fourth man present in this group of four men and two women never had anything to do with the brawling. He was the joker of the bunch, not the fighter. He was the instigator; his comments about others while he and Tony drank together usually lead to those others being set upon by Tony in the near future. The man was Matthew. Matthew ran over to check on Andy as the others stayed with Tony to make sure he didn't go back for more. Daylight had now completely gone, only the streetlamps remained to illuminate Andy's limp body. The last of the bourbon had worked its way through his system, making sure he felt no pain at all.

"I can't feel his pulse!

Matthew cried frantically.

"I think you fucking killed him Tony!"

Trying to justify his actions, Tony called back.

"He cut me open! He cut me open with a fucking key!"

A young bartender named Billy came out (now that Jimmy had stopped blocking the door) to check on the man, now lying, staring at the stars from the sidewalk.

"What did you guys do? Earl! Call an ambulance!"

"It was self-defense Billy!" Sneered Tony; pressing his face against his own shoulder. "He attacked me!"

"Bullshit!" Billy muttered as he tried in vain to help Andy.

Raising his head off the concrete, Billy had no idea what he was doing. He didn't know if that would help at all, but he felt better knowing he tried.

"I tell you this Tony." Billy yelled. "You're damn lucky your uncle's the Sheriff!"

As Tony sat on the sidewalk, applying pressure to his wound, he heard sirens in the background and smiled. Yes, he was lucky his uncle was the Sheriff. But he knew that already.

CHAPTER 15

The Sheriff's cruiser pulled up outside Earl's. The call was placed directly to the station but Oates knew he should be the one to respond. All eyes on the street watched the cruiser as Sheriff Oates and Deputy Lynch got out. The EMT was dressing Tony's wound in the back of the ambulance when Oates appeared in front of him, staring at him through aviators, which he only very recently had no use for. In the background, the coroner was already on scene, closing the bag on Andy Williams. Tony was unable to meet eyes with his uncle; instead he stared at his polished shoes. Oates removed his beige tinted glasses and polished them on his shirt. His eyes were fiery but focused.

"Who's your friend?" Oates asked, pointing his chin towards the body bag in the ambulance.

"Look Unc it was self-def..."

"I never asked you what happened!" Oates snapped. "I asked you who he was."

Oates' contempt for his nephew grew stronger every day. If his brother hadn't died and left Tony in his care, he would have washed his hands of him years earlier.

"Andy Williams. The guy on the news. His son killed his girlfriend in the city"

"You mean the kid that's been all over the news for murder? This is his father?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's great isn't it? Do you realize what's going to happen now? The press are going to swarm down here looking info on this little incident. What am I going to tell them eh? It just happened? He just died?"

"It was self-defense Sheriff" repeated Tony quietly.

"You know what son, just shut your mouth!"

Oates' blood boiled. Blood was the only reason he put up with him.

"If those words came from anyone else I might believe them, but from you? I've a good mind to give you a taste of my baton."

Despite Tony's bullying nature he was very intimidated by his uncle. Oates could beat him to a pulp if he wanted to but even though Tony was pretty sure that wouldn't happen, the threat was enough to keep him in check.

"So what, you just came down to Earl's so you could pick on this man? Is that it? And don't you dare try and tell me he started it!"

"The guy was dangerous! We had to do something before he someone got killed!"

"Boy, are you retarded? Someone did get killed. You damn well killed him!"

"Better than one of us."

"So let me see if I got this straight...Concerned for the welfare of our fair town, you came down to the bar tonight along with your jerk-off friends so you could 'protect' us? Is that it? You weren't just looking for trouble like always? Like you have been all your god-damned life?"

"No sir." Tony said quietly

"No sir what?

Oates got even more aggravated.

"No sir you weren't protecting us or no sir you weren't looking for a fight?"

Tony didn't speak; he knew his words wouldn't do any good right now.

"What? Come on tough guy speak up!"

The toot of a car horn interrupted Oates and he turned around. With an angry sigh he wondered how this car got here so quickly. He knew this was going to be more bad news.

"Hello Mayor." said Oates half-heartedly as he greeted the man inside the dark Sedan.

"Sheriff, I came as soon as I heard!"

"Well Hugh, you must have heard pretty quickly because I just got here myself."

"I don't think I need to tell you how quickly news travels in Staunton Sheriff. But since you asked, my cousin is in there, he called me. He told me Tony killed a guy, is that true?"

"As far as I can tell it was self-defense" Oates lied.

Oates would rather not involve the mayor in this. Not only did he not feel it was any of his concern, Mayor Shannahan was more interested in town-revenue than townspeople. Oates knew he was most likely here to figure out how bad the murder would be for the image of the town.

"Who was it Sheriff? Someone local? It wasn't one of the boys on the football team was it?"

...And Oates was correct. The high school football team were the state champions and Shannahan knew their games always brought business into the town. Portly and grey, Shannahan studied Oates' face with ferret-like intensity.

"No Hugh, it was an out-of-towner."

"Oh thank Jesus"

The Mayor's body showed an overpowering relief.

"I wouldn't thank Jesus just yet mayor. It turned out this particular out-of-towner was kind of famous, or rather infamous."

"Who is it?"

Shannahan asked as he ushered the Sheriff to a quieter part of the street as if the town didn't already know.

"I'm sure you've been watching the news this past week. The little boy in the city; the one who killed his dad's girlfriend."

"Yeah I saw it. What about him?"

"It was the father."

"Christ! The media will be all over this."

Silence passed for a long moment as both men pondered what to do next.

"You're going to have to take care of this Sheriff."

Oates looked at Shannahan, realizing again just how terrible of a person he was. He decided to be honest, hoping the truth would permit some humanity to escape.

"Look Hugh, I don't know what's going on yet. Tony said it was self-defense but I don't believe him. I think it was worse than that."

"What? Murder?"

Oates nodded.

"No! We can't have that!"

Oates thought he hit a nerve with the word murder. He believed Shannahan was going to support him until the he spoke again.

"Say it was self-defense."

"What?"

"Or better yet, say it was an accident!"

"Better yet? Hugh, this man's been beaten to death! By my own nephew! How can I say it was an accident?"

"Well I don't know. You're the Sheriff, make it happen!"

"You're joking right?"

"Do I sound like I'm joking? Look Stacey..."

Oates flinched angrily when Shannahan used his first name.

"...you've lived in this town your whole life; you know how much we rely on tourism. Festivals and events are the kind of things that attract people and their money to our little town. Staunton has a reputation state wide as a family friendly place. But what do you think will happen when the news reporters and camera crews swarm in here and find out about this? They already nicknamed the kid 'The Baby Killer' for Christ's sake, what do you think they would nickname us? Now, if it was just a tragic accident say, he got hit by a car or something...now that we could live with. Who knows, it might even be good for us, maybe put us on the map a little."

"No Hugh I can't do that. You might think it's ok to cover up a murder but I don't, it's not gonna happen."

"Ok fine, don't sweep it under the rug. Leave it out for the whole fucking world to see. Let your nephew get the needle for this, cos that's what they do with convicted killers here Stacey. They get the needle. What would your brother think of that?"

Oates lost his temper and pushed Shannahan up against the wall.

"You don't get to talk about my brother like you knew him. You didn't. But I know you, you're a small man and a coward. You don't care about people. You're only interested in lining your greasy fucking pockets!"

"Look, Sheriff, even if that were true, I know you care about people and I know you want what's best for Tony. A murder conviction isn't what's best for him."

Oates relaxed his grip as Shannahan continued.

"Those friends of his don't want to go down as accessories so you'll have no problem convincing them to co-operate. It'll be so easy."

Oates was conflicted. Shannahan was a coward but he was right. Tony had got away with a lot in the past thanks to his family connections but this was different. Oates was convinced Tony would get away with murder in the second degree, avoiding the needle, but that still meant many years in prison. Oates had never recorded Tony's previous brawls officially but he had punished him privately. He could turn a blind eye to minor assaults. But murder? He had sworn to his brother he would protect Tony from all harms including himself but he knew this was going too far. Oates was guilty of the odd assault or "police brutality" as it was commonly known. He believed hitting the odd troublemaker here and there enforced his position as Sheriff, and thus enforcing the rule of law. It was just a shame he could not keep his own nephew from committing acts of violence whenever he pleased.

"You know what you have to do Stacey.

Shannahan said, content he had gotten through to him.

"I'll see you later."

Oates didn't respond as he turned and faced his nephew. The body still lingered in the back of the coroner's wagon like a physical representation of responsibility but the Sheriff could not figure out which of his responsibilities it represented. Was it to his family or to his oath to the law? As he walked down the street toward his nephew-sitting patiently in the ambulance-his thoughts raced. What would his subordinates think if he asked them to falsify a report? What would his brother think if he let his only son rot in jail for the rest of his life? As he stood in front of the bully that was Tony Oates-his own flesh and blood-he knew exactly what he had to do.

CHAPTER 16

Doctor Greg MacNamee was not exclusively a creature of habit, though he was when it came to certain things. He loved waking up to his cups of tea in the morning, delivered to him by his lovely wife Greta. But that didn't mean he would drink the same tea day in and day out. Some people class habitual behavior as boring but not MacNamee. He enjoyed having the same coffee every day on his way to work just the same as he enjoyed sleeping with the same woman every night. Still half asleep in bed he was brought to his senses by that familiar clicking sound as the tea cup landed on the bedside table, accompanied by a delightful odor. The aroma of raspberry and elderflower was a tantalizing combination, fruity yet earthy at the same time.

"How did you know I would want that this morning?" MacNamee asked with his eyes closed.

"Because it's Thursday" Greta retorted.

"Am I really that predictable?" he asked, his voice groaning while waking.

"No, you're not predictable." Greta reassured and then continued. "Now come on, it's your usual time to get up. I've made you your usual breakfast and pressed your usual shirt. Your usual pants are hanging on the door and I've already checked the traffic reports. Your usual route to work is clear."

"I don't remember you usually being this hilarious." MacNamee responded dryly, still lying in bed.

"Lies! Come on now, get up and I'll turn on your usual news program."

"This is my excited face" quipped MacNamee unflinching.

Greta turned on the news which happened to be blaring out a special bulletin. Sheriff Oates was on the television. As Greta read the caption she tried to stir her husband.

"Um...Greg?"

"Greg's sleeping."

"You might want to take a look at this."

Greta's tone was serious now, causing MacNamee to pay attention. Sitting up in bed he looked at the television and his eyes widened in shock.

"Shit! Greta sweetie, pass me the phone. I need to call Crass!"

Doctor Crass's cellphone rung. The old doctor answered it while staring at a television in the staff break room.

"Ben, go to the break room and turn on the news! Channel 37!"

"I know. I'm watching it now." The old doctor shook his head. "What a mess!"

MacNamee hurriedly got ready as he talked on the phone.

"Should we draw straws for who gets to tell him?"

"No, I already have a plan in mind. How soon can you be here?"

"I'm just getting ready now. I'll be leaving in five; I'll be in your office in thirty."

"Make it twenty-five." Crass said calmly as he hung up the phone.

Watching the news in the dingy staff break room Crass stood apart from a few nurses who informed him of the event.

"What a mess!"

MacNamee hurried up the west corridor to Crass's office. The air was tense as word had spread amongst the staff of what had happened. MacNamee did not shower today and it showed. His normally wavy hair jutted out on the side he had slept on but he didn't care. He had too much on his mind to make room for vanity. Without knocking he opened the door, something he had never done before but again, today he had too much on his mind to bother about such trivial things. Crass sat, calmly tidying up papers on his desk when the young doctor came up and sat down on the chair opposite.

"No coffee today?" Crass asked with a little smile in the corner of his mouth.

The fact that he could make light of the situation put MacNamee at ease a little. Suddenly all the anxiety that had been building up since he saw the news report began to fade and he started to calm down. A natural smile broke out of MacNamee as he appreciated his mentor's style of reassuring him.

"Now what?" he asked sighing.

"Hold on" Crass said, still sorting the papers on his desk "I'm expecting a phone call."

"Shouldn't we be dealing with this?"

"You don't think I am?"

MacNamee could not understand Crass's behavior; he was not normally this elusive. After a long moment the phone rung and MacNamee looked even more confused.

"Hello, Dr. Crass speaking" stated the old man with a smirk, as if he already knew who was on the other end.

"Good morning Doctor this is Sergeant Jacobs returning your call."

"Hello Sergeant, thank you for being prompt."

Crass took a breath

"And how are you this morning?"

Jacobs paused "I guess you saw the news then?"

"I did, yes"

"Well, what do you think?"

"Well, I think it's going to be rough for the boy to hear his dad is dead. I also think it's going to be rough for whoever has to tell him."

"Don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence that Andy Williams left town only yesterday on now he's turned up dead?"

Crass smiled "Sergeant Jacobs, I do not believe in coincidence."

"Neither do I doc, neither do I."

"Good. Then can I assume you are looking at the good Sheriff's reports yourself then?"

Jacobs snickered.

"I have them in my hands now; a Deputy Lynch faxed them over to me ten minutes ago."

"Well done sergeant. Now, I have to say I think it would be best if you came over and told the boy. You interviewed him already so he knows you and I think it would be more real to him if he was given the news by a police officer."

"I'd have to agree, though I'm certainly not looking forward to it. This kind of thing is never easy."

"I'm sure it's not sergeant, but unfortunately we all have unpleasant duties in our respective lines of work."

"You don't have to tell me that Doc. I'll be over as soon as I can."

"Very good sergeant, I'll see you shortly."

Crass put down the phone and yielded his gaze to the uninformed young Doctor before him.

"What was all that about?"

"I'd like to know how Andy Williams died."

"Well according to the Sheriff he was hit by a car."

"Well..." smiled Crass "...That's what we're going to find out."

CHAPTER 17

"The damage to the body is consistent with a car accident. According to this report the driver was unknown."

Jacobs spoke as he sat opposite Crass at his desk.

MacNamee leaned on the chair behind him while Crass leafed through the death report.

"He had a hell of a blood-alcohol content in him" stated Crass while meticulously studying his copy of the report.

"Which is why the story fits" replied Jacobs. "According to that, Andy Williams consumed large amounts of alcohol in a bar named Earl's in Staunton. He started to get belligerent so the bartender asked him to leave. When Andy refused, he was forcibly removed by a patron and started yelling and cursing outside. After a while he tired himself out and decided to walk back to his motel. A witness from the bar, um..."

"Tony Oates" confirmed Crass, reading the text.

"Yes, Tony Oates. He said he saw Andy jaywalking across the road to his motel and that was when he was struck down and killed by an unknown vehicle."

"Hold on a second" said MacNamee seeking clarification. "Isn't the Sheriff named Oates? He is, right? I saw it on the news report."

"Very good Doctor" said Jacobs, "Tony Oates is the Sheriff's nephew."

"That's a little odd isn't it?" asked MacNamee

"The whole thing is a little odd Doc. It's too clean. The driver would have to be going some speed to do this kind of damage to Andy Williams's body. And yet, in a small quiet town not too late at night, on its main road, according to this report no-one saw it. Now that suggests to me either the driver sped up to hit Andy-which is murder, not an accidental hit and run, or the report is false. Either way it doesn't look good."

"The coroner's report states he ultimately died of a brain hemorrhage but it doesn't list any other major injuries. What kind of car only strikes someone on the head?"

Jacobs simply shrugged.

"It certainly is suspicious." Crass said as he finished reading.

"What now?" asked Jacobs.

A long moment passed before MacNamee spoke.

"Shall we go tell Connor?"

Connor's big top circus hadn't opened in days. He had not been in the mood to play since he committed his crime. His toys were with him solely for companionship now and he was happy for that. The now familiar sound of the key in the lock didn't faze the lad, who was sitting holding Basket when Jacobs and MacNamee appeared at the open doorway. Jacobs scanned the room for a moment before entering. All Connor's dolls were facing the doorway, lined up as if they were watching the men. Fighting an urge to make a comment about how creepy all this was he stepped into the room behind MacNamee.

"Hey Connor." said MacNamee.

"Hello Greg."

MacNamee's gut told him this was not going to go well but he tried to stay as optimistic as he could considering the news they would be delivering.

"Connor this is Sergeant Jacobs, he wants to talk to you." MacNamee said gently

"I've talked to him before. When Beth died." Connor said quickly.

"That's right Connor you have." Jacobs stepped in "I was the policeman who talked to you and your father after the incident at your house. I'm glad you remember me."

"I remember your smell. You wear cologne like my dad does. But you wear too much."

Jacobs would laugh if the situation were more appropriate, or if he thought Connor was joking.

"Well, you have an excellent memory."

"What do you want to talk to me about?"

"It's about your father."

"They've already told me he isn't coming to visit."

"I'm afraid something else has happened Connor."

Connor lowered Basket and turned round to face Jacobs.

"Something else?" Connor asked, giving a rare emotive response.

"Yes son."

Jacobs had given many people bad news before and Connor would be no exception to his candor.

"Your father died last night son. I'm so sorry."

Connor blinked a few times while staring at Jacobs.

"What happened to him?"

"He was hit by a car in a small town called Staunton not far from the city."

Jacobs believed the boy should know only the cause of death listed on the report, not of their suspicions.

"What was he doing there?" Connor enquired equally candidly.

Sighing, Jacobs responded.

"I'm not sure son. But I talked to your dad a lot that night at the station and I know that he cared about you very much."

As Connor absorbed this information he looked down at the floor; MacNamee was surprised at the lack of emotional response. He surmised it probably had something to do with the Valium, still in his system from the night before.

"Ok. Thanks for letting me know."

Connor's face drained of color as he thanked Jacobs, blinking periodically as if taking snapshots of the day's events.

"You're welcome. I'm sorry I don't have better news."

Jacobs paused a moment in case Connor wanted to ask anything else. When he was satisfied the boy was finished with his questions he got up.

"We'll back in a little while to check on you Connor ok?"

Connor didn't respond to MacNamee, instead he returned his attentions to Basket, staring into the Clown's lifeless eyes quietly as his brain processed the information just given to him. As Jacobs and the doctors quietly left, Connor sat alone in his room again. The walls around him were a neutral color, nicknamed "Institution mango" by the staff due to their drab appearance. As the realization set in that he was now an orphan he started to become very aware of his surroundings. This was now his room and he started noticing mundane details he hadn't earlier: The rounded bedframes, the soft walls; the chequered pattern on the high window allowing only a little natural light to enter. He had come to the realization that this was his home now and he was going to have to make do with it. The door closed with a thud and Crass snapped the lock into place.

"So that's it then sergeant thank you." Crass spoke quietly as they took a short step away from the door.

All three halted where they were while they chatted, they didn't want other staff to hear them.

"I felt bad telling him that to be honest, it's a damn lie."

Jacobs said in a hushed tone.

"What do you plan on doing about it?"

MacNamee asked equally hushed.

"As much as I can. I think Andy Williams was beaten to death, not hit by some phantom car. And if that's true then this Sheriff Oates knows about it."

"But what I don't understand is why they said it was a hit and run at all; especially if it's so easy for people such as yourself to figure out the truth.

"They probably didn't think anyone would check" interjected Crass. "They couldn't had known you were going to ask for a copy of the report."

"Yeah" agreed Jacobs "And it would've looked very suspicious if they hadn't send it."

"Poor kid. Poor guy for that matter." said MacNamee

"Sorry gents but I gotta run. I'll let you know if I find anything more." Jacobs said and he shook the doctors' hands.

The three headed off down the corridor as Jacobs branched off towards the exit.

Connor Williams sat in his room, trying to process some troubling information. His sudden awareness was not just limited to the realizations that he had a tiny window, soft walls and a poor color scheme in his little room. He also realized he had thin walls. And by sitting near the door he could hear conversations just outside them, even if people were trying to keep their voices down. Now he wasn't only processing the news of his father's death, but also that it wasn't an accident, he was murdered. The people he was supposed to be able to trust, those that claimed they wanted to help him had lied to him once again. As these thoughts started to meld together he began to feel angry, very angry. His breath began to quicken, his chest rose and fell sharply. Gritting his teeth he tried to swallow his feelings, there was nothing he could do about any of it and that was the most frustrating thing for him. He was locked up, institutionalized and he wasn't going anywhere.

Night rested on Hallcombes heavily; lumbering darkness enveloped the entire building like a shroud. Outside, the building had sparse artificial light, a clever idea from the board of directors to cut down costs and to stop the place from garnering too much attention from passersby. From the security room Tim the orderly watched a television screen on the opposite side of the monitors. He had picked up a double shift today so he could save for his coming vacation but now he wished he hadn't. He had forgotten about the UFC fight tonight and now he was forced to watch it on a terrible little portable he managed to procure from the staff room. He had gotten completely immersed in the fight, blissfully unaware of the strange goings on, on the monitors behind him. A steel box contained a half dozen screens, now flickering with static intermissions. Tim was unaware.

The west wing of Hallcombes, which currently housed Connor Williams, looked even longer in the darkness. Very few shadows could have existed here as very little light was present. Out of nowhere, two large hooved feet landed hard on the spackled floor causing deep indents in the concrete beneath it. A large beast stood up straight. Opening its glistening red eyes, it peered down the length of the hallway. With intent it marched. A thick rope like tail waved from side to side and in the darkness a metal spike flicked out the end. Razor sharp and thick to boot, the creature pressed the spike against the concrete wall as it marched, causing large lines of sparks to fly out into the hallway. The grinding, screeching noise which accompanied it was unheard by almost all the patients. Condensation billowed as warm air from powerful lungs was pushed into the relative cold of the hallway. Scoring the wall for thirty feet the creature moved towards his destination quickly, not just through deliberation but through sheer size as well. It finally stopped. Deep red eyes flickered menacingly as the intruder bended to look at the plate of "Room 101" reflecting its own image back at itself for a second. The beast, which resembled a demonic cross of lion and bull with eerily humanoid features stood at nearly eight feet tall, easily able to peer in through Connor's window and observe the boy. Condensation steamed up the small viewing window quickly. Connor was awake. Something he did not understand yet had stirred him from his rest. The boy lay still under the steady gaze of the beast. The boy lay still, yet he was unafraid. After the news of his father's demise he had now, nothing left to fear. In an instant, the creature disappeared from sight and reappeared inside the room. Connor could now hear it breathing from the darkness by his bed.

CHAPTER 18

He had been lying awake all night, the Doctors decided not to go ahead with his course of Valium for a couple of days to give Connor time to mourn. Now, with this creature beside him, there was no way he was going to get any sleep. Whether through a sudden surge of confidence or simply a lack of regard for his own personal wellbeing Connor sat up to meet eyes with the intruder. The beast, camouflaged in darkness stood no more than three feet away as the boy's eyes searched, trying to catch a glimpse of it. Red eyes glinted and condensation billowed out. Connor now smelled the warm breath of the beast. If he had ever smelled sulphur before he would say it smelled like that. Right now he was thinking it smelled like the eggs that went bad that one time in his fridge at home. Connor jumped off the bed unafraid and the beast backed up a little to take the boy fully into his gaze. Peering straight into the creature's eyes he felt more safe, something inside the monster told him it was not here to harm him. A few moments passed between the two in relative silence. The only break being the locomotive level breathing reverberating around them.

"Usually people can't handle the sight of Dixie."

A voice broke the moment; it came from the other side of the room. Connor turned to see a figure emerge from the darkness. The dark outline of an arm reached out towards him, illuminated only by a little light from the window to the hall. Connor watched as the darkened hand seemed to make a fist, then quickly it flicked open revealing a brilliant ball of light, perfectly spherical. The ball looked to be loosely in control of its owner as it floated from side to side gently. The figure then flicked his wrist downward to the floor, sending the ball of light crashing to the soft ground below. In doing so it illuminated the entire room with what seemed to be natural light. Connor's eyes took a few moments to adjust to the initial flash but as they did, a figure formed in front of him. Standing before him in a dark blue pinstripe suit, a handsome man with thick dark hair looked softly at Connor. Calm and laid back he acted like he just performed an everyday feat.

"It's not just the look of Dixie people find frightening, it's the whole package; the heavy breathing, the strange noises, all under a cover of darkness. He really is quite an effective tool for frightening people."

Talking gently with his hands the man oozed charisma, mesmerizing the boy so much he had forgotten about the large beast standing beside him. A beast even more frightening in light than in darkness, Dixie was the color of gravel all over with fur coursing roughly up his back and a smooth toned front side. Although he stood on two legs he looked like he would be equally as comfortable on all fours and Connor was sure the beast could reach great speeds like that. Dixie's expression didn't change once in Connor's presence, a constant look of rage donned his large face. Amidst Dixie's breathing Connor looked at the man and asked confidently:

"Who are you?"

Smirking, the man was impressed by how brave this young boy was.

"I? Well, I am 'The Eye'."

Connor stood, silently coaxing more detail out of the man with his expression.

"The Eye" he continued "is a name I stayed with many years ago. Names mean very little where I'm from, it's only up here that they are they required. Essentially 'The Eye' is a symbol. It means I watch, I observe, I admire."

With that he smiled fondly at Connor this time.

"Dixie here is a friend of mine; you see my employer and I are always on the lookout for persons such as yourself."

"What do you mean? Who is your employer?"

"I'm not going to go into that for now. Sufficed to say he is very powerful and I am but a mere underling to his bidding."

"So, you're like a demon or something?"

The man smiled.

"We knew you were perceptive. An we were right! But the 'who' is not as important as the 'why'. The 'why' I am here. And why I am here is to help you in a way that only I can."

"The Eye" took a step towards Connor, sympathetically looking into his eyes.

"I know about your father. I also know that his death wasn't an accident but that it was covered up to look like one."

"How would you know that?"

The man rested a finger beside his eye and tapped it gently against his face three times.

"I know a lot of things. I know that you miss your mother very much, I know that you had to kill Beth and I know that you don't appreciate being lied to. Who does, am I right?"

Connor looked at the floor.

"I don't like being lied to."

"I know that. I understand that and I agree with you. In fact my employer and I both think it is wrong that the people who are supposed to protect a nice young boy such as yourself keep treating you like this."

"The Eye" lowered his tone.

"We also know you want to avenge your father's death. You loved him very much didn't you?"

For the first time in a long time Connor shed a tear, it streamed down his cheek like a tiny tributary. He nodded while the man continued.

"And unfortunately Connor, we can't bring him back but we can help you punish those responsible for what happened."

Another tear escaped Connor's grasp as he lowered his head.

"The Eye" stepped towards him, placed a hand under his chin and gently raised the boy's eyes to meet his. He held Connor's face gently with his hand and peered deep into the boy's soul.

"Do you want to make those responsible pay for what they've done?"

With his eyes wide open, glistening with tears Connor nodded; already implicitly trusting the man in front of him. Normally a much more inquisitive boy, Connor did not ask the man too many questions for fear of scaring him away. It was pretty obvious he had some supernatural powers and if Connor was to utilize them he must keep the man interested. He did not want to push him away by peppering him with questions.

"Now Connor..."

"The Eye" spoke more firmly,

"...This is a big decision. If you agree to this; you have to be prepared to take responsibility for what happens to many lives. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"The Eye" took his hand away and allowed Connor to compose himself. With a quick wipe of his eyes and nose Connor looked up at the transfixing man before him.

"Yes" he said firmly "I want vengeance. I want them all to die."

Transfixed on Connor now "The Eye" grinned menacingly

"Good."

"So how does this work?"

Connor asked the sharply dressed man before him.

"Well, normally Dixie is the first to approach someone we're interested in, sort of like a test. Which by the way, you passed. If the person is afraid of Dixie then we would know instantly they're not what we are looking for. The second part is that you have to actually want revenge, we can't just force it on you. You gotta want it, and you do, so that's that covered. Then, after that comes the method. I have got to allow you a way to actually take your revenge, but that's not always that easy."

"The Eye" flicked his fingers onto his chin, stroking at it, over exaggerating his ponder, he mused to himself quietly while Connor watched.

"Why don't you just open the door and let me out, I'll find the ones that harmed my dad."

"The Eye" halted his finger movements and smiled at Connor

"I'm sure you would kid. Now, don't get me wrong, I do not doubt your sincerity or your determination. No, I would never dream of that. But realistically, I couldn't let you out. Well I mean I could, but there wouldn't be much point."

"Why?" asked Connor stubbornly.

"Dynamics my young friend! If I let you out now, they would be out looking for you by morning and they would most probably catch you by lunchtime since you would be all alone against many. Not only that, some of these people, these liars, these murderers, they live in completely different areas; some in the city, some in Staunton. It could take you days or longer to do the job. They would definitely catch you by then."

"The Eye" paused a moment before continuing.

"I would probably have to give you bus fare as well! Couldn't have a boy your age hitch-hiking your way to Staunton, there are a lot of bad people out there you know. No no no, what you need are friends. Friends who can be invisible and deadly at the same time."

As if coming to his realization mid-sentence "The Eye" gestured towards Connor's dolls as he continued.

"Friends who no-one would suspect, who are controllable and can blend into their surroundings... You play quite a lot don't you Connor?"

"I used to."

"Well, I think you should start 'playing' again. It's time those toys got to live again Connor, this time outside of that active imagination of yours."

Connor looked down at his dolls all scattered along the floor (Dixie caused quite a mess when he entered the room). "The Eye" slowly started flicking his fingers as if he were pulling on invisible puppet strings. He created a silent energy which pulled the dolls together. In unison they slid to one point in the room, gracefully sitting up and facing Connor, ready for "playtime". Connor was bewildered. His little eyes sparkled with interest. Unable to remove them from Basket's round black eyes he spoke softly.

"But these are just toys, what can they do? And I don't even know who's to blame. How will I know who's responsible."

Speaking equally as soft, selling the deal to the youngster "The Eye" replied.

"The dolls will know. I will give them the knowledge and they will seek out the bad people. I will also grant them strength as well as knowledge. They will be crafty and dangerous...but not invincible. No, that would make things too easy."

"The Eye" moved silently behind Connor and placed his hands gently on the boy's shoulders.

"I will transport them to an area of town where they will divide and conquer. You will have the choice to watch, or to control them individually, all with the power of a device I will give you."

Enthralled in the idea, Connor was staring right through Basket. The thought of his dolls coming to life to help him was intoxicating.

"You can do all that?" Connor finally asked.

"I can do anything I want."

Bringing himself back from his fantasy, Connor digested the idea. He didn't want to ask too many questions but he had to ask a couple to make sure he could trust this man.

"Hold on a second."

Connor gently broke the man's grip and turned to face him.

"Why are you doing all this? What do you have to gain?"

Stepping back a little "The Eye" tilted his head, cocked one eye and looked down at Connor.

"I knew I would like you" he chuckled. "Very good question, and since you asked, let me be blunt. There is a clear injustice going on here. You've had a pretty rough life son, first your mom got killed, then your dad's abusive girlfriend, then the one person you had left got taken away from you and it seems no-one wants to do anything about it. Well, both my employer and myself think that is wrong. And we want to help you do something about it."

"Not that I'm ungrateful, but you keep referring to 'your employer.' That suggests there is something to be gained from me, by your coming here. I was always told demons were bad. If so then surely your intentions can't be good..."

"The Eye" interrupted.

"So many questions young Connor. Ok, yes there is something to be gained from you. Entertainment. My employer and I are not always good but then we are not always bad either, it is all about perspective. I mean think about it. Normally, watching innocent people die is no fun at all. I mean, they didn't deserve to die right? But revenge? Now that's different. The people you would be killing are not innocent; they deserve to pay for what they did to your father. For instance, if you asked a stranger on the street if some young man in a little town should die, nine times out of ten the answer would be no. But if you told them that young man helped kill a little boy's father then everything changes doesn't it? And that's all. That's all we want. But don't worry. This isn't one of those cartoon deals where you trade me your soul for a shot at the big time. It's pure entertainment, with a little justice thrown in for good measure".

Connor looked at the man before him, (the man who was offering to help him kill for the sake of perverted viewing) if he was being honest, he didn't care what the man's reasons were, he wanted retribution for his father and it didn't matter how he got it or who got hurt in the process. Not wanting to seem too eager Connor slowly nodded, releasing the word "Ok" from his pursed lips. The man was ecstatic with Connor's decision, showing it through a beaming grin.

"Ok" he said. "Hold out your hand."

Connor obeyed, stretching out his little arm then opening out his palm. Taking Connor's right hand "The Eye" lifted it up and outstretched his index finger. A claw flicked out from where the nail should be and it started to glow red.

"What's that?" Connor asked warily.

"I'm going to give you a remote controlling device!"

With that he moved the red hot claw to Connor's palm and started emblazing something onto it. Connor tried his hardest not to cry out with the pain. Swallowing hard enough to squeeze out tears he took the agony silently. When "The Eye" was finished he let Connor's hand go. Resisting the urge to recoil in pain the boy looked down at his seared flesh. Glowing an un-natural red before fading to black was an intricate drawing of a human eye, complete with a small red pupil. Connor didn't wipe his face this time; instead he looked straight into the eyes of the man before him.

"What do I do with this?" he asked, with mission only in mind.

"You close your eyes, and you squeeze it. Then, you have the power to control your little friends individually, or simply watch the carnage unfold before you. Now, watch closely" instructed "The Eye".

He waved his right hand around like a skilled illusionist then waved it across Connor's face. Once he took his hand away the dolls were all gone, leaving only the two of them in the room. Connor noticed how quiet the room went and turned to see an empty spot where Dixie once stood. Connor turned to "The Eye" excitedly but the man simply smiled, cool as could be, looking right into Connor he uttered only the simplest of explanations:

"It has begun.
CHAPTER 19

A stray dog sniffed around in a small alleyway, savoring the aromas of the humans' garbage. Perhaps some meat was in a bag, but all the dog could do was sniff, the dumpster was too high for her. Suddenly, the dog froze, the air had changed. In an instant the dog went from curious and excited to petrified. Something had just arrived inside the dumpster, something evil, and the dog could sense it. Holding still in its place, the dog listened closely. A rustle from inside was enough to send the pooch running off, yapping into the night to anybody who would listen. Nimbly a hand reached up, taking the lip of the dumpster tight and pulling itself out. In the murky darkness the figure dropped to the tarmac with hardly a noise, landing sweetly it was illuminated only by a solitary streetlight. As the yellow glow from the light washed over the figure it was like he was being born. Stretching back his arms as if rousing from some previously eternal slumber, Basket surveyed the horizon ahead of him. As he stood looking out across the virtually empty parking lot, just outside of the alley, other figures dropped behind him. Silent, as he was, Bear landed gently on the ground. As Basket turned to meet him, Bear's once black eyes flashed red and claws flicked out from his furry paws. A menacing grin was shared between the two. They were enjoying having life. Clumsily, two small ventriloquist dummies broke the silence by landing hard on the ground. As they got up in unison and looked at one another they start scrapping like impudent children. Betsy and the larger ventriloquist dummy stepped out from the shadows behind the dumpster. Dummy-the largest of the three-glared at the two smaller ones; its head jerked from side to side giving them both angry looks. The two smaller ones quieted down instantly. The larger dummy then looked up at Basket; and with a twist of his head, nodded respectfully. Basket nodded back then looked at Betsy. The well-dressed porcelain doll just looked back at him, life was void in her vacant stare but Basket knew she was fully aware of her surroundings. The last of the additions to the group were a small unit of six army men and Connor's toy Labrador. The soldiers fell in beside the dummies and stood ready for action. Dog slinked in gently; he seemed the most passive of the bunch. Basket stared right at him. Dog, unable to meet eyes with the clown, lowered his head to avoid the stare. As Basket's gaze became more intense, the strangest thing happened (even for this particularly strange evening). As if wrestling with some kind of split personality, Dog instantly changed from passive to rabid, his eyes bulged and changed color as he snarled furiously. With Dog's head violently shaking, Basket simply grinned that evil grin at him and, as quick as he changed he changed back into a totally passive creature. Looking closely at the group before him Basket's eyes passed from face to face, looking closely at their uniquely devilish expressions. Well, all except for Dog, but Basket was now fully aware how quickly that could change. An overwhelming surge of laughter gripped the clown. Half trying to fight it he sounded like he was choking a little; his stomach tightened and relaxed as he tried to hold it in. Finally, unwilling to hold it in any longer he rolled back his head and let out the most frenzied laugh the town of Staunton had ever heard. Trying to compose himself he sniffed up the last of his guffaws and, with his arm he gestured to the rest of the toys, as if to say "after you", aiming towards the parking lot leading into town. The street lamps painted shadows all over as the group fanned out across the lot, heading in different directions. As they disappeared, Basket let out one more blood curdling laugh.

"Did you hear that?"

Amanda was so startled she almost dropped the popcorn out her hand...but not quite. As Kyle stared at the TV, he didn't even bother to turn round to answer his girlfriend, who was munching in the kitchenette behind him.

"Probably the microwave. Do you have something in?"

Taking the question as an insult Amanda spluttered kernels in offense.

"You know you snack as much as I do Kyle!"

Unperturbed, Kyle responded.

"Do you have something in?"

Fixing her stare squarely on the back of his head Amanda was forced to answer.

"This time, yes I do, my popcorn's dish is almost empty so I'm making more."

Kyle simply raised his eyebrows, knowing she could not see him.

"For $10,000, which country was formerly known as Siam?"

The voice of the television game show host provided a much appreciated distraction for Kyle, who quietly hated his life.

"India!"

Amanda blurted out while her chubby hands removed the popcorn bag and dominated it.

The kitchenette was deliberately designed in such a way so that Amanda and Kyle could still watched television while making snacks.

"Thailand?" Answered the contestant nervously.

"Wrong!"

Amanda yelled with the tone of a game-show buzzer; while her practiced hands skillfully dodged the steam shooting from the microwave bag.

"Correct!" The host yelled as the bell dinged.

Amanda pretended she didn't notice.

"Now, for $25,000, which composer created the Brandenburg concertos selected for a spot on the space probe?"

"Mozart!" Amanda yelled, while Kyle sat staring.

"Um...Bach?" Said the contestant.

"Correct! You have just won $25,000!"

The host was ecstatic, almost more so than the contestant.

"You should really go on this show." Kyle said sarcastically.

"Fuck off!" Amanda snapped as she came into the sitting area with a fresh bowl of buttery popcorn. No sooner had her butt cheeks squashed the couch cushion when the buzzer at the front desk went off. Buzzing for exactly one second at exactly one second intervals, it went nearly twenty times in the time it took Amanda to walk the ten feet to the door.

"I'm coming for Christ sake!"

Amanda moaned but when she walked out into the booking area there was no one there except a small ventriloquist dummy with its hand on the buzzer. She stepped over and grabbed it with a lazy swipe. The buzzing stopped; suddenly the only noise was coming from the TV again.

"Damn kids!"

Amanda had had trouble with the local kids before; they always found it amusing to press the buzzer, giggling while she waddled out to find an empty room. But this time she saw no kids. Not to be outdone, Amanda moved out into the parking lot, squinting across at the solitary light by the alley. But there was no one there.

"You fucking kids think it's funny to play pranks? Why don't you come over here and I'll prank your asses back to mama!"

Never one for wordplay; Amanda wasn't even really sure what her threat meant; but she felt better knowing she had made it. When she turned around she saw another small ventriloquist dummy propped up against the large glass window, staring right at her. Amanda yelled again.

"You kids aint getting your stupid dolls back!"

All this exercise had made her peckish, so it was time to retreat. Through the front again, with the dummies in her hands she waddled through the office. She pushed open the door into the living area and stopped dead, her thighs gelling together when they stopped.

"Kyle..." She spoke quietly...

"Stop eating my popcorn!"

Kyle had his head buried in her popcorn bowl, enraging her to no end.

"If you have to have some could you at least not eat like a pig!"

Amanda stormed over to her man to give him a scolding but he didn't respond.

"Hey!"

"Hey!"

"Hey! Dammit, I'm talking to you!"

Still with the little dummies in her meaty hands, she shoved at Kyle's shoulder out of anger. In one fluid motion his head detached, falling over to the ground with the bowl of popcorn following closely. For the first time in her life Amanda was silent. She stepped back, staving off hyper-ventilation temporarily. Kyle's eyes were shut, his mouth was full of popcorn, he had inhaled a lot before he died. Like some great leviathan rising from the depths of the ocean, Dummy rose from the behind the arm of the couch staring at Amanda with a fire-like intensity. Logic told her to run but her inherent laziness prevented her from doing so; instead she desperately thought of other options. As Amanda dropped the little hitchhikers in her hands, Dummy walked round to the front of the couch. His movements were fairly smooth if only a little robotic. Walking to the head of Kyle he picked it up while Amanda simply stared in horror at the sight unfolding before her. Lifting it up by the hair (letting several chins droop) Dummy reached down below the chin and with a yank of his hand he forced Kyle's eyes wide open. This was Amanda's cue. She screamed uncontrollably and turned to the table behind her grabbing the phone. Her flustered, fatuous digits pounded hard at 9, 1 and 1. Lifting the receiver to her ear while Dummy just watched, she was horrified to find there was no dial tone. One of the smaller dummies stood by the phone connection smiling blankly at her as he had just pulled out the cord. She turned towards the large dummy. Her eyes pleaded for life. Kyle's mouth dropped open, as did Dummy's. Kyle's voice came out the mouth of Dummy, much to the compounding terror of his girlfriend.

"Come on baby, let's play"

With that, Dummy dropped his head and charged the six feet to the rigid woman. Her instincts kicked in as Dummy lunged at her. She tried to pull her body away but she was too late. A strong wooden hand was brought down hard across her face, splitting skin and cracking bone, more than enough to put Amanda down. As she lay on the ground helpless, her hand slipped into her pocket and grabbed her cell phone. With no need to look at what she was doing, her well versed skills allowed her to unlock the device and dial 911 in a last ditch attempt for help.

"Operator, what is your emergency?"

Amanda had no time to respond. Dummy sat over the top of her and opened his mouth, exposing two rows of blunt wooden teeth. Leaning over her his mouth opened wide, ready to chomp down on Amanda's soft face. Black and excited eyes stared deep into her as Dummy moved in for his first taste of human flesh. As it turned out, having your face clamped by powerful jaws was just excruciating enough to make you unable to feel two smaller mouths biting at you as well. Amanda found this out the hard way.

Oates looked down at the mangled body lying on the floor before him. Face crushed, body chewed, blood soaked the carpet all around it. He turned to the picture snapping coroner behind him and quietly asked.

"Did you find Kyle's head?"

The man simply shook his head. Oates nodded, pondering. Officer Freddy Brady stepped into the room and stood behind Oates quietly. Officer Brady hated his name; it made it way too easy for people to coin a nickname for him. Always the last to enter the scene of any crime he was unfortunately known as "Fraidy Brady" or simply "Fraidy" for short. The name was birthed in high school, some reckon this was what prompted him to become a cop but, sadly for Freddie, the name followed.

"Whad'ya think did it Sheriff? Animal?"

Broken from his ponderings Oates weighed what Freddie just asked. Without offering the young cop the respect of eye contact Oates calmly asked.

"What kind of an animal would decapitate someone and steal their head? Or better yet, what kind of an animal would yank a phone cord out the wall so no-one could dial out?"

Oates turned to Freddie, secretly praying the youngster was going to have his first enlightened moment, but instead Freddie just shrugged.

"A smart one?"

Oates pursed his lips before uttering.

"Go wait outside."

Dutifully Freddie did so. Deputy Lynch pushed past Brady to come in beside the Sheriff.

"Sir?"

Recognizing his trusted deputy's voice, Oates thought out loud.

"What could possess someone to do something like this?"

"I don't know Sheriff, but I know who did it."

Oates turned to Lynch in disbelief.

"That was fast."

CHAPTER 20

"We should be watching this in private Sheriff."

Lynch was referring to the other officers and the coroner who were also in the building. Oates would normally question such a decision. After all, besides the coroner they were all cops. But something in Lynch's eyes convinced him to agree. With a deep breath Oates called out a general announcement in the small living area.

"Ok guys, I'm going to need you all to step outside until further notice."

Two officers and the snap happy coroner grumbled at first but they reluctantly obeyed and headed outside.

"Ok Deputy. Why all the secrecy?"

"I was reviewing the video footage from last night. A single camera pointed at the door to the room we're in right now, presumably because the safe is in here. Now, when we arrived, the fire escape was opened from the inside, meaning whoever killed these two must have come through that door."

Lynch said pointing to the door that led to the front office.

"Ok, I'm with you, but I repeat my question. Why the secrecy?"

"Just bear with me" said Lynch as he fast forwarded the tape, stopping when Amanda went out to check who was buzzing.

The view of the camera was from above the front desk, letting the viewer see the whole office, but thanks to the lack of crime (and the thriftiness of the motel chain) in Staunton the lone camera had not been upgraded for years so the picture quality was not very good.

"I'm coming for Christ sake!"

Amanda's voice rung out from the video.

The two cops watched as Amanda walked out of the room, grabbing the doll from the counter. They heard her yell some more and she headed out to look for the kids she believed were tormenting her. Taking his opportunity, Dummy came out from his hiding spot behind a plant and slipped past her into the living area. Oates was stunned.

"What in hell was that? Rewind that!"

Lynch did so.

"I've watched this a couple of times Sheriff, I'm not sure what it is. My brain tells me it's a child but it looks like a doll."

"It could be a child wearing make-up" said Oates, trying to convince himself more than anything.

"I don't know Sheriff..." said Lynch as he paused the tape on a sideways angle of Dummy's head, "...You can see the joints on the mouth."

Oates just stared at the well-dressed image in front of him.

"There's something even more disturbing Sheriff, listen to this."

Lynch turned the television volume up to maximum causing static to blare out. Loud with emptiness, Oates was mesmerized. They watched Amanda leave the building and a soft gurgling sound was heard from the living area.

"What was that?" asked Oates curiously.

"It's Kyle! It sounds like he's choking, but he couldn't have been killed before she was, there's just no way."

"Why?" asked Oates.

Lynch didn't respond. He was too engrossed in the video and what was coming up. Oates waited patiently. Amanda walked past the screen as Lynch turned the volume back down to a reasonable level.

"Kyle! Stop eating my popcorn!"

"Here's the weird part Sheriff, this is how I knew Kyle couldn't have been killed first. Listen..."

Oates listened as Amanda screamed at the sight of the dummy in the room. After a moment she could be heard trying to dial from the phone. It's what Oates heard next that chilled him to the bone; Kyle asking Amanda to "play."

"What the hell?" asked Oates, confused "why would he ask her that? Did he know the killer?"

To which Lynch somberly replied.

"And that's it! Whatever that thing was it went out the back door after that. What really worries me Sheriff is the bite marks."

"I know. It's unlikely a child could have done that, unless he used some kind of tool."

"That's not the only thing though. We saw the large bite to the face, but the coroner reckons there were smaller bites too. And when Amanda walked back into the room she was carrying two smaller dolls, similarly dressed to our killer."

"Lynch, I understand what this looks like but you're talking like a madman. We don't even know if these are bite marks yet, Ralph Murray was purely speculating."

"All due respect sir we don't need to speculate about anything right now, we have it on tape, it looks like a dummy!"

"You're right deputy. It does look like a dummy."

Oates spoke calmly.

"But dummies are not capable of murder, they are simply toys. Now, the quality of this video is not good. It makes more sense that this is a child. Though I have to admit if you asked me yesterday I would never have thought a child could be capable of..."

A realization hit him.

"A child..."

"What about it sir?" asked Lynch.

Oates looked somber.

"Andy Williams' kid..."

Instantly, without speaking about it Lynch knew exactly what Oates was referring to. The two had done a good job sweeping the incident under Staunton's rug but they decided it would be best if they never spoke of it.

"But isn't his kid locked up sheriff?"

"Maybe not. I need to make a call. Until we know otherwise, our official story is that the investigation into suspects is still ongoing. Look Dorrian, I don't need to remind you how bad yesterday was. The last thing I want after a high profile death is stories of psychotic children or even worse, dolls getting out. Now I know you would never deliberately go against my orders and leak this but I have to tell you anyway how serious it would be if you did. Can I count on you?"

