The Clockwork Teddy

by John J. Lamb

  I made as if to bounce the robot’s head in my palm once again. This time, however, I threw it to my left and across my body. As I’d hoped, Lauren’s eyes instinctively followed the flight of the white furry skull. That’s when I made a two-handed grab for the shotgun and wrenched the barrel upwards and to the left, away from Ash. Lauren jerked on the trigger and the gun went off only inches from my left ear.

  Stunned by the deafening blast but otherwise unhurt, I tried to keep my hands on the pump action so that Lauren couldn’t chamber another round into the weapon. She was shrieking obscenities at me and sent a vicious kick at my groin. I half-blocked the blow and attempted to yank the gun away, but she clung to the weapon with an iron grip. Then there was another loud discharge and it took me a second to realize that the shotgun hadn’t caused it. It was the much louder detonation of a stun grenade. Having heard the shot, the SWAT team was making entry into the cabin.

  In an instant, the living room was full of people wearing black uniforms and Kevlar coalscuttle helmets. One of the SWAT members shot a short burst of pepper spray into Lauren’s eyes and I suddenly had sole possession of the shotgun. Unfortunately, I was so close to Lauren that some of the ricocheting spray hit me in the face. It felt as if someone had just stuck a blazing road flare into my eyes. Meanwhile, Lauren was gang-tackled and she screamed in fear and pain.

  Actually, I assume she was tackled, because I couldn’t see much through the swimming haze of burning tears. I handed the shotgun to a dark form that I could just barely discern as a SWAT guy and then dropped to my knees and blindly crawled toward Ash. When I found her, I pressed my ear up close to her mouth and nose. She was breathing, but her respiration seemed very shallow and far too slow. Now it wasn’t just the pepper spray that was causing my tears.

  Cradling Ash’s head in my arms, I bellowed, “We need paramedics in here, now!”

  A few seconds later, there was someone next to me. Pulling my arm, she said in a gentle yet firm voice, “I’m a paramedic. You have to let go of your wife.”

  “But—”

  “You’ve been pepper-sprayed and we can’t run the risk of that stuff migrating into your wife’s eyes.”

  “Daddy, you have to let them work. They’ll take good care of Mama.” I felt Heather’s hand on my shoulder.

  Reluctantly releasing my grip on Ash, I said, “Okay, but help me into the kitchen, so I can wash this crap out of my eyes.”

  “Come on, sir,” said Colin, slipping his hand under my arm.

  I was assisted to my feet and as I lurched toward the kitchen, I could hear Lauren wailing and sobbing about how badly her eyes hurt.

  Gregg said to her, “We’ll wash them out when we get down to county jail. Then we’ll book you for murder and as many other felonies as I can think of.”

  “Kyle killed that man! He threatened to murder me too if I didn’t go along with the kidnapping!” Lauren sobbed.

  “Your son got run down by a car because he stayed loyal to you and it took all of fifteen seconds for you to decide to rat him out? Lady, the EPA ought to declare your soul a toxic waste dump,” Gregg sneered.

  “You don’t understand. My son is a monster! If you need any proof of how evil he is, just look at the vicious computer games he’s designed,” she implored with a sniffle.

  I caught myself before I could tell Lauren that if Ash died, I hoped the jury would buy her story. If she were free, it would make it that much easier for me to hunt her down and kill her. However, the cardinal rule for getting away with murder is to keep your mouth shut before and after the event.

  “Jeez, get her out of here before I’m sick,” said Lieutenant Garza.

  Lauren was still crying and protesting her innocence as the SWAT team dragged her from the cabin. Heather and Colin led me into the kitchen and I bumped gently against the counter. Then I heard the sound of water splashing into a sink. I reached out with my hands to find the faucet and then bent over to allow the cold water to wash my eyes. It was agonizing at first, but I forced myself to endure the pain. The sooner I washed away the pepper spray, the sooner I could return to Ash’s side.

  I heard footfalls on the kitchen’s linoleum floor and then Gregg said, “You are one hell of a cop, partner.”

  Spitting out some water, I replied, “How is Ash?”

  “Okay, I think.” Gregg tried to sound reassuring, but I could perceive the doubt in his voice. “They’re getting ready to transport her to town and then airlift her to Sacramento.”

  “Has she regained consciousness?”

  “Well . . . no.”

  “I’ve got to go with her. Give me a towel or something,” I said.

  “There isn’t going to be any room in the air ambulance, but we’ll get you to the hospital. Don’t worry,” said Garza.

  “And you haven’t rinsed your eyes enough, Daddy,” said Heather, pushing gently on my shoulder.

  Bowing to the inevitable, I stuck my head under the faucet again. This time it didn’t hurt so much. Meanwhile, I heard the distinctive metallic clicking sound of an ambulance gurney being either elevated or lowered. Pulling my head from the water, I again tried to go into the living room to be with my wife.

  Blocking my path, Garza said, “Brad, you saved Ash’s life, but now you need to let the paramedics do their job.”

  “And you still have enough pepper spray on you to make my eyes sting,” said Gregg.

  “Daddy, I’m scared for Mama, too. But we’d just be in the way,” Heather added.

  “Okay, but I want someone to promise that I’m not going to sit around here for another thirty minutes waiting for a ride back to town,” I snapped. I realized that everyone meant well, but I was becoming frustrated.

  Captain Tewksbury stuck his head around the corner. “You’ve got it. I have two patrol units standing by to transport your group into town.”

  “Thanks, Captain,” I said, and then stuck my head back under the faucet.

