by Deryck Jason
“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!”