Lynch breathed out, visibly shaken.

"Yes, Sheriff, of course you can."

Oates nodded.

"Good. Now take this video down to the station and lock it up, I'm going to make a call."

Greg MacNamee felt he just had closed his eyes when the phone rang. In truth, he had been sleeping for a few hours now, but these days it seemed like his head was just hitting the pillow before he had to get back up again. Not her usual jovial self, Greta simply groaned and, as the phone was on Greg's side she had been woken up for no reason.

"Yes, hello?"

MacNamee answered formally after clearing his throat.

MacNamee always answered the phone formally at this time because ninety nine times out of a hundred it was the hospital and he always felt it was important to remain professional.

"Hello, Doctor MacNamee?"

"Yes, who's this?"

"This is Sheriff Oates from the Staunton police department."

MacNamee was surprised; he was not expecting this. Sitting up in bed, disturbing Greta further he responded:

"Yes Sheriff, what can I do for you?"

"Well, first of all I apologize for bothering you at home, I called Hallcombes and they put me through to you. I would rather not discuss this with one of your nurses."

MacNamee wasn't bothered about being woken up by important matters; it was the trivial ones that always got to him. Like the day a young nurse called him at home to ask him where they kept spare stethoscopes. He was not happy about that, however, this seemed different.

"It's no bother Sheriff. What would you like to discuss?"

"The Williams boy, he's in your care yes?"

"Yes, that's right. Myself and another Doctor, Doctor Crass. He's in the care of both of us. Why do you ask?"

Suddenly the realization hit MacNamee. Sheriff Oates was the name on the police report listing Andy Williams apparent cause of death. He must have been half asleep up until a few moments ago not to realize this straight away.

"Can you tell me, is the boy currently housed in Hallcombes?"

MacNamee was puzzled by this strange question but he tried not to show it.

"Yes, yes he is."

"He is physically in the building right now?"

A little more put out now MacNamee pushed for the point

"Yes, he is in there right now Sheriff, I saw him only a few hours ago."

"So you haven't seen him in the last few hours? Is it possible you could send someone to his room and make sure he is still in there for me?"

Now MacNamee was really frustrated; this made no sense and he did not appreciate being left in the dark with issues concerning his patients.

"Excuse me? Sheriff Oates I can personally assure you..."

"Please Doctor" interrupted Oates "I would look upon it as a personal favor if you would send an orderly down to check on him for me."

Realizing the Sheriff was persistent and with the possibly murderous nature of the falsified accident report on the back of his mind MacNamee grudgingly relented.

"Alright Sheriff, do you have a phone number I can call you back on?"

MacNamee was tired, he knew that was a dumb question, of course he had a phone number he could be called back on, he was the Sheriff. But this wasn't the time to be caring about such trivial things. MacNamee reached into the drawer of his bedside table and took a pen and paper out. Scribbling down the number he wondered if he would actually get any sleep that night.

Down the long dark corridor of the west wing of Hallcombes psychiatric hospital, right at the very end there was an office where Tim Jackson has fallen asleep trying to watch the fight on the little portable. He almost fell off his chair startled when the vintage black phone rung, shaking profusely as it did so. Blinking sleep from his eyes he answered monotonously.

"Hallcombes security office."

"Tim, were you sleeping again?"

Tim recognized MacNamee's voice and instantly relaxed.

"No, sir, wide awake, performing my duties."

"Tim?" asked MacNamee sternly.

"Might have dozed off a little sir."

"All that sitting tired you out huh?"

Tim chuckled.

"It's hell."

MacNamee wasted no more time with small talk; he would like to see the inside of his eyelids again tonight.

"Tim, I need you to do something for me..."

"Sure Doc, whad'ya need?"

"Go down to 101 and check on Connor Williams for me."

Tim didn't want to hear that; he would just as happily never go down to see Connor at all.

"Sure thing Doc; am I looking for anything in particular."

"Nope" said MacNamee trying to be as reassuring as possible "Just check on him for me."

"You only really notice echoes at night"

Tim thought to himself as he closed the office door behind him. He often heard things echoing during the day but it was only during the night he would be scared of them. Something about the way the sound bounced off the walls down the corridor unsettled him, emptiness unsettled him. "Why can't I just turn on the lights" he thought as he beat his flickering flashlight against his hand until the beam stayed on. Doctor Crass did not want lights to go on while patients were sleeping; the old doctor had been called in too many times to calm down sick people who were disturbed during rest. Besides, Crass never felt any need to turn them on. There were flashlights in every office; more than enough light for checking up on individual patients. Tim was wishing for a little more now though. Normally he wouldn't be worried, but this kid was a notorious killer, he had heard rumors that he was really smart and very cold to the Doctors. But, a job was a job and Tim just wanted to get this over with as fast as possible. Only a few feet down the corridor Tim stumbled down a depression in the floor.

"What in the world...?" He cried out loud as he almost fell over. Whipping round the flashlight he recoiled at what he saw.

"What are those?" Again, he said out loud, as if the volume of his voice would comfort him in some way. The marks looked like paw prints but Tim knew that was very unlikely. His eyes noticed something which prompted him to lift the beam up to the wall beside the prints. His eyes widened as he traced the long score all the way down the corridor wall. This time, Tim did not say anything, instead he quickly but quietly paced down the corridor, keeping the flashlight fixed halfway between the floor and the wall. Not realizing he was now jogging he finally reached "Room 101" trying to complete his task and get back to the office as quickly as possible. With a swirl of the light, Tim made sure he was alone in the corridor before looking through Connor's window. The darkness felt heavy, the silence was all he could think about it. Normally you could hear patients snoring, or beds' squeaking as they tossed and turned but now, everything was quiet. When he was sure he was alone he decided to check to see if Connor was in bed as he should be. The light crept up the door slowly; the last thing he wanted to do was wake the boy. He had never done this before, shone a beam through a window at a patient with the intent of not waking them and-as he was discovering-it wasn't as easy as one might think. The chequered safety glass made him feel a little more at ease as the beam reached the floor beside the bed. Moving silently up the bed he could make out a shape under the blankets, but it could have just been ruffled. Moving up what appeared to be the body he made out hands.

"Oh thank God!" he cried, his atheism being no match for his relief.

Still, he had to be sure they were the boy's hands in order to confirm Connor was actually in his room. Moving the beam up slightly he peered closer to the glass. When the beam reached a chin he still could not make out a face. Tim stole an opportunity and quickly flicked the beam up over the face to reveal Connor staring back at him; the boy's gaze boring through him causing him to lower the beam and step back.

"Thank God!" he repeated. Connor was already awake but as long as the door was in between them he felt safe. Taking a moment to compose himself he stepped back away from the door. Moving the flashlight away from Connor's room helped Tim relax. With nothing to illuminate the room he was able to convince himself there was no danger in there. However that logic did not apply to the long open corridor he was still standing in. Feeling incredibly vulnerable turned to head back to the office. Only a few steps into his journey -in the dead silence-he started to hear breathing behind him, heavy breathing. Turning round quickly Tim shone his flashlight straight down the hall. He could not see anything but he could feel something. The breathing echoed roughly down the long corridor but he couldn't figure out where it was coming from. Feeling like it could be everywhere and nowhere at the same time he knew it was too loud to be human.

"Hello?"

His voice echoed repeatedly down the corridor and he was convinced some of the echoes were someone else's voice.

"If anyone's out there...identify yourself now! I am armed!"

Tim's bluff through a shaky voice would intimidate no-one and so the breathing continued. Trying to hold his ground he could not be sure if it was coming from behind him or in front of him. He was sure of one thing though, he did not want to be standing there any longer.

"Fuck this!" he exclaimed and turned back towards the office.

Running down the corridor his heart raced, the sound of his footsteps did nothing to drown out the heavy breathing. The office approached fast as the large orderly bolted down the long stretch of hallway. Grabbing the handle he pushed the door open and slammed it behind him. He stepped back and watched the door handle for a minute, making sure nothing was going to try and enter. Out of breath and nervous, Tim decided to wait a moment before calling MacNamee. Once he came to his senses he surmised he was simply spooked by the darkness, especially as nothing had tried to enter the office after him. He was reluctant to tell the doctor he was scared so badly but he had to tell him about the marks on the floor and the walls. The phone rung only for a second before MacNamee picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey Doc it's me. So I have good news and some...weird news. The good news is Connor is in his room, little bastard was wide awake too."

"Ok, so that's good" said MacNamee "Now what's weird?"

"There are marks on the floor that weren't there earlier. To be honest, I know this is going to sound crazy but they kind of look like paw prints."

"Sorry, what?" asked MacNamee, vaguely recalling a nice dream he was having not so long ago.

"I know how it sounds but I guess you'll have to see it for yourself. They look like paw prints."

"Paws? You mean like a dog?"

"No" said Tim nervously "More like a bear"

"Tim..." MacNamee sighed "What the hell are you talking about? Have you been getting into the drug cabinets again?"

"Look Doc! I'm not kidding. It freaked me the hell out, and something put a huge line down the corridor wall, took a huge scratch right out it"

"Okay, look, stay in the office and go over the security tapes from earlier, I'll be down as soon as I can ok"

"Ok good, see you soon." said Tim, hanging up.

Alone in the office, sitting on his chair Tim looked around. Quietly he picked up a spare collapsible deck chair and wedged it firmly under the office door handle.

MacNamee sat up in bed trying to process the information he had just been given. Hearing the conversation, Greta rolled over.

"Is everything ok?"

"You know, I have no idea."

Taking the piece of paper with Oates' number on it, MacNamee started dialing into the phone. In Staunton, Oates was in his office going over crime scene photos from the motel office. He had been sleeping up until a half hour before he arrived at the motel, now he was wide awake. He was particularly curious about the shot of the apparent killer, taken from the video camera. Looking at the face intently, he tried to convince himself it was anything other than what Deputy Lynch had suggested. His cell phone rang loud in the quiet office. At this hour there were very few people in the station, the volume of the ring seemed to remind him of that fact.

"Sheriff Oates." He answered formally.

"Hello Sheriff, this is Doctor MacNamee returning your call."

"Hello Doc, thanks for being so prompt."

MacNamee hated the fact that because he was a Doctor, everyone felt it was alright to call him "Doc." He felt it was a tacky nickname, unrepresentative of the years of hard work he put in at medical school, not to mention the cost to achieve the title of "Doctor." But, like so many things in life he knew people would not stop calling him it, so he had stopped scolding people years ago. Instead he sat quietly, annoyed at the fact.

"So" continued Oates "What's the word?"

"Well, I had my man at Hallcombes check up on Connor and it turns out he's in there, been there the whole night it seems."

The deflation in Oates voice was more than apparent.

"Ah, I see."

MacNamee picked up on the disappointment instantly.

"I can gather that this wasn't the wonderful news you were hoping for."

After a moment, Oates brought himself back from his thoughts.

"No, it's great news for you, but it puts me in a little bit of a pickle."

"How so?" asked MacNamee.

Oates switched the phone to the other ear and held up the still picture from the video camera.

"I trust this will stay between us?"

"Of course" stated MacNamee confidently, with full intentions of informing Crass on everything that was about to be said.

"We had a double homicide here this evening; pretty brutal actually."

"I'm sorry to hear that Sheriff" MacNamee said sympathetically.

"Thank you, but the reason I called you is that we have a picture of who we think, might have done it and it kind of looks like a child. Now, Andy Williams stayed in this particular motel the night of the hit-and-run and we thought..."

"And you thought it might have been Connor who did it. Well I'm sorry Sheriff but he's been in his room the whole time."

"Yeah that's right. Look I'm sorry I wasted your time, thanks for your help."

Oates seemed like he was about to end the conversation before MacNamee interjected.

"Hold on a minute Sheriff. You said it 'kind of' looked like a kid. What does that mean exactly?"

"Well, it's probably nothing..." The Sheriff was unconvincing in his doubt "But my Deputy seems to think the picture doesn't look like a child at all."

"Well, what else does it look like?" asked MacNamee curiously.

"A dummy."

"A dummy?"

"One of those dummies those magician guys use, to make it look like it talks."

"A ventriloquist dummy!" stated MacNamee, perking up.

"Yeah that's it. I had to admit it does kind of look like one of them, but that's ridiculous right?"

"Yeah."

MacNamee answered as fear churned in his stomach. He remembered the way Connor's dummy looked at him, and the voice he heard.

"What was the killer wearing Sheriff?"

"A black suit, why?"

"No reason I guess. Well if I find anything out from Connor I'll let you know."

"I'd very much appreciate that Doc, thanks."

"Ok, Sheriff; take care."

As MacNamee hung up his mind was turning rapidly. A bear's footprints, a possible killer dummy, none of this could be real. He was fairly sure of this reasoning but still, it was an awful lot of coincidence. He jumped out of bed, anxious to get to the hospital, hoping that when he got there he would finally get some good news.

CHAPTER 21

Gravel crunched under tire tread as MacNamee pulled into Hallcombes. Although he was anxious to get there, thoughts rolling in his head, being dissected by his analytical mind meant it took a lot longer than it normally would have done to arrive. After turning off the engine, MacNamee wasted no time exiting the vehicle. He powered across the parking lot to the main entrance; something was going on in his hospital and he was aching to find out what. There was a buzz around the halls; unusual for this time in the morning. The night staff were lingering, chatting to the morning staff instead of their usual pleasantries before heading home right away. MacNamee walked expressly to Crass's office. He did his best to body swerve other staff members he met along the way, knowing they would want to know about the strange goings on. Passing up his polite knock he thought it would be best to simply enter Crass's office quickly and quietly. MacNamee felt tense. Closing the door behind him he produced his cell phone from his pocket. Picking out Crass's name from his contact list he called him right away. He thought better about using the intercom, any announcements would alert his presence to the staff and open him up to further badgering. Crass answered his cell straight away, as MacNamee knew he would. Usually, a polished professional like Crass would not have dreamed of using his cell phone at work. However today, in light of current events, the old man would have wanted to be reachable at all times.

"Greg, come to the security office" was all Crass said before hanging up. The snappy instruction from Crass did nothing to ease his tension. With a deep breath MacNamee slinked out the office and headed quickly to his destination.

MacNamee entered the security office, the classic shade of "Institution mango" adorned every inch of this room and MacNamee had never liked that, it felt only slightly different to the patients' room because of it. Crass stood, breathing into his hand next to the sitting Tim.

"Close the door" instructed Crass. As MacNamee obeyed, the old man continued "I'm assuming you saw the sights in the hallway?"

MacNamee hesitated then replied.

"I saw the score on the wall, but I never stopped to search for the prints, I don't want to speak to the staff right now."

"Good" said Crass, nodding.

MacNamee looked down at Tim who was clearly shaken and exhausted.

"How are you Tim? You've usually gone home by now."

"Not today Doc, not until you've seen this."

MacNamee simply stood waiting, he didn't question what it was he was expected to see, assuming his explanation was about to arrive.

"Take a seat in front of the monitors Greg."

"I'd rather stand to be honest sir."

"Fair enough" replied Crass who then gestured to Tim to start the video.

Tim took over in the explanation.

"So, I went through yesterday's security tapes like you asked. I started from lights out, figuring that was the only time something could've happened in the halls without anyone noticing."

MacNamee nodded in agreement.

"Really..." Tim continued "...There wasn't much going on for the first hour, but just after ninety minutes...well see for yourself."

MacNamee stepped closer to the monitor showing a video of the length of the west wing. Connor's door was mid-way up the corridor, almost half way between the top and the bottom of the screen. The angle of the camera was complimentary of the distance; however as anyone who had ever walked in the west wing would tell you, it was an unnecessarily long corridor.

"What am I supposed to be..."

"Just wait" Crass interrupted.

After a moment the screen shook slightly.

"Wow! What was that?"

The young doctor asked quietly, turning to Crass.

"We think that's where it landed" said Tim softly, staring at the monitor.

Confused, MacNamee turned back to the screen. Breath-like condensation billowed out as Dixie-whose body was invisible to the camera-got ready to move to Connor's room. After the condensation moved a few feet the wall beside it started spewing sparks. Bright orange sparks flew from the concrete causing MacNamee's mouth to fall open. Wide-eyed he watched the condensation and sparks move as one straight up to Connor's room, where the sparks stopped. The condensation continued billowing for a moment before that ended as well.

"What the hell?" MacNamee was barely able to utter, his throat was so dry.

"Hold on" urged Tim quietly as he gazed at the screen in preparation.

A minute passed. MacNamee wanted to ask what he should be waiting for but he saw Crass and Tim stare intently so he decided to wait it out. MacNamee stepped back when a bright surge of light shone from Connor's room.

"What the fuck was that?" asked the young Doctor, having had more surprises than he could take these past couple of hours.

"It stays lit for about half an hour before it goes dark again." Tim said wrapping up the show.

MacNamee turned to Crass who was staring back at him, his wise eyes telling his apprentice that he had no idea what was going on either. MacNamee composed himself.

"Ok, so, best guesses here guys, what's going on? What was that moving down the hallway?"

"It looked like something's breath to me." Tim said slowly.

MacNamee swiveled his gaze back to Crass who shrugged his shoulders in agreement.

"That would be my guess."

"Ok, I'll buy that. But there was nothing there."

"Nothing we could see" stated Tim.

MacNamee was so unsettled by this last comment that he didn't even realize he raised his voice.

"What does that mean?"

"Just what he said," answered Crass. "There was obviously something in the hall that night, I've seen the prints. But I can't explain why it didn't show up on the camera."

MacNamee relaxed a little. The fact that Crass was ready to accept something beyond the realms of science was cause enough for him to as well. The old man stood, thinking. Although he had a very scientific approach to most matters he was no ignoramus. There was clear evidence that proved there was something in the hallway, something that simply could not be seen by the human eye. Unbeknownst to the three was the fact that the beast was seen by one pair of eyes that night, Connors'.

"Ok" MacNamee relented "Let's say there was something in the corridor last night, and that was it's breath we saw in the video, that would have put its height at more than seven feet off the ground."

"Closer to eight" Tim interjected

"Ok, well there are only a handful of people in the world who could even come close to that, and with the amount of condensation there was...no one has a lung capacity like that."

Crass and Tim met eyes.

"What?" asked MacNamee, noticing the glance.

"I saw the prints in the floor" said Crass "Tim said he told you they were paws, but I looked at them in the light." Crass paused, "they look more like hooves."

"What do we do now then? Call the police? Tell them there was an intruder in here last night?"

"And show them this?" Crass asked rhetorically. "No, Greg, we don't want to involve anyone else until we know what we're dealing with."

MacNamee wondered if this decision was the best one. He felt it was common practice to report any intruder (no matter how unusual) to the proper authorities. But, at the end of the day, crass was his boss and it was his decision to make.

"There's more Greg."

MacNamee sighed "What?"

"I took a walk past Connor's room after I saw the tape, and all his toys are missing."

MacNamee turned white.

"Did someone take them?"

The image of the ventriloquist dummy staring at him flashed into his head, with the Sheriff's description of their main suspect ringing in his ears.

"Well someone did yes, but I have the only key, plus the backup in this office, and Tim was in here all night."

Tim looked up at MacNamee.

"And I sure as hell didn't go in there."

MacNamee looked intently at Crass before speaking.

"Ben, you and I need to talk, alone."

MacNamee had his hands in his hair before the door even closed in Crass's office.

"What Greg? What's got you so agitated?"

"You mean apart from that tape?"

Crass scolded him with a look and MacNamee was apologetic.

"I'm sorry Ben. I know what you meant; it's just been a rough morning."

"For all of us," reminded Crass. "Have a seat."

Again MacNamee would rather stand but he knew that this time Crass's suggestion was actually a disguised order. The two sat down at opposite sides of the desk. The room was warm, the colors complimented the temperature, provided a very comfortable setting in which to unwind and fill out paperwork. Crass didn't believe in clutter, his office was efficiently organized without looking barren.

"Ok Greg, spill it!"

"I got a phone call this morning from the Sheriff of Staunton, just outside the city."

"Oates right?" asked Crass, his memory of Andy William's death report still fresh.

"Yeah, that's the guy. Well, he asked me to check on Connor this morning so I called up Tim and asked him to check in on him but...but I'm sure Tim already told you that."

Crass simply nodded, waiting for the punch line.

"The sheriff told me after I called him back that the reason he was asking about Connor was that they had just had a double homicide over there and they think the killer may be a child."

"Well of course it would make sense he would ask us, what with Connor's high profile and the fact his father was killed in Staunton..."

"I totally agree, but here's the thing. Sheriff Oates told me they couldn't be sure it was a child. They have a still photo taken from a video camera at the scene which is dressed like the ventriloquist dummy Connor had in his room, the dummy you just told me disappeared sometime last night."

Upon hearing this Crass simply sat back in his chair and clasped his hands in his lap. MacNamee looked at him with begging eyes.

"Ben, tell me I'm crazy, tell me there's another explanation."

Crass looked down at his hands, unable to tell the young Doctor what he wanted to hear. In the silence, MacNamee started to lose his temper.

"Doctor Crass, please tell me there's another explanation!"

"I'm sorry Greg but I just can't. Yesterday, sure I would have said there was no way that could happen, but, in light of what we just saw I can't rule anything out right now."

"But it's a toy! It's not possible!"

"Greg, use your brain! Ignore what you've been taught for a moment and look at the evidence. Something made large hoof prints in a solid concrete floor. Something which stood eight feet tall and was able to scratch a concrete wall so hard, it created sparks as it moved. Something which was absolutely invisible to the naked eye, a feat in itself utterly impossible to comprehend; and now the boy's dolls have disappeared from a locked room after a mysterious light illuminated it. I really don't see how science can explain these facts Greg, can you?"

MacNamee didn't argue. If he was being honest, he couldn't really see how the evidence could be explained scientifically either, he just didn't want to admit it. After a long moment of pondering, MacNamee finally spoke.

"Ok, so what do we do?"

"Let's make our next move scientifically; the logical step is to talk to the only witness to these events."

"Only witness? You're talking about Connor?"

Crass nodded.

"It would be best to let Frieda do it. As we've discussed, Connor seems to enjoy making a fool out of him the most so he might be more inclined to give away more information with Frieda."

"We have to be careful though. If this is going the way we think it is, we'll have to let as few people knew as possible. We don't want to start a panic."

The two men sat silently for a moment; both getting the feeling this whole day was going to get worse before it got better.

Connor Williams sat directly across from Paul Frieda, the colorful table was a stark contrast to Connor's dark temperament right now. As the realization set in that he had the power to kill, an air of omnipotence was slowly filtering into his body.

"So Connor..." Frieda began. "You've probably noticed that people in the hospital are a lot more chatty today."

Connor didn't respond, he was aware of the fact but chose not to acknowledge it. Unyielding, Frieda continued.

"Do you know why that is?"

Connor smiled, relishing an opportunity for entertainment.

"I could guess."

"And what would be your guess?"

"Hmm..."

Connor looked off into the distance, feigning deep thought.

"Probably because of the man in my room, the one who brought the light..."

Frieda perked up, as did the doctors from behind the glass. Both stood in silence, listening intently at what was being said.

"Was he the one who took your toys?"

Connor smiled broadly.

"He did a little more than that."

"Would you care to explain?"

"Well, it's hard to explain. Basically, he gave me power."

From the one way glass, Crass and MacNamee were watching closely. A bucket of toys sat behind Connor, numerous small action figures sat in a pile on top of one another.

"What kind of power did the man give you Connor?"

Connor leaned across the table and focused his gaze on Frieda, who was desperately trying to remain in control.

"Lots of power..."

Connor whispered. All of the toys in the pile snapped their heads round to meet Frieda's eyes for a second then snapped back to their original positions. The doctor's heart skipped a beat. He closed his eyes for a second and pretended he didn't see it. MacNamee and Crass didn't see it either; they were too engrossed in Connor's actions. Connor sat back in his chair and returned to his usual morbid glare. Frieda sat in silence, switching his gaze between Connor and the toys that turned towards him. He wasn't even sure he saw anything as they were all perfectly still now.

"The man in my room, he's the one who brought Dixie with him."

Connor's words brought Frieda out of his thoughts again, reminding him that he needed to act like he was in control even though no-one (particularly Crass) believed that he was. Behind the glass, MacNamee turned to his colleague and whispered "Dixie?" The two exchanged puzzled looks.

"Who's Dixie?" Frieda asked, trying to keep hold of the boy's attention.

"Dixie was the one you saw in the video tape. I saw the camera in the hallway when you brought me to this room, so I'm assuming you saw him on that."

Connor wasn't aware that Dixie didn't show up on the camera, but Frieda was not informed of the tape at all. MacNamee and Crass did not feel it was important to tell him.

"I haven't seen any tape Connor. Please, what did Dixie look like?"

Connor acted surprised then laughed mockingly.

"You haven't watched the tape? You must have, someone must have looked at it considering the damage Dixie caused. It would be pretty obvious to anyone to check the security tape. Unless..."

A though popped in Connor's mind and he decided to run with it.

"Ok, I'll believe you haven't seen it. Well, let me enlighten you a little. Dixie is a monster. He has horns on his head and hooves on his feet."

Crass and MacNamee looked very nervous at the description, Crass's assertion that the prints were hooves instead of paws had just been proven to be accurate. Connor continued:

"He's very tall and breathes very heavily. He wouldn't even need to use his sharp claws or pointed teeth to harm a person; he has the strength to simply tear their limbs off one at a time."

Connor stopped a moment, savoring the look in Frieda's eyes. The boy had already planted a dangerous seed in the doctor's mind and now he planned to water it. Smiling menacingly, he continued.

"But surely you must have seen the video. Your colleagues have to have seen it and I can't believe they would have sent you in here without informing you about the huge beast that entered my room."

Connor gently chuckled.

"Surely your colleagues respect you more than that? I mean they must have told you something, did they just tell you my dolls were missing?"

Frieda's eyes lowered slightly and he started to blush, giving Connor the answer he wanted.

"They did, didn't they? They sent you in here knowing there was so much more to the story than they were willing to tell you. Why is that? Aren't you part of the team?"

MacNamee turned to Crass.

"We have to stop this, it's too much!"

Crass simply raised a hand; he wanted Connor to give up more information, regardless of how it made Frieda feel.

"Well I have to say Doctor Frieda, if it was me..." Connor lowered his voice to a whisper "...I'd be pissed off!"

Frieda looked at Connor hard, trying to search for lies, but there weren't any. Connor's words rung hard in the ears of the Doctor before him, causing him to ask himself questions.

"Was there a tape? Why didn't they show me it?"

"You must be mistaken Connor, there is no tape. If there was I would know about it."

Frieda said this with every ounce of confidence he could muster but Connor simply chuckled again.

"You're sure about that Doctor? You're colleagues definitely wouldn't keep you in the dark about this would they? They care more about your safety than you think? Don't worry; I believe you didn't see Dixie. In fact I'll make sure and send him round to your house tonight so you can get a real good look at him."

Frieda stood up noisily; the whole session had been too much for him. He stormed out of the room and out into the corridor, making a beeline straight for Crass and MacNamee.

CHAPTER 22

"What the hell was that sir? You didn't think it was important to tell me about this Dixie?"

Frieda was furious with his boss Doctor Crass for not telling him what he knew beforehand but he resented MacNamee more, for it seemed he was also in the loop. MacNamee gave Crass a look, which quietly enraged Frieda further. It wasn't just his good looks that the other doctors were jealous of; it was also his relationship with the boss.

"I'm sorry Doctor Frieda" Crass said with a professional apology "I made the decision not to tell you. Both Doctor MacNamee and I have seen the video, along with the orderly on shift that night but that's it. We felt the fewer people knew about it the better, we didn't want to start a panic."

Frieda looked at the old man then switched his gaze to MacNamee who dropped his eyes to the floor. The old doctor's logic seemed to calm him down a little.

"But sir you pretty much hung me out to dry there. He made me look like a fool. Again! And it didn't have to be that way."

If Doctor Crass had his way he would tell Frieda to stop whining and get back to work, however the situation called for diplomacy. Crass knew he might need Frieda to speak to Connor some more. Regardless of how it made Frieda look the old man had learned a lot about Connor and his visitors from their meetings and now that something strange was definitely going on, he needed those meetings to continue.

"You're right Paul, what I did was quite disrespectful. But the truth is we need you on this. We had to keep you in the dark about the tape because that was the only way Connor would feel he had the advantage and that was the only way he would tell us about the creature. Connor reveals information to you, and we need that right now."

Frieda was suspicious.

"Why the sudden push to get him to talk? He isn't going anywhere."

Crass didn't inform him of the murders; instead he told a lie he felt was beneficial to the situation.

"We need to help this child Paul; he has been let down his whole life. It's time someone did something about it. He needs you. I need you."

Despite the fact this statement made Crass feel very uneasy he said it regardless, in his mind he had to. Falling prey to the smooth, personalized praise of Crass, Frieda relented. He looked at MacNamee who struggled to maintain his sincerest look.

"Ok, but no more surprises!"

Crass nodded back.

"No more surprises."

Jimmy Collins enjoyed these sunny afternoons. The southern heat was about the only thing that made Staunton a bearable place to live, even in fall. Sure, his town was old, full of history and there were a few things for the tourists to do but for a local, the only thing you had to look forward to was drinking, playing pool and the possibility of leaving Staunton someday. Still, all the sour thoughts of his little goldfish bowl named Staunton disappeared when the heat was upon him. It was unusually warm for this time of year and the sun was rife on the streets. Passing under tree shades in this family neighborhood Jimmy enjoyed the cooling sensation he got until he stepped back out into the sun again.

"This must be global warming. I love it!"

Jimmy thought to himself as he strolled along, en route to see his girlfriend. The thoughts of a couple of days ago had started to disappear in Jimmy's mind, that's how easy it was for a dead man to be forgotten. Although Jimmy didn't physically harm Andy, he was fully aware of Tony's temper when the fight began and he made no effort to stop it. It was all behind him now though.

"A few beers and a bar fight gone bad."

That was how he justified it to himself.

As he neared the house his stomach rumbled, he knew he would be getting lunch here, but he also knew Lucy was a terrible cook and so wished he had picked something up before he left his house. Ringing on the doorbell, he waited a moment. Lucy answered, wearing his old college football shirt and sweat pants. Lucy Ellis looked good in anything she wore but Jimmy especially liked it when she wore loose fitting clothing, he found it more of a turn on than being able to see absolutely everything. With only a slight greeting Jimmy pushed past her and slipped into the kitchen, leaving Lucy to close the door. He grabbed a beer from the fridge then came into the living room. Sitting down he kicked off his boots and turned on the television. Lucy was used to this type of behavior, by now none of it surprised her. Parking next to him on the couch while Jimmy stared at the TV Lucy started her usual, mostly one-way conversation.

"I got called into work tonight; they picked up more reservations so they need an extra body."

Grunting, Jimmy swigged his beer.

"What's for lunch?" he asked, slightly frightened of what culinary disaster he might be forced to eat.

"I have some chicken and fries in the oven"

This pleased Jimmy. Frozen food was hard to screw up, and if it did taste bad, there was always ketchup for him to turn to. Jimmy was able to relax now; he knew he would at least have something edible to eat today. As Lucy cuddled into him on the couch, his manly instincts started to tingle. Putting his arm around her he kissed her on the head, the scent of her strawberry shampoo got his blood flowing. Believing his subtlety was better than it actually was, Jimmy went in for another kiss. A small one at first and then another, gradually turning his body he tried to get his hands involved in the action. This was when Lucy decided to stop it.

"Jimmy...I don't want to."

The four words which have deflated many other men's libidos in the past had the same effect on Jimmy's. With an over exaggerated huff, his frustration whined in his voice.

"Why? We probably have like ten minutes before lunch."

"My niece is upstairs."

"Really? Why?"

"She was sick so she couldn't go to school, but my sister had to work and couldn't watch her so she called me. She'll only be a couple of hours."

"Well, she's upstairs, couldn't we just...you know."

"No!" exclaimed Lucy "What if she came down?"

Jimmy realized he wasn't going to be getting any action today so nothing much else mattered to him.

"She has to learn sometime" he mumbled.

Lucy was pissed, not least at the fact that Jimmy made the remark right in front of her. She got up from the couch.

"You're fucking sick Jimmy, she's seven! Whatever, I'm going to go check on her!"

"Bitch!" Jimmy uttered as she left the room.

Lucy jogged up the stairs, wanting to get away from her boyfriend quickly. She walked down her hallway. Even though it was only about a dozen feet to the end she savored the journey. Her parents had bought her this house six months ago but they were still in the process of decorating. The areas that were finished though (like the hallway), looked pristine. Olive green walls were covered in pictures; some of Lucy with family and friends, and others were just pictures selected from stores because they looked good. Lucy's bedroom was at the end of the hall; this was where her niece, Jessica liked to play when she came over. Pushing open the door to her bedroom Lucy smiled. She didn't really believe Jessica was sick, the kid probably just wanted the day off school, and now looking at her she saw she was right. Jessica wasn't in bed, where her mother had left her before she went to work, she was up having a tea party with some dolls. Lucy stood at the door for a moment, she noticed Jessica's large Barbie doll which stayed at the house for when she came to visit and the cuddly toy elephant, Jessica's favorite. She took that elephant everywhere and for some reason it had a smile stitched on to its face. Lucy always found that odd, never in her life had she ever seen a smiling elephant. Strangely though, there was a fourth member at the tea party who Lucy didn't recognize. A well-dressed porcelain doll sat with the two others and Jessica, sitting at the table looking quite comfortable. This wasn't Lucy's doll and she didn't see Jessica bring it in with her. Looking at it she thought she would have definitely noticed Jessica bring it in as it was fairly large, standing above Jessica's waist.

"Jessica where did you find that doll?" asked Lucy, moving into the room.

"I didn't, she found me. Her name is Betsy, she and some friends came in from the city."

Jessica responded while pouring her imaginary tea.

Puzzled, Lucy decided to leave it alone. It was early when her sister dropped Jessica off and Lucy had worked late last night, maybe she was just too tired to notice it with her. Lucy bent over the table to get a look at the doll.

"Ok, well lunch will be ready in ten minutes, so you'll need to say goodbye to your little friends for a while."

Lucy leaned in to take Jessica's are but Betsy's head swiveled round and looked up at her. Betsy's movements were fluid, not doll-like at all. Stepping back in fright Lucy cried out then giggled awkwardly.

"Whoa Jess! You didn't tell me she moved."

Jessica beamed.

"Oh yes, Betsy moves! She walks and talks, I bet she sings too!"

Jessica was looking fondly at Betsy as the dolls head moved slowly back round to face the little girl.

"It's strange" commented Lucy "It doesn't look like one of those moveable dolls, she looks antique."

"She's perfect!"

Lucy was a little shaken, she changed her mind about bringing Jessica with her, instead decided to let her play some more, Betsy gave her the creeps and she wanted to leave the room.

"Ok, well remember, lunch in ten minutes."

As Lucy headed down the hall she could hear Jessica talking behind her.

"That doll was creepy," Lucy thought to herself.

Jimmy was all apologies when she came downstairs

"Hey sweetie I'm sorry I said what I said I'm just hungry."

Lucy sighed, she was hoping this wasn't just another fake apology to try and get back into her pants, usually however, it was.

"Look, I forgive you, just sit down; I want to finish making lunch."

Sheriff Oates sat at his desk looking at the same picture from this morning, the same face caught on video of the mysterious suspect in the double murder case. Oates hadn't slept yet, he knew that he couldn't keep this information a secret forever, word of the murders were quickly spreading as they had only recently notified the victim's families. He wondered if the process of notifying the families would be easier if the murders took place in the city. It was just so personal in a small town like Staunton. It's not to say that everybody knew everybody, that wasn't exactly true. It was just that people had a lot more links to each other here than they would have had in a larger population. Thoughts of the victim's families really took hold when he thought how he had to tell them there were no suspects. An "ongoing investigation" provided little solace to grieving mothers but it he was all he could say. Unfortunately for them, Oates' duty was to the town as a whole. Letting slip theories of killer kids or worse killer dolls could tear the town apart and he was not about to see that happen, not after all he had been through. His cell phone dragged him back from his thoughts, flipping open the speaker and resting his head on his hand he answered.

"Sheriff Oates."

"Hello Sheriff this is Doctor MacNamee from Hallcombes Psychiatric, how are you?"

Oates thought MacNamee's small talk was in poor taste but he played along regardless.

"Just getting things done Doc, what can I do for you?"

"I have some information on those murders you that might interest you."

"Ok, shoot Doc. I'm listening."

"Well, as it turns out, we had a couple of incidents here ourselves. I mean nothing on the scale you're dealing with but still, pretty big compared to our normal routine."

"Uh-huh."

"It turns out someone stole the toys from Connor Williams' room, including the ventriloquist dummy's he had in there."

Oates suddenly perked up.

"Stole? Do you have any leads?"

MacNamee was very reluctant to open up a can of worms by answering this question honestly.

"Um no, we're still looking into it. But I can tell you that the description you gave me of the suspect in the picture was dressed the same way as the dolls Connor had in his room."

"Which means a child was wearing the clothes of the dummy? The child who committed the murders!"

MacNamee paused.

"Um, yes that's one explanation."

Oates was by now fully aware that MacNamee was suggesting the dummy as the killer, the same way Deputy Lynch did. However, as of yet he still wasn't buying it, so he pretended to be ignorant to the theory.

"What other explanation could there be doc?"

MacNamee sensed the games being played between the two and decided to try and level the field.

"Look Sheriff, we've had a couple of somewhat frightening facts come to light here recently involving Connor Williams and if there is any truth to them, which we believe there is, we could be looking at more than simple murders."

"I don't understand Doc. What are you getting at?"

"Simply put, we believe someone was in Connor's room last night and they took Connor's dolls. We don't know who that person is yet but myself and Doctor Crass both believe the murders are linked to the death of Andy Williams. Sort of like revenge killings."

Oates looked like he had been put squarely under the spotlight despite the fact MacNamee could not see him.

"Revenge for what? Andy Williams' death was accident!"

"I don't think that matters Sheriff. I don't believe it's a coincidence that your first double murder in God knows how long was at the site of Andy Williams' first stop in your town. Not to mention the fact that your main suspect is the spitting image of one of his son's dolls, a doll that was stolen along with others."

"Ok. Say what you're saying is true-that someone or something was taking revenge for a tragic accident-by your logic I should expect more bodies..."

MacNamee was quiet a moment before answering.

"I believe so, yes."

"Well you see Doc; this isn't easy for me because I don't have any suspects to chase. I don't even want to involve people in this until I know who or what I'm looking for."

"With all due respect Sheriff, I think you do know what you're looking for."

"Doctor MacNamee, I understand what you're getting at but if I invest time and manpower into looking for a killer doll I could be ignoring the real killer. And any blood that is shed while I'm wasting time won't be on your hands, it'll be on mine! You have to understand I have a lot at stake here."

"I know it's hard to believe Sheriff and trust me I do understand. I was only convinced an hour ago myself. But it's entirely your call; it's all up to you."

Jimmy relaxed on the couch as his lunch was brought to him on a TV tray. Sitting down beside her boyfriend Lucy realized she hadn't called on Jessica.

"Jess! Dinner!"

When no response came from upstairs she tried to call again but Jimmy interrupted her.

"Don't worry sweetie, I'll go get her, you just eat."

Despite Jimmy's earlier comment about her niece, Lucy didn't mind him being around her, he would never do anything bad to her. Besides, she didn't really want to see that doll again. Jimmy put his tray on the floor and headed upstairs to summon the little girl down for lunch. He figured letting Lucy eat while he went upstairs (despite his hunger) was the easiest selfless act he could do to get back into her pants. Even though the act was not selfless, he knew Lucy would appreciate the gesture. Walking nonchalantly down the hall Jimmy didn't notice the pretty layout of the hallway, which was a nod to Lucy's artistic side. This was simply one more thing Jimmy didn't care to learn about his girlfriend. Lucy was pretty, that was simply all Jimmy cared to know about her. Anything else he could pretend to know about, just so long as it got him laid.

"Jessie!"

Jimmy called out in a high-pitched voice, as if talking to a small, excitable dog. Pushing open the door he tried calling her again from the doorway. Jessica sat, ignoring him, engrossed in her tea party.

"Jess, lunch!"

The right to call her Jess was normally reserved exclusively for family but Jimmy called her it anyways. Still in his high pitch he called again.

"Lunch sweetie!"

After another zero response he used a little more force.

"Come on now, don't be a little brat!"

As frustration set in his voice returned to normal.

"Fine! You can starve for all I care!"

Turning to walk out he stopped; thinking better of it. What would Lucy think of him if he came downstairs empty handed, he was only just getting out of Lucy's bad books and he actually wanted to "get some" today. There would be no chance of that if he couldn't even persuade a seven year old to come down for lunch. Marching over to the little girl he stood over her.

"Jessie I'm not going to ask you again!"

The empty threat rung in deaf ears and his frustration got the better of him.

"Look you little bitch..."

Yelling, he grabbed for her arm. This volatile act would trigger a reaction. A reaction he did not expect. Betsy and Jessica turned their heads towards him in unison, as if one mind. However, Betsy's was the face that frightened him. Letting go of the little girl's arm he stood up rigid, looking down curiously at the doll that reacted so quickly to his assault. While Betsy's eye's followed his, her body (as if it was a separate entity) swiveled round to match the alignment of her head and she stood up.

"What the fuck?"

Jimmy gasped as he took a step back, being matched move for move by the doll. Suddenly Betsy stopped still. Jimmy copied, transfixed by her actions. She outstretched her arms and tilted her head a little. As a glint of red flickered in her eyes, Jimmy's stare was instantly broken by a slam behind him. Jolting round, he saw Jessica standing in front of the closed door. She smiled fondly at Betsy.

"I don't like you...neither does Betsy...but she'll still play with you..."

Jimmy turned rapidly back to Betsy, who lowered her arms and smiled.

Lucy decided to have one more bite of chicken before she waited for the other two to come downstairs. She always felt it was best to eat hot things hot. Picking up the fork with a little piece of oven cooked chicken breast on it she blew gently to cool it down. A dull thud beat down on the floorboards above her causing her to stop what she was doing and look up. The TV tray clinked as she set it down beside her and headed to the foot of the stairs. Calling up first for her niece, then for Jimmy, her tone was representative of her feelings' for each of their safety. After no response she walked slowly up the stairs, changing from her usual jog. Cautiously moving down the well decorated hallway, the sound of the strange thud coupled with the lack of response made her wary, and therefore slow walking down the hall. Pushing open the bedroom door she saw nothing strange, except for a lack of Jimmy. Jessica was sitting with her dolls, seemingly still enjoying her tea party. Stepping into the room, something felt off in the air and as such Lucy remained cautious.

"Jess?"

"Yes Aunt Lucy?"

"Did your Uncle Jimmy come up here?"

"Yes"

Lucy glanced around the room, still girly in its decor. Although Lucy was in her twenties she never quite got out of the pink motif.

"Where is he?"

Jessica lifted her head and pointed across the room.

"He's in the toy box."

Lucy's head spun round to the toy chest the size of a small coffee table, a remnant from Lucy's youth still covered in stickers. Lucy kept this as a memory of times past and also for some of Jessica's toys. Always neat, Lucy liked to keep things stored away tidily. But now, there was nothing neat about this situation. Lucy turned back to her niece in confusion.

"What?"

"Betsy didn't like Jimmy so she put him in the toy box!"

Lucy looked down at Betsy (heart rate pounding) but the doll didn't flinch. Convincing herself this was some elaborate joke conceived by Jimmy to frighten the wits out of her she decided she had to check it out. Aiming her body squarely at the box she moved closer. She looked at the box; there was no way a grown man could fit in there. Deciding she had had enough games for today, she was just about to turn around and demand Jessica tell her the truth when she spotted something. At first she thought it was paint but, looking closer, she was horrified. Blood leaked from the corner of the box. Her body frozen, Lucy's eyes sailed up to the top of her childhood toy chest; stopping her gaze on tiny hand prints in blood around the handle. Confusion turned to fear as little tears streamed involuntarily down her pretty face. She was drawn to the box now. She had to find out what was in there. Moving forward one step at a time her brain tried to picture a best case scenario, but unfortunately there were very few of those. She grabbed the handle and quickly glanced over her shoulder, spotting Jessica still enjoying her tea party.

"Jessica, this had better be a joke!" she said desperately.

"I would never lie to you Aunt Lucy."

Lucy didn't know what to make of her niece's behavior; instead she tried not to think about it and pushed on with opening the box.

"Just like taking off a Band Aid" she thought to herself.

Fear told her to open the box as fast as possible. Tears dropped, dodging sniffles on their way to the carpet as Lucy screwed her eyes a little in preparation, and pulled up hard. As if pushed by some invisible force, the sight repelled Lucy's body to the floor where she landed on her hands and knees, vomiting profusely. She only got a little glimpse of what was inside but that was enough. The sight she just witnessed was now flashing into her mind. The brutal image of Jimmy, bloodied and contorted, stuffed into the little wooden box, his face frozen in horror. The full sadism of Betsy was lost on Lucy however. The fact that there was no blood on the carpet meant he was bludgeoned after being stuffed in the box, but Lucy was in no frame of mind for forensic analysis. Wiping her mouth after one last hurl her maternal instincts kicked in. She looked up to the table, hoping to see Jessica so the two could flee but the little girl was not there. Turning the other way, still on her hands and knees, she saw Betsy standing in front of her. Behind Betsy, Jessica stood giving her a mildly sympathetic look before turning and walking out the door, closing it firmly behind her. Lucy tried to call to her niece, but her throat was so hoarse through vomiting that only air came out. Not that it would have done much good; Jessica simply left her alone with the murderous doll. Betsy smiled menacingly and walked towards Lucy, who was still sobbing on her hands and knees. Grabbing her by the hair and pulling her head towards her, Betsy jammed her little porcelain arm down Lucy's throat and splayed out her fingers. Lucy's gag reflex kicked in but she had nothing left in her stomach to bring up. She tried desperately to fight off the maniacal doll as her brain was slowly starved of oxygen but Betsy was too strong. Using up all her strength, Lucy fell to her back and thrusted the doll sharply upwards in an attempt to release her hold. Unfortunately for Lucy, her fate was already sealed. As soon as Betsy thought she might have been overpowered by the push she gripped some flesh before her arm was wrenched out. That torn flesh was now bleeding profusely, filling Lucy's throat with blood, effectively drowning her. Crawling to the door in vain, Lucy coughed blood while desperately trying to steal some precious oxygen from the air. Calmly, Betsy walked to the tea party table and picked up the little steel chair she was sitting on. Lifting it with ease she carried it back towards Lucy. Rolling onto her back, Lucy tried one last time to fight off the demon doll but it was no use, her energy had been completely sapped. Scaling the pretty blonde's toned body; Betsy raised the chair above her head with both hands, allowing only one last splutter from the dying young woman before she drove it down into her face. Two legs pierced either side of the mouth, and two pierced just above the eyes with so much force they also pierced the hardwood below, nailing Lucy's head to the floor. Twitching as Betsy dismounted her, Lucy's brain sent the last of its signals down her body.

In Room 101 of Hallcombes Psychiatric facility Connor Williams sat on the end of his bed with his eyes closed. His little fist was clenched. Slowly he opened his eyes and smiled. He was proud of what he had just accomplished. But he knew the day was early, his work today was far from over.

CHAPTER 23

Stephen Benchley didn't particularly enjoy jogging, however, on a day like this, when the sun was out, he didn't mind it at all. There was just enough of a gentle breeze to keep him happy as he glided through the Staunton suburbs, on the lookout for pretty girls in passing cars. Taking the corner of Maple and Oak wide his thoughts drifted. He wondered why towns named streets after trees. He could understand naming them after people but he never thought trees made any sense. Actually, he wished Staunton would adopt a grid system for its streets. If they did that (he thought) things would be so much easier to find. But he knew the mayor would never go for it, Staunton was to remain quaint for the tourists and Stephen hated that. Moving onto Birch Street he recoiled again at the name but, before he could go into another rant inside his head he noticed a little girl sitting on some steps clutching a doll. He took no notice and jogged past, but a realization suddenly hit him.

