Inanimate

by Deryck Jason

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 t
hings. 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.