"That's Lucy Ellis's niece and she looks upset."

Suddenly Stephen's head was filled with other thoughts. Since he had had a crush on Lucy since high school, he would do anything to take her away from "that douche-bag" Jimmy Collins. Taking every opportunity he could to score a brownie point here and there he decided he was going to try and console the girl, hoping Lucy would catch a glimpse of his sensitive side. Still jogging, he broke the cardinal rule of runners in that you never turn back on yourself. Softly approaching Jessica on the steps outside her auntie's house, he knelt down beside her.

"Hey darlin'" he said quietly. "Why so sad?"

"Lucy had an accident."

"Really?" said Stephen, intrigued by the prospect of saving the day.

Jessica nodded.

"She's in her bedroom"

"Hmm" mumbled Stephen, keeping his perverted thoughts in his mind, away from the little girl. "And where is her bedroom?"

"Upstairs, at the end of the hall."

Stephen shot up like a horny superhero.

"Ok little girl. Stay here ok."

As he headed up the garden path he smiled, excited at the prospect of saving the day here and possibly "getting some" from his high school crush.

"Where are you now Jimmy? Douche bag!" he said out loud as he walked up to the front door, confident no-one would hear him.

"Hello?"

Stephen called out as he entered the house, finding only quiet. With little concern for Lucy's actual wellbeing Stephen was simply thrilled to be in her house, taking his time to look at pictures in the entrance hallway. He looked at various pictures of Lucy, which adorned the spacious foyer.

"Fuck you're sexy" he muttered while looking at a particularly eye pleasing picture of Lucy at the beach in Mexico.

As if sniffing up pheromones in the air Stephen closed his eyes and took a quick whiff beside the picture before he headed upstairs.

"Lucy?"

He called out again as he moved down the hall, still taking his time to admire the pictures on route to the bedroom. Pushing open the door his eyes surveyed the room, finding nothing but an odd smell. He had to admit he would have thought Lucy's room would have smelled better than this (it did when he imagined it in his mind at least). He noticed the vomit on the carpet and recoiled, starting to think this was more serious than he originally anticipated. Clothes were scattered across the floor, which was odd because apart from the vomit on the floor and the tea party set the room seemed very neat.

"Lucy?"

He cried, more forceful this time while scanning the room for signs of life. After a minute of visual searching, his eyes rested on the toy box and the tiny handprints around the handle.

"Is that blood?" he said out loud as he reached to open the chest, stepping back a little as he did.

With a cheeky flick of his wrist he got the lid open, the sight of Jimmy's contorted body made him cry out while jumping back in fright. As if retreating from a lion, Stephen's feet fumbled for the floor. Accidentally slipping on the vomit slick, he fell over into the wooden closet behind him setting it off balance. The weight of whatever was inside pushing against the doors; was set off balance too and Stephen soon found himself on the receiving end of a naked falling body coming hard out the closet on top of him. He screamed out, confused and terrified, it all happened so fast. He tried to push the body away from him, turning to face it in the process. His second corpse today was even more horrifying, Lucy's once beautiful features lay ravaged in front of him, eyes torn up, mouth ripped open and covered in blood. In fact, the only reason he immediately knew it was Lucy was thanks to the perfume she always wore. That tantalizing, designer scent used to drive him crazy in high school. Now, thanks to a new association with the scent it would be driving him crazy another way. With his strength he pushed her off and with one last horrified look he tried to get to his feet. In his desperation he slipped on the vomit again and almost lost his balance for a second time. Instead, choosing not to stop moving he stumbled over Lucy's corpse on his way out the door. Running to Jessica, pale and raving he knew he needed to call someone.

"What the hell happened in there?"

"Betsy didn't like Jimmy. So she put him in the box. I think Lucy was just for fun."

Confused, Jimmy shook his head madly.

"Who's Betsy?"

Jessica smiled and held her doll out in front of Stephen.

"Say hello, Betsy."

Betsy smirked at Stephen, and without moving her lips uttered a single word:

"Hello!"

Her voice was polite yet grainy, like singing from a gramophone. Stephen stood up.

"No. Bullshit! It can't be!"

While ranting in fear he was even more in shock when Betsy's face turned into an evil scowl.

"No! Jesus Christ!" Stephen exclaimed as he turned and fled, looking for the nearest phone.

Dr. Greg MacNamee talked in the hallway of Hallcombes to a pretty nurse. He had been so preoccupied with Connor that he had not been looking after his other patients nearly as much as he should have been.

"Thank you nurse Archer" he said as he was presented with the medical files she had prepared for a patient.

Taking them from her, he noticed she was still standing there, looking into his eyes. With a dry smile he repeated his pleasantry, but this time with a little ad lib.

"Thank you nurse Archer; that will be all."

"Are you sure Doctor? There's...nothing else I can do for you?"

The nurse's tone was very suggestive; this put MacNamee out a little so he decided to quash this little incident for now by holding up his hand and rolling his wedding band with his thumb.

"I'm sure."

He smiled again as she quietly slipped away. Following her with his eyes he could not believe how forward some of the nurses could be. As his mind wandered into thoughts of the importance of monogamy, a large nurse came up behind him.

"Doctor MacNamee!"

Startled, MacNamee knew exactly who it was. Brenda Wallace had the worst habit of sneaking up on people, especially him.

"Jesus Brenda! You're going to give me a heart attack!"

"Don't worry. If that happens, you're in the right place for it."

"This is a psychiatric hospital Brenda, not a regular hospital" said MacNamee trying to shoot down her sarcasm.

"But you are Doctors aren't you? Or does that title not mean anything anymore?"

Releasing he was fighting a losing battle, MacNamee cut to the chase. He didn't really like the older Brenda and it showed in his tone.

"Brenda, what can I do for you?"

"A Sheriff Oates called for you. I thought it best I came and got you. Best to leave this stuff off the intercom, you know?"

MacNamee softened a little. Brenda did show tact and he appreciated that.

"Ok Brenda, I'll call him back from my office, thank you."

Assuming Brenda would leave, he looked down at his files. She lingered however, leaning in a little closer.

"Did it have to do with the mysterious stuff going on here? Do you know what caused the scratch in the wall? I heard there was a weird light that night too"

"What are you talking about Brenda? What light?"

MacNamee tried his best to act innocent but Brenda hardly heard him, instead she kept probing.

"Oh everybody's talking about it sir. Do you know what it was?"

MacNamee looked at Brenda who epitomized the rumor mill at Hallcombes.

"No Brenda, I don't. But when I do, I'm sure you'll be the first to know!"

With that he set off down the hall, leaving Brenda behind to her own devices.

In his office MacNamee felt he could be at ease. He overheard no gossip and did not have to dodge any nurses who felt they should be privy to more information than they actually should be. Sitting down at his desk he enjoyed a rare moment of quiet before calling Oates, who, no doubt had some more food for thought for him. Savoring the last ounces of silence he picked up the phone and dialed out.

"Sheriff Oates."

"Hello Sheriff, Greg MacNamee here returning your call."

Oates' police station was buzzing, this incident was a lot harder to keep a lid on as Stephen had called 911, raving about a killer doll and two murder victims.

"Hold on a sec Doc..."

Oates got up from his chair, moved round the desk and closed the door to his office; he parted the Venetian blinds so he could still see out, to keep an eye on his beloved station. Sitting back down he continued his conversation.

"Sorry about that Doc, this place is a hive right now."

"That's alright Sheriff, what's new? Do you have any leads?"

"Maybe..."

After a sigh and a pause he continued

"We had two more murders. We got a call about an hour ago from a frantic local boy. He informed us of the murders, where they were and he also gave us the name of the person he said was responsible. Someone named Betsy. That name mean anything to you?"

In the contrasting silence of MacNamee's office he pondered, thinking about the names he had heard over the last few days.

"Betsy" he said out loud.

"Betsy, Betsy..."

"...No, Sheriff couldn't say that it does. Did this boy say anything else about her?"

"No. Just a name. To be honest he hasn't said much since then. He was ranting on the phone; now it's hard to get much from him at all. I have one of my boys attempting to get a statement from him right now."

The station buzzed while the two men conversed. Since Oates knew he couldn't keep a lid on this, he felt it best to call in as many of his cops as possible. In the main room on the main floor of the old listed building, open planning was the theme. Eight desks took up a large chunk of the main floor, each covered on two sides by low false walls. There was another floor upstairs with an almost identical desk layout. There were hallways branching off with various offices and interview rooms, but the main interview room and the Sheriff's office were all offshoots of the large main room. Oates did not like the building design, feeling it unnecessarily large for the purpose it served. In his mind the building could do with being cut in half to be able to serve its purpose more efficiently. However, since it was a listed building, planning permission was damn near impossible to get so he had to concede that superfluous space was what they would have. Stephen Benchley sat in a near catatonic state after his traumatic sunny afternoon jog. At the back desk on the right hand side of the building he was in perfect view of Oates who had spent much time today peering at him, wondering what he saw. A young cop tried to probe Stephen, with no success. In the main interview room, two cops were chatting to the young Jessica Ellis, again with little success. Enormously frustrated, the cops remained professional. They tried their hardest to get the little girl to open up but nothing would work, she just wasn't talking. When a situation similar to this arose before they would all get together for beers and bitch about the witnesses but things were different today. There had never been murders like this or witnesses to such crimes so young.

"Alright, let's give it a rest for now" sighed officer Barlow, called in on his day off to help with the investigation.

He leaned down towards Jessica.

"Let's get you some ice cream, would you like that?"

Looking up at him doe eyed Jessica held up Betsy to which Barlow chuckled.

"Ok, we'll get your dolly some as well."

Oates was still chatting to MacNamee in his office.

"One of the victims" continued Oates "His name was Jimmy Collins, he was present on the day Andy Williams died, I'm already sure the deaths are related now, I'm also convinced you were right about the revenge killings. Or at least, revenge killings in someone's mind."

"What about the girlfriend?"

"Collateral damage we think. She had never met Andy Williams before as far as we know. I'd like to come up to Hallcombes to speak with Connor, Doc. I'd like to find out who this Betsy is before more bodies pile up."

"You're more than welcome to come up Sheriff but I can't guarantee you a chat with the boy. He's not quite ready to talk to outsiders. One of our doctors normally talks to him, he has a..." MacNamee hesitated "...fairly good rapport with Connor, he could certainly ask your questions for you."

"All the same I'd like to be there."

Outside, Officer Barlow ushered Jessica out of the interview room and Stephen noticed. As if pricked by a large needle he sat up, rigid. His brain flashed through the terrifying images of the corpses he saw, Lucy Ellis' mashed up face, Jimmy Collins' contorted body, and Betsy's mocking smile after it all. An uncontrollable impulse took over him, he reacted without hesitating. Screaming out loud he jumped to his feet then pushed over the cop at the desk beside him, tearing the gun from his holster.

"That's her! She did it!"

Benchley screamed pointing the gun at Jessica and Betsy. Acting quickly, a nearby young cop drew his gun and took aim. The two men fire rounds off at almost exactly the same time. The young cop's bullet hit Benchley square in the throat, whereas Stephen's missed its intended target, sinking deep into the chest of Barlow. Startled by the noise outside Oates dropped the phone to his side and ran to the door.

"Sheriff what was that noise? Sheriff?"

"I'll be up tomorrow morning."

Eager to get to his colleagues aide, Oates yelled his response while running, throwing the phone as he did in no general direction. Others had already intervened, there was nothing more Oates could do right now. He simply stared at the chaos in front of him. He could not move. He was completely dumbfounded by the happenings in his station. Four bodies already, now two more shot, he simply could not believe his own eyes. His thoughts went back to Andy Williams and the way he handled the murder, if these killings were motivated by revenge then perhaps he could had avoided all of this by simply holding his nephew accountable for his actions. Now however, as the world (as Staunton knew it) was quickly being turned on its head, he would never know for sure. While some of the cops in the room tended to Officer Barlow's wounds, others tended to Stephen's, little Jessica moved unnoticed to the mortally wounded Benchley. She stood over him, making sure the last sight he would ever see on this earth was the face of a smiling Betsy looming over him.

CHAPTER 24

Whiskey poured from a crystal decanter. Mayor Shannahan poured two, one for himself and one for Oates. Placing a large measure beside the staring Sheriff he put the decanter back on its shelf then sat down at his desk. Shannahan stared at the Sheriff who was looking down at the table. After a long moment the mayor spoke.

"So, how many whiskies is it going to take for you to bring me up to speed?"

Oates said nothing; he took his glass and downed the entire drink. Placing the glass back down on the table he wiped his mouth.

"You know..." said Shannahan, standing up and walking back to the decanter. "I didn't find it the least bit unusual you didn't come to me after the first murders, I know your ways Stacey. I know how you think."

Mayor Shannahan was one of only two people who called Sheriff Oates by his first name. The other was his wife and if his anger at being named Stacey was to be compounded by anything, it would be the fact that he had nothing but contempt for the only two people who called him it. Shannahan knew Oates did not like his first name but he called him it anyways, he liked to remind the Sheriff who was in charge.

"Is that right?" asked Oates dryly as Shannahan poured another for him.

"I knew you would come to me, when you were ready."

"Barlow didn't make it; neither did our suspect, that's six bodies in less than twenty four hours."

Oates looked square at the pot-bellied figure of greed before him.

"Six!" he emphasized. "That's six times more than our entire murder count last year!"

Mayor Shannahan didn't seem troubled. In charge of a small town he had swept his fair share of secrets under the colloquial rug and as such he felt untouchable by anyone. Oates cradled his second large whiskey while looking into Shannahan's beady eyes.

"Have you heard the rumors?"

"This is a small town Stacey. I hear a lot of gossip, a lot of hearsay and a lot of rumors but I don't pay any attention to them."

"Well you should."

Shannahan smiled back at him.

"Killer dolls? I should pay attention to killer dolls?"

Oates just stared back at him, unflinching. Chuckling, Shannahan said:

"On second thought, maybe you should give me back that whiskey."

Oates smiled through his anger.

"I've been speaking with the Doctor in charge of Connor Williams"

"The 'Baby Killer?'"

Oates nodded softly.

"He told me Connor told them of someone who was taking revenge for his father's death, and all of Connor's toys had vanished from his locked room. What do you make of this..."

Oates slid across the still picture of Dummy from the motel.

"It kind of looks like a kid" Shannahan said hesitantly.

"That's what I thought, but do you know any kids that would do...this..."

One by one Oates slid pictures of the victims across the desk. Amanda's chewed face, Kyle's headless body, Jimmy's contortion in the box and Lucy's gruesome face. As Shannahan recoiled, feeling sick, Oates calmly asked him again.

"Now, what else could that picture look like?"

Having had a fresh dose of reality Shannahan suddenly became more open.

"I suppose it kind of looks like a doll."

"There we go!" exclaimed Oates sarcastically. "Perhaps just like the one that vanished from Connor Williams room. In fact, I already spoke to Doctor MacNamee about it. He gave me a description of the one that vanished from Connor's room, and yes, it's the same one, or else it's one hell of a coincidence."

Shannahan recoiled a second time after stealing a quick glance at the photographs grotesquely plastered over his desk. Standing up, he turned and walked to the large arch window in his office. Leaning on the frame he peered down to the street below, his voice steamed up the window slightly as he talked.

"So, let's say you're right, what do we do?"

Oates sipped his whiskey. The taste was strong. Shannahan always drank good Scotch but not because of his own connoisseurial tastes, but because he would scour the Internet looking for bottles that were highly ranked by those in the know. Shannahan was always pretentious; he could never tell the difference between a good whiskey and a bad one, he just liked the image of buying the expensive ones. Oates, on the other hand, thought a $20 bottle of whiskey from the liquor store did the same job as the expensive stuff, and so, he never believed in shelling out big bucks for it.

"Right now I'm doing everything in my power. I've got every officer I have on duty patrolling the streets but I'm afraid that won't be enough."

"Why not?"

"Because we don't exactly know what we're looking for. I mean, short of seeing Barbie and Ken walking down the street with a god damned axe in their hands I don't know how to stop...whatever they are."

Despite the fact that both these men were starting to accept that there may be dolls on the loose which were capable of murder, they were not as worried as one may think. But by talking about the creatures in real terms it somehow made it easier to comprehend their existence. To Shannahan, the fact that the Sheriff came to him with basic measures to try and catch them meant they were fallible and therefore less frightening. Like watching a commercial appeal for cancer or famine, Shannahan was mostly apathetic to the threat until he came across it himself; it was only then he would see the true horror of what was hunting them. Oates-on the other hand- understood all too well now. With a half dozen bodies in the morgue in a very short space of time Oates knew he was facing a crisis. The only reason he had not admitted as much was because he had no countermeasure. He had no definitive plan at the moment, only more investigation.

"Well I'm sure it can't be hard to figure out what dolls were in the boy's room before they vanished?"

"I don't know. I haven't had a chance to ask those questions."

Shannahan turned around to face the Sheriff.

"Well" he continued "How did they find their way down to Staunton? I mean, who brought them here?"

"I don't know. The doctor had no real lead on how the toys left the boys room."

"Well, how did they figure out Andy Williams death wasn't an accident?"

"I don't know!" Oates replied forcefully.

Shannahan lost his temper, fizzing like a shaken soda can.

"Well what the hell do you know? You're supposed to be the Sheriff! Do your damn job and give me some damn answers!"

Oates stood up forcefully, sending his chair crashing to the ground.

"I'm doing my damn job Shannahan! Oh and in case you've forgotten, none of this would be happening if you hadn't interfered with my damn job."

"Then Tony would be heading to the chair!"

Shannahan was right and Oates knew it. He would have given anything to go back and change his decision. Never in a million lifetimes would he have thought that honoring his promise to his brother would have created a pile of bodies on his home soil. Shannahan noticed Oates' thoughtful expression and moved in to close the case.

"At the end of the day Stacey, you're the Sheriff. You control the law here not me, this is ultimately your decision. I'm afraid my hands are clean on this one."

Shannahan stood smug, proud that he felt he had been able to deflect responsibility from himself. Oates pursed his lips and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them he took two fast steps towards the mayor and punched him hard in the face. The impact forced the doughy Shannahan straight the ground. As he fell he hit his head on the lower window pane causing a slight crack in the glass and splitting the skin on his forehead. Standing over him, having vented years of frustration into one solid punch, Oates proceeded to give him an awful dose of the reality he faced.

"You ignorant bastard! See, with you I never know what to think. You sit here in your little office with your big window feeling all powerful. You either think I don't know or I'm too stupid to know about all the little pies you have your greasy little fingers in. Let me tell you something Mayor. Your hands are not clean of anything. They're dirty. Your hands are dirty! So don't stand there and tell me they aren't! You were right about one thing though, it was my decision but I can't change what's been done. But I sure as hell can stop it."

Oates turned to walk away, leaving Shannahan with a bleeding forehead and bloody nose. Once Oates' back was turned the mayor found new confidence.

"What are you going to do?"

Oates ignored him. Shannahan yelled after him.

"You're done in this town Oates! When these things are stopped, you're finished!"

Oates opened the doors but stopped before leaving.

"Don't you get it Shannahan? If these are revenge killings then that means you and me are on that list. We're both finished!"

Oates left the room, leaving Shannahan to nurse his wounds.

"I take it everyone knows then?"

Tony Oates asked, sitting round a table in Earl's with the people involved in the bar fight with Andy Williams. Nodding or acknowledging quietly, the table sat, all aware that Tony was talking about Jimmy. Looking down at the table Tony continued.

"You don't even want to know how he died."

"Who told you?" asked Matthew.

"Brady did, said they were all gonna be working double shifts until this thing was over."

Bartender Earl came over, dropped off a round of drinks then stood by the table while they chatted. Brian and Anne, (the only couple at the table) sat together. Anne glared across the table, she had only been dating Brian for a short time and she never liked Tony, she couldn't believe she got caught up in the events which unfolded here a few nights earlier. She was a smart girl.

"Why couldn't you have just left the guy alone? He wasn't bothering anyone."

"I was trying to protect the town Anne, that guy was bad news."

"Bullshit" Anne mumbled.

Sandy decided to pipe in at this point.

"Don't act all high and mighty over there Anne, you were there too, I didn't hear you saying anything."

"It's not like he would have listened to me!" Anne protested.

"Maybe I would have, maybe you should have tried!" snapped Tony.

"Guys, guys stop, we were all there!" Matthew chimed in.

Earl joined in too.

"He's right, you were all there, Christ it was my bar and I never even did anything. We all have an equal part in this."

"Yeah but only one of us was doing the punching."

Anne mumbled loud enough for all to hear.

"Look, what do you want Anne?" yelled Tony "What do you want? You think I wanted Jimmy to die? You think I wanted Amanda to die? You think I wanted any of this?"

Anne stood up, yelling.

"That's just it Tony you don't think! You just do! And that's what got Jimmy and Amanda and Lucy and Kyle killed! And that's what's going to kill us."

"Sweetie what are you talking about?" Brian asked her shyly.

The mood at the table changed as they listened to Anne's harrowing words.

"First Amanda and Kyle, then Jimmy and Lucy. I don't think it's a coincidence that they were killed soon after Andy Williams died, and I'm pretty sure the Sheriff doesn't think so either." She looked straight at Tony "It doesn't take a genius to join the dots."

Tony's phone vibrated on the table, glowing ominously. He looked at the text message he just received. It was from Officer Brady, it read:

"BARLOW DEAD, STEPHEN BENCHLEY DEAD, TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF."

The text interrupted Anne and she, along with everyone else were now fervently watching Tony, waiting for whatever news he was about to release.

"What is it Tony?" asked Matthew.

"Two more bodies." Tony said, suddenly summing up his own mortality.

"Who?" asked Sandy.

"A cop! Barlow; and the guy who found Jimmy's body."

The group sat solemn for a long moment before Anne broke the silence yet again.

"I'm not waiting around here to become an obituary. Knowing you is dangerous Tony Oates so I don't want to know you anymore!"

Anne pushed her way past Brian who tried to stop her leaving. Matthew leaned across the table and gently grabbed Brian's arm, stopping him from following his soon to be ex-girlfriend out the door.

"Let her go man, she just needs to cool down."

Brian knew how right he was. The daughter of Russian immigrants, Anne had a fiery side to her. Very smart but insanely stubborn, Brian was in love with her because of her passion, but that's also what drove them to fight a lot.

"I tell you guys, this whole business, its bad news" said Earl.

"What do you mean exactly?" asked Tony contemptuously.

He hated the fact Earl always had a piece of advice on any situation.

"I hear a lot of stuff here, a couple of the station boys came in for a quick lunch and I overheard them talking. I'm sure they wouldn't normally discuss police business so openly, but as far as I know they've never had to deal with anything like this. Anne's right, the boys from the station said as much. The common theory down there was that these murders are revenge killings for Andy Williams."

Earl told them almost the exact same thing Anne did; only he spelled it out. Anne would have been even angrier if she had still been here as it turned out most of the group had been tuning her out when she was talking, including Brian.

"So why hasn't the Sheriff put us all in protective custody or something?" Brian asked worried.

Earl shrugged "They haven't dealt with anything like this before. But don't ask me. It's his uncle!"

"Well, I don't know, I was surprised the old bastard helped get us out of this mess at all."

Tony was about to blow. Despite being a bully he was certainly not stupid and, as Anne had said: "It didn't take a genius to join the dots."

"Those cops mentioned that they didn't even knew who was killing them, but apparently the murders were really brutal, I'm talking real psycho shit. Like I said...we all share the blame equally."

Tony slammed his fists down on the table causing everyone in the bar to jump.

"Everyone just stop fucking talking about it, don't you think I haven't thought about it too? As Anne so bluntly pointed out, I was the one fighting the guy! How can you all just sit there chatting, as if you don't care Jimmy's dead!"

Sandy whipped round to face him, her mouth moving faster than her brain.

"Of course we care Tony! Don't forget my friend is dead too ok."

"Yeah, plus there are four other bodies! Trust me we care!" said Brian, agreeing with Sandy.

Matthew chimed in.

"What did Officer Barlow's or Stephen Benchley's death have to do with anything?"

"What?" Tony asked flippantly as Matthew seemed to be moving off topic.

"Well think about it, the only people who had anything to do with Andy Williams directly would have been Amanda and Jimmy, the other four didn't. So how can anyone be sure the deaths were related?"

"Well of course they are!" snapped Tony.

"No, hold on a second Tony, Matthew might be on to something here." Brian added. "I mean, I could pick Office Barlow out a lineup...maybe...and would maybe recognize Kyle and Lucy from high school but that's it. Those two ran in different circles and Jimmy never brought Lucy out with him. I never even heard of Stephen Benchley. Did you know any of them?"

Tony calmed down.

"I guess I met Lucy once, don't think I ever spoke to Kyle before. Yeah, I never even heard of this Benchley guy either."

"I knew Kyle through Amanda; spoke to that pretty cheerleading bitch Lucy maybe twice in high school. Never met the cop or the other guy."

"I met him" said Earl, "A couple of years younger than you guys. Came in here a few times. Decent enough kid; bad tipper."

Matthew paused a moment before attempting to sum up what he had said originally.

"So, they could all be unrelated then."

The group had been showing little remorse for their friends due to fears of their own safety taking selfish precedence over anything else. Matthew's possible revelation put them at ease though, unfortunately, on the flip side it caused them to feel more remorse for their friends again.

"I'd like to catch whoever's doing this" said Tony "I'd kill them."

"Well guys and gal, this conversation's a little heavy for me, I'm going to take a leak, anyone else need a drink before I go?"

The group looked at their drinks, each shaking their heads; they were ok for the time being.

CHAPTER 25

The last of the paramedics had long since left the station but Deputy Lynch was still sitting alone in the main room. Having been out on patrol when the shootings took place he arrived just in time to aid in the effort to save the lives of his colleague and Stephen Benchley. The efforts were in vain and the fact that he had tried to help was little consolation. As soon as Barlow was pronounced dead, Oates had left the building. He left before Benchley could be given an equal attribute but everyone knew it was going to happen. Looking around at the confused and scared faces around him Lynch made a snap decision, one he could only have made once the Sheriff had left. He excused all the men for one hour. One hour to go out for some R and R which he felt they desperately needed. His hands were covered in a pink tinge from the blood of his colleague. A quick wipe was not enough to get rid of it and now his hands served as an unwelcome reminder of the day's events. Heading into the station bathroom he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was pale, the day's events seemed to have drained all color from his cheeks; even the light tan he normally kept all year round. As he gently washed his hands he quietly prayed for a quick end to the nightmare unfolding before him.

In front of the urinal Tony was thinking more than he was peeing. He was a little drunk but Tony was normally always a little drunk. He leaned his forehead on the cracked tile wall above the trough, unconcerned with hygiene issues. Closing his eyes, he focused on the relatively simple act of peeing. The blight on Staunton had provided enough of a mental distraction to give him a terrible bout of stage fright. While whispering out loud, he counted down from three, hoping that when he did so he would be able to flow freely. No such luck. Counting down from three again he quickly opened his eyes hoping for a release but instead his eyes caught the mirror, just off to his right, reflecting the stalls opposite him. His frustration was loud as if to joke about the potentially embarrassing situation of being unable to pee. He squinted at the mirror, trying to figure out who was in the stall before it occurred to him who it was. Earl's shoes; complete with a light covering of pants and underwear sat in squat formation.

"Hey Earl! You having problems too? Feels like I've been standing here forever, but not quite as long as you I guess."

Tony laughed to himself obnoxiously as if to reinforce his mild insult. After a pause, Tony continued heckling Earl.

"What's wrong old man? Did your sense of humor run off with your sex life?"

Earl didn't respond, which was rare for the old man.

"Come on Earl that was funny! Wait wait, I got another one, you're sitting like your wife was when she told you she was leaving you!"

As Tony held himself, he was finally able to pee. Ribbing Earl gave him a little bit of a distraction from what was rolling around in his mind. Apart from Tony, the only sound in the bathroom was the automatic flush of the urinal trough. Water from the automatic system splashed Tony's jeans and he stepped back annoyed, putting his manhood back in his zipper and closing it up.

"Aww, nasty!"

Tony exclaimed as the sound gently echoed around the tiled, banana colored walls.

"Hey come on Earl, where's that sharp wit of yours?" asked Tony as he slowly made his way to the cubicle door, well aware that the unofficial male washroom code prohibited him from getting too close to another man's toilet time.

"Earl, that is you in there right?" he asked, concern creeping in to his psyche.

"Come on old man, don't be rude, answer me already!"

Tony started to knock on the door. His first thump pushed it open a third of the way, bringing a part of Earl into view.

"What the fuck?"

Tony thought out loud and pushed the door open fully.

The old man sat naked from the waist down. Blood leaking from a ripped out throat had colored his once white shirt into a dark maroon.

"Jesus Christ!"

Tony held his breath. Moving backwards quickly he slammed into the sink. Staring in disbelief at the man in front of him his eyes scanned the situation. The cubicle walls were covered in blood but the floor was-on the whole-clean, largely thanks to Earl's gut preventing the arterial spray from reaching anywhere except the walls and the back of the door. A soft whimper broke the terse silence in the room. Turning his head, Tony saw a small dog beside the urinals looking up at him with a sad, longing look on its face. If it wasn't for the patches of blood on it Tony might say the little thing was quite cute. He could not say that however. The little thing before him did not even look real. Its eye's looked plastic, its fur looked artificial, it simply looked to him like a fluffy toy. The dog took baby steps towards the paralyzed Tony, gradually gaining ground. The dog, now standing just below his knees, whimpered at him with blood dripping from around its mouth. In an effort to appear confident Tony forced a smile.

"Hey pup," he said nervously and the little dog looked away sheepishly.

Tony tried to make a subtle retreat while the creature's eyes were off of him. One step at a time he moved towards the door. As he got a stepped closer the dog's head twitched a little, then a little more. Terrified his movements were causing a reaction in the creature's behavior Tony stopped and with one large twitch the ungodly thing before him jolted its face completely out of Tony's vision. Just as quick as it turned away it turned back, eyes locking hard on Tony's. Its face demented, its body shaking. White foam oozed from its mouth, turning the blood around it a light pink. Deep snarling came from within the creature as it snapped wildly at the air, transforming itself into a demonic doppelganger of its former self. Tony, unable to control himself, pissed in his pants, a large dark spotted signifying the last of what his bladder could not release voluntarily. The dog burst open its mouth revealing two razor sharp rows of gnashing teeth. As its eyes bulged, Tony could swear to himself the creature was grinning at him. The creature lunged straight for Tony's throat with incredible speed. Reactions which stemmed from his footballing days suddenly kicked in allowing Tony to fall backwards, grabbing the beast as he did so. He was using all the strength he could muster just to keep the demon pooch from clamping down on his throat. He could feel its warm breath just inches from his Adam's apple as it snapped profusely. Holding the dog firm took all of his power as it thrashed in his hands, whipping its head wildly like a shark does when ripping flesh from an animal. In order to get the dog off of him Tony was forced to make the most dangerous decision of his life. He needed to throw the creature far enough away so that he could make his exit. But, in order to do that he needed to bend his arms which meant bringing the creature closer to his throat. As Dog snapped and snarled furiously, Tony tried his best to be careful as he gradually bent his arms, each degree of bend sacrificing some of his strength. It was only when Tony felt the fluff from the snarling mouth tickle his throat did he push off with every scrap of strength he had left. Firing the beast across the room it slammed hard into the banana colored tiles. After falling flat on the ground Dog's expression changed. It slowly rose to its feet looking sad; its face having quickly switched back to its passive alter ego. Whimpering gently as if hurt; Dog aimed for sympathy. Tony decided not to wait around long enough to be fooled; He scrambled to his feet and headed to the door, leaving the whimpering pooch in the room behind him. Dim light stung his eyes immediately. The bright lights bouncing off the bright yellow tiles had spoiled his vision and now he was back in the smoky, wooden bar. Pool balls clicked and pop music bellowed as he hurtled across the room to the table he recently left. The group was in a lighter mood, chatting amongst themselves as Tony bombed across, screeching to a halt beside the table.

"Guys, we need to get the fuck out of here!"

He said hushed at the table trying to avoid a panic. His emotional state in stark contrast to the group who were much more passive.

"Why?" asked Brian "Is it your round?"

He and Matthew shared a chuckle.

"No. Really guys, I was just in the washroom...and a creature...it attacked me!"

"Yeah yeah I saw it too" said Matthew.

"You did?" Tony asked, relief shining in his voice.

"Yeah, I went for a piss and there was a snake between my legs, scared the hell out of me!"

This time, everyone except Tony cracked up. Tony snapped. He dove across the table yelling and grabbing Matthew with both hands.

"Listen to me you fucker! Earl is dead, something killed him!"

Despite the music playing, most of the bar heard this. About eight other people turned around. Billy, the other bartender ran across to find out what's going on. Matt was embarrassed with himself as Tony just stared into him, fuming, still grasping his shirt.

"Hey Tony?" Brian asked, cutting the tension. "Did you piss yourself?"

"What did you say?"

Billy asked as he stopped at the table. Billy never really liked anyone in this group so he wasted no time with small talk.

"Did you say Earl was dead?"

Tony slid off the table closed to tears. He sniffled as he spoke.

"Uh-huh a dog or something attacked him in the stall; it's in there with him now, only it's not real. It's like a toy or something. But the teeth on it...and that look on its face..."

Billy wasted no time. He ran behind the bar and grabbed his trusty bat, emblazoned with a "Louisville Slugger" logo. The music switched to the ambient bar music as no-one had put any more money in the jukebox.

"Don't go in there!" screamed Tony "It'll get you just like it got Earl!"

Billy looked back but decided to pay no heed, the brave young bartender moved closer and with a steely looked in his eye he kicked open the bathroom door. He stepped inside quickly and the door swung shut behind him. Billy never quite realized how quiet the washroom was compared to the bar up until now.

"I'll need to put speakers in here later on."

His brain tried to keep as calm as possible by focusing on other, more trivial matters. He peered round the corner; there was no sign of the beast Tony was talking about, only a strange sound coming from one of the stalls. Sharply he glanced up to the ceiling, up at the high windows and then he dropped down and scanned underneath the cubicles, spotting Earl's feet. Slowly the young bartender eased towards it, his bat, cocked over his shoulder confidently. His mind took him back to a lifetime ago when he tried out for the Major leagues only to be foiled at the last minute by failing the medical because of a recurring knee injury. Edging towards the cubicle door, the noise got gradually louder but he was still unable to figure out what it was. Absolutely convinced whatever he was looking for was behind the closed cubicle door, he placed his feet in a strong stable position just outside, giving himself enough room so that if something tried to get at him from underneath he could swing down and swat it. Placing the bat softly against the upper part of the door he gently shoved at it, avoiding pushing too hard so it didn't bounce back and block his view.

"What was that?"

He thought to himself, unable to see Earl's face clearly as something was blocking it. Whatever it was kind of looked like a dog from behind, only it didn't looked real... For a moment he watched it gnaw at the torn throat before he decided he couldn't wait any longer.

"Hey!"

He yelled to grab the creature's attention. Partially regretting that action, he was absolutely stunned at the sight before him. The creature turned around, roaring violently, its teeth were bared and dripping blood. Instead of being afraid Billy got one looked at Earl's mutilated body and lost himself.

"Earl?" he uttered as anger boiled volcanically within him.

Screaming, he charged the creature swinging the bat down hard at it. At the last second Dog jumped to the floor, causing the bat to smash hard on Earl's partially chewed skull. A little blood sprayed from the decimated skull but only very little. Most of the blood in his head had already been used to paint the walls. With no time to be remorseful for the mishit, Billy pulled the bat from Earl's head and looked for the creature. His breath was heavy as anger ran his lungs like a steam engine. Little eyes observed Billy's from the temporary cover of another cubicle. Preparing for an attack designed to immobilize the bat-wielding bartender, Dog waited for the opportune moment. Dog watched as the built bartender's feet turned away from it, it was then the when the creature decided to attack. Planning a quick "bite and run" Dog moved quickly towards his target. Billy didn't hear the soft feet on the tile floor but he did hear the breathing and at the last minute, turned away offering Dog only a taste of flesh as he grazed Billy's leg. Ignoring the pain Billy stepped out of the cubicle and ran awkwardly towards Dog who was turning around for another pass, using the bat like a golf club Billy swung so hard he actually lifted himself off the ground, catapulting the small beast up against the wall to the ceiling and back to the floor. Landing hard, Billy fell after he put weight on the wounded leg. Dog lay shaking his head, angrier than ever. As Billy shakily used the bat to stand up, he was careful, much urine had been sprayed this floor making its surface as stable as an ice rink. Billy's determination to beat the creature was not lost on Dog who tried his deception tactics. Face turning sad and forlorn, Dog whimpered at him. Slowly, Billy lowered his bat as Dog lowered his head, matching Billy's movements. When Dog's head was all the way down Billy quickly raised the bat, yelled maniacally and charged, limping towards it. With a quick face change Dog roared and ran at Billy, dodging his swing and scuttling up the drain pipe behind him, leaping onto the high window. Billy looked up at the retreating creature and the two share a looked. They both knew this wasn't over. Dog growled violently while Billy, unafraid yelled back at it. With a contemptuous grunt Dog dove through the back window, shattering glass and disappearing into the night.

Billy limped out into the murky bar and went straight for the phone behind the wood. Everyone in the bar was standing up watching him, all desperate to knew what was going on.

"What happened Billy?"

Billy didn't respond, instead he was dialing the Sheriff's station.

"Is Earl dead?" asked Sandy.

"Yeah, he's dead, I'm calling the Sheriff, though I don't know if it will do any good"

"Why?" asked Matthew.

Tony cut in, answering for Billy.

"Because that wasn't a man in there, it was a creature, it wasn't real."

"Billy come on now" started Brian "You're talking crazy, it must have been real, maybe it was an animal or somethin'"

"No!" Stated Billy "It's not crazy, it's true, I saw it. Damn thing bit my leg. And it wasn't an animal!"

The phone at the Sheriff rung for a little while. Eventually, a cop picked up. The cop told Billy that Oates was busy so the young bartender bit his lip. As casually as he could he told of a murder in the bar, and that they should send officers straight away. He did not want to sound like a complete lunatic to some regular cop; he would save his story for Oates.

Back at the table Tony and his cronies stood awkwardly.

"The thing you saw? The thing that killed Earl. You think it got Jimmy too?"

Matthew's question was directed at Tony but they all thought about it.

"I don't know." Tony eventually replied. "But that thing...I've never seen anything like it before, it just, it wasn't real."

"What does that mean exactly? Wasn't real." Matt asked.

As Tony fumbled for the answer Billy interjected:

"Like a toy, a toy dog. It was like something a kid would have."

"A toy dog?" scoffed Sandy. "How could a toy dog do all this?"

"It wasn't real" said Tony trancelike.

Matthew glared at his friend. He didn't believe a word of this. In his mind it was an animal attack, plain and simple.

"I just can't help but think..." spoke Sandy "...That all this started the day after you killed that guy Tony."

"Are we back to this again?" Tony snapped from his trance.

"Look. We already covered this, that guy deserved it. Plus, it wasn't all my fault."

"One of the last things Earl said before he died was that we all share the blame" said Brian somberly.

Tony just looked around the group, the words were hitting home.

"You think Earl died because of some kind of revenge?" Matthew asked in disbelief.

"Jimmy and Amanda too." Sandy said "It makes sense Matt."

Matthew didn't believe it still. Or more accurately, he didn't want to believe it. He was about to challenge Sandy's statement when he was interrupted. Brian spotted Tony backing off towards the exit.

"Tony, where are you going?"

"I'm going somewhere safe! You guys want my advice? You should do the same. I'm not ending up like Earl!"

With that, Tony turned and ran out the door, heading to the one place in town he thought he would be safe.

CHAPTER 26

In the city Connor Williams slept, his hands were now unclenched and he lay with them by his head. In the shadows beside him stood Dixie and "The Eye"; both watching him intently. "The Eye's" voice was husky and quiet, sailing through the air delicately like smoke from a cigarette.

"Good boy Connor. You have done well today. You have given the people a lot to think about. Tomorrow we will start again, and we will really put the fear into their little minds." Dixie moved powerfully yet quietly over to the sleeping Connor's bed. Leaning over the boy the hulking beast gently pulled the blankets up to his chin. Then he stepped back to rejoin his master in the shadows.

"You sleep now child, tomorrow will be a great day. You're going to be getting a visitor, and your Doctor friends will be getting a little surprise."

"The Eye" grinned. His teeth were visible only slightly in the darkness. Although sleeping, Connor smiled a little too. "The Eye's" words reached him even in sleep. The two demons watched him sleep for another moment while Dixie heavy wet breath billowed in the cell. In the dead silence of Hallcombes, the two slowly disappeared into the shadows allowing Connor Williams to sleep right through till morning.

CHAPTER 27

An empty bottle of liquor guarded an alarm clock which buzzed furiously at its owner. The wakeup call was like a drill to the head of Oates who roused groggily into the land of the awake. He would bother trying to justify his excessive alcohol consumption if he thought anyone noticed, or cared. Even his once trophy wife who was now bitching at him to "turn the noise off" didn't give a crap about him or his drinking. Part of his routine in the morning was looking over at old his high school sweetheart who once had so much potential. Lying beside him, now a self-medicating hag, whose only rest bite from her ten-hour sleep was a dose of talk shows and microwave dinners. Shriveled up with age she slept like he imagined a big fat fish would, on its side, mouth open, sucking in oxygen and spewing out gases in return. He was pleased to escape her sleeping flatulence; a side effect of her medication. He stepped out of bed and had a quick stretch. After so many years, his day started out perfectly routine; even despite the fact that these past few days his sanity been slowly packing its bags, intent on heading for a better climate. Autopilot kicked in as per usual. First he went for a shower then he brushed his teeth. He put on his uniform and combed what little hair he had left. He took his gun out of his bedside drawer and clipped it into his holster. He headed downstairs to the stillness of his kitchen, teaching himself years ago to remember to put on socks before stepping on the cold wooden floor. He placed sliced bread inside the toaster and brewed a pot of coffee. His morning routine was all alone. It had been this way for years. For all his loyalty to the letter of the law, his dedication the badge, his reward was the two cousins: emptiness and loneliness. Every sound was magnified in the silence but he did not notice it, he was used to it by now. The dull sound as the fridge door opened, the snap of the margarine lid coming off, the crunch of the yellow paste spreading onto his burnt toast just the way he liked it, all the while being accompanied by the constant drip of the percolator. Then he poured the milk into his coffee. Oates liked this part. He liked it because except for the immediate splash, there was little noise involved in the process. As the milk gallantly dove into his Columbian roast, (dramatically changing the color and the flavor) it did so silently. No sound was magnified here. Odd as it may seem, this was his favorite part of the morning. Not least because it was when he got time to himself to sit and eat before heading into work. When he was finished he would normally pick up his badge then his hat but today he saved his badge for last. Today he wished he never had his badge at all. Today, in light of what was happening he silently wished he didn't have to be the Sheriff. Still, that was his life and when he took the job he accepted the fact he would have to be able to deal with anything. However never in a million years did he think he would be dealing with a situation like this. He knew his town was falling to ruin and all eyes were on him to fix it.

Today, Sheriff Oates was going to go to Hallcombes psychiatric hospital to speak to Doctor MacNamee about Connor Williams. He had to see if he could make some sense out of all this mess. As he stepped into his cruiser he already had his route planned, knowing he would have to swing by the station and let Dora know where he would be. He already thought about this. He could have called but he would rather show face and let her know directly. He believed his officers at the station felt more comfortable knowing their Sheriff was behind them and by showing face he hoped he could boost morale even a little.

"Morning Dora" said Oates as he drifted by the reception desk into the heart of the station. Although he was leaving soon he hung up his hat on a hat hook beside his office, wearing a hat inside was bad etiquette after all. Scanning the room he spotted Deputy Lynch chatting with another cop. The buzz was in the station early today. The cops were confused. They wanted to go out and find whoever was responsible for the murders but they did not know where to begin. They had been mostly kept in the dark over the specifics of the crimes but any information that was brought to light was-on the whole-strange to them anyways.

"Deputy Lynch! Can I talk to you a moment?" yelled Oates, announcing his presence to the station. Lynch made a strange face at the cop he was chatting to and headed to the office. Oates appreciated having a man like Lynch as his Deputy; he had such a good rapport with his officers. Since Oates could be a very disagreeable man, having his second in command be so personable turned out to be a very good partnership. Oates headed into his office, followed shortly by Lynch

"Closed the door Deputy" said Oates as he sat down at his desk.

Lynch obliged then stood at the other side of the desk. Oates didn't bother asking him to sit down; he knew Lynch already would if he wanted to.

"Everything alright Sheriff?" asked Lynch, watching the old man pull out his file on the recent murders, paying particular attention to the ventriloquist dummy picture.

"No not really Deputy, this case needs to be cracked soon, but I guess I don't need to tell you that."

Lynch looked down at the floor, memories of Barlow's terminal wound crept in, and how he tried in vain to stop the bleeding.

"No sir you don't."

"I'm going up to Hallcombes today, in fact I'm leaving in the next ten minutes. I'm going to come back with some answers and hopefully a solution to all this. Deputy..." Oates paused, realizing this wasn't the time to be so formal. "...Dorrian, I know this situation is far from ideal..."

"Sir, please stop a second."

Lynch interrupted Oates in a rare display of insolence, brought on by high emotions.

"I need you to tell me something. We haven't spoke of it since it happened, but, in light of recent developments I'd like you to be honest with me"

"Ok, Deputy, ask away."

"Do you still think the image we saw in the motel is a child? Or something else?"

Oates looked at Lynch firmly. He didn't think it was a child at all anymore, he already told the mayor as much. But his pride prevented him from saying that to those whose rank was beneath him, even if it was his trusted Deputy.

"I stand by my original statement..."

Lynch stared at Oates for a moment before talking; his voice laced with anger.

"Sir? Can I be frank?"

"By all means Deputy."

"How the hell can you expect me to trust you when you sit there lying to my face? You know it's not a child, I don't understand why you won't just tell me that."

Oates sat, his office seemed smaller now, and with each second he crept towards his admission his office got smaller still. Oates sighed.

"You're right Deputy. God you're right! No, I don't think it's a child in the picture, I think it's something else, something, not of this world. I've already talked with the child Connor's Doctor, he confirmed some of my suspicions. That's why I'm leaving. I think I can come back here later today with a definite solution to all this."

"Well, thanks for telling me." Lynch said grudgingly.

"I don't want to come back to any more surprises Deputy. I want patrols out, scouring the streets. The only time I want our boys to stop moving is when they're getting more gas! You understand?"

"Yes, sir!" stated Lynch, as he turned to leave.

"And Dorrian?"

Lynch, still angry at being kept in the dark, turned around.

"Yes sir?"

"I'm sorry I never told you, it was a bad move on my part. I do trust you, and I do need you."

The sentiment from the old man was not lost on Lynch, who graciously nodded his head, appreciating the thanks.

"Oh, before you leave sir, you might want to talk to your nephew, he's downstairs in the cells."

"What? Why's he down there?"

"I tried talking him out, but he isn't having it, said he isn't leaving there till this blows over."

The main reason Oates hated the layout of Staunton police station was the layout of the holding cell area. There were two ways to get there and two ways to get a prisoner down there. One way was long but easy, the other, short but tricky. The first way was via the interview rooms, a long corridor moving round in a loop with access to the second floor, and from the main room it would normally take around five or six minutes to take the whole route if you were escorting a prisoner. The second way was about a one minute journey from the main room; the only catch was that there was a steep set of stairs to traverse in order to get there. The dilemma cops faced was whether to take an unruly prisoner past numerous people, through a long corridor or simply risk the stairs and have him locked up in no time flat. Oates would love to remodel the staircase however the Mayor would usually claim it was an "unnecessary expense."

"Typical bureaucrat" Oates thought when he tried to push for the renovation work. Further pissing off Oates was the fact that Shannahan was always prepared with an answer. He would cite the fact the station was a listed building; therefore it would be tricky to receive planning permission. Oates tried to reason that the police station was the most important building in town but that point never sat well with the spendthrift mayor. During these conversations Oates knew full well that if Shannahan wished, he could use his position to supersede the planning permission committee instead of using them as scapegoats each time. The truth remained that Shannahan just never wanted to spend a large chunk of money renovating the station; it had been that way for years before he took office so he didn't see why he should have to be the one to fix it. He would much rather spend the money organizing galas and state fairs. But, as Oates pointed out on many occasions, attracting more people to the town when the cells capacity could barely accommodate the towns' population would create more problems than anything else. There was many an occasion in the past where Oates had ran out of room in his drunk tank thanks largely to an outside group of revelers. There were four closed door cells on one side, with heavy stone supplying most of the structure and four open barred cells on the other, normally reserved for the town drunks. Dimly lit, mostly underground, the cell area was a dank place, musty in odor. Access routes aside however, Oates secretly enjoyed one aspect of the squalid cell area. It reminded him of an old dungeon, not the sort of place you would like to spend the night, thus, many of the youth who found themselves in here very rarely came back. In his experience he found that by having such a miserable place for punishment, people were actually less likely to get themselves into trouble. He had seen cells in other stations, which, in comparison were like hotel rooms; bright and relatively comfortable. So all in all he didn't mind the cells themselves, he just hated that staircase. As he navigated the tight descent he remembered why he was coming down in the first place, someone did want to be in the cells now, his own nephew Tony.

"Tony?"

A sullen voice echoed in the throes of the cells.

"Hey Unc."

"What are you doing down here?"

Oates asked the question even though he already knew the answer. Tony stepped up to the bars to meet Oates. The cold metal felt nice as he gripped it in the stuffy basement.

"Look around you uncle, this is the safest place to be right now. I'm not safe outside, no-one is."

Oates looked at his nephew intently.

"What gives you the right to hide? You caused all this."

Tony was unable to answer, instead choosing to look down at his uncle's superbly polished shoes. Oates sighed, he knew his nephew was a screw-up but he got the feeling Tony knew it as well. So he decided not to kick him at his lowest.

"Sorry to hear about Earl."

"You knew him as well as I did" stated Tony quietly.

"Yes but I didn't find his body."

"Well..." Tony swallowed hard "...It is what it is."

Tony looked at Oates thoughtfully. Behind the young man's thuggish nature was a scared child begging for comfort.

"You know what this thing is don't you?"

"I don't think it's one thing. Whatever it was that killed Earl was different from the thing that killed Amanda and Kyle, and probably different from the thing that killed Jimmy and Lucy."

"You know, I never really realized my actions could have such severe consequences until now."

Oates scoffed.

"Tony, you killed a man! Don't tell me you didn't think there wouldn't be any consequences after that. It doesn't matter how innocent or scared you want to act, you're not an infant! You are very capable of understanding right from wrong, you always have been. You just always chose not to."

"And what about you Unc? Weren't you supposed to arrest me or something? What did you do about it?"

Oates reached through the bars in a fit of rage, grabbing Tony and pulling him hard up against the cold metal.

"You ungrateful little prick! I spare you the needle and this is the thanks I get? You'd have been in juvi years ago if it wasn't for me."

"Yeah..." said Tony shakily "...And then maybe this wouldn't have happened."

Oates let him go. Tony was right and Oates knew it. Oates knew it all too well. Although on the surface he blamed Tony for causing this he knew it was his inability to keep Tony in check that was the real cause.

Tony walked back to the cot and lit up a cigarette. Oates decided not to inform him of the state law prohibiting smoking in public buildings.

"So what now then Sheriff? You know we're both targets now right?"

Oates nodded

"I have to go."

"You're leaving?"

"I'm going to see the Williams boy. I'm going to put a stop to all this."

Tony took a long drag of his cigarette.

"You want my advice Unc?"

"No. Not really."

"The boy has to die. He's pulling the strings here. If he goes, all this stops."

Oates simply looked back at him; he had never contemplated this as a solution before. Instead, he looked at his own nephew, his own blood; advocating the murder of a ten year old boy in order to save his own skin. Oates found this especially unsettling as there was no way for them to know if the death of Connor Williams would actually stop anything. Tony was prepared to say such a thing on a whim. It was at that moment Sheriff Oates realized he only had blood in common with his nephew, nothing else.

"I'll have Dora bring you some coffee."

This was all Oates could say. It was all he wanted to say. He had a monster in the family. This was something he and Andy Williams had in common.

Oates was determined to get some answers at Hallcombes. Pulling out his reserved parking spot he trundled out onto the main road heading for the highway. The morning dew had only recently begun to disappear, and Staunton was getting smaller behind him.

CHAPTER 28

MacNamee had only recently been called over the P.A system despite his request the telephone be used instead. He was, at least happy the message was vague enough so as not to arouse the interest of nosey staff.

"You have a visitor in the canteen."

He knew the canteen would be fairly empty at this time so he could chat without worry of too many ears listening. His office would normally be a better place, but there were too many eyes around there. He would go into his office when all parties had arrived. Gliding down the hallway his feet barely had time to touch the ground in between steps. As he suspected, the canteen was virtually deserted. Most of the staff had retreated into the smoking area to chat while it was quiet. MacNamee looked over at the corner table. Indeed, his visitor had arrived. Sergeant Jacobs sat patiently for his audience with Doctor MacNamee, and soon, Crass as well.

"Morning Doctor" said Jacobs as MacNamee approached.

"Thanks for coming over Sergeant."

The smell of cleaning fluid was faint in the air, the linoleum floor was shiny from recent mopping. Wet floor signs were dotted around the long tables where the orderly's normally sat. MacNamee knew this was not the ideal place for a meeting but at least it was quiet. As soon as everyone arrived they would move to his office.

"I'm assuming you've been following the spate of deaths in Staunton?" MacNamee asked quietly.

"Only through hearsay. It's quite hard to follow from my position. Those Staunton boys don't like it much when a city cop tries to interfere in their business."

"Well I can tell you this, last I heard there were six bodies, and I think there will be more."

"Were they all involved in the death of Andy Williams?"

"No, not all, but at least two of them were."

Jacobs sat back and pondered.

"It's hardly concrete Doctor, you said on the phone these were all revenge killings, it doesn't sound like it. Even if they were, what do you need me for? I have no jurisdiction there."

Outside in the parking lot Oates' cruiser pulled into a gravel-lined space. Loud crunching from underneath the tire tread signaled his entry. Oates lifted his hat off the passenger seat and lingered for a moment in the vehicle, peering at himself in the mirror. He was determined not to leave here today without answers. Oates was so wrapped up in his goals today he was not aware he was carrying a stowaway. From the back floor of the cruiser a brown paw reached for the door handle; timing opening the back door to coincide with Oates opening the front so as to remain undetected. This was the same brown paw that earlier disabled the lock on the cruiser so it could be opened from the inside. Oates took his time, trying to get his frame of mind just right. After a moment he opened the door and got out. With perfect synchronicity, Bear dropped to the ground. Leaving the door open, Bear waited for Oates to enter the building before slipping behind Hallcombes hospital. Using the trees in the surrounding fields as cover, Bear headed towards the city.

Oates reached the reception desk briskly. The rugged Sheriff looked completely normal in Staunton, but this was the city. And, with his big round hat and sepia toned uniform, it was clear he was an outsider. Oates took off his hat in front of the pretty young receptionist.

"Hello miss, I'm here to see a Doctor MacNamee."

The receptionist looked at him blankly.

"Sheriff Oates right?"

Thinking it was pretty obvious he was the Sheriff, what with him wearing his Sheriff's badge, Oates had to resist the urge for a sarcastic comment.

"Yes miss."

"He's expecting you; he's waiting in the staff canteen. Turn right down the hall and follow the signs. It's not far."

Oates thanked her and followed her directions. She was right, it wasn't far. Soon he was in the canteen meeting three men. Two appeared to be doctors and one was wearing a worn suit.

"Hello Sheriff, thanks for coming."

Doctor Crass greeted Oates as the senior Doctor, despite the fact it was MacNamee who dealt with him.

"Thank you for having me" said Oates as he looked at Jacobs apprehensively.

"If you're Doctor Crass then you must be Doctor MacNamee, the voice on the phone."

MacNamee greeted Oates warmly.

"It's good to finally meet you. I just wish the circumstances could be better."

Oates' eyes shifted to Jacobs.

"And who might this be?"

MacNamee introduced the two.

"Sheriff Oates, this is Sergeant Jacobs, I asked him to come along."

"Why?" asked Oates bluntly, suspicious of an outside cop's involvement.

Jacobs stood for a moment before answering.

"Doctor MacNamee was just about to explain that explain that, weren't you doc."

"I was going to discuss all this in my office, said MacNamee. "But it's much quieter in here than I anticipated so I guess this is as good a place as any to talk"

The men nodded in agreement.

"Sheriff Oates, I understand you want to know who is responsible for the murders in Staunton."

"I do."

"Well, Doctor Crass and I would like to know as well, as would Sergeant Jacobs. Now, the only person who can tell us for sure who is responsible is Connor Williams and so far he has been playing games with our resident child psychologist Doctor Frieda. That said, we are still going to use Doctor Frieda in the questioning process, but we would like a police officer present, to hopefully add some more weight to the questioning. That's why we asked Sergeant Jacobs along."

Crass stepped in.

"We feel, that since the Sergeant has spoken to Connor only a few days ago, informing the boy of his father's death, his presence in the room might encourage the boy to give us more details."

The Doctors looked at Oates, half expecting some objection.

"Hey" said Oates "I have no complaints, as long as I find out what's going on in my town, I don't care whose present in the room."

The Doctors then turned their attentions to Jacobs who was sitting patiently.

"I have no problem with it, he's just a kid."

The two Doctors shared a looked before Crass spoke.

"Very good then, I will fetch Doctor Frieda and we will meet in our interview room in ten minutes."

Oates sat, trying to look as casual as he could.

"Sounds good doctor."

Oates' front could be seen through from a mile away. He did not know what to expect when he saw Connor Williams, but this was a child who could be responsible for a number of deaths. And that scared him a little. Jacobs, on the other hand, was not scared. He too did not know what to expect from the boy but at most, maybe Connor had some information on the real culprit. He did not believe for one second this boy could be responsible for murder. That opinion however, was about to change.

CHAPTER 29

In the room behind the glass MacNamee, Oates and Crass stood, watching Frieda and Jacobs chat to each other before they interviewed Connor Williams. Frieda looked at Jacobs intently.

"Have you ever interviewed a child before?"

"Yes..." replied Jacobs. "...In fact I spoke to Connor just before he was committed here."

"Then you know what he's like?"

"No, I'm sorry; I don't know what you mean."

Frieda leaned in close.

"He gets inside your head, he's very clever."

"What is he doing?" MacNamee asked Crass.

"Christ knows..." replied the older Doctor as he leaned in, pressing a button so his voice could be heard on the other side of the glass.

"Bring Connor in!"

Just as Connor entered, Frieda leaned in close and whispered in Jacobs' ear.

"Don't let him get in your head."

Jacobs, unsure of what to say, simply watched the boy sit down opposite them.

"So that's him?" Oates asked

"Yeah, that's Connor."

"He doesn't look like much" said Oates, watching the boy.

"He's just a child Sheriff" replied Crass.

"Tell that to my boys at the station. They have him billed as the devil himself."

MacNamee decided not to antagonize Oates; after all he was dealing with a lot. Instead he tried to be sympathetic.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with all this Sheriff, six bodies is a lot to handle."

"Seven" corrected Oates. "Earl, the owner of Earl's bar was killed last night."

"Earls' bar?" Enquired Crass

"Wasn't that where Andy Williams was drinking?"

"Yep" replied Oates quietly.

Jacobs sat across from Connor with a notepad in his hand. MacNamee already briefed him on the last interview, where Connor described a strange man in his room, and his description of Dixie.

"Hi there Connor, do you remember me?"

"Of course" replied Connor "It's only been a few days. How have you been Sergeant Jacobs?"

"I'm doing well Connor, thanks for asking."

Jacobs was taken aback by how polite Connor was.

"How have you been?"

"I'm excellent, I've never been better" said Connor, glancing at Frieda and smirking.

Jacobs' noticed Frieda couldn't take his eyes off the boy. He looked nervous, as if anticipating something.

"Connor, I'd like to talk to you about some accidents that have been happening."

Connor was staring right into Frieda's eyes.

"Connor?" Jacobs asked, trying to get the boy's attention. "...Connor!"

Casually Connor returned his gaze to Jacobs. The atmosphere was very tense and Jacobs could feel it all around him.

"Did you heard me Connor?"

As if he had been listening the whole time Connor shot back.

"Accidents? What accidents are you talking about?"

"I think you know what I'm talking about Connor" said Jacobs, deliberately calm.

"I'm afraid I don't Sergeant."

"Come on Connor, the people who have been dying these last couple of days."

As if stung by realization, Connor provided an over dramatic noise to the conversation.

"Oh! The murders!"

"Yes Connor, the murders."

"Well, I wouldn't call them accidents, would you?"

Connor gazed intently into Jacobs eyes much as he did Frieda's.

"So you do know what I'm talking about then?"

Leaning across the table Connor was choosing his facial expressions very carefully, each conveying an over exaggerated sense of bewilderment.

"Well no, not really. I mean, you can't ask me what I know about some accidents if you are actually referring to murder, that doesn't make sense. It's like asking me what I know about fish, when really you're asking me about birds."

Jacobs didn't appreciate being spoken down to like this, especially by a child, even if it was a psychotic one.

"Ok Connor, I apologize."

Jacobs stated through a fake smile.

"What do you know about the murders?"

"I know a lot about them. What would you like to know?"

Jacobs almost couldn't believe his luck, he was the first to admit (as if it wasn't blatantly obvious to everyone watching) that he wasn't a natural when it came to dealing with kids but so far he seemed to be getting maximum information with minimal coaxing.

"Well ok then. Let's start off with who's committing them?"

Connor smiled.

"Look at you Sergeant, going for gold right away. No warm-up information, just straight for the prize."

Jacobs forcefully smiled back.

"That's me."

"You should know who's committing them; it was you who had them brought to me?"

From behind the glass Oates perked up. He leaned into the glass as closely as he could while Connor confirmed what Crass and MacNamee already knew.

"I didn't bring anyone to you son."

"Not anyone, anything Sergeant. You brought me my dolls; they're the ones you need to find if you want to stop all this."

Jacob's heart beat faster while Frieda started to sweat.

"What do you mean your dolls Connor?"

"Come on Sergeant, everyone has figured this out by now, it's no mystery anymore. Or if they haven't they certainly should have. You brought them to me. All of them: Basket, Bear, Dog, my soldiers, my dummies and Betsy."

"Betsy?" cried Oates, "that's the name Benchley was raving about, that's the one he said killed Jimmy. Who is she?"

MacNamee looked at Crass

"The porcelain doll?"

Crass nodded gently in response while Oates just stood there shocked.

"Ok Connor, say I was to believe you, how do we stop them?"

Connor laughed.

"I do admire you for asking the big questions right away Sergeant so I'm going to be truthful with you. You can't! You can't stop them; they are conscious beings now, moving on their own free will."

Jacobs realized he wasn't going to get anywhere with that question so he moved on.

"Ok, why did this all begin?"

Connor's smile faded.

"Come on Sergeant; don't play dumb with me now."

"Excuse me?"

"I said, don't you play fucking dumb with me!"

As the boy's temper rose so did the worry in Jacobs, there was something unnatural in his anger, something inhuman in his voice.

"Now Connor, please remain calm."

"You only have yourself to blame for this Sergeant, all this mess. If you had been honest with me instead of telling me some bullshit lie..."

"Connor I don't know what you mean..."

"You cops are no different from these cunt doctors! The so-called truths you tell people are thinner than the walls of that pathetic excuse for a room they keep me in."

Suddenly Jacobs was aware of what Connor was referring to and it showed in his face, guilt spread across him like a rash. He couldn't hide anything from the boy right now.

"What? You didn't think I would hear you? Right outside my fucking room?"

MacNamee and Crass stood in an all too familiar pose, gritting their teeth as another revelation came to light.

"What is he talking about?" Oates blurted nervously.

"You came into my room" continued Connor "And you told me my dad's death was an accident, and I believed you. I believed you because you're a cop. And little kids are supposed to believe cops. Then as soon as you left you admitted your lie to the people who are supposed to be helping me. My dad's death wasn't an accident, it was a murder, covered up by small minded people, and now, you and them will pay as one."

"Are you fucking kidding?" Oates screamed at the two Doctors. "All this time you haven't believed my report, and worse, you let the boy hear that you didn't believe it? What kind of idiots are you?"

Crass would not be spoken to like this, not by a Sheriff willing to partake in such criminal acts.

"How dare you call us idiots you damn hick! If you had told the truth in the first place none of this would have happened! Christ, anyone could see the glaring holes in your report!"

"You arrogant bastard!" Oates yelled back "I should put you in your place right here!"

Crass stepped towards him.

"Do you see me stepping down?"

A small part of MacNamee wanted to see the two sturdy men go at it but he knew that wouldn't solve anything. So he stepped in-between them.

"Guys, guys please!" MacNamee yelled, thankful that the room was sound proof. "It's done now, Connor knows. We have to deal with that. But we have to work together on this. You heard the boy, we're all marked."

The reminder of the ominous threat was enough to diffuse the situation between the two men. As they parted, MacNamee couldn't help but smirk at Crass. He had never seen the old guy lose his temper like that, truth be told he was glad to see he could handle himself, even if it did make him all the more intimidating.

As all this was going on behind the scenes, Jacobs simply sat looking across at Connor.

"Your move Sergeant."

"I think that will do for now" said Jacobs as he got to his feet.

Connor returned his gaze to Frieda and grinned. Frieda was unable to look away as Connor said quietly:

"Dixie can't wait to meet you."

Frieda's eyes widened as his fear exposed itself. He hoped dearly there was no substance to this threat.

MacNamee didn't sit behind the desk in his office; that would be too formal given the circumstances. The four men stood, discussing options for containing the situation.

"I'm not saying the boy isn't telling the truth, I just wouldn't know how to stop these dolls he's talking about." Jacobs stated bluntly.

"I think right now what we have to do is find the dolls that were in his room and destroy them" said MacNamee.

Jacobs chuckled "You make it sound so easy Doc, what are you suggesting? That the Sheriff put out an APB on Buzz Light-year? If these things were easy to stop there wouldn't have been murders in the first place."

MacNamee was annoyed at Jacobs' comment.

"Well, what would you have me do about it?"

"We just have to find them" Crass interjected, stroking his chin; this was the first he or Oates had spoken since the incident in the interview room.

"No disrespect Doctor but you're simplifying this as well, we just find them? That's it? It's not going to be that easy!" Jacobs stated while the others listened.

MacNamee was aware how savvy Crass was, if he was prepared to make an obvious statement like that, he was sure there would be follow up. Oates stood quietly, listening to suggestions before stepping in with some of his own.

"Let's think about this logically fellas"

"Here we go" thought MacNamee, admiring his mentor.

"The murders that have taken place, there were the two in the motel, the two in the house, and the bar owner, each had something do with Andy Williams' death either directly or indirectly am I right?"

"Yes" Oates confirmed.

"You said there were seven. Who were the other two?"

Crass was on a roll here, and the men could feel it

"Stephen Benchley. He found the bodies in the house, he shot one of the cops at my station, and then he got shot himself. They both died." Oates said softly

"I'm sorry to hear you lost one of your own Sheriff but it seems those were the only two deaths unrelated to the others. What were the circumstances surrounding the shooting?"

Oates sighed, having to relive the events didn't please him one bit.

"Stephen was basically catatonic until he saw the little girl Jessica, Lucy Ellis' niece. He freaked, grabbed a gun from one of the other officers and tried to shoot her. I guess she reminded him of what he saw and it ended up being too much for him." Oates paused "It's too much for anyone to take."

"Where are you going with this Doc?" Jacobs asked.

"The victims who were killed by these dolls were targeted, and with the exception of Benchley and the Sheriff's colleague they weren't random. As Connor said, he has a list of people who the dolls are going to kill. So instead of going and finding them, we could make them come to us."

MacNamee suddenly tuned in to Crass's idea, so excited that formality slipped away from him.

"Good thinking Ben. So if we could figure out who's on that list and keep them together, we would have a better chance of catching the dolls."

"Exactly" stated Crass, "And here's the best part, we already have a list of what dolls we're looking for."

"What do you mean?" asked Oates.

Crass turned to Jacobs

"Sergeant, remember when you brought the toys from Connor's house, what else did you bring?"

Jacobs clued in suddenly.

"An inventory list!"

Crass smirked slyly.

"And I have that very list in the drawer in my office."

"We'll need to get working on a list of targets. But at least now we have a plan" said Oates

"That we do Sheriff. That we do"

In the parking lot of Hallcombes a security guard was having a smoke break when he spotted something. A door left ajar on a cruiser.

"Damn cops!" he mumbled to himself, secretly bitter he never joined the force, instead spending his days walking around a mental institution. He walked over, had a quick peek inside and then closed it once realizing there was nothing exciting in there. He stood, puffing on his cigarette as Oates came to the door, chatting with MacNamee and Jacobs.

"Ok I got some stuff to organize at the station" said Jacobs "But I'll be down in the morning, I'll bring Doctor MacNamee here with me."

Jacobs was talking to both men, but directing himself towards Oates who nodded.

"Ok, that sounds good; Doctor Crass and I have paperwork to finish for other patients here before we leave. So tomorrow it is."

"Tomorrow then, I'll have my guys keep on patrolling till then, just hope no more bodies show up" Oates said morbidly.

"I'm sorry it can't be sooner Sheriff, but we can't just leave at the drop of a hat, we have over fifty other patients here, and we're stretched thin as it is."

"I understand your reasons Doctor" said Oates, "But that doesn't mean I have to like them."

With that Oates headed into his cruiser and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Nice guy" Jacobs said sarcastically. "How did he react when Connor gave away our thoughts on Andy William's murder?"

"Not well" MacNamee said, deliberately playing down the situation.

"Ok Doctor, well I'm gonna go, I have some things to do at the station, gonna see if I can get a couple more guys in on this too."

"I think we're going to need a lot of help Sergeant."

As Jacobs eagerly headed into the car park he called back to MacNamee as he walked.

"Come by the precinct about eight, we'll leave from there."

MacNamee simply waved from the doorway as Jacobs disappeared into his car.

CHAPTER 30

Thunder cracked above the city thanks largely to the lingering fall heat. Rain poured down hard creating large puddles all over the large parking lot. Hallcombes was prepared for weather like this. Despite the fact the electrical systems were old; they hadn't flickered during any storm the city had seen yet. MacNamee worked quietly in his office as the rain beat down outside, unflinching while lightning took over the background. When he was a kid, his two sisters used to be afraid of the thunder, but he never was. It fascinated him, he was amazed by the idea that this great rumbling sound that could dwarf an entire city could appear out of nowhere. He used to read books on weather systems, amazed by even the simplest things other people never thought much about; like the wind. As a kid, he would actually encourage people to think about the wind.

"How did it blow?"

"In the middle of a huge wide open space, what powers it?"

Every now and again one of the adults he spoke to would come back and tell him something about pressure systems and such, but the scientific explanation never really satisfied him. He was always more interested in watching other people think about it. His fascination with the science of meteorology was what led him into the science of the brain. Really there were a lot of similarities between the two. For instance, a dense fog that blankets a city's streets could be compared to amnesia, or a great flood brought on by a hurricane could be like being in a coma. Or a violent thunderstorm could be what Connor Williams' went through in his life. There were periods of calm in him, but also great rumblings, then flashes of pure energy, causing damage where it struck. The thing was, most of the weather patterns had been explained away by science, but many matters of the brain had not, and MacNamee did always enjoy the mystery. So tonight he sat amongst the thunderstorm, filling out paperwork and signing off on medication treatments for the numerous patients under his and Crass's control. He didn't call home tonight, he was too busy. He meant to, but he got sidetracked, he knew Greta would wait up for him anyways.

The front door of Greg and Greta MacNamee's townhouse opened and closed. The figure shook the water off its body and looked around. The bottom of the house was dark; only a dim light could be seen, emanating from beyond the top of the stairs. Quickly, silently, the figure jogged up the stairs, searching out the light. Light trickled in from high windows in the hallway. Street lamps combined with moonlight painted the floor with long yellow rectangles, forming only where light met shadow. From the bedroom door, the longest of these rectangles was created, coming from the large windows facing the shining moon. It was there, in that oblong yellow space where the figure was illuminated for the first time since entry to the house. A creature that has nothing to fear does not fear the light. And so, this creature made its way towards the source. Greta lay with her back to the door.

"Hey baby. You were working late tonight?"

The bedroom door squeaked as the figure entered, approaching the bed. Greta lay in her silk black nightgown, low-cut in the chest and cut just below the buttocks. Too hot for blankets she lay with them coiled down below her feet. The storm raged outside but she didn't take any notice. She was not a little girl. She was not afraid of just a little natural chaos. Moonlight illuminated her figure. It washed over her body, accentuating her natural curves and toned physique. She lay awake with her eyes closed, she knew her husband like to play games, and she was more than happy to play them too. Something scratched her back, just hard enough to create white lines on her tanned skin.

"Baby, you need to cut your nails."

She remained still with her eyes closed and back turned. Only, she was smiling now. Another arm moved round and stroked her underneath her chin, fur pressed up against her back.

"Since when do you wear a sweater in bed?"

Her voice was husky, her breath quickened. A claw slipped under the strap of her nightgown and slid it gently over her shoulder blade. There was no noise except her breathing as the strap slid down her arm. Greta moved up a hand and pushed the strap back over her shoulder, smiling still.

"Oh no, you don't get the goods that easily."

Playfully, she rolled over and opened her eyes only to find an empty bed

"Baby?"

She looked around, puzzled, knowing someone was in bed with her just a moment ago.

"Oh, you want to play do you. Well lucky for you I like these games."

She giggled as she crawled cat-like out of bed, pouncing onto the floor then stood tall, scoping the room. Lightning flashed outside, periodically adding to the much more dim light trying hard to illuminate the room. She tiptoed over to the en-suite bathroom and peered round the corner. Although the bedroom lit naturally, enough for her to see, the bathroom was not. But turning on the light would spoil the fun of hide and seek. So she moved, in the darkness of the windowless bathroom straight towards the shower curtain.

"Gotcha!"

She was yelling at an empty tub. Moving back into the room she noticed a teddy bear. Smiling, she approached it. It sat with its arms by its side, its stare was vacant.

"Aww Greg, he's cute! But you won't distract me that easily!"

Greta didn't lose track of the game. She thought about where he could be while announcing her plans to the intruder she believed to be her husband.

"So if he's here, you must have put him there when I went into the bathroom, which means..."

While Greta tried to figure out the place MacNamee could be hiding her eyes drew her to the closet.

"You're in here!" she exclaimed, opening the door, just as lighting flashed outside, revealing nothing inside.

"Hmm!" she said loudly, tapping her chin. "Where else could you be?"

Quickly, she moved to the bed. She got to her knees in front of Bear and grabbed the cloth which concealed the gapped area underneath the bed.

"Ah-hah!"

Still nothing. Lifting her head without returning to her feet she looked at Bear and sighed.

"Ok, let's ask our little friend here. Do you know where Greg is sweetie? No?"

She figured Greg must be watching her so she offered a little teaser, wiggling her bum she moved in closer to Bear.

"Maybe it's a secret. Will you tell me now?"

Greta was so close to Bear that she didn't notice razor sharp claws flicking out from his paws one by one until there were four three inch metal blades on each paw. Confident Greg would jump out at her at any moment she moved her body backwards and her heart froze. Bear's once vacant expression was twisted into an expression of pure rage, its eyes glowed a deep red. Fear almost paralyzing her she managed to utter three words.

"What the hell?"

In an instant Bear thrusted his left arm up under her chin, driving four claws deep into her head, pain rooting her firmly to the spot. As she choked in uncontrollable agony she was unable to scream. Bear's mouth started to open; the furry monster had her exactly where he wanted her. All she could do was watch in horror as the creatures head widened, its jaws expanding like a snakes', able to fit her whole head in his mouth. She flailed her arms in excruciating pain; her brain was not working properly. She could not manage a single defensive act to stop what was going to happen to her. The Bear's mouth opened so wide she could not see past his head, only a black hole was in front of her. As her arms desperately swiped at the creature in front of her, the only sound of her demise was a soft gurgling as blood leaked into her windpipe. Bear slammed his right paw into the side of her head, securing her brain like an axe in wood. Then he took his left paw out her chin and slammed it into the other side of her head. Greta had only seconds to live. But as the gaping black mouth closed in around her, those last seconds were to be her most horrifying.

"Look boys I know how this sounds, but have you ever known me to lie to you?"

"No"

"No sir"

Came the responses.

"But come on Sergeant, you have to admit it seems pretty ridiculous."

"I know" Jacobs said sympathetically. "And to be honest, I've yet to see any hard evidence myself. But there are bodies, and I've met the boy, honestly it's hard not to believe him."

"But sir, this kind of thing doesn't happen in real life, dolls don't come to life. I don't think it matters how convincing someone is, let alone a child"

"Look guys..." Jacobs sighed, "...As I've said I know how this sounds. You don't have to tell me. All I'm asking is that you come with us tomorrow. There is probably a worldly explanation for all of this, but the fact of the matter is there are still multiple killers on the loose in Staunton and we need to catch them or they will just keep on killing."

James Graham and Perry Murdoch sat looking at their Sergeant who had never steered them wrong, never lied to them, at least not that they were aware of. Upholding the law was important to them and they were trustworthy, that's why Jacobs chose to approach them. "Two bright, up-and-coming stars in a sky of dullards" was how Jacobs described them. Murdoch and Graham shared a looked before deciding to accept Jacobs' proposition.

With the last of the paperwork finished Doctor Crass signed the last of his forms and picked them up. He banged them gently, lengthwise on the desk so that they were neat, grabbed his things and headed out the office. With his satchel slung over one shoulder he locked his office door, placed the files in a plastic docket on top of the nurse's desk and headed down the hall. In another office Doctor Frieda still had not gone home yet, having decided to forego the silence of his empty condo for the relative safety of Hallcombes. Smoking a cigarette, his hand was deep in his hair as he rubbed his head. The knock at the door startled him and he quickly threw his cigarette into the dustbin, knowing that if he got caught smoking in the hospital he would be in serious trouble. He was especially worried once he saw who was entering his office.

"Dr. Crass, what can I do for you?"

In his haste Frieda forgot to sort his hair so he had an oversized quiff sticking up where it was once styled.

"Doctor MacNamee and I are going away for a couple of days for a conference. We might need to get information from the boy while we are away so we may contact you and ask you to get it for us."

Crass couldn't help but feel pity on Frieda as he looked around the messy office. The man behind the desk was sweaty, unkempt, but Crass had bigger things to worry about than Frieda's personal hygiene.

"Ok, Doctor Crass. That sounds good."

Crass stood for a moment, analyzing Frieda's shifty behavior.

"Paul, are you alright?"

"Yes sir, I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

Frieda's lie was paper thin. Crass didn't believe that he was alright. But it was clear Frieda did not want to talk about it. Crass wasn't all that interested in Frieda's wellbeing anyways, as long as he performed his duties at the hospital. Crass took a gentle sniff of the air.

"Paul?"

"Yes sir?"

"You haven't been smoking in here have you?"

Frieda scoffed.

"What? No way sir, definitely not, I know better than that. No, I think it's coming from outside."

Crass eyes glanced past the closed windows, with rain streaking wildly down them. Looking at Frieda he decided he would not push the subject.

"Ok Frieda I believe you, but what are you still doing here? You should had been finished hours ago"

"Oh yes sir, I just wanted to do a couple of things before I left, I'll be leaving soon enough."

Frieda had no intention of fulfilling this statement, he just wanted rid of Crass.

"Ok, very well then. I will call you if I need you to speak with Connor."

"Sounds good sir."

Crass looked him up and down. Frieda's eyes were locked on Crass's. After a quick glance downwards Crass headed towards the door. Frieda breathed a sigh of relief as it seemed Crass was finally leaving. The old doctor opened the heavy brown door then turned back to his shaky colleague.

"Oh, and Paul?" Crass asked as if he forgot to mention something important.

"Yes sir?"

"Your trash can's on fire!"

As Crass closed the door he could heard Frieda furiously stomping at the garbage can, trying to put the small paper fire out. Most people would find this situation quite amusing, but not Crass, not right now. He headed further down the corridor still and stopped in on MacNamee who was just finishing the last of his paperwork.

"All finished Greg?"

"Almost."

MacNamee signed the last of his forms and closed a binder, trapping all of his papers inside.

"Done"

"Good good. I stopped in on Frieda, damn fool was smoking in his office. I let him know we would be out of town for a couple of days."

MacNamee was shaking his head.

"Oh Frieda! Well good, that's all the loose ends tied up then. Time to go home and get some sleep."

"Will Greta be waiting up for you?"

"Oh shit, I forgot to call her and tell her I would be home late. Oh that's alright I'm sure she'll have figured it out. She'll probably be in bed by now anyways. We're both out by ten-thirty these days."

"I'm not surprised" said Crass as they left the office, heading down towards the exit, with MacNamee dropping off his files on route.

"We've had a tiring few days" Crass continued.

"Yeah, Greta has been really good throughout it all too."

"She's a good woman." Crass said just before they exited the main door into the rainy parking lot.

"Yeah, she is." MacNamee smiled fondly.

"Ok Ben, I'll pick you up tomorrow, at seven thirty, we'll go meet Jacobs from there."

"Ok Greg, get some sleep."

"You too."

The two split up into the car park, moving quickly to their cars they tried to avoid as much of the storm as they could.

He never cared that his feet were getting wetter. He just wanted to get inside the house. If that meant that the quickest route was through more puddles then so be it he thought. With a quick turn he checked the doorknob to see if the door was unlocked and it was. He never liked the fact that Greta never locked the door but tonight he made an exception. He stepped into the hall. Shaking his head he tried to get of some of the water in his hair. Slamming the door shut was his own personal protest to the weather. Now the heat inside had hit him he could feel how wet he really was. Individual droplets streaked down his back, mixing with sweat, creating a greasy skin feeling. Dropping off all his stuff by the door he put his hands in his hair and shook some more of the water out. His hands also felt greasy now; as the product he used to style his hair had now mixed with the water and coated his hands. With a quick wipe on his pants he kicked off his shoes, then, with a slight struggle he peeled off his soaking wet socks, almost losing balance as he stood on alternating feet while pulling them off. He started a slight jog towards the stairs; eager to get into bed as soon as possible when something stopped him. Looking down he could see prints on the hardwood floor, paw prints. Unlike the prints he saw on the hospital floor these were more defined, clear toes were visible and they were smaller. Suddenly his heart sank deeper into his chest; something was in here with his wife. He took his time moving up the stairs, trying to be as silent as possible while his mind raced, urging him to move faster to find out if his wife was safe. The footprints started to fade as they headed off in the direction of the bedroom. MacNamee followed them carefully down the hall, he tried to remain quiet but the floorboards in the old vintage house which he prized so dearly would give him away any chance they got. After a few squeaks he decided the stealthy approach was over now so he moved quickly down the hall. He wanted to call out for his wife, but that would be announcing his presence too much so instead he bit his tongue. Bursting open the bedroom door he saw her, lying on her back on the bedroom floor, her face mostly dissolved. The smell hit him right away, throwing his hand to his face he would know that scent from a mile away. It was vomit or, more accurately, the stomach acid within it. Over his time at Hallcombes he had been around after they had vomited, and the one thing he noticed was that that horrible smell was always the same. Unable to speak, he moved towards her Streaming tears clouded his vision. Blinking himself clear he stood over her. He hadn't even noticed how shallow and rapid his breathing had become, his lungs shook as they blow out air. His wife, his love, lay before him mutilated and he had no idea what to do. The smell was not strong enough to overwhelm his feelings. He dropped to his knees beside her; taking hold of her he buried his face in her shoulder. As he started to weep a thought broke in to his mind, this was the first time he had ever been this emotional around his wife. His hands found the last of the hair still attached to her scalp, how did she ever get involved in this? Greta provided the voice of console, of levity, of love, and now, in front of him she laid, an innocent in the situation rapidly unfolding before him. Through tears he pulled the soft white linen off the bed, dabbed his eyes and kissed it softly. Carefully he lay her down and covered her in the sheet. Stains started to form around the horrible face he hoped he would never have to see again. His memory, his thoughts would forever be of the woman he cherished and her features, which he would never forget. Allowing her burned face into his memory would mean her killer would win and MacNamee was not about to let that happen. Now that she was covered he slowly got to his feet. At this point he could had been attacked by whatever attacked his wife but he didn't care, he'd already lost her and if he had to die he would rather it was by her side than anywhere else on earth. Looking around the room he realized he was alone and since he wasn't about to die he would make a promise to her.

"I promise. I will put an end to this."

He took one last looked at the white shape on the floor and headed out down the hall. He didn't call 911, knowing an ambulance was pointless and the police would ask too many questions, probably assuming he was the killer or presuming he was crazy for telling the truth. As he headed downstairs, the thought of stepping out in the rain didn't seem so bad anymore. Taking his keys from his pocket he paused before leaving, he knew that when he left the house, everything was going to change again. He had had enough already but he couldn't bring himself to do nothing. He had to put an end to this, like he promised he would, for Greta. Finally, he was able to take a deep breath and control his emotions, but not for long. In one sudden rush; everything he felt came straight to the surface once more and he broke down right there in the hall.

In the car he played with his cell phone, thinking of calling Crass when his mind wandered. Blame followed tragedy and MacNamee's sadness was starting to mold into anger and resentment. He called up Crass, the urge to hear a friendly voice becoming overpowering. Unable to sleep, the old man sat alone in his living room with a cup of tea. The storm raged outside, but the classical music coming from his speakers didn't miss a note. A harmonious interpretation of a spring day was Crass's tipple this evening alongside a cup of green tea infused with orange. A well-tuned ear was easily able to distinguish the difference between strings and a cell phone ringing so he got up, put down his tea and headed into the hall. Rummaging through his coat pocket which was still soaking wet he found the ringing phone, spotted Greg's name and answered it right away.

"Yes Greg?" asked the old doctor, comfortable in his red dressing gown.

"Greta's dead."

The response was a more than unexpected one, not least because it sidestepped detail or small talk. Crass took a moment to digest the information given to him before answering.

"Jesus Greg. What happened?"

"One of those things."

"Have you called anyone?"

"Just you."

"What about the police?"

"What could they do? Besides lock me up?"

Crass was nervous at just how calm MacNamee seemed.

"Greg, wait outside the house. I'm coming to get you."

"No, I'm not coming over, and you shouldn't leave the house. You need to stay in, protect Wilma; the same thing could happen to her if you don't. You stay in and you lock everything up tight."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to Staunton with Jacobs, but first I've got to pay a visit to a friend of ours."

The bitterness in MacNamee's voice frightened the old doctor, especially as he knew exactly who he was referring to.

"Don't go see him Greg, you won't find answers, you'll just get yourself into trouble."

"I'm already in trouble Ben, and that little bastard is responsible for Greta."

MacNamee broke down over the phone. Crass felt deeply sorry for him but he knew the course of action he wanted to take was a bad one. Still, he could not do much about it. MacNamee was right, Crass needed to stay indoors now and protect his wife.

"Greg, promise me you won't go see him."

Crass tried his best but MacNamee was beyond convincing.

"I'll call you tomorrow"

MacNamee's dead tone sent a chill down the old man's spine, he knew that right now only one person could prevent him from making a terrible mistake.

Tim Jackson sat in his security office, he wished he didn't have to be here, but he needed the money and there were not many jobs going right now. He did have bills to pay and kids to support after all. He jumped as the phone rang, he found himself jumping a lot more often these days.

"Hallcombes security office"

"Tim! This is Doctor Crass, I need you to give me your full attention and do exactly as I say with no questions asked."

Tim sat up straight, he had never heard this tone from the old man before so he knew it was serious.

"Yes, Doctor Crass."

"Doctor MacNamee is coming to the hospital; he is going to be very upset and angry. Whatever you do, do not give him the key to 'Room 101' no matter what he says or does. He may try and take it by force, he may even try and break in when he doesn't get it, but whatever happens, he must not be allowed in to Connor Williams' room."

"Sir, what's going on?"

"Tim, I asked you not to ask questions didn't I?"

Tim immediately reprimanded himself.

"Yes sir, sorry sir"

"Tim, this is extremely important, besides the key I have in my possession, you have the only other one in the office, it is imperative Doctor MacNamee does not get it."

The two hundred and thirty pound Tim was aware that physically MacNamee was no match for him, but he couldn't help but wonder why Crass would ask him to do this.

"He's on his way now Tim. Can I count on you?"

Tim swallowed hard. "Yes sir."

"Hello doctor" said the nurse at the reception desk but the greeting fell on deaf ears, MacNamee simply stormed past her. Steaming through the halls at that time of night, there were very few people there to see his moment of weakness. MacNamee was in no mood to care either way though, even if the halls were packed full of staff he still would not have halted his charge.

"Where are the keys for room 101?"

MacNamee burst into the security office. Tim had been busy, rehearsing in his head what we would say and do when MacNamee came in but now the moment was upon him and he was clueless. Taking too long to answer, MacNamee checked the steel cabinet himself but found an empty hook where the key should be. Menacingly he turned towards Tim.

"Where is it Tim?"

"Doctor Crass said I wasn't to give it to you."

Tim spoke shakily despite the fact he was much larger than MacNamee.

"Did he? Well Doctor Crass isn't here, I am and I am your boss, and I am telling you to give me the key Tim!"

MacNamee spoke slowly but his voice was strong.

"I'm sorry doctor, I can't"

MacNamee, out of frustration slammed his hand down and swept everything off Tim's desk sending paper everywhere. MacNamee's breathing was heavy, he looked at Tim standing nervously firm in his place. The doctor's eyes welled up uncontrollably.

"Dammit Tim Greta's dead! The boy in that room is to blame. I just want to know why. I tried to help him, I wanted to help him! She had nothing to do with this!"

MacNamee put his hand on the desk, holding himself up as his emotions took hold. Tears started to form in Tim's eyes, he felt for MacNamee, slumped broken before him.

"Doctor MacNamee, I'm so sorry but I can't give you the key."

Tim was terribly apologetic; his empathy for MacNamee knew no bounds, except giving him what he was asking for.

"You can't? Ok fine!"

Even in his fragile yet volatile state MacNamee was not stupid enough to try and take it by force, logically the only place Tim would have it was on his person and MacNamee had never been in one fight in his life. He turned and stormed out the room, gliding up the corridor with only moonlight to guide his way. He was a man possessed by wrought. Stopping at room 101 he peered in through the window and saw Connor asleep on the bed. Suddenly his wrought turned right back to rage.

"You little fuck! You're sleeping? You're fucking sleeping?!"

Screaming, he banged on the door!

"Get up you little shit! You killed my wife! How can you lie there sleeping?!"

Suddenly, all around him the lights flicked on, illuminating the darkness. Patients started to stir as MacNamee beat on the door with both hands screaming at the top of his lungs. Tim, having turned on the lights was now moving down the corridor rapidly on an intercept course with MacNamee. Sound effects created by psychotic patients echoed in the halls, some imitated MacNamee's cries, others make odd shrieking noises. Like waking up in a familiar jungle Connor sat up in bed unfazed. MacNamee stopped banging as the boy met eyes with him. The two locked gazes but Connor slowly smiled a proud smile, happy with his work. This was MacNamee's last straw. Tim had not interrupted him until now, until MacNamee took a step back and put all his weight into a strong boot to the door itself, trying to force entry. Thuds bounced off the walls, all the way down the corridor, shaking the very hospital to its core.

"Doctor MacNamee you need to calm down"

Tim called out to no avail. Kicking the door over and over Connor simply sat, smiling back at him through the glass, encouraging more kicks to the ageing metal lock. Patients grew louder in more numbers and the noise quickly woke up one of Hallcombes temporary squatters. Frieda was awakened quickly from the sleep at his desk. Quietly he poked his head out his office door like a rabbit from its hole to see what the commotion was. He stepped out into the hallway unnoticed as Tim, positioned like a football player ready to tackle a runner aimed his body towards MacNamee.

"Doctor MacNamee, I'm sorry for your loss but you have to stop this now!"

MacNamee continued his tirade on the door. It was only when Tim started to see the door loosen up on its old hinges did he take action. Swooping in he threw his arms around the doctor, using his weight to squeeze the air from the lungs of the furious doctor. Tim lifted MacNamee off the ground kicking and screaming, then with one big squeeze he let go, dropping the doctor to his knees, breathless. Panting on the floor, MacNamee spit as Tim stood above him.

"Tim...are you going to give me the key?"

MacNamee asked in one last attempt.

"No sir. I'm sorry sir."

With that, MacNamee got to his feet and headed off down the corridor to a chorus of screams by the patients. Breezing down, he didn't even notice Frieda despite the fact he walked right past him. MacNamee headed straight towards the exit. Frieda sheepishly walked up the corridor to Connor's room. Tim decided there was no point in him hanging around, he had to go back to the office and sort out a work order to have Connor's door repaired. Lord only knew how scared people would be if they thought the boy could escape whenever he wanted. Walking down the corridor he walked past Doctor Frieda also.

"Sorry about that doctor." Tim said while Frieda simply nodded back, on route to 101.

Frieda looked through the glass at Connor who was still sitting up in bed. Connor, the boy alone in his room looked through the glass at Frieda and made a kiss motion. Frieda looked back at the boy, scared stiff as the lights started to go off around him. Turning, he ran back to his office, he didn't feel safe here anymore, maybe it was time to go back home after all.

CHAPTER 31

"Sergeant Jacobs please." The gloomy voice muttered at the precinct. Accompanied by disheveled appearance there was no way the cop was going to let this man past the desk.

"Is there something I could do for you sir?"

The condescending tone in the officer's voice really pissed MacNamee off, he had had a horrible night, he did not need this.

"Yes there is something you could do for me actually; you could go get Sergeant Jacobs!"

"Now sir, there is no need to raise your voice."

MacNamee started to lose his cool again, this man was talking to him like he was a child.

"Raise my voice? I'll raise this fucking roof if I want to!"

"Now sir, I suggest you calm down!"

Before MacNamee could respond he caught his first break of the evening, Jacobs just so happened to be walking past from the vending machines. With a diet soda in hand he spotted the commotion and called over to the desk cop.

"It's alright officer, let him through"

As MacNamee walked past, the young officer eyeballed him intently but MacNamee didn't bother looking.

"Are you alright Doc? We weren't supposed to meet till morning."

MacNamee didn't respond as they entered Jacobs' office. Graham and Murdoch were sitting patiently; they had been discussing the trip with their Sergeant.

"Doctor MacNamee these are detectives Graham and Murdoch, they will be coming to Staunton with us in the morning..."

"My wife's dead"

MacNamee blurted out dryly; he used up his emotions at the hospital. Jacobs stood for a moment, stunned.

"Sorry guys" he said to the detectives "Could you give us a minute..."

"No!" Interrupted MacNamee "They might as well stay and hear this, they're coming with us after all."

As the doctor moved past them, inviting himself to sit down on the couch in the office, the three cops all sat patiently, waiting for the him talk. Jacobs' office, some might say was quite boring, though he preferred the term "functional." The room simply had a couch, a desk and chairs, a filing cabinet to have hardcopies of the files on his hard drive and a couple of pictures on the wall. The color scheme was light blue walls with light green carpets, designed to stimulate ideas when really it just stimulated conversation on why anyone would put these two colors beside one another and call it decor. MacNamee sat looking down at the carpet, trying to control his breathing before telling the men what happened.

"Have you told anyone about this?" Jacobs asked MacNamee after he finished his story.

"Just one of the other doctors, and as for the cops, well, I'm telling you now."

MacNamee omitted the fact he had just went to Hallcombes.

"Besides..." he continued "I would be locked up in my own hospital if I told too many people, even these guys are looking at me as if I'm nuts."

MacNamee gestured towards the two detectives who then deliberately changed their expressions to look less judgmental.

"Sorry Doctor" said Graham "It's just a lot to digest"

"Yeah" agreed Murdoch "We feel terrible for your loss and it's not that we don't believe you it's just that it's..."

Murdoch couldn't find the words so Jacobs intervened.

"It's hard to believe is what he's trying to say, but I'm sure once we get to Staunton, they'll come round. I'm pretty sure we'll all get to see some shit there. Ok guys, thanks, go home and get some sleep; I'll see you back here at seven thirty sharp alright."

The two detectives acknowledged Jacobs and got up, offering condolences to MacNamee as they left.

"I'm going to head out too Doc, I can offer you a couch at my place if you like."

"If it's all the same to you Sergeant I'd like to sleep on the couch here."

Jacobs nodded, he understood MacNamee's wish to feel safe, and what better way to feel safe than in a closed room at a police station.

"Ok well I'll be back early in the morning to get you then. Don't worry about Greta, I'll call from the car tomorrow, have her picked up when we're on our way to Staunton, It'll be easier to answer questions when we get back with more information."

"Won't people be looking for us?"

"Don't worry, the Captain owes me one, I'll get him to keep a lid on it until we get back."

"What if the media get a hold of it?"

"I'll make sure they don't."

MacNamee was eased by Jacobs' confidence in the matter.

"Thanks Sergeant, I appreciate what you're doing."

Jacobs looked at MacNamee sympathetically.

"You're welcome, now get some sleep, I'll collect you in the morning."

Jacobs turned and headed out as MacNamee lay down on the couch. Tonight, the fetal was his position of choice.

Jacob's office, tucked half way down a narrow corridor was the perfect place for an attack. The entire floor was deserted and dark. No cops could be seen at reception or on the stairs, in the break room or in the bathrooms. There were no cops in the station at all. The door to the office was open a crack. Respectful as Jacobs was, he left it open a little so MacNamee could heard the officers just outside the door, so he would know he was safe in there. The door opened slowly, whoever was pushing it was careful, not to wake up the sleeping doctor. Then, equally quiet feet made their way across the carpet, slowly, steadily. Moonlight slinked in through the blinds, forming a large square, striped with shadow on the carpet. As Bear stepped into the moonlight, claws started to protrude, showing four inches of gleaming steel. Using the claws to effortlessly climb the couch he stood over MacNamee who, at some point in sleep decided to turned over onto his back for more comfort. Bear stood on the arm of the chair and flexed his claws; tilting his head, he looked for the quickest spot to achieve a kill. MacNamee's throat was exposed; the doctor had no chance here.

Subconsciously MacNamee could feel eyes on him so he slowly woke, but this would not save him; Bear had the upper hand already. Fixing a gaze on the scowling Bear just moments before it lunged at him, claws primed for the strike; he knew he was done for. As the first four claws sunk deep into his jugular he tried to cry out but no-one heard him, the station was empty. The second set of claws plunged deep into his ribcage causing an involuntary muscle contraction. The poor doctor jolted up on the couch, sitting up straight, soaked in blood. His brain was running furiously as he sat up. Breathing heavily he forced oxygen into his body at an impressive rate. As his brain calmed, logic crept in, it wasn't blood, it was sweat. The police station wasn't empty, it was bustling. Looking around quickly, his eyes fixed on the clock "6:66?" MacNamee closed his eyes tight then wiped the saline water away. "6:16: That's better" he thought to himself. MacNamee patted himself where he thought he had been stabbed to double check that he hadn't been. His breathing was still heavier than normal. There was no Bear, but the dream was vivid, more so than dreams were supposed to be. Connor must have been behind this, the boy was toying with them and he was he wasn't the only one going through this. As he lay awake for the next hour or so, afraid to go to sleep, he wondered which of the others pawns in this tale were getting the same torturous treatment. He knew that the ones who were not getting it, soon would be.

Jacobs filled up the tank and got in the car. MacNamee had been dozing off while they were getting gas despite the fact he was trying hard not to. He did get a few hours' sleep in before his nightmare woke him up but the trauma he experienced the night before had taken a huge toll on his mental state, causing him to feel more tired than normal. Jacobs handed the doctor a coffee.

"Here doc, this will help."

But the thankless MacNamee was grouchy through fatigue.

"You actually like gas station coffee?"

"No" Jacobs retorted "but it's better than the muck at the precinct."

Jacobs pulled out the forecourt, straight onto the highway on route to Staunton.

"Did you get a car outside Crass's house like we agreed?"

"I did, yeah."

"Did you also get the list of toys from him?"

"Yeah. I sent Murdoch and Graham round to get it this morning."

MacNamee took a deep breath.

"Did you send a car round to my house, to take care of Greta?"

"It's all taken care of Doc, let's just worry about what's ahead of us."

MacNamee did worry about what was ahead of them. As they passed the sign letting them know they were leaving the city, he tried his best not to fall asleep, but it was a losing battle.

CHAPTER 32

Sheriff Oates was a lot more optimistic when he woke up this morning. He still looked over at his wife, but today she didn't bother him as much as usual. There were no murders in Staunton last night so his whole office breathed a little easier. Oates came down the stairs after his morning routine, well aware he would be having visitors today. As he organized breakfast for himself he decided he wanted something a little special. The cold realization had already hit him that any one of these mornings could be his last so he knew should be making the most of them. Into the fridge he went, taking out some eggs and milk. A creature of habit for the most part, French toast wasn't too far a stretch from his regular normal toast, but then it was just fancy enough to convince him he was spoiling himself. He made the coffee as the egg soaked bread in the pan crackled, cooking slowly. His breakfast-for-one was topped off with some sliced strawberries and a dusting of icing sugar. Eating in the quiet kitchen, the sweetness of the ripe farmers' market strawberries brought his taste buds to life. The flavor reminded him how much he enjoyed living in Staunton but he wondered how long this feeling would last. With each bite he pictured how the plan to catch these killer dolls would play out. He knew it would not be easy. He knew the peace of mind he had already lost was trivial compared to the peace of mind he was going to lose. But still, he did enjoy those sweet strawberries.

"You have reached your destination!"

The satellite navigation system in Jacobs' car was a godsend. As if he had used all his memory pathways to remember every road, street and landmark in the big city, he was pretty much useless when it came to directions anywhere else. But in this modern day, he didn't have to worry; technology could guide him wherever he wanted to go. Pulling up in the parking lot of the Sheriff's office the two men looked at the building through the window. They noticed that for a town that wasn't very big, the Sheriff station was unusually so. Both men thought this strange but, at the same time they were pleased they weren't going to be working out of some little country shack.

"Let's do this."

Jacobs said as he exited the vehicle, followed closely by MacNamee who was quietly annoyed at Jacobs' action-movie clichéd statement. The southern air was warm with a slight breeze, it was clear that a cool morning was trying to make way for a better afternoon. Dora looked up from her horned-rim glasses at the two strangers approaching her desk.

"Can I help you?"

"We're here to see Sheriff Oates" said MacNamee.

"One moment please."

Dora picked up a phone and dialed Oates. After a moment of conversation she looked back at the men before her.

"Go on through, his office is in the main hall on the left hand side."

The two men walked through a door into a small hallway. Then, they opened another door into the main room. The first thing MacNamee noticed was there were only eight desks in this room despite its size. The first thing Jacobs noticed was the lack of security features here; it would be so easy for anyone or anything to get in. Not one security camera was visible and (if he was being honest) he didn't imagine Dora the receptionist would be able to stop anyone from forcing their way in. In the main room Oates stuck his head out his office.

"I'm in here gents."

Both lost in their own thoughts while sizing up their soon-to-be fortress they were startled by Oates' interruption.

"Is it just you two? Where's the other doctor?"

Oates knew Crass's name full well, but he was still sore over their earlier run in and tried to act like he didn't mean much to him.

"We had an incident last night Sheriff"

Jacobs said, answering for MacNamee.

"Doctor MacNamee lost someone very close to him in the city; we believe it was one of those dolls that did it. Doctor Crass has stayed behind to protect his family."

Oates was visibly taken aback.

"I'm sorry Doctor. Who did you lose?"

"My wife."

"Jesus Christ!"

Jacobs quickly changed the subject back to the backup.

"But I have two other officers coming down, they should be here momentarily."

"Can you trust them?"

"Yes. Implicitly."

Something out the window caught Oates' eye. He spotted two strangers in an unmarked car pulling up outside.

"I believe that's them now."

Silence passed between the three men for a few moments. Oates studied MacNamee, he felt terribly sorry for him even though they didn't know each other that well. Like a chainsaw in the forest, the Sheriff's desk phone cut the silence. He didn't have to ask who was calling, it was almost always Dora.

"Send them in."

Dora acknowledged and a few more silent moments later Graham and Murdoch were approaching the office. In the silence, Jacobs' eyes rolled around the office, he could not believe how big it was, and, just like everything about the building he had seen so far he could not believe there were no security cameras.

"Quite an office you have here."

Jacobs said, unsubtly masking his disapproval of it. Oates rolled his eyes.

"Don't even get me started! Poor planning since the beginning, such wasted space!"

His door knocked; apparently the two detectives had an easier time finding the office than the previous two visitors did. Jacobs opened the door which quietly irked Oates. This was his office and although they knew who it was, it was the principle of the matter that bothered him.

"Morning fellas" said Jacobs. "Sheriff Oates, this is detective Graham and detective Murdoch."

Oates came round from his desk and shook both their hands.

"Thanks for coming detectives."

"No problem Sheriff" said Graham. "To be honest, we're not really sure what to expect."

Oates smiled.

"None of us are son. Doc, do me a favor and go into the closet just outside the door there, grab us a couple of chairs."

Oates knew that if MacNamee did not keep busy he may shut down, and he needed the manpower today.

"I'll give you a hand" said Murdoch.

The office was half empty, only the area where the Sheriff's desk was had some objects of use, the rest was barren. "Wasted space" as Oates was fond of repeating. Sitting down at his desk he watched the four organize the chairs and sit down, with Jacobs naturally choosing his spot closest to the desk beside MacNamee.

"Now, where do we start?"

Oates spoke softly, clasping his hands together. A moment passed before Murdoch responded.

"Well, we have the list of dolls we picked up from Doctor Crass; it might be a good idea to get a clear picture in our heads of what we're looking for."

"Ok good, can I see it?" Oates asked.

Murdoch walked over and handed him the note, then sat back down again. Oates scoffed loudly.

"Somehow I don't think this will be much help to us fellas."

"Why?" asked Jacobs.

"Look for yourself."

Jacobs took the note from Oates and suddenly understood what he meant.

"What is it?" MacNamee enquired.

"It's so vague, listen..."

Jacobs began reading aloud.

"Clown, Dog, Doll, Bear..."

Bear flashed into MacNamee's head for a split second before Jacobs continued.

"...Dummy, two smaller dummies, plastic soldiers. We'd have to round up toys from every kid in town!"

"Well that's not an option..." Oates said "...People are fretting as it is without raids on their kid's bedrooms. We do what the old doctor said, we find out who the dolls are targeting and bring them here, together. As he pointed out the murders aren't random, we're all targets too, so our best chance is to stay together."

Graham interrupted MacNamee, having a clear problem with what was said.

"Sorry, what was that Sheriff? Who are all targets?"

MacNamee turned to Jacobs suspiciously, apparently Jacobs never mentioned this.

"We are guys. Not you two, just us."

Jacobs tried to clarify.

"But surely we are too, just by being here" asked Murdoch.

"We don't know that!" Jacobs said firmly, as if strengthening his tone would strengthen his opinion as well.

MacNamee stared at him intently, speaking quietly yet equally as firm.

"Yes, we do!"

Murdoch sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

"Well that's good to know" said Graham sarcastically.

"Look! Even if we are all targets it's not a big deal as long as we stick to the plan! Sheriff, we should hole up here, it's gotta be the safest place in town. We bring everyone back here, we arm them and we lock up the doors and windows. I think the most important list we have to make is the 'who aren't targets' list."

Oates looked at Jacobs, pondering.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if we keep the station business as normal while we're here there will be extra lives at risk because your officers will be here."

Murdoch and Graham shared a look, knowing they were put at risk without any of the same concern. Jacobs continued:

"But if we can figure out who wouldn't be at risk as well as who would be then we could keep the number of targets to a minimum, and the town, in theory, would be safer while we're all holed up here."

Oates was nodding, he liked this.

"But how do we figure out who isn't safe?"

"We don't!" interrupted MacNamee, fatigue turning to anger "We make a list of who is, and exclude everyone else, it's that simple!"

Matthew Bizet wasn't the best looking of men but that didn't seem to matter much. Rife with confidence, he could charm any women he wanted. Most guys however found him arrogant. This was most probably why he was friends with Tony Oates, because, next to him anyone could appear humble. Lying awake in bed next to his most recent trophy, he stared at the ceiling. His little house wasn't much. He worked in construction but thanks to the recession, business was slow. Turning over to face him, the little blond was feeling good. Matthew targeted inexperienced girls so he could be selfish in bed and get away with it; she was unable to tell the difference between his terrible performance and a good one.

"Morning lover" she said, staring at the side of his head.

Matthew squinted his nose.

"Wow Chloe, you've gotta watched that morning breath. Tell you what, there's some mouthwash in the bathroom."

The blonde frowned; she threw the covers off and stormed out of bed.

"My name's not Chloe" she grumbled as she headed towards the bathroom.

"Oh yeah that's right" Tony said quietly as he stared at her ass. "Ah to be eighteen again"

He quietly recalled how Chloe was her friend who he initially wanted to hook up with. He couldn't remember this one's name at all.

Glenda looked at herself in the mirror, unhappy with what she saw despite her natural beauty. Really she shouldn't have cared about her breath or gone to the bathroom to get mouthwash at all but with Glenda, vanity would supersede dignity any day. Glenda scanned the area for the mouthwash but saw nothing. Checking under the sink she saw nothing but a bag of cotton balls and discarded toilet roll holders. Apparently Matthew was too lazy to throw them away, instead, putting them out of mind under the sink each time he used one up. She looked back at the mirror, deciding to check the medicine cabinet. The boxy mirror opened shakily revealing a varied selection of condoms and lubricants. After a long look of disgust she spotted the mouthwash. She took a swig and quickly spat it down the sink. Looking down with a sigh she watched the green liquid swirl its way down the black hole into the drain below. Closing the mirrored door she checked her teeth, everything seemed fine so she turned to head back to the bedroom. Frozen, she stopped. Dummy stood, staring right at her, his eyes black. His mouth cracked into a devilish grin, she opened her mouth to scream but something dropped on her from above, taking her straight to the ground.

Matthew looked at the clock; she had been in there for twelve minutes. Normally he wouldn't care but he had a lot of things to do today and he wanted rid of her. She hadn't even dressed yet; normally he liked his conquests to be gone earlier than this. Cursing her tardiness he got out of bed and slipped on his clothes. He figured if she saw he was dressed it might encourage her to leave. A convincing liar to women, Matthew already had the apologetic tone picked out for her before he was finished putting his clothes on. Experience had taught him that if you fake apologize; girls were more likely to forgive you, thus avoiding a time consuming argument. Sauntering, yawning out his bedroom; the bathroom was halfway down the hall. He would really love the guy who designed this house to get a punch in the face for putting in wooden floors and having the bathroom so far away from the bedroom; or how about the fact there were no windows in the hallway or the bathroom, only ambient light when other doors around them were open. He found this especially frustrating in the bathroom as you always had to have a light on to see, otherwise he would be mopping up his own urine from around the bowl on a constant basis. Nothing was more of a turn-off for the girls he brought home than stepping in a man's pee. Matthew stopped outside the closed bathroom door and put on his most sympathetic voice.

"Hey babe, you found the mouthwash? I'm coming in ok."

"Ok sweetie" came what sounded like Glenda's voice, only a little more strained"

"Sounds like she isn't mad at me" he thought to himself "maybe I can get rid of her faster than I thought." He opened the door while yawning and looked ahead at where her eye level would be, finding nothing. When his eyes focused to the bright bathroom light he looked down and couldn't believe what he saw. There she was on the floor, her once beautiful naked body covered in toy soldiers, the kind he used to play with as a kid. They were cutting her up, her mouth was duct taped as were her arms and legs. Slicing her up with knives and little muskets the soldiers were showing no mercy. One soldier hacked at her eye with a tiny machete, causing blood to flow freely. From the other eye she cried, screaming for help through duct tape while she did. With the soldiers hacking at her breasts, ribcage, arms and legs it would take the girl only a half an hour to bleed out despite the small weapons. Despite Glenda's good eye staring at him, begging for help, Matthew could not move. He stood for a few moments watching as the soldiers ignored him, busy carving up Glenda as her body writhed in agony. After what seemed like weeks he made his decision, he pulled the door shut hard. When he closed it the noise stopped, but he knew her suffering would not stop.

"Where are you going sweetie? Please don't leave me."

The voice behind him was similar to Glenda's but strained like before. He turned around and looked down the hall. A small doll was standing looking right at him, its classic black suit and smiling face belied a terrifying reality; it was alive. The doll opened its mouth and Glenda's voice came out again.

"Don't go baby, I just wanna have some fun."

Against the dolls wishes, Matthew turned and ran down the hallway into his room slamming the door behind him. Grabbing a desk chair, he wedged it up against the handle; he had never felt fear like this in his life and it wasn't about to get any better. Turning suddenly only to see the large dummy at the other side of his room watching him, fear gripped hard. Shakily, he tried reasoning with the imposing figure before him.

"What do you want? I didn't kill that guy, it was Tony and the others!"

Another smaller dummy on a table by the door announced its presence by speaking like Glenda.

"Liar!"

He didn't know which one to watch, especially when something started thumping at the bedroom door trying to get in. Suddenly the larger dummy opened its mouth and spoke. His voice was shrill and full of rhythm:

"Truth; is why we are here. You could have told the truth but instead you went along with the lie, now you must die."

"No..." pleaded Matthew.

In desperation he ripped the bedside lamp out of the wall and wielded it as a weapon. Dummy looked puzzled.

"A lamp? You never were the brightest were you Matthew?"

Cackling, Dummy thrusted out his arms and ran towards Matthew. Suddenly aware of his choice of weapons may not have been great he panicked. Turning rapidly he threw the lamp straight through his bedroom window; smashing it instantly. With no time to care about the shards still protruding he dove out, cutting his leg as he did so. Just as Glenda's vanity superseded her dignity, Matthew's terror superseded his pain so he got to his feet instantly. As he limped off down the lawn and realized he wasn't being chased he stopped. Unsure what was driving him to look back didn't stop him from doing so. Dummy stood at the broken window watching him, hands by its side its eyes burned into his. Speaking with Glenda's voice Dummy yelled from the house while Matthew stared in horror.

"Don't worry sweetie, we'll be seeing you soon!"

"Ok I think that's it" stated Oates. "We have seventeen names on the list including the five of us, my nephew Tony is safe for now, Deputy Lynch will be with another cop and Mayor Shannahan will be in his office which is quite protected. That leaves nine people we need to pick up and get here before anything else happens."

Jacobs interjected.

"We'll have to act fast to avoid more collateral damage. Say one of them was attacked in a gas station for example, the attendant could be at risk."

"That's why I suggest I go alone, you four go in pairs, I'll give you simple directions to where you have to go and the rest will be signposted."

"Ok, sounds good, Sergeant Jacobs and I will go together." MacNamee responded.

Both Murdoch and Graham nodded in agreement. The group prepared to go their own separate ways. Oates started telling each pair where they should go to find their first name on the list.

"Ok, Doc, Sergeant, you two head down to..."

Before he could finish he was interrupted by a banging on his office door followed by a figure barging in uninvited. Matthew almost fell straight to the floor, tired scared and in pain from making the journey to the station on foot, despite his cut leg.

"Sheriff!" he cried out, of breath. "There's been another murder!"

Dora was quick to follow behind him.

"I'm sorry Sheriff he just barged right through."

Oates gestured to Dora that it was ok as the two detectives help Matthew to a chair.

"Christ Matthew, are you alright?"

Oates looked at the bed-headed Bizet, sloppily dressed with a large dark spotted on his deliberately torn blue jeans where his leg bled.

"I saw it Sheriff..." he paused as he still could not remember her name. "A bunch of soldiers killed a girl I was with last night. Not real soldiers, but they were alive. They were the kind I used to play with as a kid! Then some dummies almost killed me! Can you believe that? Some fucking dummies! I only half believed Tony when he said the thing that killed Earl was like a toy, but I sure as shit believe it now."

Oates picked up his phone and dialed an internal line, it rung for a few moments before being picked up.

"Dora, call the coroner, tell him to get ready, another body will be coming in soon."

Dora was not used to the recent promiscuity of requests for calls to the coroner and it showed in her voice.

"Ok Sheriff, I'll let him know."

Oates hung up and looked at Matthew.

"I'm sorry for your loss Matthew but we have no time to mourn. The fact that you're here means we have one less person to look for"

"Why would you be looking for me?"

"Sergeant Jacobs will explain it to you in the car. Since you know your way about town you're going to help him find the other people on our list. Do you want me to take a look at your leg before you go?"

Oates asked the question forgetting MacNamee was a doctor. It was his station and Matthew should be under his protection.

"No, it's alright" said Matthew "I'll survive."

"Ok, good" continued Oates "Doc, you and me will go to Matthew's house, to see if any of those little toy bastards are still there. Detectives, you two follow us, when I make sure the coast is clear, I'll call in some of my boys to take care of the body and we'll continue our search. Sergeant Jacobs, you and Matthew are going to head into town, get to the church in the main street and then call me or MacNamee and I'll give you directions to one of the names on the list. I need to think about who would be the quickest to find. But I can do that one the move."

Jacobs was not used to being ordered around like this, but the Sheriff's plan was pretty sound so he nodded in agreement.

"Alright guys we know what we were all doing so let's get it done, we don't have a lot of time here."

Oates took point, heading out into the main hall where other cops looked on as the group headed out. Jacobs leaned in to Oates.

"Sheriff, when are you going to clear out the station, the other cops can't be here when we have everybody rounded up."

Oates turned to him while walking.

"Once we have cleared Matthew's house I'll send the of them over. The rest I'll have patrolling the streets and answering other calls. I've already arranged to have a floor in the hospital serve as a temporary station for them. It'll just be us in here."

Jacobs wasn't sure whether that statement comforted him or made him more nervous. Just before they could leave into the sunshine drenched courtyard Dora halted them.

"Sheriff!"

Oates turned round to see what the problem was.

"What is it Dora?"

"I couldn't get ahold of Murray."

"Did you call his office?"

Dora nodded.

"It just rang out."

The ominous tone in her voice prompted Oates to turn to Jacobs with a look, instantly conveying an unspoken message.

"We'll go check it out" the Sergeant said before turning to Matthew "Come on kid, you can show me the way."

CHAPTER 33

Connor was in the relaxation room of Hallcombes with Doctor Frieda. Frieda, who only found out not so long ago that with Crass and MacNamee gone, he would be the boy's primary carer. Still terrified of the boy Frieda was simply there to observe, not interact with the child. As Connor read silently the doctor tried to figure out what he was thinking. Memories of the little moments the two of them had shared over the last few days came into his mind; the way he stared at Frieda, the comments about this thing known as Dixie and that kissy face he made when MacNamee was on his rampage. All of these incidents and more were rattling around in his brain. As he watched the child, thinking about the way he proved the other doctors lack of respect for him, self-loathing started to take over and not for the first time. The truth that he was an awkward adolescent himself (with major self-esteem issues) was known to no-one. Since joining medical school his self-worth had increased exponentially and when he graduated top of his class, memories of his gloomy youth had begun to fade. But now, thanks to his dealings with the boy, these feelings were surfacing once again. As Connor read, Frieda stared into his face, lost. He poured over the boy's dealings with the other doctor's and the cops. He thought about how everyone was in the loop except him and everyone knew it. He touched upon a niggling thought that told him he was a joke to everyone. Connor had brought up this point, but really the seed had been planted years ago, all Connor did was water it. His paranoid mind starting to expose itself he started thinking of facts to reinforce this thought, as if hating himself was not enough, his self-depreciating side actually tried to prove it. He recalled looks people gave him over the years, words they said and twisted those memory fragments into something negative. His brain took trivial details and turned them into negative points. He convinced himself casual looks people gave him were actually contemptuous ones; suddenly those innocent glanced had voices and those voices had insults and jibes. He started to piece together a jigsaw of depressive memories in his mind. Connor truly was in his head and he knew it, but did that mean the boy was wrong. The old cliché of "just because you were paranoid didn't mean the world wasn't out to get you" rolled around in his brain. It was strange the doctors did not tell him about the video, or Dixie, or the fact they believed Andy's death was actually a murder. He had thought about this a lot; in fact it was all he thought about. When Connor Williams decided he was going to toy with Frieda he pulled on a string, a string that was still pulling, unraveling the fabric of the life he had worked so hard to create. Single, Frieda always told himself he was too busy with the hospital to go on dates or even go out and meet friends. But somehow others managed it. He could understand MacNamee being married, a guy as good looking as him did not stay single for long but Crass? "The guy was a dinosaur!" he thought to himself. Before Frieda could get too heated he felt a gaze. Lost, staring through Connor he noticed the boy was now staring back at him. Jolting himself into life he tried to act unafraid.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

Frieda cleared his throat.

"Go ahead" he said, knowing full well that it was against policy to let a patient go alone but now he was the primary boy's doctor and was the one who made the decisions. Besides, he didn't really like the idea of being in an enclosed space with Connor and the bathroom was an extension of the interview room so it wasn't like he would be going far. The boy put his book down, he got up and strolled to the bathroom, once he was out of sight Frieda released his breath.

Connor stood at the trough. The bathroom was immaculately kept: gleaming white porcelain was surrounded by pristine tile and one jet-black bathroom stall. Although hospitals of any kind were required by law to be up to code when it came to cleanliness, Doctor Crass always took it to the extreme. He believed bathrooms were the first port of call for infection so he made sure all of his were spotless. After finishing his business, Connor moved to the sink to wash his hands, something his father taught him was very important. A light behind him started to waver, slowly pulsing on and off for a few seconds before the bulb popped, instantly turning a whole corner of the windowless bathroom black. In the mirror Connor watched a figure materialize, outline first in the darkness. Stepping into the light slightly "The Eye" looked directly at him.

"Hello Connor."

"Hello."

"The Eye" smiled warmly. "Our little friends are doing well, taking the town apart one person at time."

"Yes. But they know now. I think they'll try and stop them."

"The Eye" chuckled. "Let them try. The only thing more terrifying than not knowing what's in the shadows is knowing exactly what's there, watching you. Oh and Bear? Where did he get jaws like that? Was that your idea?"

Connor blushed and looked at the floor smiling.

"Yes, I thought it would be a nice touch. It's kind of a shame though because I liked Doctor MacNamee. I'll almost feel bad when he's gone."

Outside, Frieda thought Connor was just talking to himself, but now he could hear a distinct two-way conversation going on. He crept up to the door and stood outside, listening.

"The Eye," looking dapper in his pinstripe suit smiled.

"And what about Frieda? That guy is terrified of you. And rightly so."

"I haven't decided yet, it's clear the other doctors didn't think enough of him to involve him in their lie, he's fun to play with though. I actually feel bad for him, he's such a loser, maybe I'll kill him and put him out his own misery."

"The Eye" noticed Connor started using "I" instead of "we" which is exactly what he wanted. The boy had taken all responsibility, working completely independent of outside help.

"It's your call Connor; if you don't want to use your minions I have another tool at your disposal. Dixie is always hungry."

Connor smiled as Frieda sat up against the door with tears streaming down his face. He had heard just about all he could take of this.

"I'll leave you now Connor, I'll be back soon."

"The Eye" raised his hand dramatically like the illusionist he was and then swept it over his body and face, erasing his earthly image from sight. Frieda sucked up some courage and boldly pushed open the bathroom door to find Connor standing alone.

"Um, who are you talking to Connor?"

"No-one" Connor shrugged.

"But...I heard someone say my name."

"No you didn't."

Connor smiled and walked past him. Frieda looked around the bathroom but there was nobody there.

CHAPTER 34

"Ok Doc, wait here a minute"

Oates said to MacNamee, aware he had probably never operated a firearm in his life. Oates took point once more as he tried the handle on the front door, finding it locked. Stepping back a little he landed a hard size ten just beside the handle, then another, and another.

Matthews Bizet's house was small, the lawn unkempt. It was a wonder he managed to convince any woman to come here at all.

"So much for the quiet approach" Graham said to Murdoch quietly. On the fourth kick the door swung open wide, slamming off the interior wall. Oates moved in cautiously, it felt unusual to have his gun aimed so low as standard but it was necessary for the situation. The two detectives followed him in as well with Graham going first as per the norm in their partnership. MacNamee watched from the stoop as the three men communicated non-verbally, fanning out to cover as much ground as possible while still watching each other's back. He thought it quite impressive that despite the fact these three men had never worked together, they were able to co-ordinate their movements with nothing but simple gestures. Graham and Murdoch together were a very successful partnership. It was accepted between the two that while Graham was quicker to react to scenarios Murdoch was the most observant. By standing back behind his partner Murdoch would watch for potential dangers and communicate them to his partner by momentarily taking his thumb off of his poised weapon to click his fingers. This immediately told Graham to halt as a potential danger was near. In fact, by developing this system over time, these two were not only very skilled at securing large areas but they were (right now) incredibly adept at covering Sheriff Oates. Oates rounded the corner into the hall, noticing the floor here was dark with blood seeping from the closed bathroom door. With a light whistle he signaled the other two cops, as if any perpetrator in the house wouldn't find a birdcall strange. Graham moved towards Oates. Murdoch moved with his back to the wall, covering the rears of his counterparts. Moving softly through the blood, Oates pushed open the bathroom door and saw the terrible sight beneath his eyes; the once beautiful hacked up remains lay taped to the floor. With his gun-free hand he covered his mouth; his gag reflex had long since retired but the smell of blood always unsettle him. With his head he gestured to Graham to move past him while Murdoch moved towards Oates to cover. MacNamee stood alone outside; the heat drizzled around him, mixed with windy wisps in the southern air. It was then that he heard it. That same voice he heard in Connor's room, calling out for him.

"MacNamee" it hissed.

He turned around to see Dummy, in broad daylight, watching him from beside a tree on the other side of the lawn. Raising a hand, Dummy slowly waved, grinning at him.

"Sh...Sheriff!" he stammered.

His first call for help was so quiet so he forced himself to be louder.

"Sheriff!"

Dummy disappeared behind a hedge just as Oates ran out.

"What is it doc?"

"The dummy, I saw him over there!"

MacNamee pointed towards the tree. With only a slight hesitation Oates bounded across the lawn only to find nothing.

"It's gone doc!" Oates said as he headed back towards him.

MacNamee jumped with fright as the two detectives came out the door.

"House is empty Sheriff," said Murdoch. "Did you see anything?"

Oates shook his head.

"No, it's gone. I'll call the boys to come clean this mess up. I'll need to wait here to talk to them, you two go down on Earl's bar, it's on the main street, easy to find."

"Who are we looking for?" asked Graham.

"Billy the bartender and Brian Bichel; they should be the easiest to find right now. If Brian isn't at the bar I'll get in touch with Matthew, he'll know where to find him."

"Ok Sheriff" acknowledged Murdoch, and the two men headed to the car in search of names from the list.

Across town Jacobs and Matthew pulled into the morgue parking lot.

"I think I'll just wait in the car" said Matthew nervously.

"Why?" Jacobs asked.

"I just don't like morgues that's all."

"Son, no-one liked morgues, there's nothing to like about them."

Matthew couldn't understand why Jacobs kept calling him son, there could only have been ten years of an age difference between them.

"Even so, I'm gonna wait here."

"No. Sorry, but I can't let you do that, not with these things on the loose. Come on, man up."

Reluctantly Matthew agreed. Entering the small building first Jacobs stopped in front of a homely young receptionist.

"Good afternoon. I'm Sergeant Jacobs; I'm here to see Ralph Murray."

The girl sighed and looked up. Right away Jacob's could tell she was not a pleasant girl. Thanks to her drooping, uninterested stare, he did not even have to call upon his fabled cop-gut instinct for this judgment either. The fact was pretty apparent to anyone who met her.

"He'll be in the examination room, just down the hall there."

Matthew walked in just after the girl spoke and he immediately dropped his head to the floor. He had slept with her only a couple of weeks back and had quite abruptly asked her to leave the next morning. She did so but she wasn't very happy about it at all. Matthew had ran into girls he had slept with before, after all, the town was not that big but he had never been forced to be in such close proximity to one that left him on bad terms until now. Luckily for him she didn't notice him standing behind Jacobs.

"It's funny" Jacobs said before he headed down the hall, "The Sheriff's office called earlier and no one answered."

"That's no surprise, it's usually only me who answers the phone around here and I've got to took a break sometime...even against Mr. Murray's better advice."

The young lady's voice was tinged with bitterness. Jacobs ignored her griping; knowing that had he been the girl's employer he would have already fired her.

"Oh ok, just down the hall you said?"

"Yes, straight to the end there."

She pointed down the corridor.

"Thanks," Jacobs said forcing a smile.

Matthew pretended he was rubbing his face as he walked past her in an effort to remain incognito. Matthew walked with Jacobs; the truth of why he didn't want to come in started to flicker into his mind.

He was thirteen when he first came here right after his father was killed in a car accident. His mother had to come in to identify the body while he waited in the hallway. He remembered thinking how lifeless the place seemed; not only in reference to the corpses it housed but the color scheme of everything was just so depressing to him. The walls, the floor, the doors, even the lightshades were painted in one single unimaginative color. He vividly recalled, "mental redecorating" as he called it. He would focus his gaze on a particularly drab part of the hall, really staring at it. Gradually he would start to add some color to it, even some plants and pictures. This was his way of taking the focus off the fact his dad may have been lying dead in the room next to him. The reason he started doing this was, ironically enough because of the windows. Windows that were normally designed to add brightness or color to an area were being used on the doors that separated sections of the hallway. All you saw when you looked through the windows was another hallway, painted equally as drab as the last. The room that Jacobs was about to go in to was the one that housed his father's body and, although he found it strange, he actually liked this room. Filled with surgical apparatus, the floor was a spotless white and almost everything else was shiny stainless steel. Just like how bright yellow stood out on pitch black, this room shone, sticking a finger up to the rest of the drab dingy building. Jacobs opened the door to this room (the examination room) and, although the lights were off, the small light that filtered in from the corridor seemed to reflect off every shiny surface in the room, giving the illusion it was brighter than it actually was. Jacobs stepped in with Matthew following more cautiously behind. He knew the only way he could feel remotely comfortable in her was with more light. Matthew groped around in the dimness trying to find a switch. When he did, the soft hum let them both know the lights were coming on.

"Hello? Doctor Murray?"

Jacobs called out even though he knew it was stupid. The doctor was unlikely to be standing in the dark, but calling out was standard practice.

"Wait here."

Jacobs said much to Matthew's shock. Matthew did not want to tell Jacobs why he didn't want to be in the room; instead he tried to appear tough.

"No problem."

Jacobs turned and walked down the corridor; leaving Matthew alone. In the quiet, only a leaking faucet could be heard. The timing of the dripping was not uniformed however, suggesting that the faucet was not broken. It was more likely someone had turned the tap off recently but there were still a few drips left to fall. Matthew did not think of this however, in fact he did not even hear the dripping; he was lost in the room. The sterile atmosphere had triggered images in his head. Flashing like little lightning bolts, memories shot into him. He recalled, as a boy peering through these glass doors, watching Ralph Murray introduce his mother to the freezer where his father was being stored. Although her body blocked his vision, he was able to watch her shake and then weep uncontrollably as his father was unveiled to her. No stranger to misery, Murray consoled her a little before rolling the body back into the freezer in the wall, and closing the steel door behind it. Matthew loathed the fact people were cut up and put in the cooler like leftovers once they were dead.

"You did that with leftover turkey on Thanksgiving" he thought "Not with people."

"Are you sure Doctor Murray is in there? He didn't leave while you were on break or anything?"

Jacobs talked down to the receptionist.

"No, he wouldn't do that, he always tells me before he leaves. He's very big on protocol."

"Well it looks like he just broke protocol because that room is empty."

The receptionist shrugged.

"I don't know what to tell you."

"I'm shocked," Jacobs said sarcastically before turning back down the hall into the examination room. "Let's go, he's not here."

Matthew simply stared at the examination table.

"What are you staring at?" Jacobs asked, trying to follow his gaze.

"Ralph Murray has been the town's coroner for as long as I can remember."

"So?"

"Which means he had to have been reasonably good at his job."

"I'm sure he was terrific. What's your point?"

"What kind of a coroner would leave behind all that blood?"

Jacobs looked over at the table, finally understanding what Matthew was getting at. He had been in morgues many times and was so used to seeing blood that he had not thought this strange until Matthew's amateur eye pointed it out.

"Wait here again."

The cop sighed and walked back down the corridor to reception.

"Who was the last person your boss was working on today?"

The receptionist sat with her celebrity magazine in hand. She had no interest in the whereabouts of her boss, the coroner and it showed in her responses.

"No idea."

"Well what time does he usually go for lunch?"

"Um...I think around two" she said, not looking up.

Jacobs reached over the desk and snatched the magazine away from her, tossing it over his shoulder to the floor.

"Look, I get it! You're young, and you want to be out with friends instead of working right? I understand that I really do. You probably hate your boss am I right? Am I hitting the nail on the little empty head here? The truth is...I don't give a shit! Find a way to make yourself more helpful or I'm going to lock you up for obstructing a police investigation."

The receptionist sighed, completely unfazed by Jacobs' threat.

"I think I have his cell number somewhere."

"That's better," said Jacobs through a rigid smile.

After a couple of moments of moving away some paperwork the receptionist produced a Rolodex. Jacobs quietly watched her flick through the names while wondering to himself why they still used such an outdated filing system. She stopped at Murray's number and punched it into the phone beside her. A version of the song "Hallelujah" started coming from the examination room where Matthew was still standing. The ringtone was only a faint buzz at the reception desk. Jacobs looked around trying to figure out where it was coming from.

"Psst!"

The receptionist was trying to get Jacobs' attention. When he turned round to her, thinking she was going to tell him where the sound was coming from she simply whispered the words "It's ringing." She animated her face dramatically while doing this, sarcastically giving the impression that she was extremely eager to help. Pissed off by her insolence Jacobs' tried his best not to lose his temper. Instead he simply mouthed back in an equally overly enthusiastic fashion "I know!" Spotting the glow of the cell phone Matthew walked across the floor to beside the exam table.

"Jacobs!"

Matthew yelled at the sergeant, prompting him give the receptionist one last contemptuous look before jogging down to join him. The phone glowed ominously on the floor as it vibrated.

"I got it!"

Matthew picked it up off the floor, still wondering where all the blood came from. Jacobs came into the room.

"Ok" stated the cop "So we've found the coroner's phone, but where's the coroner?"

His eyes floated around the room for a moment before he felt Matthew tapping at him.

"What?"

With his chin, Matthew gestured towards one of the six steel doors on the wall; he noticed that the handle was askew, not horizontal like the rest of them. Slowly, Jacobs drew his gun and gestured for Matthew to move towards the drawer, but he couldn't. He remembered that door all too well. That was the door his father was in. Jacobs gestured more forcefully, jerking his head towards it with absolute urgency. Matthew slowly moved in, Jacobs assumed his apprehension was out of fear, unaware of the traumatic events in his past.

"Open it!" Jacobs whispered harshly.

Looking down at the door then quickly back to Jacobs, Matthew shook his head.

"What do you mean no? Open it!"

Matthew shook his head again. He was turning pale.

"Look..."

Jacobs tried to whisper rationally despite his frustration. He felt that between Matthew and the receptionist, he was doing very well to keep his cool.

"There could be a person in there. Ralph Murray could be hurt and we might need to help him. I would open the door myself but I can't. I need to be ready with my gun just in case it's not Ralph Murray in there...just in case it's something else. Now open the damn door!"

Matthew took a breath and stepped towards the drawer. Lifting the handle he pulled the drawer open sharply. There was dull click and Matthew held it there, not wanting to pull it open. He felt the pressure from Jacobs stare, took a labored breath and pulled. Matthew's eyes widened, he reeled back in horror, their was a face in there he did not expect to see.

The cold dead blue eyes of his father flashed through his mind as he collapsed, wincing to the chilly linoleum floor. Jacobs lowered his gun to get a better look, he was equally as shocked over what he saw, but for different reasons. Trauma took over Matthew's brain for a fleeting moment; his father was not in there. It was Ralph the coroner, he was stone dead but looking a lot more colorful than usual.

"How could someone do this?"

Jacobs spoke out loud as he looked down at the body of Ralph Murray, the man who signed off on Andy Williams' death report. Neither man could take their eyes off of the grotesque face before them for a long minute. Jacobs finally broke his stare and scanned the high walls in the room, spotting surveillance camera.

"Come on Matthew let's go."

Matthew hurried past the open drawer, following Jacobs to the front desk.

"Where's your security monitors?"

Jacobs yelled at the receptionist and slammed his hands on the desk for effect. There was no more time for insolence.

"Um...back there!" The receptionist said, gesturing to a room behind her.

Jacobs stormed round and looked at the four monitors, which were designed to guard the building and its people.

"What good are security cameras if no-one's watching them?"

Jacobs thought out loud while trying to rewind the tape from the examination room.

MacNamee sat outside the house of Matthew Bizet as Oates organized the cops inside. The old Sheriff was having a quite word with Brady.

"Look, we need to keep the town running as normal while we take care of this. The station will be out of use for the next few days while we try to catch these things."

Brady nodded along, he was aware of what was going on, they all were. He knew the key was to keep panic levels to a minimum.

"Deputy Lynch will be at the station with us later, so I need you to keep things going round here."

Oates said this part loud enough in front of some of the other officers, knowing they would respect his decision to put Brady in charge for the time being.

Jacobs watched the coroner perform an autopsy on a woman who died of a suspected heart attack a couple of days earlier. Speeding up the tape he watched Ralph finish up what he was doing and wheel the old lady over to the fridge, transferring her from the gurney to the drawer with only the slightest effort. Jacobs' cycled through the footage, watching him clean up his area, putting some disposable tools away and sterilizing others. From behind him, Ralph the coroner was knocked the ground, something had struck him on the back of the head putting his down instantly. The way he was standing initially blocked the view of the perpetrator, but when he fell, Jacobs saw who hit him. Basket stood over the old man laughing. The clown dragged the old man over to the operating table and started to lift him up. While panting (which was all for comedy value) Basket lifted the 230 pound Murray up onto the operating table. Basket pushed his torso onto the table first, then flicked his legs on. Once he was lying flat on the table Basket pulled a long string of handkerchiefs out of his sleeve, laughing while he did. He tied the old man's hands together under the table and put a wrap around his legs and throat. Still out cold, the aged coroner could do nothing as Basket jumped on top of him, ripped open his lab coat and tore his shirt open to reveal his pale chest sprinkled with grey-black hairs. The clown looked straight at the camera and grinned widely as if he knew Jacobs would be watching. His designed child-friendly appearance was immediately shattered by his murderous expression and demented laugh. Putting one hand behind his back he rummaged through his trouser pockets.

"Ouch!"

Basket yelled brashly as he pulled out a long needle and a ball of blue string. With a cackle he started diving the needle into the old man's chest, skillfully fashioning his torso into a waistcoat. Jacobs, watching, bit his fist. Matthew turned away periodically. Only incapacitated, Ralph Murray awoke suddenly to found his skin being pierced repeatedly. Shock grabbed him first because he didn't feel any pain. It was only when he fully came to his senses that he realized what was happening and the pain struck him hard. Allowing no time for breath he screamed shrilly. Jacobs immediately had more hatred for the receptionist who was clearly out on her break while this was going on despite the fact Murray had told her not to. As the old coroner screamed and shook violently Basket stopped what he was doing and looked at the camera again.

"Oopsy!"

The clown yelled comically as he looked around for something to gag the man with. Finding nothing close by the clown shoved his arm in Murray's mouth. In a single act of self-defense the old man bit down hard into Basket's soft material arm. Although this could not possibly have hurt him, Basket still performed some over the top antics for his audience; flailing his arm about as if he was starring in a pantomime. Comically, he started slapping Ralph for "being bad" while the old man screamed for help. Ignoring the cries Basket pondered his options. After what seemed like deep thought he stuck up one finger in a "eureka" moment, as if a great light bulb of an idea had suddenly appeared above him. Basket grabbed his own big red nose and with quick tug, detached it, exposing grotesque bone like material underneath. He took his nose and shoved it in Murray's mouth, turning his screams into muffled grunting.

"It's ok it's ok..." cried Basket "...you can borrow it!"

The clown rolled back its head into a shrill laugh and went back to stitching Murray's chest. After an agonizing few minutes Basket was finished. He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a make-up kit and started applying color, similar to his own onto the old man's cheeks and around the eyes. Then he lifted a scalpel that sat, once sterile beside the table and started slicing into the sides of his mouth. Holding the old man's head still, Basket peeled back the flesh around the teeth, exposing them to the elements and turning his face into a permanent grin. As Ralph Murray's strength began to waiver, Basket decided to finish off the transformation. He tossed the scalpel between his hands, teasing the old man who was still conscious enough to watch. With a thrust then a sawing motion, Basket carved the letter X over both Murray's eyes, imitating the archetypal dead clown image. Murray could not protest at all, after the first eye was finished. He was not quite dead but he certainly could not feel any more pain. He had reached the threshold after his eye was cut into. He was out cold, helpless, but he would not be alive much longer. Jacobs watched as Basket finished up the second eye and jumped down. Sprinting, he grabbed the gurney and rolled it alongside Murray. Ripping off the handkerchiefs that held him down, Basket rolled his body onto the cart and pushed him over to the fridge. Thoughtfully selecting the drawer, he rolled the old man onto the table and fixed his appearance to make sure he still looked "good" for whoever found him. Lastly he ran to the temperature control and turned it down to the coldest it would go, laughing as he did. With an over the top wave to the camera he ran out the door into the hallway.

After witnessing this horror, Jacobs wondered if the receptionist was there, but was just too stupid to notice a clown run past her.

Graham and Murdoch were an excellent partnership within the force. Each provided a complimentary skill set to the other which allowed them to boast more solved cases than any other team, despite the fact they were still in their late twenties. Graham was an athletic young man, often found in the pool in between shifts. A few years into his career he was chasing a suspected housebreaker through the outskirts of the city. Realizing he was soon to be caught the suspect made a rash decision which he thought would spare him. He jumped into the river. As the suspect swam, thinking he was getting away, he was horrified to see Detective Graham remove his jacket, shoes and pants and dive in after him. When back up arrived they found a semi-clothed, wet Graham pinning down a tired an equally wet suspect. As it turned out the perp was a serial burglar with connections to a high profile bank heist some years earlier. The information the police obtained from him put at least three other wanted criminals behind bars. Despite the fact his colleagues gave him a hard time for being caught partially naked with a suspect he received a commendation for his bravery and quickly appeared on the radar of his superiors. On the other hand, Perry Murdoch, while not as athletic was very astute. Taking his time to go over cases in meticulous detail he was able to spot patterns in behavior, leading to some high profile arrests. About six months before coming to Staunton, a brilliant observation by Murdoch led to the arrest of the infamous "Alley-Cat Killer." A series of young women were found murdered in alleys across the city. At first it seemed the only connection the body's had was that they were female and they were found in similar places but, on a hunch, Murdoch looked at the locations of where the bodies were found on a map, marked them and joined up the dots forming what appeared to be an incomplete circle. Then, on that same hunch he cross referenced the route with those of the city's sanitation department, leading the investigation to a garbage man who had been leaving bodies near dumpsters on his route so he could revisit them the next day. There was talk of the FBI being interested in him as a behavioral analyst; that was if he decided to apply. Either way, both young detectives were well known to their superiors, both were on the promotion list.

Now the cops were helping to solve a different case. Using Oates directions they pulled up outside Earl's bar in search of a couple of names on a list. The sun wasn't letting up as they entered, laying heavy beams on top of them. In silence the two moved round towards Earl's, quietly Murdoch wondered whether the aftermath of their case here in Staunton would be good or bad for their careers.

Bars always smelled worse in the afternoon Graham noticed; perhaps it was because of the sun shining through the window, adding some warmth to the slightly stale air, or maybe it was because Earl's didn't seem to be big on opening windows, instead choosing to run the A/C. Although it was clear the floor had been recently mopped, there was still a general musk in the air, which no one seemed to mind except the two cops. Graham walked right up to the bar and flashed identification at the bartender.

"Hello, I'm detective Graham; I'm looking for a bartender named Billy."

Billy looked back at the cop.

"Billy Devreaux, that's me. What can I do for you officers?"

"We're here to take you into protective custody."

Billy crossed his arms.

"Why would I need that?"

Murdoch stepped in.

"We know what happened to the owner of the bar. We came from the city to help catch the thing that did it, as well as the others."

"There are others?" Billy asked, showing nerves for the first time.

Murdoch nodded. Billy shook his head.

"Still, I don't think I'll need it. Thanks anyway guys but I'm staying put. I'm gonna stay here and run the bar, I can take care of myself."

"You know..." Graham said, "...we could force you to come with us."

Billy looked at the two men studiously. Both looked as if they could give him a run for his money in a confrontation. But their faces did not harbor aggression and Billy saw that right away.

"I know you could, but you won't. I'm not doing anything wrong by not going with you. It's my choice to make."

"Look, you're endangering the lives of others by not coming with us."

"Endangering the lives of who? Tony Oates and his friends? They're the ones that caused all this; it's their fault Earl's dead! As far as I'm concerned, they're dead already. Nope, sorry guys, I'm not leaving."

A beautiful brunette walked back from the washroom and pulled up a seat at the bar. All the eyes in the bar followed her movements but she didn't care, she was used to the attention. She lit a cigarette and seized up the two cops. Having caught the tail end of the conversation she decided to join in.

"Billy is very stubborn; you won't make him change his mind."

"I'm sorry mam, but who are you?"

Billy answered for her while she took a drag of her cigarette.

"This is Donna, my fiancée."

Donna nodded gently as an introduction. Graham and Murdoch paused a moment while taking in the beauty of Donna. After all, they were excellent cops but they were also men. After a moment Murdoch spoke to her.

"I guess no-one's informed you of the state law banning smoking in public indoor places."

Graham wanted to shoot his partner a scolding look but he thought better of it. He knew Murdoch was right but he also knew there were more pressing matters at hand. Donna simply smiled.

"I'm sure you have bigger things to worry about that one little cigarette detective."

Graham smiled, then immediately wiped it off his face, realizing his moment of weakness. He quickly decided he should back up his partner.

"You know mam, just by being with Billy; your life will be in danger too."

Donna cocked her head and looked straight at Billy, feigning shock.

"You never told me that!"

She then looked back at the cops.

"Sorry guys, I'm not going anywhere without him, and he's not leaving here so I think you're outta luck."

Murdoch sighed, shifting his gaze from the ballsy Donna (who was clearly no stranger to trouble) to the stubborn Billy.

"How do you plan on keeping yourself safe?"

"We'll be fine gents. Donna will stay here with me all day till it's over"

"And what about after that? You'll have to sleep sometime!"

"It's alright; I don't let Billy get much sleep..." Donna smirked.

"And if anything comes in to the bar again, I'll give them a little of this..."

Billy turned quickly, picked up his bat and swung and wielded it in front of the detectives. Neither Graham nor Murdoch liked the fact he was staying behind but they could not force him to go with them. Billy clearly worked out and felt confident in the fact he could protect both himself and his fiancé but the cops weren't convinced. The dolls seemed to kill with absolute ease; after all, the body count was stacking in their favor.

"Well..." Graham said in a last effort to change Billy's mind. "Good luck then, I hope your batting skills are enough to save both your lives."

Billy smiled.

"Come on fellas give me some credit."

Reaching under the bar surface he pulled out a pump action shotgun.

"You didn't think I just had a bat under here did you?"

The fact that Billy seemed so comfortable holding the powerful weapon did in fact put the detectives at ease. However they would still have preferred him to come with them.

"Ok fine, stay here." Murdoch relented "But do us one favor..."

"Anything..." said Billy; mocking the fact they couldn't make him leave.

"Tell us where to find Brian Bichel."

Billy leaned on the bar top and pointed across the room.

"You see that sad little creature over there?"

The detectives turned their gaze to Brian, sitting nursing a drink, alone in a booth.

"Been in here every day since Jimmy was killed, I'm pretty sure his girlfriend wants nothing to do with him too."

"Who's his girlfriend?" Graham asked.

"Anne something"

Murdoch and Graham shared a look, knowing full well Anne was on their list too. Before the detectives turned their attention to Brian, Murdoch turned to Billy.

"If you change your mind, come down to the Sheriff station."

Billy nodded as Murdoch and Graham turned to the booth.

"Mr. Bichel?"

Brian turned to them. His eyes looked wary, as if he hadn't been sleeping very well.

"Yes?"

"I'm Detective Murdoch, this is Detective Graham. We were wondering if you would come with us."

"Why? Have I done something wrong?"

The question seemed to be lost on the detectives who did not know enough to be able to tell Brian that what he had done wrong was bring this terrible plight upon his town.

"No no, nothing like that. Look Mr. Bichel, let me be blunt." (Murdoch wanted this approach to have more success than it did with Billy) "We have a list of names. On it are people who are at risk of harm from these things, which are killing in town. What we're doing is bringing the people on that list to the Sheriff station where they will be safe until this whole thing is over with."

"Ok, sounds good. Take me in!"

Murdoch and Graham were surprised by how easy this conversation was compared to Billy's.

"Ok so if you'd like to follow us, we're parked outside. We'll make sure you're safe."

Brian headed towards the door, followed by Graham and Murdoch. Donna blew a thick plume of smoke into the air and called after them

"Bye detectives!"

Brian sat quietly in the back of the unmarked car. After fastening their seat belts, Graham looked at Brian in the rearview mirror.

"Can you tell us where Anne lives Mr. Bichel?"

"Anne? My Anne? Why do you need to know that?"

"Because we need to go get her too, she's coming with us."

"Who exactly is on your list detective?"

"Basically anyone involved in the death of Andy Williams Mr. Bichel. Now, can you tell us where she lives?"

Brian thought for a moment before coming to his senses.

"Yes, of course. Conifer and Elm, I'll direct you."

Jacobs stopped outside Matthew's house. He didn't push Matthew to leave the car this time, not after what he went through in his own house. He spotted MacNamee sitting on the stoop.

"How you holding up?"

"Not great. I'm a psychiatric doctor; I'm used to dealing with live bodies. I'm not designed for all this."

"I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

"Yeah right," MacNamee said dryly.

"I'll tell you this; I thought I had a stronger stomach than I actually did too, and I'm a cop, I'm supposed to be used to it. Murray's dead. I watched a clown kill him...and there was nothing funny about it."

"So what now then?"

"Well, me and Matthew are going to go pick up Jessica Ellis, the little girl whose aunt was killed. What are you still doing here?"

"Oates is still sorting out arrangements with his men."

"Murdoch called me from the car. He said they had Brian Bichel and were heading to pick up his girlfriend, that'll be another two names off the list right there."

Oates stepped outside into the fresh air. Taking a deep breath, he tried to wipe some of the images he just saw from his mind.

"What was that Sergeant? Two names scored off?"

"Yes Sheriff, Detective Murdoch informed me they have Brian Bichel and are picking up his girlfriend, but unfortunately Ralph Murray is dead."

Oates frowned.

"Jesus Christ! How?"

"A clown" replied Jacobs ominously.

Oates sighed while Jacobs continued.

"The boys also told me that the bartender Billy Devreaux refused help; said he wasn't leaving. He and his girlfriend are staying put."

"Stubborn bastard!" exclaimed Oates. "Well, I guess apart from arresting him for no good reason, there's not a lot we can do about it."

Jacobs did not agree with letting Billy stay, but this was Oates' operation and his town, so he tried to be respectful in his disagreement.

"Not trying to be difficult here Sheriff but I thought the idea of having all the names in one place was so that these dolls would only have one shot at us. Surely if we allow people to split up it completely destroys the plan..."

"What can we do Jacobs?" Interrupted MacNamee "I hate to sound callous but the guy knows the risk. If he wants to go it alone, it's his funeral. I'd rather we help the people who actually want it. Once those fuckers are done with him, then they can come for us. Maybe it'll even buy us some time."

Oates looked down at MacNamee then back at Jacobs. Neither man wanted to fight MacNamee as they knew he was speaking on behalf of his dead wife.

"I'm inclined to agree with the doc, sergeant. Besides, one name isn't going to make a whole lot of difference."

"Alright," sighed Jacobs "Well I guess that brings me to my next question. I need the address of Jessica Ellis; Matthew said you knew her father."

"Yes, he was unreachable for some time when Lucy was killed. Both he and his wife work in the city, but I did finally get hold of them. They live up in the foothills, Everhollow drive if memory serves."

"Alright thanks, me and Matthew will go over there and see about bringing the family down the station with us. Poor kid must have been through a lot these last few days, I hate putting her through any more."

"It's always a shame when innocents get involved" stated MacNamee coldly.

"Anne?" Brian yelled as he banged on the door to her parents' house where Anne was temporarily living. Usually Brian would be more tactful, but given the circumstances he felt it was necessary to get a hold of her right away. Anne's mother came round from the living room to find out what all the banging was about; she was unimpressed to see Brian standing there. In their late fifties, Anne's parents were hardworking people. Polish immigrants; they had been in America for 30 years despite their accents remaining strong. Having taken early retirement, both Anne's mother and father were almost always at home, providing a source of frustration for the perma-horny young Brian.

"Brian, what are you doing here?"

"I need to speak to Anne" he said, flustered.

"She is upstairs doing study, her College tests are coming up you know."

"Yes Mrs. Sharpova I know, I just need to speak to her for a little bit"

The strong old woman looked at Brian with contempt, she had never thought him good enough for her daughter, and now he was at her door making a nuisance of himself, and she could smell the liquor on his breath. She would permit him to speak with her, but only briefly and only under her watch.

"Ok... I'll fetch her."

The old lady started walking up the stairs. At the speed she moved this whole situation could be over with by the time she got to the top but Brian waited patiently. Once she had turned at the top of the stairs, out of sight, Brian turned to the detectives.

"Do you think her parents will be alright?"

Graham looked at the analytical Murdoch for an answer.

"I think so...No-one else's parents were attacked; I don't see why she would be any different. But just to be sure, maybe you should tell your girlfriend to send them somewhere out of the way for a while."

"Ok" Brian said as Anne came down the stairs, followed slowly by her mother.

"Brian, what are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you..." he noticed her mother's gaze "outside".

Anne's appearance was classically Polish, her fair skin and blonde hair gave her away. She stepped outside and closed the door, which did nothing to dissuade her mother who pulled back the lace curtain on the glass door to peer scornfully at Brian. Feeling her gaze, Anne stepped in front of her mother's line of sight. It was clear Brian could not focus while she was watching him.

"What's going on Brian? I thought we agreed not to see each other anymore."

"Ok, first of all, I didn't agree to that. But more importantly, I'm here to save you"

"Have you been drinking Brian?"

"Just a little" he said "But you have to listen to me here, there are dolls, they are coming to life and killing people."

Anne scoffed "Get real! I've heard the rumors too, my parents have told me old stories about dolls coming to life for years, but that's all they are Brian, stories! And who are these guys?"

The two detectives didn't say anything. Brian introduced them.

"They're cops from the city; they're here to catch the dolls."

Anne rolled her eyes.

"Seriously guys, who are you?"

"You said it yourself. It's not a coincidence that the people who died had something to do with Andy Williams."

"Yeah I did say that, but I didn't say it was dolls what did it!"

Anne paused a moment. Her mood softened.

"I'm sorry about Earl. Why didn't you come talk to me about it."

Brian looked awkward.

"You said you didn't want to see me."

"But still Brian...this is different..."

Graham glanced at Murdoch; this was no time for romance. Murdoch stepped forward.

"He's telling the truth miss, about everything, we are from the city and we are here to stop these things. But more importantly we need you to come with us for your own safety and for the safety of those around you."

"You're serious?"

Anne looked directly at Murdoch who responded somberly:

"I'm afraid so miss."

"Christ almighty! Hold on I'll get my jacket."

"You might want to tell your parents to go somewhere too?"

"My parents? What have they got to do with this?"

"It's just a precaution miss" Graham interrupted "We think they would be safer somewhere else for a few days. Does either one of them have a friend or a relative they could stay with?"

"Sure"

Anne spoke slowly, clearly biting back her frustration. Anne entered the house; the men could hear her speaking to her parents in Polish. The conversation got heated and yelling started. After a minute, Anne came out looking annoyed.

"They're going to stay with my aunt, she lives in the city."

"How did you convince them so fast?" Brian asked.

"They believe this stuff a lot more than I do" Anne retorted as she headed towards the car.

From the window in the living room, Mrs. Sharpova watched her daughter leave. She knew she would have to go up and pack a few things soon. A figure stepped out from the kitchen behind her. She did not see Dummy, but Dummy saw her.

Mayor Hugh Shannahan sat in his office looking over some forms. The sight of a day's work had never appealed to him and he would take any excuse not to do it, even if that excuse was simple procrastination. Huffing and puffing his way through signing forms and reading documents he decided he needed a coffee to keep him alert. Leaning across the desk he buzzed the intercom to his assistant.

"Yes Sir?"

"Margie, could you make me a coffee sweetheart?"

"Ok Hugh"

"Black honey, I don't want cream today."

Margie was secretly convinced he changed the way he took his coffee daily just to hassle her.

"Ok Hugh."

"There's a good girl."

His last comment reminded her how sexist and patronizing he was, God how she hated him. She said and felt everything about him in secret, gutless to stand up to the man who had been nothing but a pig to her for years. On her way to the break room she wondered why people couldn't see through him, to his core, made up of deceit and a love of cheap suits. Pouring the coffee from the percolator she fantasized about telling him off, telling him what a lowlife he was, but really she knew it would only serve to get her fired from the only job she knew how to do. Shannahan worked his letters, realizing he could triple his productivity by using his "approved" stamp instead of signing everything. Really, he should have known this wasn't a good idea as he would have to sign anything official, especially anything related to the release of town funds, but for now logic didn't get a look in. He was just happy stamping. After a few minutes of stamping action, Shannahan couldn't help but notice he was coffee-less. He buzzed the intercom again. After a few buzzes someone picked up.

"Hello?" a scratchy feminine voice came down the line.

"Margie?"

"...Yes?" came the response through muffled laughter.

"Who is this?"

"It's Margie silly!"

The voice broke into laughter and started' making kissing noises down the line until Shannahan hung up. The mayor was scared; he didn't know who was on the intercom but after his conversation with Oates, he was not overly excited to find out. Staring across the room in fear, he watched the door for any signs of something coming in. He slowly picked up the phone and tried to call the Sheriff.

"Shit!" he uttered quietly.

He couldn't remember the number for an outside line. A couple of days ago, in an effort to save a few pennies, he got a guy from the phone company to put a block on all outside lines. A block that could only be broken by a code that only he knew. Stupidly, he decided not to make the code something simple like his birthday or his wife's birthday and he couldn't remember his anniversary off hand so he made up a number and wrote it down. But now he couldn't remember where he kept it. Even emergency numbers had to be unlocked with this number.

"Block ALL outgoing numbers!" he specifically remembered telling the man from the phone company. The phone guy didn't think it was legal to block 911 but he was talking to the mayor, surely the mayor must have known better than him. Shannahan pulled out a drawer by his desk, removed a 9mm handgun and kept it aimed at the door. When he chose the weapon for his drawer, he decided a clip-loaded 9mm was a better idea than a classic six-shooter (though the six-shooter would have added a Clint Eastwood style touch to his office that he would had loved). No, he had seen too many movies where the guy with the six-shooter died first after dropping the bullets in a hasty attempt to reload. He also remembered seeing movies where the shooter missed his target six times and had to put himself in a dangerously time-consuming situation while he reloaded. These were the kind of scenarios Shannahan pondered in his days where his mind would wander. If you asked Margie, those days were called weekdays. After all, (he thought) what's the point of keeping a gun in your desk if you can't actually picture it saving your life if you ever had to use it? No, Shannahan had a 9mm berretta, fifteen round clip. No silly single bullet loading for him. A drop of Dutch courage was all he needed to step out of his office now. Getting up from his desk he crab-walked over to the Scotch display, keeping both eyes on the door as he did so. With his free hand he removed the top from the crystal decanter and swigged the Scotch straight from it. Now that he was alone, he turned his nose up at the product, the taste being too strong for him. Oates was right about Shannahan's pretentious ways. He took a couple more swigs of the light brown liquid, turned his nose up some more and headed towards the door. As he grasped the handle with his fingers-the bulk of his hand still on the neck of the decanter-he considered other escape options. He could try and escape through the window, but the main part didn't open, he would have to smash it. Then he would have to figure out a way to land safely from a four-story drop because, despite his little alcohol buzz, he would never be brave enough to attempt to climb down the face of a building. That was it. One office, two exits; one exit being the window. So really his only option was the door. With his sloppy posture, Shannahan would have been a poor addition to Oates' police squad. He proved this as he opened the door, gun pointed from his hip. The attached office where Margie normally sat was empty. There was no sign of an intruder at all. But then, there was no sign of Margie either. Shannahan moved over to Margie's desk. He always forgot to bring his cell phone to work but he knew Margie never did, he was always catching her texting or calling friends. When he opened the desk drawer he quickly found it, sitting on top of her files ready for him to use.

"Margie!"

He called out; bothered by the fact she was wasting time at work. He lifted the phone up and skulked back into his office with it, closing the door firmly behind him. No sooner had the door closed when Basket whacked the decanter in his hand with a full bottle of Scotch from the shelf in his office. The decanter shattered, cutting Shannahan's hand badly, causing him to throw his arms up. As he reeled in pain he accidentally fired off a round. Quickly, Basket jumped up onto his back, grabbed his gun arm and pulled it down hard. Shannahan was slammed into the ground arm first, causing him more pain than his tubby little body had ever experienced. Giggling, Basket dusted shards of glass off his hands as Shannahan lay on the floor, winded and bleeding. The gunshot echoed throughout the building and even onto the street, people outside wondered where it came from but no one could pinpoint a location. The clown picked up the gun and tossed it from hand to hand like a toy. Shannahan started to cry, pleading for his life as he did so.

"What about Andy William's life huh? You didn't care as much about him?"

Basket's words were interspersed with laughter, almost as if someone else was talking through his giggles. The grinning clown aimed the gun at the mayor's crotch and thought out loud.

"How do you work this thing?"

Asking simply to feed his own sick sense of humor, Basket squeezed the trigger, shooting the mayor in the upper thigh.

"Oops!"

The clown fired off three more rounds into the mayor's legs.

"Oh God! I'm so sorry! Let me get those out for you!"

As Shannahan cried out in pain, the rest of the building was fleeing thanks to the loud gunfire. Basket jaunted over to the desk where a gold letter opener lay. Shannahan was even too lazy to open his own mail by hand.

"Ah-ha" exclaimed the clown as he grabbed the letter opener and headed back towards the mayor.

Shannahan tried to push back away from the advancing clown but he was not fast enough. Basket leaped forward and thrusted the tool into the mayor's right shoulder. Then he pulled it out and rammed it into his left arm. The pain seared through Shannahan's entire body, causing more tears.

"Stop, please stop!"

But Basket had no intention of stopping.

"What?" the clown asked innocently "I only want to help get the bullets out?"

Basket grabbed the man's leg and thrusted the tool into one of his open wounds.

"I love fishing..." the clown said casually humming a tune over Shannahan's screams.

With a flick he popped out a single bullet from Shannahan's leg.

"One down; three to go!"

Helpless Shannahan could handle no more pain.

"No!" he cried "I didn't kill Andy Williams!"

"But you didn't punish those who did" came the voice from within Basket.

"Punish them then!" Shannahan yelled with the last of his strength.

"I intend to" came the voice as Basket burst into a fit of laughter.

The clown rolled the man onto his front, grabbed his collar and his belt simultaneously then aimed his head towards the window. Basket started running, sliding Shannahan across the carpet. Gathering great speed, he used Shannahan's head as a battering ram, letting him go only inches away from the large window. With a great smash, Shannahan's head burst through the glass on a direct course with the street. The concrete met his skull first, as the rest of his body crumpled on top. Dozens of horrified onlookers watched as their Mayor slammed into the sidewalk before them. At least now they knew where the gunshots were coming from. In the quick five minutes since the gunshots were first heard, the second 911 call was being placed by a dozen passers-by.

"Sheriff! Those things got Shannahan! His secretary too!" Lynch's words were strong. Oates wasn't so bothered about Shannahan but poor Margie had nothing to do with this. In fact, Oates always got the feeling that she hated the mayor as much as he did. He did not condone any of the murderous goings on in Staunton but he wasn't surprised to hear Shannahan was gone. He wasn't sorry either.

"There's a bigger problem Sheriff..." continued Lynch "Now this thing is completely public. He was thrown out his office window; a lot of people saw it."

Oates closed his eyes; he just spent the last half hour talking to his own cops about keeping this close to the chest. Now Shannahan had become pavement pizza on the main street. That made things difficult for him.

"How did Margie go?" Oates asked.

"Bludgeoned with a coffee pot. I found her lying in the break room. There was coffee and blood everywhere."

"Ok Deputy, I'm gonna need you back at the station right away, we're gathering up the last of the names on the list. There aren't many left now though. We've got to wait this thing out. I've left Brady in charge until it's over; the boys know what they're doing."

"Ok Sheriff, I'll head over as soon as I get this mess under control."

The Sheriff paused a second before speaking.

"Be safe Deputy."

"This is it, this is the address the Sheriff gave me" Jacobs peered out the window at the large house on the exclusive street.

"Ok, let's go."

The two men exited the vehicle and walked up to the large house in front of them. Jacobs knocked on the door but nobody answered so he decided to try announcing himself.

"Police, open up please!"

But still there was nothing. Looking around, Matthew noticed there was a car in the driveway so he jumped off the stoop and walked round onto the lawn, peering in through the living room window. Right away he saw Jessica sitting having a tea party with her dolls.

"The little girl's in the living room"

Matthew yelled to Jacobs. The cop drew his gun; he knocked one last time before using one solid boot to kick the door in. His gun poised for action, Jacobs scanned the hallway for signs of intruders.

"Hello? Mr. Ellis? Mrs. Ellis?"

Getting no response he cautiously headed to the living room. Matthew slipped past him and headed for Jessica, attempting to get information from her quickly so they could leave quicker.

"Hey. Do you know where your parents are?"

Without bothering to look up Jessica answered.

"They're in their bedroom."

Jacobs interpreted the girl's cold mannerisms as trauma symptoms and felt sorry for her.

"I'll check; you stay with her," said Jacobs as he left the room.

Taking the stairs with extreme caution, Jacobs had seen the damage these creatures could do; he didn't want to end up on a slab any time soon. The second level of the house was quiet. Jacobs was finished calling out names, his gut told him no one was going to answer. Jacobs' pushed open the first door at the top of the stairs. It was the bathroom, and it was empty. Moving further down the hall he came to another door. He was thankful the Ellis' family had soft carpets so he could approach silently. Pushing open this door he stepped inside, gun at the ready, but this room was empty too. The third door had a sticker on it that read "Jessica's Room." Jacobs did not even bother opening this one. This left only one remaining door. Quickly, he crept up to it and grabbed the knob. While holding on to the cold brass he raised his foot and placed it against the door. With a solid boot he pushed hard, allowing the door to swing open while also allowing him to fall into a strong stance with his gun poised. The master bedroom was a room painted in blood. Jessica's parents stared back at him from the bed, their faces frozen in terror. Throats cut wide explained the quantity of blood but didn't explain how the walls were covered so evenly in it. The bodies were sitting up straight, fully clothed on the bed. These were not natural sleeping poses. Cussing out loud, Jacobs turned to head downstairs. He felt no need to check their pulses or even call in their deaths right now. Jacobs was not overly cautious as he headed down the hall and back down the stairs, after all, he had checked all the rooms. Well, all except Jessica's and that door was closed. There wasn't going to be anything coming at him through a closed door. The thought did occur to him that the killers could have been hiding in Jessica's room but he was not prepared to risk Jessica's safety by tackling them himself. If he were to be overcome, she would be left with a cowardly, unarmed Matthew for protection. Jessica sat on the couch beside Matthew clutching her doll.

"We've gotta go" said Jacobs.

"You didn't find her parents?"

"No, I did!"

"Oh" said Matthew, reading between the lines.

"Come on sweetie" Jacobs said, thrusting his hand into hers.

The three of them headed out the house fast. Jessica held Betsy tight.

CHAPTER 35

MacNamee's cell phone rung loudly in the car. The day was wearing on now; night would be heading into Staunton in a short while. Oates drove carefully, unwilling to add to the death toll with reckless driving. MacNamee answered his phone, allowing Jacobs to inform him of the pickup of Jessica Ellis.

"We got the little girl" he said.

"What about her parents?"

Jacobs looked in the rear view at the little girl holding her doll, he couldn't say too much because she was in the car.

"Um, no luck there" he said, hoping the innocuous answer would not make the little girl suspicious, while also hoping MacNamee would understand.

"Jesus" MacNamee responded, he did understand.

"Who's left on the list?" Jacobs asked quickly, changing the subject.

MacNamee skimmed through the list he had with him.

"Sandy Allen, I think she's one of Matthew's friends."

Jacobs turned to Matthew.

"Do you know a Sandy Allen?"

"Yeah, I'll call her" Matthew said, aware of why Jacobs was asking.

"Matthew's calling her" Jacobs relayed to MacNamee "we can pick her up then meet you at the station."

Sandy's phone rung eight times before it was picked up.

"Hello?" came the voice down the line.

"Hello, Sandy?"

It was Sandy's voice but something was wrong with it.

"Sandy can't come to the phone right now."

Matthew closed his eyes, he felt sick hearing that voice again. He remembered Dummy's scratchy voice from when he was impersonating Glenda.

"What have you done with her?"

Dummy's screechy voice burst into laughter.

"What do you think I've done with her? I've killed her stupid!"

Matthew hung up straight away. Dummy sat quietly at the kitchen table in Sandy's house. He casually put the phone down and looked around proudly. His face was covered in blood. Anne's parents were nowhere in sight.

Jacobs turned his head round a few times to Matthew while driving, only holding his gaze for a second each time before turning back to the road.

"Well?" said Jacobs impatiently after a minute. Matthew faced forward, visibly upset by hearing Dummy's voice again. He shook his head in response to Jacobs' question. Jacobs cussed to himself.

"Another one down Doc"

"Have we actually saved anyone?" MacNamee asked, frustrated.

"The day's not over yet. I'll see you at the station."

Jacobs hung up.

The cruiser door slammed shut Oates' car was the last of the four to arrive at the station (including Lynch's who got there first). Oates was in the center of the parking lot when he was accosted by a pedestrian across the street.

"Where are you going Sheriff? Shouldn't you be stopping these murders?"

Oates was taken aback, this had never happened to him before. As darkness thought about entering Staunton, Oates only had one thing to say.

"Return to your home, we have this under control!"

"The mayor is dead Sheriff? Who's next?"

As Oates stood silent, the yelling man's wife urged him to move along, sparing Oates any further embarrassment. Oates had to admit he didn't have the answers the man was looking for and a lot of people had died while he was looking for a way to stop all this. As he stood for a moment watching the pedestrian leave he thought about what he could have done differently. This wasn't a normal situation where a person was committing crimes. It wasn't a human killer with human fallibilities. This was an extraordinary situation, which required an unorthodox approach to policing. Despite the queue of bodies waiting to be refrigerated at the morgue, Oates had five civilians in his care with the potential to be saved from this mess. To him that was definitely worth celebrating. And that number didn't include MacNamee, Crass, Lynch, Murdoch, Graham and Jacobs who, despite the age-old cliché of accepting the risks of a job, did not sign on for anything like this.

The station felt quiet when Oates entered. Dora sat at the front desk, watching him intently. Lynch had already filled her in to what was happening.

"Dora, why haven't you left yet?"

"I didn't know if I should. Deputy Lynch said I should wait and see what you said."

The full weight of Lynch's words were heavy on Dora.

"I don't see why you shouldn't. The only reason you'd be in danger is if you stayed here. All the targets are already here safe and sound."

Dora quietly nodded, accepting his words. Packing up her things she quietly got ready to leave.

"Good luck Stacey..." the old woman said quietly as she headed out the front door.

As she left Oates couldn't help but appreciate her. Not least because she spoke his first name in a high regard instead of the usual subtle mocking others did. She had been with him for many years, always an asset to the station. For a moment he wondered if that were the last time she would see him alive. He wondered if he would actually make it out of this. Gritting his teeth he pushed those thoughts from his mind. Now was not the time for self-doubt and he knew it.

Oates walked into the main hall, keeping an eye on Dora through the windows as she headed into the car park. He stood beside Lynch who was doing the same thing.

"What have you gotten done Deputy?"

"I made sure Tony was alright downstairs, and then I went to the roof and pulled up the escape ladder. I checked the windows on the first floor..."

Relaxation settled in as they watched Dora's car reverse out its spot and pull up to the car park exit onto the road.

"...then I made sure everything downstairs was..."

A harsh revving sound killed off Lynch's words. Dora's car rapidly accelerated forward for about thirty feet before slamming hard into a large Oak tree on a grassy knoll across from the station. Chestnuts fell in rapid numbers, pelting the roof. Lynch automatically stepped forward, as if he was about to run out and help her but Oates placed a restraining hand on his stomach without taking his eyes off the vehicle.

"Wait!" said Oates quietly.

They watched as the back door on Dora's car creaked open, then the two small dummies jumped out. The dummies pushed each other for a minute before heading over to the station car park, just off to the side of the building.

"Can they get in here?" Oates said quietly as none of the others heard the collision.

"No" said Lynch equally as quiet "I made sure all the doors were locked on ground level. The windows are good too. Sheriff we should go see if she's still alive..." Lynch said impatiently.

"Dorrian, when have these things ever left someone alive? Besides, there could be more of them out there. Lock the door."

Oates gestured to the door to the main room. Lynch didn't move right away, he couldn't believe the Sheriff would just leave her out there without even checking to see if she was still alive.

"Lock the door deputy!"

Lynch stood his ground, holding eyes with Oates.

"Look, I know this is hard but if we go out there now we risk exposing ourselves, and our priority right now is the people who are alive in this room. Dora's gone deputy!"

Lynch breath trembled as he relented, heading over to lock the door as Oates stepped forward, took one last looked at the car and closed the blinds.

"Ok listen up everybody!"

As Oates scanned the room he noticed Anne and Jessica were the only females; his thoughts then drifted to his wife. He never really thought of her until now. MacNamee's wife was killed and Dr. Crass was staying in town to protect his, but it never even occurred to him to protect his own Bella. Deeper resentment came to the surface in an instant. If she was worried about him she would have asked him to stay at home at least once, instead of sleeping so much. Perhaps she may have even called to make sure he was alright. But this was not the case, so he decided to do nothing to help her and let the chips fall where they may. This was his cause now, protecting these people from this blight. As far as he was concerned, his wife left him a long time ago.

The room was roughly divided in two with MacNamee, Jacobs, Murdoch and Graham on his left and the two girls with Brian and Matthew on his right.

"Everything is locked down" Oates said. "All the doors, windows and entrances have been sealed. We have many fire doors around the building that cannot be opened from the outside, but they can from the inside. So if at any point from here on out we have to get out, those doors are our best options. Any questions?"

"What exactly are we all supposed to be doing here?" Anne asked impatiently.

"We're holing up here; these things will want to come for us, and when they do we should at least be protected."

Lynch said stepping into line beside the Sheriff, trying to show solidarity.

"But I thought the plan was to destroy them? How are we going to do that if we won't let them in?"

"They'll get in" interrupted MacNamee "They'll find a way; we just need to be ready for them."

The group was silent for a long while, all thinking about MacNamee's ominous statement. Jessica held Betsy tight.

CHAPTER 36

Frieda left the hospital early today. He had been waiting for either Crass or MacNamee to call but they never did. It was true that Crass never said he definitely would call, but Frieda would have really appreciated it if he did. Alone in his condo, even the beautiful city view did not comfort him. The large living area with the leather couches didn't comfort him, nor did his large television. Frieda's materialism was deep rooted, he thought living beyond his means would make him feel like he was a more successful person, and it did to an extent. That was until Connor Williams came along and framed his failings for him. Up until that point he was happy living in personal ignorance. Now, all these expensive things simply served to remind him he had no one to share them with. Lying back on his plush black leather sofa he took a long drag of his cigarette. As he blew nonchalantly up, the grey smoke fluttered around him. He sat up and leaned forward as his head floated in nicotine. Rubbing his eyes with his palms he took the last drag and it was a big one. His neck felt stiff. Holding the smoke in his lungs he closed his eyes, rolled his head and tilted back his neck. Slowly, he opened his eyes wide and blew out a thick plume. The smoke hit against something transparent. He watched in shock as the rising wisps pressed against a large creature's face, making an outline clearly visible. The smoke accentuated the contours of a strong jawline, complete with large teeth and a growling face. For only a second, the complete face was in view in the smoke, but it was the deep growl that accompanied it that told Frieda it was real it was alive and it was watching him. He pushed back hard against the couch. When he reached the back of it he pushed with his feet and used his arms to climb over, away from the sight. He stood in silence, watching the last of the smoke disperse but there was nothing there anymore. Nothing ominous. Nothing monstrous. Nothing at all. After more silence he decided he was imagining things; attributing what he saw to a lack of sleep. Slapping his head gently he thought out loud, reassuring himself he was alone.

"No Paul No. No, no, no!"

With a rub of eyes he walked towards the view from his window. He had chosen this condo principally for the view of Downtown. Being able to observe the city from a safe distance made him feel at ease. When he was buying the place, the realtor told him "the ladies will love the view." But this had no impact on his decision. He had never had a lady back there who wasn't his mother. Placing his head against the cool glass window, he rested his arms above him, using the large double ply pane to support his body's weight. His apartment was quiet, only the faintest sounds could be heard from his balcony door; slightly ajar in the warm evening. Closing his eyes tight, he tried to push his fears out of his head, but it was no use. After a minute of trying he gave up, deciding he needed a drink. Slowly he opened his eyes. Connor stood in front of him of the balcony. For a second Frieda didn't register what he was seeing, but after that second he went pale. Connor just stood in front of him, through the glass, staring. Frieda was speechless. Connor's face broke into a devilish grin and that was about all the doctor could handle. Sharply, he turned to run for the door but was stopped by another sight. This sight repelled him to the floor as quick as it had repelled him over the back of the couch.

Dixie was back. And this time he wasn't transparent. Looming over him, the great beast blew out condensation thicker than the smoke from thousand of Frieda's cigarettes. Frieda wanted to move, he wanted to flee but he couldn't. Instead he sat, leaning on his hands, jaw agape, staring at the colossal creature before him.

"D..d..don't kill me" Frieda begged.

Dixie simply stood there, his expression remained grim. With a lumbering step the creature bent down towards the doctor and inhaled deeply. Frieda' mix of sweat and tears was covering his clothes now. Without standing back up, the creature lifted its eyes to meet Connor's. With a shake of his head the boy signaled not to go any further. Frieda did not know what was happening; he could not see Connor's instructions to the creature. With a grunt, Dixie slowly stood up, looking down, snarling at the petrified Frieda while he did. Dixie stood watching the doctor before gradually turning to smoke right before his eyes. Wisps of grey eroded the powerful beast until there was nothing left but a dissipating grey trail.

Frieda's breathing remained heavy until Dixie disappeared and for a few minutes after until he checked that Connor was not behind him. Once again he was alone in the apartment and he knew it. Left to simmer in his own self-pity he started to feel something else. Anger. Connor had shone a spotlight on the fact that his peers didn't respect him. Now, he was proving just how weak and vulnerable he was in his own home. Paul Frieda made no conscious decision there and then to get mad, it just happened. Initially he fought the feeling. He had been fighting it for years. Whenever he had been mocked or spoken down to or belittled in any way he had fought the urge to say anything and up until now he had won. Now is the time he would lose. His head shook, though he couldn't understand why. His fists involuntarily clenched and tightened. His breathing slowed. Then all at once it happened. Springing to his feet, he started venting years of anger on everything he could find. A marble table against the wall held numerous pictures of Frieda with his family. The fact that there were no pictures of good friends or perhaps a girlfriend was enough to provoke an attack on the memory-holding frames. With a wild sweep, he flung every one of them of them across the room, slamming them into his glass balcony doors. As they collided with the glass, one chip became three, which became a large crack in the once pristine glass. Normally, his reaction to broken objects was to promptly clean them up. That was the smart thing. But this wasn't normal, and (he suddenly realized) smashing things felt good. Despite his anger, excited eyes scanned the room for something else to destroy. A vase, quite large on the coffee table by the couch was his next target. Trotting round in front of it he swept it hard just as he did the picture frames. The meticulously clean table offered nothing the block the vase's path as it flew sideways, slamming hard but safely onto the leather armchair. This killed his excitement, making way for more anger.

"What kind of man can't even be angry properly? I can't even smash a...god dammed vase!"

His rage spurred him to lift the tinted blue, sunflower holder with both hands and bring it down hard onto his shiny wooden floor. This was a huge release. This was the closest he had felt to being in control for years and he did now want to stop. He found himself moving round his condo looking for things to destroy. Moving up the size scale from ashtrays to mugs to blenders to paintings, nothing was safe. With two hands he grabbed his glass balcony door and swung it hard, inwards towards the city, shattering the large pane inside of it. With a glance he moved back into the living room. He picked up all four of his remotes. He could easily have had a universal remote for his television, DVD player, stereo and surround sound system but he didn't. He had all four sitting side by side so that when people came over they would know he had such expensive luxuries. Now, each served as yet another reminder that no one ever came over except his parents so now; each became a missile being hurled at his large, expensive 3D television. One after another he hurled the remotes at the sixty-two inch behemoth glaring out across the room, each time causing a giant, web like crack on the screen while simultaneously releasing his grip on his possessions and his current life as he once knew it.

CHAPTER 37

Earl's was quiet tonight. Although Billy would have liked it to be busy, he understood why people were reluctant to come after what happened. He had already heard about Shannahan.

"News travels fast when you work in a bar."

That news had shocked him; he thought the mayor would have been smart enough to hire a couple of people to protect him, but then again, he had never actually met the mayor. Standing alone polishing glasses, he thought of Earl. The old man never saw the point in polishing glassware but Billy always insisted on doing so if it was quiet. He felt it was better to offer clean glasses rather than ones covered in fingerprints, or worse-lipstick. Donna had just stepped out to the store to buy more smokes as Billy was putting the finishing touches on closing early. The bar had been empty all day so he saw no point in keeping it open any later. Spinning into only its seventh cycle of the day the glass washer was Billy's only company for the time being.

The last glass from the rack to be put away was accompanied by a low growl. Billy remembered the sound well, there was no way he could ever forget it. He stood for a moment without moving his body. His eyes scanned the mirror, which lined the back of the bar for any signs of movement behind him. There was none, but he knew he was not alone. Moving slowly, he turned around. He could hear the creature's raspy breathing but still he could not see it. Careful not to make any sudden moves he slowly dropped his hand underneath the bar top, slid it over the shotgun and grasped his Slugger firmly. Always a cocky one, Billy knew the shotgun was the safer choice but he would definitely enjoy the bat more. This much he knew. The bar top was mostly an obstruction to Billy's view, but he felt safer for the moment knowing there was a barrier between him and the creature. Focusing solely on the sound of Dog's breathing he moved slowly out of the bar, onto the floor area. Dog was somewhere around, he could hear him, he almost sounded like he was chuckling.

"Where are you, you bastard?"

Finding nothing in his immediate vision Billy started batting chairs to the side in an attempt to flush Dog out. As each chair crashed to the ground he heard confused little footsteps but still was unable to pinpoint where they were coming from. He stopped suddenly. He could feel eyes on him. Dog had a position and was ready to charge. The creature had already turned into the demented version of itself and was too excited to cover up its own snarls. The acoustics in Earl's did not help Billy to locate the creature so he turned wildly back and forward, trying to spot it. Dog simply waited for its opportunity. Billy spotted it in the reflection of the jukebox, it was behind him, but the sly bartender did not act as if he had seen it. Instead he casually turned to face the jukebox, lulling Dog into false hope. Dog took the bait. Charging, its feet beat the floor hard as it ran to flank the bartender. Billy calmly watched it in the reflection up until the last moment when it lunged...

Turning quickly, the bat-adept young man connected the Slugger to the body of Dog, sending it way across the room; slamming it hard into a half dozen liquor bottles by the register. Silence fell for a lingering moment before the creature flopped off the ledge to the floor, out of Billy's sight. Confidence spurred in the young bartender, he knew that although this thing wasn't an animal it was still made of man-made materials and so: it could be destroyed. Quickly, the bartender ran across and leaned over the bar top to look for the fallen creature but it had gone again. Panic hit him for the first time as he realized Dog may have the upper hand now. Confused he turned to face the opening to the bar but the beast was already there. With a sharp bite and a pull Dog bit him in the same spot he had tried to a couple of days earlier but this time he succeeded and took a chunk of flesh with him. Adrenaline and anger kept Billy from going down completely; instead he fell to one knee, using the bat to keep him up, trying to ignore the blood he was losing. Unfortunately for him, this was enough for a second attack. Dog knew he had weakened the formidable bartender and so he swung round and charged in again, taking full advantage of the situation. Billy had to react fast. As he took his weight off the Slugger he collapsed. Dog was now on top of him, gnashing at his throat. Pushing the bat against it with all his might, Billy was surprised at how strong the toy dog was. He was losing blood and his determination to survive could only last so long. As froth from the creature's mouth starting dripping onto his face and neck he made a snap decision. After waiting till Dog bit down on the bat Billy used his powerful upper body to toss it-with Dog attached-as far away from him as he could. He knew this solution was only temporary as he tried to get to his feet. Sadly he had underestimated the pain in his ankle and he collapsed again after trying to put weight on it. On his back, willing himself to stand back up he was helpless. Out of nowhere dog appeared beside him and sank its teeth into his shoulder. Billy cried out but it was no use. In a last effort he grabbed the gnawing Dog with his good arm and tossed his forward, slamming it into the jukebox. Dog did not even slow down. As soon as it was on its feet again it was back, seizing Billy up.

Billy sorely regretted not picking up the shotgun but now it was too late. The combined pain in his ankle and his shoulder was awful. Dog meandered towards him, uninterested in rushing anymore. Billy was done for and they both knew it.

"Fuck!"

Billy cried out at his own arrogance. Had he picked up the shotgun, things might have turned out differently for him. Dog moved in, focused solely on its prey. It approached Billy slowly, with its teeth bared, ready to clamp down on its prize. He closed his eyes. He could feel its paws moving their way up his torso and then that awful breath was filling his nostrils. He opened his eyes to see hell incarnate staring back at him, its red eyes just inches away from his. With a last act of defiance Billy spat in the face of the creature prepare to kill him.

"Fuck you!"

He uttered these words knowing they were going to be his last. Dog opened its mouth wide to take his whole head in one bite. Billy had given up all hope until he heard the click. Both his and Dogs' eyes looked up in unison. Dogs' mouth was still gaping. Dog yelped as he saw Donna standing over them with the shotgun aimed square at his head. Instead of being afraid she was smiling. Billy had never seen this glint in her eye before but right now he didn't care about that. The sight of his fiancé above him gave Billy the strength to push the creature away from him and cover his ears as best he could. On the other hand, the sight of a shotgun barrel caused Dog to turn its face back to a doe-eyed cutie, intent on existing a little while longer. Donna's eyes lowered at the sight of the cute creature before her and she smiled wider.

"Fucking shoot it!" Billy cried out.

Donna stood there for a moment. She had no intention of not shooting it; she simply wanted to enjoy the creature trying to trick her. Dog scowled as he realized she wasn't lowering the gun. Gently, she squeezed the trigger. Dog let out a yelp as the ensuing blast completely destroyed it. As smoke wisped from the barrel, Donna offered a hand to her finace to help him up. Shakily, Billy tried to keep his balance.

"Good thing you went out for more smokes."

"Yep," Donna grinned, "Those things will kill you."

CHAPTER 38

Jacobs' stomach growled.

"Christ, I forgot to pick up some food!"

"I could eat too" agreed Murdoch.

"Me too" said Anne.

"Don't fret people..." Lynch interrupted "It's not like we're gonna be in here for a month. We have sandwiches in the break room. We normally load them into the vending machines but I just took them out today."

Suddenly everyone's mood perked up a little. The thought of having sandwiches was like a shining beacon of hope.

"If someone wanted to come with, we could bring back a little selection."

"I'll go with you. Then I'll get first pick!" Anne said, snickering.

"Bring me back a tuna!" Jacobs said as they left the room.

Dr. Crass double-checked the lock on his front door. He double-checked the windows in the upstairs bedroom. He double-checked the bathroom windows and the spare room windows. He double-checked the lock on the basement door and the freshly installed padlock on the attic hatch. He double-checked the back door and then started the living room window double check. Crass had been double-checking the windows all day. Wilma believed his story; she had never known her husband to deliberately lie about anything. It was when he told her Greta was dead that she was really convinced he was telling the truth. He would never have said that otherwise. Still, she was not overly worried about what was happening. Having had no contact with Connor and having never seen a child's toy come to life she had no real reason to be scared. Sure, she believed her husband and sure, she believed she was in danger but that was a different thing from being afraid for their lives. Although smart, Wilma epitomized the natural apathy of people when it came to their own mortality. Sure she was told of what was out to get her but she wouldn't really believe it until she saw it with her own two eyes.

Wilma sat on the couch knitting while gently mocking her husband.

"Be careful you don't check those windows to death. I'd hate to have to testify against you when the lamps call the police."

Crass ignored her and continued checking the locks.

"In fact, I think the chairs are getting jealous of the attention the windows are getting. Watch they don't call the police out of spite."

"You realize I'm not amused?"

"Yes you are. It's just that you'd never admit it."

Crass kept his back turned to her.

"You've always known me to be honest."

"I've always known you to be a grumpy old bastard."

Despite the fact they had been happily married for forty years, Crass was still not used to being swore at, and Wilma knew this. Swear words were her wild cards. When she wanted to add a little spice to a conversation, she would slip in a "B-Word," or an "S-word," or even the dreaded "F-Word." However, she would never use the "C-Word." No, that word was too awful. Crass turned to his wife. No matter how many times she surprised him with one of these bad little words he was always offended. He loathed swearing. He felt there were enough descriptive terms in the English language that you did not need to swear. To him, swearing was an ignorant man's vice. But Wilma knew all this. Goodness knows he had ranted about it often enough. So when he turned to her angry, she simply raised her eyebrows comically. Her little half-smirk broke out, the one she had when she joked and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew she was just trying to get a rise out of him, she was the only person he knew who was ballsy enough to do that and that was one of the reasons he loved her.

"I do wish you wouldn't say things like that." Crass thought for a moment. "Call me a grumpy old goat. Yes, that's much better."

Wilma chuckled "I'll do that next time."

Crass simply shook his head.

"I want to make sure they're sealed."

"They're fine Ben" sighed Wilma. "Just like they were earlier, just like they will be later, now come and sit down."

Crass relented "I guess you're right."

He sat down beside his wife.

"I just want to make sure you're safe. Greg lost Greta; I don't want to lose you."

"I know sweetie."

Wilma sat with her husband for a moment until she noticed his fingerprints all over the windows.

"Ben! What's the point of me cleaning all day then you getting the place all dirty again? I know we're hermits right now but that doesn't mean we have to be slobs too."

Crass sat back against the couch. He allowed Wilma to complain about the fingerprints as she went into the kitchen for some cleaning products he didn't use very often. After a minute she came back out with a bottle of homemade yellow liquid in one hand and some large coffee filters in the other. Mist peppered the windows after a few quick sprays. Aromas of vinegar and lemons came from the fluid, a scent that Wilma adored as it reminded her of freshness.

Under a streetlamp, across the road an empty police car sat. Wilma lowered the bottle in her hand and wiped away the last of the liquid for a clearer look.

"That's strange," she thought out loud.

Crass came over to the window beside her.

"What is?"

"The police car that's outside...it's empty."

Crass looked at it too and he didn't like what he was seeing.

"Hold on, I'm going to call Greg."

Crass turned and walked towards the phone in the kitchen.

Wilma stood, anxiously looking towards the vehicle, hoping she would see the cops nearby but so far she had seen nothing. A second later something else caught her eye, something from the lawn.

"Ben?"

"Ben?"

"Ben?"

Despite her voice getting louder in her head she only realized it wasn't really getting any louder after her third call.

"Ben?!"

This one was louder and it drew her husband from the kitchen fast.

"What? Wilma what's wrong?"

She didn't have to answer. Crass saw it clear as day. As an added security feature Crass had already turned on the garden lights despite the fact darkness had not fully settled yet.

Quickly, Wilma grabbed the lock on the window and jiggled it.

"What are you doing?" Crass asked sternly.

"I'm making sure this window's sealed!"

Crass frowned at her but said nothing.

"What do we do?"

"Wait here!" Crass said "I'm calling Greg!"

Crass moved into the kitchen as Bear stared back at his wife with animal like ferocity. Claws started to protrude slowly from its paws and Wilma could not take her eyes of them. In a heartbeat, the furry monster turned and sprinted round the side of the house. Wilma called to her husband but he didn't hear her.

MacNamee's phone rung loudly, breaking the awkward silence in Oates' Sheriff Station. The jingling, upbeat pop song Greta had changed it to as a joke unsettled him but he answered all the same. His display told him it was Crass calling so he answered quickly.

"Hello Ben what's up?" MacNamee said as he moved away to a quieter spot to talk.

As Crass spoke he loaded bullets into a six-chambered pistol on his kitchen table.

"The officers outside are gone."

Crass was blunt, Wilma's safety was at stake. He was not going to dispense with small talk.

"Where are they? Are they alright?"

"I don't know!"

Crass was impatient as he was trying to load the gun at the same time.

"Wilma and I looked out a few minutes ago and they weren't there. I'm worried Greg. Wilma and I are locked up but they don't know what they're dealing with."

MacNamee covered the mouthpiece and called over to Jacobs.

"Ok Ben hold tight. I'm gonna get Sergeant Jacobs to call the station, see where they are, maybe send a backup unit, ok?"

"Ok Greg, but please hurry!"

Crass hung up. Heading into the living room he stood beside his frightened wife. He put an arm around her that told her everything would be alright. He felt however, this may have been the first lie he had ever told his wife. He did not know if everything was going to be alright.

The front door rattled, causing them both to turn. Once Bear had decided it wouldn't open, the rattling stopped and he moved on to another door or window. After a few minutes of terse silence, they faintly heard the basement door banging. However that door held tight too by the sound of things.

"I need to go upstairs. Just to make sure he doesn't find a way in up there."

Crass spoke quietly, which was actually kind of silly because Bear already saw them standing in the living room.

"Stay here. I won't be more than a few minutes. Just yell if you need me."

Wilma was more frightened than she had ever been before and Crass spotted it right away. Turning her towards him he looked into her eyes.

"Everything is going to be fine. I promise."

With that, he kissed her forehead knowing he had definitely made the first false promise to his wife in years. In his head he thought they may survive but things were definitely not going to be alright ever again. Doctor Crass moved up the stairs, he was absolutely convinced he locked the house up so tight he would heard anything forcing its way in, and he was right. Every so often he would something pounding on a window from the hallway. Wilma nervously paced around the living room, walking from the windows to the adjoining kitchen entrance, she listened for any signs of forced entry but there were none. In fact, she hadn't heard any for a few minutes now. There was only the sound of her husband walking around upstairs. She knew it had to be her husband making the floorboards creak because Bear would not be heavy enough to do so. Suddenly all movement stopped and silence settled heavily around her. With nothing but fearful thoughts to keep her company, Wilma stood alone in the living room. She walked over to the window and looked outside, hoping to catch sight of the creature retreating, defeated. Her hope was a long shot however as she looked out into the brightly lit garden at nothing but grass, trees and a well-manicured row of flower beds. An odd rustling sound started softly behind her. Slowly, she turned, looking nervously around the room. The rustling continued as she walked to the center of the room, puzzled as to where the noise was coming from. She could still hear it. Soft, inconsistent, with quick sporadic movements, and then it hit her where the sound was coming from. Her eyes were drawn to the opening in the wall where soot was falling onto the logs in the natural fireplace. She realized the rustling was coming from the chimney. Bear had found a way in.

"Car 12, come in car 12, over."

The voice came out loud from the radio in the car but no-one answered.

"Come in car 12. If you do not respond, backup will be dispatched, over."

Wilma stood motionless in front of the fireplace; she knew the bear she saw out on the lawn with razor sharp claws was slowly moving down their chimney. She had to get the attention of her husband but she had to be very quiet, so as not to alert the intruder. She tried to move backwards but the floorboard creaked underneath her feet forcing her to stay still. Rigid with fear she forced herself to think logically. Questions shot through her mind. She wondered if she would have enough time to go and get her husband before the creature entered the house. She wondered if the old floorboards would give her away, turning Bears' slow sneaky descent into a sharp drop, putting her in dangerously close contact with him. She stood shaking, pondering her options. About to give up with thinking she almost cried out for her husband and ran but stopped just before that as a thought popped into her head.

"Light the fire!"

The thought, obvious to anyone with a clear mind was like a sparkling revelation to Wilma. Her eyes drifted to the steel box beside the fire. Her eyes moved slowly, as if their very movement would create enough noise to give her away. With a breath she took one large step towards the box, using her memory to avoid the creakiest floorboards around her while also taking care not to have her feet too close to the chimney. Bending slowly sideways, Wilma picked up the fire lighting liquid and the matches. Quickly, quietly, she uncapped the fluid tin and sprayed onto the logs. The crinkling noise as she squeezed the tin had the potential to give her away, but since she had already started she decided to press on, emptying as much as she could onto the firewood. The rustling in the chimney stopped as she slid open the matchbox. Like a deadly game of chess the intruder waited to see what the next move would be. Removing a match from the box she got ready to strike it. She remained still a moment and listened for movement. There was none. Wilma was not going to be fooled however. With a quick swipe she struck the match, lighting it sharply. The sound of the match scoring the box caused Bear to speed up his descent, but he was too late. Wilma tossed the match into the logs causing a voracious burst of heat and flame. The initial blue burst from the fluid shot a quarter of the way up the chimney, scorching Bear's fur, causing him to lose his footing.

"Ben!"

Wilma screamed, knowing there was no point in being quiet now. Bear tumbled down the chimney, all the way down the sooty stone shaft, into the logs below. Bear landed on his side in amongst the logs, causing his entire right side to catch fire instantly. After frantically kicking himself off the wood, sending embers up into the air, he dove on the carpet, rolling maniacally. Although Bear did not feel pain he did not want to be destroyed, he had a mission to accomplish. And it was unfortunate for Wilma that Bear was unable to feel pain, because if he was able to, he might have ceased his attack now that the entire right side of his body was scorched. Bear was livid. With one eye melted and half a body blackened he eyed Wilma; standing petrified only a couple of meters away from him. Flicking out his claws he charged at her, his rage blinding him to the fact her husband was standing off to her left with a pistol pointed squarely at him. With a skilled eye Crass pulled the trigger as Bear jumped at Wilma. The bullet tore a chunk out of Bear's scorched fur and altered the trajectory of his jump, causing him to slam into the wall. Taking no time to relish his shot Crass moved in to shoot again but Bear dove behind the couch and bolted into the kitchen. Bear momentarily letting up, Wilma released some emotion, throwing her arms around her husband while holding back tears.

"Wilma, we need to get out of here."

Crass spoke quickly to his wife who simply nodded in agreement. As they stepped out into the hall Crass carefully watched the other entrance to the kitchen while Wilma turned the deadbolt lock as quietly as possible. Her husband was smart enough not to use anything as a lock that required a key for exit, in case they needed to escape quickly. The door opened. Wilma stepped out first, followed by Crass who walked backwards, keeping the gun poised until the door was closed. While he held the gun, Wilma closed the door, making sure she heard the clicked to confirm it was closed properly. Crass kept walking backwards down the steps, watching the door as he did. He knew the creature had to still be in the house. He had locked everything up tight so there really was no way out that wouldn't be heard. There was little to no sound as they walked down the steps, Crass careful not to trip. His cellphone rung loudly in the house; there was no way he was going in after it. As he listened to his phone ring out, Crass got the feeling he was being watched. He rose his eyes upwards just in time to see a wooden chair being flung through his second floor window. The old man's reactions were not as quick as they used to be, and neither were his wife's. The chair, along with shards of glass came crashing down on top of Wilma as Crass watched. The flat edge of the chair's head struck Wilma hard, sending her to the ground as glass cut into her legs, narrowly missing her main artery. Crass wanted so badly to go to her rescue but he had no time to do so. Swiftly following the chair was the furry demon. Diving, arms and legs outstretched straight down on top of Crass. With a powerful falling swipe, Bear's claws sliced straight across the old man's face, causing Crass to accidentally fire a shot from his pistol. Bear landed awkwardly on the ground but it didn't matter, his powerful claws disarmed the doctor, and that was his main objective. Blood poured from Crass's cheek, instantly immobilizing the old man. Crouched down while he held his face; his black socks blended in with the dark grass beneath him. Bear turned his attention to Wilma; he paced towards her with claws now red from her husband's blood.

"No!" yelled Crass "You can't have her!"

Crass got to his feet and started to run at the creature, but a mistake on his part caused him to miss his target.

Crass thought of almost everything while keeping them safe inside the house including making sure they were living in a personal Fort Knox. The one thing he never thought of was shoes. Wilma was so particular about not wearing shoes in the house that, in their haste to leave, they never put any on. Now Crass was about to step on a particularly large shard of glass, wearing only socks thanks to his wife's habits. The shard derailed his motion, forcing him to collapse under the pain into a rolling mess on the ground. Bear stood over the unconscious Wilma, claws outstretched; coiling back his arm like a cobra ready to spit. Crass knew he very had little time to do anything about it. Pulling the shard out his foot he dragged his bloodied body to stand. Determination built up inside him, so he pushed forward a few steps and lunged towards the attacking stuffed animal. Three feet was what he hell short by. He could not save his wife; the shard of glass that was in his foot took that ability away from him...

Bear knew this kill was his. In one quick motion he thrusted his arm forward, but something stopped him while he was half way to his target. A wisp of smoke rose from his chest. A bullet pierced straight through him, narrowly missing Crass who was lying on the ground, helpless. Looking up, Bear saw a cop standing thirty feet away, pistol aimed, mouth agape. Bear smirked and brought his arm down hard, straight into the chest of Wilma Crass. The officer opened fire, but all he did was create holes. Bear was not stopped. Again he drove his claws towards Wilma's chest as the officer's clip emptied.

Bear had managed to strike Wilma, but he was not sure if it was a fatal blow thanks to the officer's bullets slowing his movements. His body now in tatters, he had to finish Crass while there was enough of him in tact to do so. The officer did not move, instead he simply stood, staring in shock at the living stuffed bear that just attacked a woman before him. Bear was not interested in the officer; he was interested in Wilma's husband. He turned, expecting to see the doctor lying helpless on the lawn but was instead met with something else: the flat end of a shovel. Crass had limped over to the wall of the house where the gardener had left out a shovel, despite Wilma's instructions for him to put all tools away after use. The injured doctor used the shovel to hoist himself up and now used it as a weapon to destroy the demonic bear. A hard hit sent Bear to the ground, followed closely by Crass who drove the sharp end into the creature's neck area, severing its head. He breathed a quick sigh of relief but it was not over. Bear's good eye was still open and his body was trying to get to its feet again. Furiously, Crass brought the shovel down again and again, hacking off the limbs of the once fluffy being. The limbs however, were still moving, each one wriggling independently in different directions. Crass turned to the officer.

"Help her!"

Officer Lu ran across the lawn to assist, simultaneously calling for an ambulance on his radio. As the officer helped his wife, Crass hobbled to the wall and picked up a small blue cuttings bin. He hobbled back and chopped up the limbs of Bear some more, then chopped up the face. With a few scrapes of the shovel he swept the bits into the cuttings bin and went to his beloved wife.

Benjamin Crass tore at his own clothes, ripping off strips to try and stop his wife's bleeding. He checked her pulse and started to administer CPR.

"Is the ambulance coming?"

He was speaking to Officer Lu, but Lu was distracted. The sight's he had just seen were distracting him to no end.

"Hey!"

Crass's voice was powerful, snapping Lu out of his trance.

"Is the ambulance coming?"

Lu simply nodded. As Crass administered CPR, he started to realize he may already be too late. The stern, rigid old doctor started to tear up as he furiously tried to save his wife.

"Come on Wilma, stay with me. Stay with your old grumpy bastard of a husband!"

With no response from Wilma, he turned to anger, directed at Lu.

"Where the hell were you? You were supposed to be protecting us!"

"I'm sorry doctor," said Lu sheepishly. "My partner and I went for coffee."

"Where the hell is he then?"

Lu did not respond. The officer did not want to tell the doctor the truth, that they were given spotty information as to why they were there guarding the doctor and his wife. That Lu and his partner did not feel there was any real danger, so they went for coffee and the barista gave them the wrong drink, which they only realized after they had left and his partner had walked back in the cool evening air to get it remade. Thinking about the circumstances, it was too ridiculous, even for Lu to comprehend. No, he chose not to tell any of this to Crass, instead he said nothing, quietly praying they would not be the cause of a woman's death, Wilma's death.

Crass's stare was piercing, his face glistened with blood in the moonlight. With his hands he was pressing down on his wife trying to stem the bleeding but his face was pointed squarely at Lu's. If his hands weren't being used right now to save his Wilma, he would have used them to strangle the life out Lu. He was furious. As the sounds of the ambulance drew nearer, Crass simply stared. Right now, in the frame of mind he was in, he would be capable of murder but at that moment he had more important things to worry about.

CHAPTER 39

Chomping sounds danced around the main hall of the Sheriff's station. MacNamee only had half of an egg mayonnaise sandwich, he wasn't overly hungry. His cellphone vibrated furiously inside his pocket, shining through the fabric proudly. The ringer barely had time to kick in before he answered.

"Ben! Christ I thought we lost you!"

Jacobs overheard and headed over to MacNamee to eavesdrop.

"I got one of them!"

MacNamee grabbed Jacobs arm.

"You're kidding?"

"No Greg I'm not, I got the one that killed Greta."

Tears fell from MacNamee's eyes. He used his hand to wipe them away.

"The bear? It's gone?"

"It's gone."

Crass spoke quietly. His face was bandaged and he sat in a hospital room, waiting for news about Wilma's condition. MacNamee suddenly realized he was lost in his own selfish thoughts of revenge. He was so busy thinking about Bear's demise he never even asked how Crass and Wilma were.

"Thanks for letting me know Ben. Are you and Wilma alright?"

"I'm alright Greg, but Wilma..."

"What about her?"

"She's...she's holding on right now. The doctors don't know what's going to happen. That thing got her good Greg. It's a miracle she even made it the hospital."

MacNamee didn't say anything. There wasn't really anything he could say except that he was sorry to hear that news. But he didn't. Crass knew he had MacNamee's condolences.

"Anyway Greg I better go, I just thought I'd let you know there was one less for you to worry about."

"Ok, you call me and let me know when Wilma gets better ok?"

"Ok, will do. Be safe."

Crass hung up. By this point everyone was listening in, waiting to see what the phone call was about. MacNamee put his phone back in his pocket.

"He got one of the creatures."

A ripple of relief washed over the group.

"Which one?" Matthew asked, praying it was one of the dummies.

"The bear."

"Oh" Matthew said, realizing he knew nothing about that one.

"Well should we check it off the list?" Graham asked, continuing "We might as well, at least we'll know exactly how many there are left."

Oates stepped forward. "Here, I have it."

Oates handed MacNamee the list.

"Does anyone have a pen?"

Lynch lifted a black biro from a desk beside him and handed it to MacNamee. As the doctor unfolded the list he happily scrubbed Bear's name off of it. He was in a slightly better mood, knowing that the creature that killed his wife was now gone.

"How many are actually on the list Doctor?"

Matthew asked as he wondered how many others he didn't know about. MacNamee read them out loud.

"Dummy, two smaller dummies, Doll, Clown, Dog and Soldiers."

MacNamee's mood started to fade. His mind was taking him back to Connor's room and the dolls he had with him. His brain was telling him he was missing something but he didn't know what it was. Just then, Anne unintentionally pieced it together for him.

"Has anyone seen Jessica? She was here a minute ago? I brought her some candy."

"Jessica!" MacNamee blurted out.

"What?"

Jacobs asked, the mood in the group switching from optimism to concern.

"The doll Jessica had, it's the one from Connor's room! I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier!"

"Betsy?" Oates asked, suddenly realizing the implications of MacNamee's words.

"Yes! Shit, we need to find her!"

"You mean one of those things was with us the whole time?" Oates barked. "Why was it brought in here?"

"There was no way we could have known the little girl would bring one in with her." Jacobs defended his actions. "There must be hundreds of dolls in this town, how could we know that one was the one we were looking for?"

Oates bit his tongue. Jacobs was right, they couldn't have known, but that didn't change the fact they were still in this predicament. Matthew, terrified, started rambling.

"Jesus Christ, I was with her, I mean I actually sat with her! All the time she had one of those things with her!"

Proactively, Graham spoke up.

"We'll find her. If we split up into three groups, two can look and one can wait here in case she comes back."

Graham aimed his words at Jacobs for approval. When the sergeant nodded he then looked at Oates for the same approval.

"That alright with you Sheriff?"

"Ok" said Oates "But me and Lynch lead the teams, since we know the station layout, it can be quite a complex place to find your way around."

Lynch stepped forward.

"Ok let's divide into three teams of three, with three of us staying here in the main room..."

Lynch was interrupted by a knock on the window. Something outside was knocking and everyone tensed up. Oates and Jacobs moved towards the window, followed by Lynch. Graham and Murdoch stepped in front of the rest of the group to protect them. With a nod between them, Jacobs and Lynch drew their weapons while Oates prepared to open the blinds. Matthew slinked back behind Anne in order to keep safe. MacNamee sat at the desk, motionless; waiting to see what was outside. Oates kept his hand low. Starting with three fingers he counted down, Jacobs and Lynch prepared to fire. After the count of one Oates yanked the cord, forcing the blinds open. Everyone held their breath until they saw Billy standing at the window, gesturing for them to open it. Oates flicked open the lock and slid the window open. Outside, Donna sat on the front of a motorbike wearing all leather, only her hair protruded from the sleek black helmet. Billy had a leather jacket on but regular pants underneath; his leg injury had made it difficult for him to change.

"Billy, what are you doing here? I thought you didn't want our help." Oates asked stubbornly.

"I don't, I just thought I'd let you know I killed one of them."

"I killed one of them you mean" Donna interjected.

"Ok, we killed one of them" Billy amended, looking back at his fiancé with a smirk.

"Which one?" Jacobs asked, moving closer to the window to check Donna out.

"That stupid dog thing" Billy said casually. "Well anyways, just thought I'd let you know. We're leaving for a few days."

"Where are you going?" asked Lynch

"I don't know yet, just going to drive for a while. The bar will be here when I get back. It's not like we've had many customers these last few days anyways."

Billy put his helmet on and turned, limping back to his bike. The cops said nothing as he got on and sped off into the night. Oates closed the window, locked it, and lowered the blinds again.

"So that's the dog off the list," MacNamee said as he scored the name off.

"Anyway Deputy, you were saying?"

CHAPTER 40

Outside, darkness had finally settled on the town of Staunton allowing the streetlamps their full right to an eerie glow. The parking lot received another visitor, one that cast a long shadow thanks to the streetlamp overhead. Dummy moved stealthily across the tarmac to the building that housed his targets. When he arrived at his destination he bumped into his smaller cohorts. Keeping communication brief Dummy's shrill voice was quiet in the open night.

"You found a way in?"

The smaller dummies shook their heads in response.

"Well keep lookin'!"

The two smaller ones obediently ran off in opposite directions around the building, searching for ways into the structure. Intermittently banging on doors and windows, they sent echoes throughout the station while simultaneously causing chills within its inhabitants.

Alone still in a hospital room, Doctor Crass sat thinking of his wife, and how he would cope if he were to lose her. His phone vibrated loudly on a small table next to him, rousing him from his thoughts. Assuming it was MacNamee he picked it up without looking.

"Greg, there's still no word."

"That's alright Doctor Crass, this isn't Greg."

Crass thought about the voice for a second, he recognized it after a long moment.

"Frieda?"

"Good job Sir!"

Frieda sat on his couch, which was now torn up and slashed open. His condo was in ruins, broken glass and splintered wood lay all over the place. His slow, emotionless voice threw Crass through a loop. Frieda had never called him on his cell before, in fact, Frieda had never spoken to him outside the hospital before. Right now, the young doctor's voice did not seem like a pleasant one.

"Frieda what do you want? How did you get my number?"

Crass had no patience for Frieda right now; he had too much on his plate to pretend even in the slightest that he liked him.

"What do I want? How did I get your number? ...I'm fine by the way, thanks for asking."

"Frieda I've had a bad night..."

Crass was losing patience rapidly.

"Oh you have? Well then let me be brief. I've had your number for a while now, I've had it just in case I ever worked up the courage to call you and tell you what a prick you are!"

Crass looked genuinely puzzled as Frieda continued.

"But it's alright; I know you don't mean to be. It's just who you are. But, answer me this Doctor. Would it ever have killed you to maybe once say 'Good job Frieda' or 'How's your day doctor?' Just anything at all, anything that might suggest you have any respect for me whatsoever."

"Frieda are you drunk?"

The only logical reason Crass could think of as to why Frieda decided to call him like this was the involvement of alcohol.

"I wish. If I was drunk then I'd know the thoughts in my head would go away after a good night's sleep but they won't, because I'm not. I'm not... I'm not anything. Not anything to you, or to anyone else at the hospital. Not anything except a fucking joke."

Crass realized Frieda was having serious issues now and decided to put his feelings about him on hold. He switched into psychiatrist mode.

"Frieda, come on now, I'll be at work in a few days, we can talk about this then."

Frieda laughed emptily.

"Even that little kid mocks me. That little fucking psycho kid! He wants to kill me. But that's not the way I'm going out. I'm not gonna let some little kid scare me like that."

"Frieda, don't worry about a thing. Connor Williams is locked up tight in his cell, you don't have to worry about him."

By saying Connor's name, Crass made him into a real person instead of this monster that had the ability to kill. He hoped that by humanizing Frieda's fear, he could make him realize Connor was only a child.

"But I am worried. I worry about my safety while that boy is around and my safety is something I should not have to worry about."

Crass began to feel weight pressing on him; so many problems were just begging him to buckle.

"Look Frieda, Wilma is sick, let me talk to you later. How about I call you tomorrow?"

"No Doctor Crass. You've never cared about me before; I don't see why you should bother now, goodbye!"

Frieda hung up, leaving Crass in the hospital waiting room alone once more.

The two smaller dummies returned to the parking lot after circling the building, looking for a way in. Dummy looked down at his smaller counterparts who shrugged their shoulders in unison, silently telling their superior they had failed. Dummy looked carefully around the building, his eyes rolled fluidly around as he scanned what was in front of him. Dummy was about to send his minions on another scout when they heard a noise. A distinctive click caused them all to turn towards a back door in unison. All three stared as the door swung open. The sight before them caused the trio to smile broadly. Betsy had opened it from the inside, offering entry to the demonic dummies. The two smaller dummies giggled and jostled with each other as they ran inside the building. Dummy himself walked slower, appreciating the teamwork Betsy was showing. Standing before her, Dummy nodded graciously. She returned the nod and allowed Dummy entry as well. Betsy was about to close the large brown door when she spotted something else in the parking lot. With a smirk, she admired the sight of Basket standing tall on the tarmac, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth. Although the dolls were all different, there was no competition between them, simply admiration for each other's work. It was due to this admiration that Betsy held the door while Basket skipped across the parking lot before jaunting past her into the dark hallway. She quickly scanned the area to make sure there were no more visitors to be let in. Quietly she pulled the door shut before snapping the handle off in a fearsome show of strength. Looking down the dark hallway, she smiled. She knew tonight was the night that would see the most blood.

CHAPTER 41

Oates, Murdoch and Matthew moved through the underbelly of the station. Murdoch had heard colleagues of his refer to this area of a police station as the "bowels" as this is where all the "shit was stored." Although the Sheriff's police station was smaller than the city police station, both of them used this lower floor for much the same purposes. Interview rooms, jail cells and offices were what were down here but Murdoch couldn't help but notice that most of these rooms were not being used. He could tell this from the fact they had to keep turning on lights. Not just to the individual rooms themselves but to the corridors as a whole. You would never turn off the lights in a corridor of the city police station because there was always someone using it as passage to get from one place to another. He never mentioned any of these thoughts to Oates. He knew Oates was not stupid so he had to assume the Sheriff already knew the station was unnecessarily large for the purpose it served.

As Oates had said many a time to many a person, the station was full of "wasted space" but right now it was something else. Right now that "wasted space" had become "places to hide." As he searched rooms his thoughts drifted back to Mayor Shannahan who denied him permission to have the building redesigned on more than one occasion. Yes, Sheriff Oates was glad Mayor Shannahan was dead.

Matthew held his gun awkwardly. He didn't mean to sound ungrateful when Deputy Lynch cracked open the gun locker and handed him "a piece," he just didn't want to admit he had never actually used one before. He had, in fairness, racked up many hours on shooting games on his games console at home but that was hardly important right now. Right now there was no pause button, no exit option and no extra lives. This was not a game and he did not feel safe, but, thanks to his pride forbidding him to tell the truth he was standing in a quiet corridor, guarding the backs of two men who were relying on him not to miss a target if the opportunity arose. The cowardly young Matthew stood, legs akimbo, watching Oates and Murdoch search rooms simultaneously, while using a series of nods alone to communicate. Cold air blew softly on his back. A man, comfortable in his position might have realized this air was coming from a recently opened door but Matthew was not that man. Instead he alternated his glances between nervous looks over his shoulder and shaky looks ahead. He did not want to think what would happen if something did actually approach him. He simply prayed that it didn't. Pain pulsed from his leg wound. Aside from doors being barged open there was not much noise down here. His brain decided that focusing on his own pain was better than focusing on what might happen to him in the near future. He hadn't lost much blood, the wound had dried up but it was starting to get infected, and that was where the pain was coming from. Again, his pride had stopped him asking for help to get it properly dressed so it was only going to get worse. Every few minutes he would use one foot to scratch at his wound which was getting itchy due to the infection, leaving himself off balance and even more vulnerable. He wanted to go back upstairs; something seemed off down here, something seemed not right. Still he knew he had to stay, he was not about to admit to Murdoch and Oates that he was afraid. His pride would not allow that.

Brian found himself in a similar situation to Matthew, except Brian had used guns before. He used to hunt with his father years earlier and so, he had been chosen over the inexperienced Anne to accompany Graham and Lynch on their sweep of the upper floors. Brian still had a buzz going from his day's alcohol intake so he was nowhere near as scared as he would have been had he been here sober. Brian was well aware of where his sudden courage was coming for and he was thankful for it.

Deputy Lynch and Detective Graham operated with the same level of professionalism and Oates and Murdoch, both pairs worked silently which Brian watched their backs. The main difference here was that these three were checking large rooms filled with desks, laid out in much the same way as the main floor where Jacobs, MacNamee and Anne remained. Both Lynch and Graham were alpha-males, but there was no butting heads here. A mutual respect and a primal desire to find a missing child bonded them in camaraderie. Because of the fact the desks provided low hollows for things to hide in, this search was much slower than the other. Although Jacobs, Oates and Lynch all had radios, they were for emergencies only. They would only use them if they found Jessica or Betsy and at this point none of them knew Betsy had allowed others in, as far as they knew, it was one on three and they liked those odds. Quickly, the trio's eyes scanned the room, while intermittently calling out Jessica's name and listening for a response. The three kept to the left hand side of the room, they did not want to split up into the middle of the desks for fear of being ambushed from one of the many hiding spots, instead they were following Lynch's hunch that Jessica would be on the roof. The only basis he had for this hunch was that he knew that would be where he would go if he were a kid. If she were not on the roof they would check the rooms more thoroughly on their way back down to the main room.

The three men kept tight to the wall, watching for any movement. When they reached the door to the staircase, Lynch instructed Graham to stay behind while he and Brian checked the roof. Despite the fact that Brian did not want to thin out the numbers he was happy he was not the one being asked to stay behind, alone in the room. Graham instantly acknowledged the common sense behind the logic of one remaining behind to cover the door, watching the other two's back so he put up no fight. Lynch and Brian scuttled off through the door to the staircase as Graham vigilantly stood watch.

No one had thought much about Tony Oates, all alone in the damp downstairs. Everyone was too caught up in the hunt for Jessica and before that their thoughts of self-preservation had allowed them to forget about Tony. He didn't mind though. In his mind he was safe from any outside dangers; he would never have thought the station could be compromised. In his mind, the station was a fortress, when in truth it was poorly guarded at best. It was simply too big to be fully protected by the small group that were holed up there but Tony Oates did not think this way. He lay on his cot reading the book he brought with him. The hero in his book was a down-and-out, sent to an island with to join other down-and-outs in manual labor. Tony related to the main character in the way that this societal reject ended up becoming the hero of the story. In Tony's mind, he was the hero. This is how he thought of himself. This is what he believed.

Bars all around him signified that this was the "drunk tank." If he had stepped into the holding cell, solid walls would have offered him way more protection but less visibility. Tony wanted to be able to see a threat coming and that was why he chose bars over walls. Natural light was scarce down here and Sheriff Oates like that. Apart from a small tinted, window, all the light down here was artificial. A series of lights above the cells and a couple outside were the main source of light down here day or night; and as Tony was about to found out, the problem with artificial light was that it could be switched off. The switches by the stairs had always been there, there had never been a problem with having them so accessible before. Oates liked his men to have the option of turning out light as a punishment to unruly detainees, or as a reward to well behaved ones. Oates had realized years earlier that darkness was an effective, non-violent way of controlling inmates. Up until now however, Tony never gave a thought to the positioning of the light switches in a police station, but he was about to start wishing he had.

As if running out of life, each light powered down, one by one all around him. In a matter of moments, every light was out down here except the one above his head. If Tony could have seen a bird's eye view of his surroundings, he would have thought he was under a spotlight. As all around him was being painted in darkness, Tony felt marked. He put down his book and his heart raced.

"Sheriff?"

Nothing but silence responded to him. He was about to call out again when he heard the laughter. A child-friendly giggle sent his heart into his throat. Since Tony had only seen Dog so far, he did not know what was laughing but he knew it was not going to be good.

"Peek-a-boo I see you! Hahahaha! Peek-a-boo I see you! Hahahaha! Peek-a-boo I see you! Hahahaha!"

Although the phrases were playful, there was something scratchy in the voice, something dangerous. The laugh was not that of a playful being, it was twisted, manic; Tony imagined this was how a mad person would laugh. Slowly, he approached the bars. As he squinted he could make out colorful clothing in the darkness. Sitting on the ground opposite him, the colorful chuckler had his back turned to Tony and was playing with something but there was no way for Tony to know what that was. Half-bathed in darkness, the intruder showed no interest in Tony; instead it sat, playing with whatever it had in its hands. Quietly, Tony pushed up on his tiptoes to peer over the shoulder of the figure sitting ahead. Only a hint of light illuminated the object in Basket's hands but that was more than enough for Tony. His eyes widened in horror as he saw a severed head being used as a plaything and although he didn't recognize Kyle, (Amanda's boyfriend) he wasn't any less terrified. Basket was playing peek-a-boo with it as if he were playing with a child. Suddenly Basket's head turned around completely to face the terrified Tony.

"Peek-a-boo! I see you!"

The clown's body swiveled round to match the angle of its head and it stood up. Aggressively it threw Kyle's head at the bars and used the distraction to disappear into the darkness.

Tony was white, he felt sick and confused. His breath quickened as he tried to call out for help. Before yelling, his eyes darted down to the head, rolling just outside the bars, made up to resemble a clown's features.

"Sheriff!"

"Sheriff!"

Tony cries were not manly, as his size may have suggested. There was fear in them, raw primal fear.

"Sheriff can't hear you down here. It's just you and me now, and I promise I'll put up a better fight than Andy."

The giggling, mocking voice could not evoke a reply in Tony. Instead it provoked more yelling, and this time it was more desperate.

"Sheriff!"

Panic stole his breath and, forcing him to pace in his cage, thinking of a way to save himself. Pulling back to the backpack he brought with him he pulled out a flashlight. Tony may have been a bully but he was very good at preparing himself for situations.

The beam shining into the darkness was like a hot knife slicing through butter.

"Looks like you won't be needing this!"

The maniacal voice accompanied the downing of the last light above Tony's head.

"Help!"

Tony cried out but the sound only echoed in the dark basement, giving him the morbid impression the sound was unable to escape to reach helps ears. The light beam shakily moved from to side, searching for the creature. Something ran past giggling but Tony missed couldn't focus the beam on it. And again, and again he missed it. Slowly he searched the room, knowing he was fairly safe behind the bars. While waving the beam in large swathes, he stopped when he came across a large pair of shoes just outside the bars. Trembling, he moved the beam upwards. The light dragged its way up the colorful figure, until it stopped at its face. Drooling teeth surrounded by make-up, lightly covering what looked like self-inflicted scars was too much for Tony. Tears streamed down his face but he could not look away at the leering clown. Basket stared right back at him, its eyes flickering like bar code scanners. The clowns head shook and his mouth opened wide. With a throaty shriek he lunged wildly at the bars, its eyes veiny with a lust for blood. Circular white teeth gnashed furiously as all his strength was being used to shake the cell to its core. Shaking its body furiously Basket yelled out at the cowering Tony.

"Come on out, I just want to play!"

"Fuck off!"

Tony yelled desperately but it made no difference, Basket continued shaking crazily. Under continuous strain, the old bars started to wiggle in the concrete, pushing Tony to more desperate action.

"I just want to have some fun with you!"

Basket was too busy laughing to hear Tony's reply.

"Oh, you want to have fun do you?"

Desperately, the caged bully mustered up whatever scraps of confidence he had in him. Pulling a pistol from his belt he aimed it straight at the clown.

"Uh-oh" came Basket's deliberately comical response as he dropped to the ground, narrowly missing Tony's slug. While holding the flashlight in his other hand, Tony fired round after round at the clown who jumped back and forward, flipping and somersaulting over the bullets, dodging each one until the clip was empty. After a few clicks, Basket stopped in the beam of Tony's shaky flashlight.

"That was a terrible idea."

Baskets voice sounded more human this time. Its face melted into an expression of pure hatred. Now, snarling more than laughing, Basket pounced onto the bars and started shaking again. In his haste, Tony dropped the clip onto the dark floor. He fumbled to find it desperately as he was running out of time. Basket's strength was obvious when one of the old bars came right out the ground with a lump of concrete still attached. But he did not relent; he continued his assault on the steel, about to wrench off another one.

Basket pulled and pulled at the steel as Tony desperately tried to put the clip into the gun. The task would have been easier for Tony had he not been shaking so much. The clown managed to pull one bar aside just as Tony loaded the clip. Grinning, Tony aimed the gun, square at Basket's head.

"Laugh at this!"

Tony did not have time to savor his quip as Basket had almost squeezed through the bars. Tony pulled the trigger.

Click. Click click click. Tony had reloaded the gun with the wrong clip.

"Fuck!"

Basket had almost squeezed through the bars when the first shot hit him. The clown didn't notice a second flashlight aimed at him and neither did Tony. Oates had shot him from against the far wall and now Murdoch was taking aim too. The Sheriff's party were not far away when they heard the shots. Quickly, they had moved along the corridor to investigate. Another four bullets hit, knocking Basket off the bars to the floor. The clown scuttled off into the dark at the back of the cell area as the deafening noise resounded in the small basement.

Oates and Murdoch kept their guns trained on the darkness.

"Tony?" Oates called.

"Yeah?"

"You alright in there?"

"You mean apart from shitting myself? Yeah I'm peachy!"

Oates took that as a yes and moved round towards the light switch. He ordered Matthew to hit the switch as he and Murdoch kept their guns at the ready. Matthew obliged then moved back towards the corridor for safety. Oates knew the way the lights turned on. They were wired in an odd way that meant the furthest light turned on first. They all lit up one by one; moving uniformly closer to the switch. Like a train speeding out of a tunnel, Basket ran out of the darkness and whipped Kyle's head at Oates, striking the old man off balance and knocking him off his feet. Still running, Basket grabbed the head while dodging bullets from Tony and Murdoch and whipped it at the detective this time, delivering the same effect. Tony continued firing, hitting nothing as Basket grabbed the head by the hair and continued his escape, with only one last obstacle to get through. Matthew had the gun fixed on the clown but didn't fire. He was too frightened to even pull the trigger.

"Shoot it!"

Tony yelled but it did nothing. Basket simply pounced on Matthew, taking the coward straight to the ground. The clown bared its teeth and prepared to bite when a shot from Oates discouraged it. Basket bounded and bounced down the corridor, dodging bullets as he disappeared out of sight.

Oates threw his keys to Murdoch to get Tony out of the cell.

"So I can assume they found a way in?"

Oates' question was rhetorical and everybody knew it. Straight away he got on the radio.

"Lynch, Jacobs, this is Oates. Be advised, the dolls have found a way in. Repeat. We are no longer secure."

Jacobs looked at MacNamee and then to Anne.

"Copy" he said into the radio.

Lynch, on the roof with Brian leaned into his radio.

"Copy that Sheriff" he said quietly.

The roof was dark because it sat above the streetlights. Natural moonlight drifted down on top of them, giving the metal air conditioning units an eerie shine. Brian stayed beside the door as Lynch moved purposefully around the roof, searching for signs that a little girl was hiding here.

The moonlight created shadows all over the room, giving Lynch more reason to be edgy; he was trying to be vigilant but visibility was low.

"Jessica?"

Lynch's voice was quiet, but he knew the girl would hear it if she was up here. Brian ambled around the door area; he didn't want to find anything. He merely wanted to keep himself alive.

The air was still, the night quiet. Lynch systematically checked the inside of the air vents for signs of Jessica but so far he had found nothing. Betsy was watching him. Her dark apparel blended well with the shadows. Only her porcelain face would be visible but she kept herself firmly out of the moonlight. Brian started to get nervous alone so he moved a few feet forward spotting Lynch and instantly relaxing. The deputy thought for a moment, he knew there was only one place left to search as he had checked everywhere else.

"The fire escape."

The old fire escape had a flat metal plateau half way down the building and Lynch figured that this was as good a place as any to hide. Unfortunately for him, Betsy also knew about this area. She had spotted it earlier on and suspected Lynch would check it at one point. As such, she had decided to hide in a spot very close to the ladder, which led to the level area. Lynch carefully moved round to the ladder, taking care to watch his step in the darkness. Lynch wished he had taken the flashlight off of Graham before he came up to the roof but there was no point going back now. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no-one was around; after all, he was now well aware that Betsy was not the only doll in the building. From the shadows Betsy watched, remaining still, knowing she would not be spotted in her corner.

Cautiously, Lynch peered over the edge of the building but he could not get a good view of the plateau. He knew he had to check it thoroughly, he wanted to find Jessica so badly, and he loathed the fact that a child was caught up in all this. Moving closer to the edge, he propped one foot on a slight incline so he could see right down onto the steel area. This sacrificing of footing was all Betsy needed. Quickly, she ran from her hiding spot. Coursing through the night air she pushed him hard before he even had time to turn around. With a thud, Deputy Lynch's head collided with the edge of the steel platform on his way to the tarmac below. Standing on the ledge, Betsy looked down at the crumpled heap of a person to confirm her kill before disappearing back into the shadows.

CHAPTER 42

A dull sound caused Brian to turn towards the car park.

"Deputy Lynch?"

Brian whispered harshly, hoping only Lynch would hear him. When no response came he decided he had better move away from his relative safety to investigate.

"Lynch?"

Brian repeated his call but still there was no response. As he moved round the roof he started to feel conscious that he was being watched, and not by Lynch. The night felt like it had a mind of its own.

"Deputy Lynch!"

Brian yelled this time and waited. His heart raced, his hands trembled as he tried to hold his gun tight. No one was answering; it was obvious Lynch was not here anymore. Terrified, he walked to the last place he saw the deputy. It was then he spotted the ladders. Logic told him that if Lynch was not on the roof then he had to have used the ladders to get down because he had been standing next to the only door. Brian scanned the area with his gun. He was shaking badly now. He knew Lynch would not have left him there alone. He had to look. He didn't want to but he had to, he had to be sure of what he suspected after he heard the thud. Carefully, Brian backed up towards the ledge, reasoning that he had more chance of being attacked from the front rather than behind. Once his body pressed up against concrete he stopped, took a breath and turned his head to look for Lynch. Brian recoiled immediately. Lynch was not hidden; his corpse was right there on the parking lot tarmac for everyone to see. Brian swallowed hard and started to move towards the door. Sure, he was upset about Lynch but right now he had to focus on getting off the roof in one piece.

"Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts."

Brian's loud rambling was a desperate attempt to help him to focus. He moved quickly to the door, paying little attention to his surroundings. The noise of something moving down the air vents didn't even shake him from his focus as he moved towards the door.

"Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts."

Now he was through the door and moving down the stairs to the main room.

"Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy..."

Brian opened the door and what he saw killed the words in his mouth.

Detective Graham was lying on his stomach, two small dummies were holding up his head by the ears and Dummy was repeatedly kicking him in his already brutalized face. One after another the kicks came, causing no pain to already dead detective. Brian froze against the wall, choking on his own breath. They hadn't seen him, so it would have been dangerous to use his weapon. He was outnumbered. Quietly, he crab walked along the wall, trying not to look at the horrific sight in front of him. He was making good speed when he decided to look back at the three dummies. He froze once more as one of the smaller dummies was staring right at him. Strangely though, it was just watching him, it did not alert the others. Brian put this down to dumb luck and kept moving. Moving along still he was starting to feel like he would escape when out of the corner of his eye he saw Jessica sitting on the floor, drawing on a sheet of paper. In all the mayhem, Brian had forgotten all about her. Fear gripped hard, he was so close to escaping. Going to get Jessica would mean moving back towards the dummies and potential death. Closing his eyes, he started to move towards the exit again, but after a few feet he stopped. He couldn't leave; he couldn't live with himself if he left her to die. Cursing his compassionate side he pushed himself off the wall and grabbed Jessica firmly.

Brian received a reaction he never expected from saving a child. Jessica screamed out loud, cutting through the air like a siren. Suddenly the dummies stopped moving, Graham's face fell to the floor and Brian's heart felt like it was about to stop. The only noise he could hear was an odd chewing sound coming from a few desks away. Brian turned to see Basket innocently munching on Kyle's severed head as if it was a watermelon. Basket looked genuinely surprised to see Brian standing in front of him, holding Jessica. Ominously, the Dummies all turned to face Brian as Basket simply watched the standoff. Another shriek from Jessica was enough to send Brian running towards the exit with the little girl in tow. Brian never looked back; if he had he would have seen that nothing was chasing them. Dummy simply watched them go, and Basket just sniggered in between bites.

The door to the main room burst open as Brian forced his way through

"What the hell's going on?"

Brian didn't answer Jacobs; he ran up to the others and dropped Jessica on the ground. Anne instinctively took the little girl into her clutch as Jacobs continued questioning Brian.

"Where are the others?"

Brian's eyes were too traumatized to release tears.

"They're dead."

"What?" MacNamee asked standing up.

The words hit Jacobs hard. He had asked Graham to come along personally and now he was dead. Brian's words of explanation could do little for his mood now.

"The dolls got them both; they've all found a way in."

"We know, Oates told us as well" chimed MacNamee.

"But how could they get in?" Anne asked "I mean surely we would have heard them."

A voice from behind startled them, proving how easy it was to sneak up on them.

"We don't know how they got in, but Brian's right, they're all here." Oates' voice boomed.

"Damn right he's right!" Tony interrupted "Fucking clown nearly killed me!"

"No more than you deserve" mumbled Anne.

"Where's Deputy Lynch?"

Oates' question answered itself in evoking silence from those who already knew the answer. Just to clarify, Brian simply shook his head. Oates stood up straight.

"Dorrian..."

Oates spoke to himself quietly.

"So what now?" Matthew asked gently.

"We go after them." Jacobs answered militantly; still coming to terms with Graham's loss.

"Are you nuts?" Yelled Tony "We'll die!"

"Coward" mumbled Anne, but this time Tony heard her.

"What was that?"

Anne ignored him.

"I said, what was that bitch?"

"You heard me!" Anne shot back.

Tony powered angrily towards Anne but the smaller Murdoch stepped in his path.

"Where do you think you're going? Not man enough to go after some dolls but man enough to hit a woman?"

Tony raised his chin, emphasizing the height difference between them but Murdoch was not intimidated. The two men stood toe to toe for a long moment before Oates stepped slipped his truncheon between them.

"Come on now fellas, this isn't helping anything. Tony's right..."

Tony smirked.

"...even if he is being an asshole!"

Tony's smirk turned to a frown but he wouldn't dare say anything out of turn to his uncle. Oates turned to Jacobs.

"I'm sorry about your friend..." he then turned to Murdoch "...truly I am..." He turned to Jacobs again "...but there are too many places for those things to jump out at us from, we'd be extremely vulnerable if we went looking for them. We're best letting them come to us."

"So they can pick us off one by one?" Tony blurted out.

"We'll be in a group retard, how are they going to do that?"

Anne's retort was enough to seal the decision for the group. Even still, Tony just scowled at her.

CHAPTER 43

A nice car pulled up outside a store with a pulsing green neon sign outside it. This store was always open late. In a neighborhood largely populated by homeless, only a late night liquor store and a bottle depot surrounded this small, stand-alone building. The fact that these businesses were thriving in such harsh economic times said enough for the neighborhood in itself. The figure walked in unabashed. He had no need for a disguise, he was not known around here. The man peered through the glass display case, watched by a greasy, balding man. With a cigarette in his mouth the storeowner watched the man with the same level of suspicion he affords on all his customers.

The selection before him was limited but that didn't matter much, each item would perform the same function. Choosing one, not the other was a decision motivated more by curiosity than functionality. The man's hand waved slowly over the glass, hovering over the items like a metal detector on a beach. Fingers halted above one in particular, the man had made his decision.

"That one, I'll take that one. The one that's marked 300"

Smoky stared back without an ounce of charm, he had been through this way too many times.

"I'm going to need to see some photo I.D."

Reaching under the desk he pulled out a clipboard with paper attached.

"You'll also need to fill out these forms as required by state law."

The man could tell Smoky had no interest in state law by the way he talked; he simply did not want to get busted.

"Would an extra 500 make those forms go away?"

Truth was Smoky didn't care what the intended purchase was for, as long as there was payment, and as long as he (personally) was not going to get into trouble.

"You're not a cop are you?"

The man pulled out a wad of bills and placed them on the glass counter.

"Do a lot of cops buy their own guns?"

"No..." replied Smokey. "I guess they don't."

Smokey unlocked the cabinet and pulled out the requested item, he wrapped it in a grey cloth and handed it over to the man. Vacantly, the man looked into the next cabinet at some bullets.

"I'll need some of those too."

CHAPTER 44

Oates' office serves as a makeshift safe haven for now. While Oates and Jacobs stood side by side, outside the door the rest sat inside, waiting patiently for something to happen. Despite Oates being easily the eldest person here he was also the most alert. This was his time to put an end to all this death. He knew that he shared the blame for this mess and he was not prepared to stand by and let it continue. Tony was an idiot and a bully, but Oates was the one elected to keep the peace while upholding the law. Oates was tied to the rule of law, he didn't just enforce it, he believed in it. This was why he would never come to terms with the fact he pissed on his own morals the day he turned a blind eye to the murder of Andy Williams. This was also why he was prepared to sacrifice his own life in order to stop the dolls, making it out alive would just be a bonus.

Jacobs was very similar to Oates in a lot of respects. He also felt bound to the law, even if they both practiced it in different worlds. While Oates was an elected official keeping the peace in a relatively peaceful town, Jacobs was one of many, dealing with cases in a much larger, more unpredictable area. In his time in the City PD he had worked what was known as the "grunge desk," tackling cases no one else wanted to deal with. He was widely respected in the force for his high solve rate on these cases, cases that many others had left alone. He was also similar to Oates in the way that he did not mind bending the law a little if it meant he was able to solve a case. However, Jacobs was married only to his job, having never taken the time to settle down with anyone. He normally satisfied his masculine desires with one of the "ladies" who worked the corners downtown. Though this was technically illegal, Jacobs justified his actions by telling himself that sleeping with these women allowed him to focus on his work more and the truth was, he was not the only city cop who done it.

Jacobs respected those he felt cared about their work and he would stepped out of his way to help them. He could see Oates cared about his town, about the law and, more importantly about catching the "bad guys", whatever form they may take. Though he still believed Oates had a small town mentality he had to admit the old man had an excellent mix of strength, determination and balls; qualities Jacobs admired in anyone not just fellow lawmen. The two men stood side-by-side, old and new in front of the open office door. Jacobs, in his suit, now loose-tied stood with an assault shotgun, freshly procured from the station's gun locker. Oates stood vigilantly with his handgun at the ready, waiting for something to happen. It was quiet as Jacobs watched him, silently hoping that he would be as dedicated to the badge when he got to Oates' age.

Inside the office, MacNamee stared at Anne. She had something between her knees that MacNamee was particularly interested in. Sitting on the floor beside Jessica she noticed the handsome doctor's stare and smirked.

"You know how to use that?"

MacNamee was looking at the black shotgun in her hands as he asked the question.

"Never used one before, but I figure now's a good time to learn. The sergeant said the recoil's a bitch, but if I hit my target..."

"If..." MacNamee said with a smile.

Again, Anne smirked. She always had had a fondness for smart men, particularly smart men who looked as good as MacNamee did.

"What did you choose?" Anne asked.

MacNamee sheepishly held up a light handgun.

"It was this or a water pistol" he joked, finding comfort in the fact that he was still able to.

Anne looked around the dim office. Brian, Tony, Matthew and Jessica were all asleep. Fatigue had trumped their fear already. The only one apart from them who was still awake was Murdoch. But his trance like state did not suggest wakefulness.

"Are you alright detective?"

Anne asked this even though she knew it was stupid. Murdoch turned to her and forced a smile.

"I just wish I could've helped him. I just wish I could have helped both of them, you know? I should have been with them."

"And while you were there someone else might have died in his place, and you would still blame yourself. It's hard to hear I know, but you can't be everywhere at once."

The confidence of Anne's response eased Murdoch's guilt only a little. MacNamee said nothing, he couldn't. He agreed with Murdoch's guilt, he felt it for Greta. However he did not want his silence to be probed by Anne so he spoke quietly, there were people sleeping after all.

"What do you think the chances are of us making it out of here?"

Anne looked down at Jessica, making sure she was asleep before responding.

"Slim."

Murdoch nodded solemnly. MacNamee snickered nervously.

"Well hopefully we can do something to increase those odds eh?"

"Not with that little thing in your hands" Anne quipped, drawing chuckles from both Murdoch and MacNamee.

"Quiet!" Came Jacobs' voice from the doorway. He and Oates had heard something. A shrill laugh was now echoing through the station, it sent a chill down Oates' spine. The thought that someone could find amusement in this horrific situation scared him to no end. By now, everyone was awake; no one could sleep through that laugh. Oates and Jacobs both watched the double doors ahead of them, the same doors Brian came through from the second floor. Quietly, Murdoch slipped out to provide backup to his boss. A long moment dragged on. Nothing happened but the men were still tense. The low temporary walls around the desks did not block their views, but they did provide excellent cover for the creatures to hide behind and, even without talking, all three men recognized that. Jacobs and Oates started moving outwards in opposite directions. Suddenly, heavy footsteps coming from the basement staircase caused them both to stop.

All three men turned to face the stairs. The sound grew louder, something was coming up.

"This is it. Get ready"

Jacobs whispered to Murdoch as he aimed his gun towards the precarious staircase. All three men waited in anticipation, the sound of the footsteps were a sharp contrast to the silence that engulfed the main room now. A loud crash broke all their tension. Basket burst through the double doors, sending both slamming into the wall. In unison, all three men turned and opened fire but, as they did so, all three dummies came charging from the staircase. Conflicted shots rang out in the room as the men's attentions were split. As Basket and the Dummies disappeared behind the desks and temporary walls, silence fell once again. Jacobs was very nervous now. Not only were the creatures in the room with them, but they were using tactics, working together. This thought unsettled him, he would have preferred them to be mindless killers, at least they would have been easier to destroy.

Anne and MacNamee moved out of the office silently to offer support. A high-pitched zipping noise startled Oates who turned towards the office window to see Tony had raised the blinds. Tony, Matthew and Brian were all at the window watching, sharing cowardly looks with those on the outside. With only a few simple gestures, Jacobs and Oates communicated their intentions to the group. The sergeant took Murdoch and moved carefully moved round the right hand side of the desk area, keeping his back firmly against the wall. Oates moved round to the left but he was poorly covered by Anne and MacNamee (both amateurs in this game) Because of this poor cover Oates was exposed, but he would not realize this until it was too late. Jacobs moved swiftly, checking as many areas as he could as fast as he could. However, the much more thorough Murdoch lagged behind, he stayed a few steps behind so he was better able to watch his sergeants back.

"Perry" a voice whispered.

Initially apprehensive, Murdoch pointed his gun in the general direction of the voice.

"Perry, it's me!"

The voice whispered again and Murdoch recognized it straight away. Relief washed over his apprehension, covering it completely.

"James! I thought you were gone. Where are you?"

Murdoch's voice was loud with hope and Jacobs' heard him. The sergeant turned to see what his detective was doing but he wasn't in his line of sight at all.

"Murdoch?"

Jacobs' called out in a harsh whisper but he got no response.

"I'm down here..."

Graham's voice was enough to lure his colleague into dropping his guard. Wracked with grief, the detective was only too eager to believe his friend was still alive.

Leaning in to inspect the shadowy shape under a desk, Murdoch was completely exposed.

"Murdoch!"

Jacobs' second whisper was enough to snap the detective from his delusion but not enough to save his life. Basket sprung out from under the desk and sunk his teeth into Murdoch's throat. Instantly, Murdoch collapsed, twitching to the floor as Basket tore his throat straight out like an animal. A small dummy popped out from under the desk, let out a hearty laugh and scampered off; satisfied with the role he played. Basket rolled back his head and sent out a booming cackle, knowing that this was his easiest kill yet. Jacobs' ran round to meet the owner of the wicked laugh and opened fire. As the clown leaped around, avoiding the bullets everyone was completely distracted by the sight. Jacobs' shotgun blasts were sending files, desk fragments and even parts of pot plants up into the air as he tried to hit his target Oates turned to fire on the clown too but got flanked by Dummy. The wooden behemoth slipped out from behind a filing cabinet and landed a solid punch to the old man's kneecap, shattering it completely. As Anne and MacNamee stood trying to aim their weapons, Tony rapped on the window hard. He pointed furiously towards his uncle who lay on the ground, writhing in pain as Dummy loomed over him. Dummy was now fully under Connor's control and Connor was enjoying watching the Sheriff squirm through Dummy's glassy eyes.

"It's your turn Sheriff"

Connor's pre-pubescent voice was forceful out of Dummy's mouth. Oates hardly heard anything though; his knee was causing him too much pain. Dummy opened his mouth wide, preparing to clamp down on Oates. A quick round from MacNamee struck Dummy right in the face. Even a somewhat lucky shot from his "little" handgun was enough to tear a large part of Dummy's skull clean off. The bullet caused Dummy no pain but it certainly angered him. MacNamee had no time to enjoy his shot; instead he fired again, this time striking the dummy in the chest, tearing his sharp black suit. Dummy had to retreat for now, after all he was made of wood and the bullets were doing severe damage to his body. Jacobs' continued blasting like a man possessed. His second detective was dead too and he wanted vengeance. MacNamee had to think fast. They were completely exposed right now. Over the blast he called for Anne and the two dragged Oates into the office. Calling Anne over the sound of shotgun blasts the two of them dragged Oates quickly into his office.

MacNamee let go of Oates and looked back into the main room. Jacobs' was still firing off rounds, trying to land a killshot. MacNamee knew he wouldn't last long on his own so he had to bring him in. From his experience in Hallcombes, MacNamee knew he would be wasting time if he tried to talk to Jacobs right now; he had to be brought in by force, he was simply too angry to be reasoned with. Springing to his feet the doctor looked square at Tony.

"Come with me!"

"Are you fucking crazy? I'm not going out there!"

MacNamee had no time to debate. He raised his gun and fired off a round past Tony's head.

"Now!"

"Fuck!" Tony yelled out but followed MacNamee out into the room to grab the irate Jacobs'.

As the two men manhandled the sergeant, thoughts were running through MacNamee's mind. He wondered if they would make it back to the office alive, he wondered if the two would be strong enough to control Jacobs but most of all, he really wished he hadn't fired the gun in such a small area, his ears hurt terribly now. Jacobs' resisted every step of the way but finally he was in the office being restrained by Brian and Matthew. MacNamee slammed the door, locked it tight and dropped the blinds.

The dolls had the upper hand once again.

CHAPTER 45

The Sheriff's office was dimly lit when the shades were closed. The office wasn't part of the original building; it was installed only ten years earlier. A true testament to the cheapness of ex-Mayor Hugh Shannahan; the office never actually had any lights installed in it. Oates never really had an issue with it. At first he did, but years of badgering got him nowhere so he gave up, saving his gripes for bigger issues. He had a desk lamp for reading with and that was all he needed. He would normally get enough light from the sun or by opening the blinds to the main room. Now, however, he wished he had badgered some more. The reading light provided enough light for the desk area but that was it, even with the lampshade off of it, it still wasn't very bright (he also regretted buying energy saving bulbs)

Jacobs' had stopped complaining about being held in the office, but he wasn't thanking anyone for bringing him in either. He sat on the couch alone staring into a dark corner. He would not complain about the lack of light. He felt he deserved no less for bringing his two detectives to their slaughter. He sat, mournful, solemn, trying to work out how they could be killed under his watch.

Anne did not sit near Brian. If she had any respect for him before they entered the station, it was all gone now. Every so often she would glance up at him and wonder how she could ever have let him near her. "What a coward!" she thought. Her eyes would skim the dim faces of Tony and Matthew too, "so alike" she whispered more than once. She simply could not understand how she allowed herself to be involved with these guys. She looked back at Brian and he gave an awkward smile. With an opposing disgusted look, she never looked at him again.

MacNamee sat near the door with Jessica sleeping on his lap. His eyes were lost. He knew he had saved Oates' life and he enjoyed that fact. He was no coward but he felt he had not pulled his weight much while here. In fact, the melee in the main room was the only tussle he had been involved in since the start of this mess. He felt that at least by saving Oates, he had done something towards the hopeful end of this. He thought of Greta, as he had been doing unconsciously ever since he saw her body. Now he allowed himself some time for real reflection, though the reflection could not take his mind off of the reality that faced him. They were cornered sheep, and the wolves were right outside the door.

Oates' breathing was the rhythm of the office. He had gotten over the initial agony of his injury but it still ached. His breathing was to control his pain and it was gruff. If it was a cut he could wrap something around it but it wasn't. There was nothing he could do right now about his injury. So he sat against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, his pulsing breathing kept everyone from falling asleep but no one would say anything to him. How could they?

So they sat, scattered around the office, waiting for the next step.

CHAPTER 46

Connor Williams was not sleeping but he was also not aware of his surroundings. All his attention was on what was going on in Staunton, he was controlling the dolls individually and he loved it. A storm could have been raging inside his room and he would not have noticed. No, he was having too much fun. His father's death would soon be avenged and then some. He did not know what he would do when he was finished but he knew it would be soon. The group was getting weaker and it would only be a matter of time before all this would be over.

Connor did not want this to end. While he did enjoy particular pleasure in taking life, his main thrill came from the fear these creatures instilled in their victims. He loved the tense moments, which derived from a person, when they were unable to define the feeling in their gut. The feeling that told them something was watching them, something inhuman, the feeling he would miss when this was all over. In his semi-conscious state, his mind analyzed these thoughts, trying to decide his next course after this was all over with. Maybe he could speak to "The Eye", the one who so eagerly nurtured his destructive side to see if he could start work on another "mission" after this one. Maybe he would be allowed to become some kind of permanent vigilante, controlling other dolls to inflict harm on others who were deemed worthy of death. The child's mind pondered such despicable yet equally attainable thoughts, whilst not losing focus of his goal ahead of him.

CHAPTER 47

Sitting in front of so many cables and wires coming in and out of his wife, Doctor Crass couldn't help but be upset. Vigilantly he waited, holding her hand tenderly. She had not been responding to his voice. Apart from the steady beep of the heart monitor beside the bed Crass had only his own thoughts to keep him company. The pain in his body still lingered but it was small in the bigger picture. He did not believe Connor Williams was to blame for all of this even though he knew he was the only one who didn't. The boy was sick, plain and simple. It was Crass's job to ensure he got better, his and MacNamee's and (to a lesser extent) Frieda's. As he looked at his wife he knew he would not be able to continue treating the boy but he certainly felt no ill will against him. He was unsure he could vouch the same for MacNamee. So far they had failed, all of them.

Crass's thoughts turned to Frieda and the strange message he had given him. The old doctor wondered if he would act on his fears, he wondered if he would actually follow through on his threat and visit Hallcombes. He had never heard Frieda talk like that before so something must definitely have been wrong.

Duty was the word on his mind right now despite everything. He knew that the longer he stayed here, with his beloved, the longer he had to worry about what was going to happen at his hospital. With a kiss to his devoted wife's hand; he quietly left. His instincts told him what was going to happen tonight and he knew what he had to do.

CHAPTER 48

"They're picking us off one by one."

Tony repeated his earlier statement, layering his words heavily over the sound of Oates' breathing. Anne looked up at him; she had had quite enough of Tony Oates already, and the night wasn't nearly over yet. Tony scowled back at her, spotting her glare even in the dim light. He got to his feet and continued talking.

"How can you say I'm wrong now huh? After what just happened? At least the cops signed up for this."

His total lack of respect caused a reaction in Jacobs. Jolting up from the couch he landed a straight right straight to the larger man's jaw before he even knew what was going on. The punch put Tony straight on the floor and he didn't dare retaliate. He had seen the fury of Jacobs and he knew that even despite his size difference, he was no match for the sergeant.

"You ignorant fuck!"

Jacobs pointed and yelled at him furiously.

"You're the reason this is all happening! It's your fault people dead."

Calming down only slightly Jacobs lowered his tone.

"None of us signed up for this, but because of you, we're probably all going to die tonight."

Tony looked away sheepishly.

"I would kill you myself..." continued Jacobs "...But I'm pretty sure the boy is looking forward to that honor."

Jacobs stared at Tony in disgust for a moment before Anne asked MacNamee a question, causing him to turn around.

"What is it Doctor? What do you see?"

MacNamee peered through the keyhole in the door. Light filtering through highlighted dust particles, but with a gentle blow MacNamee cleared them from his vision.

"I'm not sure" he responded quietly "But they're up to something..."

Through the keyhole MacNamee watched Dummy throw paper files at the door while Basket sat on a desk watching. The two smaller dummies were breaking wood off desks and piling it up against the door.

"Oh shit!" MacNamee exclaimed "I think they're trying to burn us out."

"What?" asked Jacobs.

Outside, Basket flicked open a lighter. After watching the flame for a few moments he laughed out loud and dropped down from the desk he was sitting on. He continued laughing while lighting the paper. In the office, the group could hear that dreaded laughter. The relative safety of the office was now gone, the laugh re-instilled them with fear. As black smoke started to wisp under the door the group started to panic. MacNamee and Anne both looked at Jacobs who was simply staring at the door oozing smoke. Tony had gotten back to his feet and was watching the sergeant, waiting for him to save them. The sight of the smoke had solidified the feeling of lost hope in all of them.

"What's wrong with him?"

Oates' words from the floor startled the group as it had nothing to do with the smoke.

"What? Who?" MacNamee asked confused

"Why's he so quiet?"

MacNamee could not answer Oates' question from the floor, as he did not know whom the Sheriff was talking about.

"Who? What's wrong with who?"

Oates groaned in pain and pointed across at Brian.

"Him!"

Brian sat on the floor with his knees to his chest and his jacket over him. His eyes were closed tight.

"He must be asleep"

MacNamee responded quickly without thought and turned back towards Jacobs.

"Through this?"

Oates' question annoyed MacNamee because he thought they had more important things to worry about than whether Brian was awake or not. Anne took charge of the situation.

"Of course he's asleep! Bastard doesn't care about anyone but himself."

She knelt down beside him.

"Brian, wake up!"

After receiving no response she slapped him a little but still nothing happened.

"Jesus Christ, fucking wake up!"

Taking him by the shoulders she shook him hard. His body was light; when she stopped shaking him he slowly toppled over onto his front. Anne jumped up in fright. Hastily she grabbed the desk lamp and shone it on top of him. His entire back was like an excavation site and the soldiers continued digging. Blood covering the floor was mostly draining through a hole in the floorboards. Entire chunks of his flesh were missing. Despite the light, the half dozen soldiers did not stop working on him. Matthew and Tony cried out in unison as Anne dropped the lamp to the table and started batting the little green men off of her ex's back. MacNamee came across and started stamping on them as they tried to scamper off. Tony, Matthew and Anne joined in, stamping furiously, crushing the little men under their feet as the smoke continued to build up in the room.

"Fucking Christ!" Matthew screamed "What now?"

"We could go out the window!" Tony called back in panic.

"No!" Oates' voice boomed "the point of coming here was to keep these creatures here. If we leave then others will die!"

"We don't have any other choice!" Spluttered Tony as the smoke got to his lungs. "We're fucking dead here!"

"I've had enough of this"

Jacobs' first words in a few minutes silenced the room. The words silenced Tony quickest as he thought Jacobs was really going to kill him this time. But the sergeant was still staring at the door.

"What Jacobs?"

MacNamee wanted to know what he meant. Jacobs simply whispered the words:

"No more hiding..."

Militantly, Jacobs raised his shotgun and started powering towards the door.

"Jacobs don't!"

MacNamee's cry was too late. With one hefty boot, Jacobs burst open the office door, sending blazing wood and papers everywhere. Stepping out into the open, taking aim at a caught-off-guard Basket, Jacobs smiled devilishly and squeezed the trigger.

CHAPTER 49

Click. Click. Click click click. Jacobs never realized he had emptied the shotgun already, if he had he would have reloaded. Jacobs' smile faded as the clown simply looked back at him and grinned. Barging past, Anne did have rounds in her shotgun and she wanted to use them. Basket had to dive to safety as she fired her first round. The recoil pushed the barrel back and up, clipping Anne's forehead but she didn't feel any pain, her adrenaline was superseding that. Instead, she learned from her first shot and tried to put what little weight she had into each blast to counter the recoil. Jacob's reloaded furiously as MacNamee ushered the two very reluctant friends out into the fray. Once he had he turned to Oates.

"Want me to help you up?"

"No, I'll stay here with the girl."

MacNamee nodded and burst out into the main room to join the firefight.

The dolls, under the control of Connor had been opportunistic and smart. They had removed those who had weapons training first. Only Jacobs was still standing, with Oates effectively out of the picture for now, his role having been reduced to child protection.

Across in the city Connor Williams smirked. He was still very much in control and he was now more focused than he ever had been previously. He knew this was the end. With a simple thought he pushed the next move through to his dolls.

One of the small ventriloquist dummies sprinted out from behind a chair straight towards MacNamee. Jacobs was the first to spot it and open fire, followed Anne. Then they all started firing together. This would not have happened if any of them besides Jacobs had any experience whatsoever. After less than ten seconds the little dummy was completely destroyed but only Jacobs realized what was happening when it was too late to do anything about it. Connor's message was for an attack based on a distraction and the little dummy was sacrificed as the distraction. Basket, on all fours bounded towards Jacobs, leaping and scoring his claws down the sergeant's chest. Dummy came from the other side of the room and in one lunging move, smacked Tony's gun out his hand while winding Matthew with his wooden elbow. Dummy turned and uppercutted Tony hard, causing the big man to bite off most of his tongue. As Jacobs fought the pain on the floor, Basket grabbed hold of Anne's shotgun firmly, comically trying to wrestle it out of her hands. MacNamee was at first confused on whom to help first but he quickly made the decision to help Anne. He turned to fire at Basket but the second smaller Dummy lunged at him, causing him to miss his target. The smaller Dummy kept MacNamee busy while the others did their work. Tony ambled around in agony, the blow to the head made him dizzy and confused. He tried to escape the carnage by moving away but he was stumbling terribly. Basket was continuing his tug-o-war with Anne as she whipped the gun from side to side, trying to get it behind the maniac clown. With a huge tug she pulled Basket onto a desk, jerked the gun back and rammed it into his soft stomach. Something caught her eye as she squeezed the trigger but she couldn't stop to see what it was. The blast halted everything for just a moment. A large hole in the clown's stomach gave her an excellent view of what she had just done. Basket, unhurt, turned his head to see a headless Tony Oates falling to his knees. MacNamee was the only one who saw it happen. Matthew and Jacobs were on the ground. With no time for the shock to sink it, MacNamee kept fighting and Anne reloaded. Basket dived behind a desk before Anne could get a second round off. Chunky blood decorated the temporary walls surrounding Tony's body. With a quick glance down, Anne felt no remorse for what she had done.

"No more than you deserve!"

She spoke quietly. It was an accident, but in her mind, not an unfortunate one. With Matthew still on the ground Dummy surveyed the room. His smaller cohort was keeping the doctor occupied and Jacobs was just slowly getting to his feet. Anne was his target right now; she had his back to him, searching for Basket with the shotgun at the ready. Slipping up behind her he wrenched her back towards the ground hard causing her to lose grip of her weapon. Quickly she tried to get back up but Dummy had other ideas. He charged at her, ramming his shoulder into her gut. Lifting her off the ground he kept running, letting her go at the top of the stairs to the basement. Jacobs watched her get flung down the stairs like a rag doll but he could do nothing to help. Basket was on top of him now and he was fighting for his life.

CHAPTER 50

The grounds of the old building were vast; sparse trees dotted a landscape that seemed to go on for miles. A car pulled up beside a large elm only a hundred meters from the dumpsters at the back entrance. Dawn wasn't far away but it was still too early for the garbage men. After exiting the vehicle, the figure moved swiftly across the yellowish green grass, hopped the fence and slinked into the caged area near the fire escape. A skilled knowledge of the building allowed the man to enter through one of the fire exits. He knew the orderlies always made sure this door was not connected to the alarm system so they could slip out for cigarettes without the doctors knowing. Once he opened the back door he was confronted by a dark set of stairs. A knowledgeable hand flipped a switch, flicking on lights like falling dominoes down the stairs and off away from his immediate sight. The man walked down the stairs. The long hallways lined with various colored pipes were similar in length to the long hallways above. Gas, water, electricity, telephone and internet were all fed into the building from here and all had a different pipe or cable. He wasn't entirely sure which way to go from down here so he kept his eyes out for directions. All the signs down here were faded. Stickers had been put on the walls years ago to help guide the few who frequented the underbelly but, a combination of time and dampness had all but destroyed them. It was a struggle for him to read some of the signs now but he did through sheer determination. These catacombs reminded him of the sewers he had seen on movies. Normally meticulously clean, the very state of things down here made him feel ill. Having to be down here only fuelled his anger, driving him on, pushing him forward. He turned right down a short intersection, read a sign and turned left. Then he read another sign and made another right. There wasn't even a strong odor of anything down here, there was just so much dampness and so many cobwebs that he thought there was. He wretched. He stopped; bent over in the corridor and wretched. His brain was telling him there was smell and it was foul. After bringing nothing up but a bad taste he wiped his mouth, swallowed back down some of the taste and moved forward. On the wall there was a greenish, half peeled sign that told him his destination was just up ahead.

CHAPTER 51

The room was dark when she opened her eyes. Lying face down on the dirty brick floor Anne felt pain all over her body. Her left arm was numb; she couldn't move it at all. Using every muscle she could muster she pushed herself over onto her back. She gently gritted her teeth then, with her tongue she checked to see if she had lost any. She hadn't. Anne could not remember the last time she cried. These creatures attacked her and killed people right in front of her, not to mention the fact that they forced her to take a life (even if it was Tony Oates) but still, she was not about to let them see her cry. Only once that happened would she truly be beaten. With her right arm she pushed her way to her knees. When she sat up she realized she must have bruised or perhaps even broken a rib or two in her felt because breathing was painful for her. Her eyes tried to adjust to the darkness. Only a little light came from the staircase and she was not aware that the switches were only a few feet away from her. In this unique and deadly situation she had never found herself in before, her normal thoughts did not come into play right now. Looking for a light switch should have been the priority but it wasn't. Self-preservation was. She used her good arm to sweep the floor in the darkness. It was after almost a full minute of searching did she remember her shotgun was not with her when she was thrown down the stairs so it was extremely pointless searching for it.

"Shit!"

She hissed aloud as soon as the realization hit her.

"Anne..."

Brian's voice echoed hauntingly around her ears.

"Brian?"

She perked up, confused.

"Is that you?"

"Of course it's me..." came Brian's voice "...come on over and give me a hug."

Anne's eyes squinted into the darkness ahead of her. She shook her head hard.

"No! It's not you Brian, I know it's not!"

Anne started to get to her feet. She forced confidence out of every pore she had; she needed this creature to know she was strong despite everything.

"There's only one dummy in this room!"

Her quip, enforcing her strong will was about to be thrown in her face by a second voice.

"Anne..."

The voice changed into that of Anne's mother, her thick Polish accent catching the pretty blonde off guard. The thought that accompanied the voice finally caused her to well up. Overwhelming grief surged through her body. She knew that the only way Dummy could imitate her mother's voice was if he had met her. And she knew what that meant.

"Mom?"

Anne cried out through her first tears for as long as she could remember.

"Yes sweetheart, it's me. I was wrong about Brian. Go to him, give him a big hug."

Anne backed up sobbing, when she felt stone against her back she slumped to the cold concrete below her.

Her head shook "No mom...not you. It's not you it's not!"

"But it is me dear. I'm here with Brian. Come on, hug him, he misses you."

"No..."

Anne protested weakly.

"He wants you princess. He wants you so badly."

Anne sat; years of tears built up were flowing now. She couldn't breathe. She didn't want to.

"Anne! Do as your mother tells you!"

The third voice turned her aching muscles to jelly. She flopped over into a limp fetal position on the stone floor. Her father's stern command broke her spirit completely.

"Who's the dummy now?"

Dummy's croaky voice came with two separate chuckles, one from him and one from Connor. Anne could hardly anything through her own pain as Dummy crept from the shadows mocking her.

"I wanted to laugh so bad there! That dummy comment you made really tickled me! You have no idea how bad I wanted to laugh!"

Curled up, unwilling to help herself, all Anne wanted was a quick end so she could meet her parents and apologize for involving them in all of this.

CHAPTER 52

Slinking up a small staircase the figure unlocked and opened the door at the top. Now in the west wing of Hallcombes his first stop was close by. He approached the solid white door in the dim light and pushed it open hard. Caught off guard, a relaxing Tim spilt a warm cup of coffee he had been nursing all over his well-used white uniform. The immediate fright from being startled wore off quickly when Tim saw who it was.

"Jesus Christ Frieda! Can't you knock?"

Frieda stared at him for a long moment, watching him try to clean himself up with a napkin from a fast food restaurant. Tim looked at the doctor and sighed.

"I'm sorry doctor, I didn't mean any disrespect. You just scared me that's all."

Tim paused.

"And now I need to wash this again. You're here kinda early today."

Foregoing any kind of banter, Frieda simply said all he needed to.

"I need the key to 101"

Tim sighed heavily, he felt he had dealt with this already and he did not want to deal with it again.

"Oh, not you too, go home doctor! I'm not giving you the key."

Tim turned away from Frieda and put his feet back up again. There was nothing much worth watching on his television but that didn't matter. It took his mind off of his work and that was all he wanted. Frieda closed his eyes for a second. He was sure Tim wasn't this rude to Doctor MacNamee when he asked for the key, in fact, when Frieda watched MacNamee kick the door, Tim was still more respectful.

"I'm a doctor."

Frieda stated this quietly but firmly.

"What was that?" Tim asked nonchalantly, not turning around.

Suddenly, Frieda raised his voice and pulled out his revolver.

"I'm a doctor!"

Before Tim could turn around Frieda fired three shots into his stomach and chest. The bangs in such a small room gave Frieda a high-pitched whine in his ears which cancelled out the sounds of anything else. He yelled again and fired three more at Tim but he couldn't hear is own voice. He could barely hear the last three gunshots and he certainly did not hear the empty clicking sound as he attempted to keep firing with a spent revolver. The ringing in his ears was inconsequential compared to the feeling he got when he took a life. A life he felt was worth taking as Tim had treated him so disrespectfully. In his mind, he was completely and utterly justified. He stared at the large bloody body of Tim the orderly and smiled. This was justice; great justice and he had completely forgotten why he was here.

In his periphery he noticed the keys dangling from Tim's belt and suddenly it occurred to him why he was here. He turned to the steel cabinet by the door and looked through for the key to "101" but it wasn't there. He had an excellent guess as to where they were. Unfazed by what he had just done he put a hand into Tim's pants pocket and found nothing. Luckily for Frieda, Tim was sitting on a swivel chair when he killed him so it was easy to turn him around and check his other pocket. There they were; gold colored, dangly. Frieda squeezed them in his hand for a moment before slipping them into his coat pocket and heading out the door.

CHAPTER 53

MacNamee was struggling to fight off the smaller dummy. It stood above his knee, it was no easy feat and he was slowly being whittled down. Jacobs had managed to fight off Basket but had taken another clawing in the process. He was losing blood but losing it slowly, the claw marks were not very deep but they were draining him. He was not determined he was not finished yet however; he was not going out right now.

"Matthew!"

MacNamee had grabbed a table leg from the makeshift fire the dolls built and was using it as a bat to defend himself from the small dummy. He called out but Matthew was still on the ground pretending he was still winded. He did not want to help, he wanted to stay there and hope he was left alone.

"You fucking pussy! Get up and give me a hand!"

"Why do you need a hand" the dummy quipped "you've already got a leg!"

The small dummy kept trying to attack but MacNamee kept swiping, keeping him at bay.

"Matthew!"

He didn't want to help but he looked down and suddenly he realized there was almost no-one left. Anne was dead for all he knew and that left three. Jacobs and Oates did not look good so that only left one still standing besides him. He had to act, or it would be him versus the dolls and he would be greatly outnumbered. He spotted the pistol he dropped right beside him and decided to go for it.

"Aarrgghh!"

With a cry designed to psyche himself up he scrambled to his feet, picked up the gun and charged. As the smaller dummy turned in surprise MacNamee struck it on the head with the wood, knocking the well-suited villain to the floor. Matthew pounced on top, shoved the pistol in its mouth and squeezed the trigger. After the dummy's head exploded Matthew turned to MacNamee with a goofy smile. MacNamee was in no mood for celebration as Basket was closing in on Jacobs again.

"Help Anne!"

As Matthew scampered off MacNamee tackled Basket, trying his best to pin down the devil clown. Jacobs was stubborn but struggling. The more he exerted himself, the faster he was weakening. As he watched the doctor struggle with the colorful beast his vision started to go blurry. He watched as MacNamee stole a look at him and he saw the fear in his eyes. It was clear from the doctor's expression that Jacobs did not look good. MacNamee had to help him. Firmly and swiftly he grabbed the clown, rose to his feet and threw him way across the room in a desperate attempt to have some time to help Jacobs. He just hoped it would be enough.

Dummy's partial skull was slightly illuminated by the light from the staircase. He chattered his jaws in anticipation for the kill.

"Don't worry about your parents; they're safe in here with me. You'll be with them soon."

Matthew bounded down the stairs just as Dummy held her by the hair and was about to chomp down on her face. The first bullet snapped his arm, the second fractured his jaw. The proceeding barrage of bullets broke up the hideously fixed smile and glassy eyes that had taken too many victims. Dummy lay on the ground in pieces; his limbs were still trying to move. One arm was trying to drag his torso towards the shooter but Matthew coolly kicked it across the room, out of site. Quickly he kicked some other shards of the once monstrous being away from the cowering Anne and embraced her. "Anne, you're alright!"

Anne looked up at him tenderly. She did not have any strong feelings for him, she was just so happy to see a friendly face. She continued sobbing as Matthew helped her to her feet and held her.

"They're dead."

"Who?" Brian asked gently.

"My parents...that...dummy..."

"I'm sorry Anne but don't worry, you're safe now."

Anne closed her eyes but a dull thud and some spluttering forced her to open them. Right in front of her face was Betsy. She had jumped on Matthew's back, and crushed his throat with her solid hands.

"Hello"

The doll's ominous greeting pushed a flight response back into Anne as she pushed him forward, away from her and ran up the staircase as fast as her bruised body would go.

CHAPTER 54

Dawn had broken and Frieda walked towards the light. The large window at the end of the long west wing hallway was pushing sunlight closer to him as he walked. He was still a while away from reaching it but the corridor certainly was lighter than it was when he entered the security office. Frieda took his time walking up the corridor. A chorus of shouts and wails from woken, deranged patients accompanied him while he reloaded but he barely heard them. His hearing was only just returning. Frieda looked through the glass to Connor's room. He watched the boy: he looked asleep. This angered Frieda. He expected Connor to be awake after the shots; he wanted the boy to see this coming. It didn't matter, he conceded, he was going to die either way.

"Frieda!"

The voice, instantly recognizable to the young doctor made him stop and turn. Doctor Crass stood only fifteen feet away; his body language was that of a pleading man.

"Frieda what are you doing? What did Tim do to you?"

"He got in my way!"

Frieda spoke confidently. Killing Tim gave him power he never knew he had up until then.

"I need to do this Doctor Crass! And you can't stop me!"

"I'm not here to stop you" Crass protested "I'm simply here to make you think about what you're doing. Don't you see, if you do this, Connor will win. He wanted to get inside your head; he wanted to make you feel worthless. This is all a game to him. If you go ahead and do what you're thinking about doing you give him all the power. You hand him the win."

Frieda put his head down. Despite everything he still found it hard to face Crass, especially now.

"You don't understand what it's like to be me. No-one listens, no one cares. I have no wife, no friends, no future. No hope. I've had enough of it."

"You're right doctor; I don't understand. So why don't you tell me. Come on, let's get out of here, we'll get breakfast. We'll talk."

Frieda lifted his head, his mood changed.

"You want to go for breakfast with me?"

"Of course Doctor, come on. There's a great little diner by my place, they serve the best pancakes. We can talk about everything."

Frieda's hand went limp, the gun dropped to his side. He looked back into Connor's room and sighed. He almost made a terrible mistake. His mood lightened up from Crass's words. He had been longing to hear them all this time. It was all he wanted. All he needed. He walked to Crass with almost a spring in his step, he was elated. He stood toe to toe with his boss and the mentor he had always wanted and teared up.

"You have no idea how long I have been waiting to hear those words"

Crass forced a smile as Frieda put an arm around him and started crying on his shoulder.

"I mean it Doctor; things are going to be different from now on."

Frieda spoke in between sniffles.

"I've been waiting years for you to say those words Doctor Crass."

Crass felt the barrel of a revolver press into his side.

"And now that I've heard them I finally realize what a lying son of a bitch you really are. You have no idea how happy this makes me."

"Frieda wait..."

One, two, three. Crass was one the ground as good as dead. Four, Five, Six. Doctor Crass's face was unrecognizable. He was most certainly dead.

Frieda dried his eyes, reloaded and turned back to Connor's room.

CHAPTER 55

"Doctor MacNamee?" Anne called out

"I'm in here! In the office! Hurry!"

Anne limply ran through the main room. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Jacobs slumped up against the wall, covered in blood. Without thinking, she stopped in the doorway and gestured at Jacobs.

"Is he dead?"

MacNamee didn't answer right away; instead he motioned for her to come in with his gun.

"That damn clown is still out there!"

Anne ran in and instantly spotted Oates lying on the floor, strangled with the power cord from the desk lamp. Anne looked at the Sheriff's body, stunned despite already having witnessed so much death.

"Betsy"

MacNamee whispered to her while Jessica cuddled into him.

"But Betsy was down..."

"Jacobs is gone too. Where's Matthew?"

MacNamee cut her off; he was trying to work out a plan in his head.

Anne shook her head: "It was Betsy who killed him"

"So it's just the two of them left then. And the two of us."

"Let's just leave"

Anne had to say it; her episode in the basement had changed her more than blowing off Tony's head ever did. She was willing to leave.

"After all this?"

MacNamee was stunned; there was no way he was going to leave.

"Think of the child! We've no hope now!"

"And then what? They'll come after us; they'll come after her. This isn't over until one side loses."

Anne sighed. He was right and she knew it.

"Ok so what then?"

MacNamee let Jessica go and stood up. He and Greta wanted to have kids. Jessica reminded him of her and the hopes they shared together. He would end this, if only for her sake.

CHAPTER 56

Frieda stared down at the sleeping child and he had no problem with pulling the trigger, but he wanted to wait. He wanted to savor this. This was the first time in his life he had stood up to anyone or anything and he wanted to milk it all he could. He watched the boy's chest move up and down in rhythm. He derived a pleasure from this he never thought he would have.

"What are you waiting for?"

A silky voice from behind startled him, causing him to change his aim towards it.

"Don't try to stop me! I'll shoot you too I swear!"

"The Eye" took a little step forward and smiled. "Yes, I believe you would."

"I'm warning you, don't come any closer!"

"You mean, like this?"

"The Eye" stepped forward and Frieda pulled the trigger. "The Eye" slapped a hand to his chest as if mortally wounded and then chuckled. He moved his hand into Frieda's view and played with the bullet in between his fingers. The doctor stood; eyes wide, mouth agape. The demon's eyes flashed red as he spoke.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to stop you, if I were, you'd be dead already."

"What are you here for then?"

Suddenly Frieda did not feel as powerful with his gun anymore.

"To observe" "The Eye" said, waving his hand over the boy, still unaware of what was going on in the room. Somehow Frieda implicitly trusted the man in front of him so he turned and put the gun back on Connor. As he watched Connor lie there, a thick plume of condensation blew past his face. He recognized the plume along with the breathing from his apartment and he certainly remembered the face that went with it. Even though he trusted the man inside the room he did not turn around. He did not trust the beast.

"Don't mind him" "The Eye" said "He's with me"

"He wanted to kill me, you know?"

Frieda was referring to Connor as he talked, trying to justify his actions. Suddenly, the act of shooting a child in his bed did not seem to make as much sense now there was an audience.

"I know" "The Eye replied casually.

"He will too...if I let him."

"I know that too."

Frieda closed his eyes and held the gun tight.

CHAPTER 57

MacNamee closed the office door with Jessica inside. The girl moved to the window and peered through, curious as to what was going on outside. Under the conscious direction of the sleeping boy, Basket made his move. With a manic chuckle Basket bounded effortlessly from desk to desk, taking his time to attack, allowing Connor the time to enjoy himself. Colorful yet grotesque, Basket spotted Jessica at the window and smiled. He liked children. Jessica smiled back. She liked clowns.

"Here he comes!"

MacNamee and Anne were pressed against the wall with their guns poised. Round after round they fired. Some hit, most missed. The ones that hit were only slight, doing little damage. With a colossal leap, the clown landed right in front of MacNamee, catching both of them off guard. Anne, armed with Jacobs' shotgun got a round off, forcing the full spread on the clown but because she was caught off balance, the recoil sent the gun towards her head again. This time the barrel was driven straight into her face, putting her back on the ground, bleeding again. Another hole in Basket's body, but he was still going strong. The pistol in MacNamee's hands was not doing much to change that. Basket used a powerful backhand to slap the pistol from MacNamee's hands and then leaped on him, clawing at his face and chest. Jumping off of him he pulled MacNamee down onto the floor and kicked him in the ribs in an over-the-top comedy fashion. Beaten badly, MacNamee opened his eyes just in time to watch Basket sink his teeth into Anne's head. After biting off a large chunk of her skull he swallowed, licked his lips and moved towards the doctor. Basket flipped him onto his back and looked deep into his eyes, dripping Anne's blood all over him. MacNamee saw Connor's eyes staring back at him, not the clowns. He saw a child's eyes where a monster should have been. He saw innocence when he should have seen a monstrosity. It was at that moment when he realized he could do nothing but accept his fate. He closed his eyes just as the clown's mouth opened and the world shut itself off to him.

CHAPTER 58

The police arrived just in time to hear a gunshot. No sooner had they got out their car and into Hallcombe's parking lot did they hear one single shot. That was all they heard that day.

CHAPTER 59

MacNamee had his eyes closed for quite some time. He wondered if he was dead. He wondered if he was about to see some sort of light. But he wasn't and he didn't. He opened his eyes. Basket was simply slumped on top of him, motionless. With great hesitation, MacNamee lifted its head to see its eyes. And then there they were, black as night, plastic, inanimate. He stared at the eyes for a long moment in shock when his cellphone burst into song, startling him.

"Hello?"

MacNamee answered the phone as a reaction without realizing his face was covered in blood. He painfully got to his feet and walked to the water cooler while talking.

"Hello Greg? It's Bryce. I have something to tell you."

MacNamee listened as one of his colleagues explained what happened in Hallcombes. MacNamee was splashing cold water on his face when Bryce told him Crass was dead. His grief turned to shock when he was told it was Frieda who killed him.

"I should have seen it coming"

MacNamee was stunned. Just when he thought nothing could be more unbelievable than killer dolls he gets this news.

"Frieda?"

"Yeah, Frieda."

Bryce was just as shocked as MacNamee; no-one saw it coming. No-one cared enough to notice.

Taking Jessica by the hand, MacNamee finally left the station. The sun was about to come up and he wondered what his next move should be. He knew he had to let the rest of the Staunton police department know it was all over but for now he simply enjoyed the quiet. He sat outside in the warm air and Jessica skipped around the parking lot. He watched her with a smile. He knew she must be traumatized, probably experiencing some kind of mental disorder. Witnessing so much brutality at such a young age had to have affected her. In his mind he refrained from diagnosing her with a host of potential mental illnesses. Instead he watched her, on some level envious that she could just be that happy after what happened. He hoped she stayed that way forever. MacNamee's life was well and truly over as he knew it; the once happy, dedicated psychiatrist would most likely never go back to Hallcombes again. He sat outside as the sun tried to shine, unwilling to look towards the future. He was living there, in that moment. And that was where he wanted to stay.

CHAPTER 60

"This is your new home sweetie."

Mrs. Finnigan showed the child into the main hall. Little Jessica looked around, her brain tried to make sense of her new life with her new family. Mr. Finnigan came in with her suitcase.

"Why don't you go upstairs and see your room dear, it's the first door on the left" Mr. Finnigan said before kneeling beside her and whispering

"It's the one with all the toys"

Jessica sauntered up the stairs as Mrs. Finnigan watched. She looked so pretty in her little purple dress.

"Poor dear's been through so much"

The old lady spoke quietly as her husband put his arm around her.

"Yeah. But she's here now; she'll have a better life. I'll give her some time to settle in before I take this up to her."

Mr. Finnigan put the suitcase down by the staircase.

"Well" said Mrs. Finnigan "She shouldn't be too long, supper's almost ready. I'll not have the child starving to death on her first night."

"As if you would let that happen."

Jessica's room was beautiful with lots of toys and colors, it was extremely girly. She ambled around the room looking at the different toys and the dolls in particular. There were four baby dolls, all dressed in different colored onesies but they didn't appeal to her. With a sigh she went and sat on the bed. As she looked around, she was completely neutral to the bounty presented to her.

"Hello Jessica"

A voice from inside the room did not startle her. She looked up, unafraid, to see a sharply dressed man whose name she did not know standing in front of her. "The Eye" stepped forward.

"I like your new room."

"Thanks"

"It does need a little something though. I can tell you're not impressed with the dollies you have in here. Am I right?"

Jessica nodded

"Ah-hah I knew it! I know what little girls want. So I brought you a present. Are you ready?"

Jessica nodded

"The Eye" stepped aside to reveal Betsy standing behind him. For the first time in a long time Jessica smiled. She ran over and picked Betsy up. Hugging her tight she took her back and sat on the bed. "The Eye" smiled fondly.

"Aww isn't that cute. She missed you too you know, she talked about you a lot."

Jessica was focused on the doll, fixing her dress and hair to the way she liked it. "The Eye" put a hand to his mouth and spoke to Jessica like he was telling a rude joke.

"She told me you were a naughty girl" Jessica didn't looked up as the man continued "Did you enjoy it?"

After a pause, when Jessica was finished fixing Betsy's dress she answered the man.

"Did I enjoy what?"

"That grumpy ol' Sheriff. Did you enjoy it?"

Jessica shrugged her shoulders, giving "The Eye" all the answer he needed.

"Betsy is yours now sweetheart; no-one will ever bother you when she's around. Just remember to let her have a little of her own fun from time to time all right?"

Jessica nodded, fully understanding the man's request. Mr. Finnigan's voice caused "The Eye" to step back.

"Remember...fun!"

"The Eye" quietly disappeared as Mr. Finnigan entered the room to bring her down.

"Hey sweetheart, supper's ready. Where did you find her?

"I didn't. She found me."

Mr. Finnigan was puzzled but thought nothing of it. So many kids had passed through their house and left so many dolls behind, he never kept track. He led her out the room.

"Mrs. Finnigan made pasta. Do you like pasta?"

"Yeah"

"That's a good girl. Pasta will make you big and strong. Then after dinner we'll introduce you to the other kids. We're all going to play a little game. Would you like that?"

"I dunno. Can Betsy play?"

The End