  Although my ears were still ringing from the gunshot and the stun grenade, I heard a truck engine roar to life and then the howl of a siren over the sounds of the rushing water. The paramedics were taking Ash to Jackson to rendezvous with the air ambulance. I rinsed in the cold water for another five minutes or so. When I stopped this time, Gregg handed me a roll of paper towels. I dried my face and hair as we headed for the door, pausing only for a second to retrieve my cane from the porch.

  The sheriff’s deputies drove at such a breakneck speed back to Jackson that we almost overtook the paramedic van as it arrived at the small community hospital. I was relieved to see that an air ambulance was already on the helipad, with its engine idling. However, I had to watch from a distance as Ash was wheeled out to the chopper on the gurney and put inside the craft. Then the helicopter’s engine began to race and a few seconds later the air ambulance rose into the twilight sky.

  “Where are they taking her?” I asked.

  One of the deputies replied, “Sutter Medical Center in downtown Sacramento.”

  “Time’s wasting. Let’s roll.”

  “Sorry, partner, but we can’t go.” Gregg held out his right hand. “We have to interview Lauren and then process the cabin for evidence. Call me when you hear anything.”

  “I will and give my best to Danny,” I replied, shaking his hand. “Oh, and you have my permission to give me a swift kick in the ass if I ever ask to go to another homicide scene with you.”

  Turning to Garza, I extended my hand, but she brushed past it to give me a hug. “Thanks for being the best training officer a cop could ever have. Now, go and take care of that lucky wife of yours.”

  I joined Heather and Colin in the sheriff’s cruiser and we took off. It was almost fifty miles to the hospital, but the deputy covered the distance in just over forty minutes. By the time we arrived at the emergency room entrance of Sutter Medical Center, the helicopter had already landed and Ash was in a treatment room. Fortunately, since we’d arrived with an Amador County cop, there weren’t going to
be any of the usual hassles over whether the hospital could release information to me about my wife’s medical condition—not that there was anything to report yet. We were ushered into the staff’s break lounge and told to make ourselves comfortable.

  Over two hours passed in mostly nervous silence before a doctor came in to tell us that Ash had briefly regained consciousness and was going to be all right. The identity of the drug used to sedate my wife was still a mystery, so the hospital was going to admit her overnight for observation. I hugged Heather as she buried her head in my neck and began to sob with relief. Colin joined us for a group hug and then I grabbed the phone to call Chris, but remembered he was still airborne. I left a message on his voice mail and then telephoned Gregg with the wonderful news. As I spoke with my old partner, I could hear Garza whoop for joy in the background.

  It was nearly midnight before they moved Ash to a room in the Intensive Care Unit. A nurse came to lead us upstairs. Suddenly shy, Colin remained outside in the corridor, while Heather and I went into the room.

  Even knowing she was going to make a full recovery, the sight still hit me like a kick to the stomach. Dressed in a pale blue hospital gown, Ash was lying on the bed and obviously still asleep. She had an IV attached to one arm and was hooked up to all sorts of medical monitoring equipment. Heather crept up and kissed her mother softly on the forehead. Ash didn’t stir.

  “Chris’s flight is going to be landing soon. I have to call the PD and have someone pick him up,” whispered Heather. She gave me a peck on the cheek and left the room.

  Limping over to the chair beside the bed, I sat down and gently took Ash’s hand. After a few seconds her fingers tightened slightly around mine. I looked up and saw that her blue eyes were open and she was looking at me blearily.

  “Honey, what happened? Where am I?” Ash whispered in a groggy and raspy voice.

  “You’re in a hospital in Sacramento, my love,” I said as my eyes began to fill with tears. “It’s a long story, but Lauren Vandenbosch drugged and kidnapped you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she was the person in the ski mask at the Paladin. She killed that man and she was going to kill you. We almost figured it out too late . . .” I looked down for a second, ashamed that my failure to solve the puzzle had nearly cost Ash her life.

  “I’ll bet you saved me.”

  “I had a lot of help. Heather and Colin and Gregg.”

  “Why are your eyes so red?”

  “I got pepper-sprayed,” I said, which was partly true. “Again, it’s a long story and there’ll be plenty of time to tell it later.”

  “Uh-huh . . . Where’s Heather?”

  “Calling Chris to tell him that you’re okay. He’ll be here in a couple of hours.”

  “Chris . . . is in Missouri.” I looked up and saw that her eyes seemed slightly unfocused. Ash was beginning to drift.

  “I know, honey, but he caught a flight out. He’ll be here soon.”

  “That’s nice. I’m very tired.”

  “Go back to sleep, honey.”

  “I want to go home, Brad. Back to the Valley.”

  “I know. So do I. Rest, my love, and we’ll go home soon.”

  “I will, but . . . Brad?”

  “Yes?”

  “If I’m . . . asleep when . . . Heather . . . comes back, will you please . . . tell . . . her something?” Ash was on the verge of going to sleep again.

  “Anything. What?” I kissed her hand.

  Ash yawned and closed her eyes. “Please tell her . . . that she and Colin . . . have to . . . come to Remmelkemp Mill . . . to get . . . married, because . . . I don’t ever want to . . . come back here again.”

  “Neither do I, love. I may have been born and raised here, but my home is in the Shenandoah Valley and my life is making teddy bears with you.”

  There was a hint of a smile on Ash’s face as she drifted into slumber. I held her hand for a while and once I was certain that she was fast asleep, I released it so that I could look in the nightstand drawer. I found what I was looking for: a notepad and pencil. Sitting back down, I began to make some rough sketches of a teddy bear with a Karl Marx beard and wearing a groom’s tuxedo. Later, when Ash felt better, I’d share my idea for a wedding gift and I knew she’d want to begin work immediately on her half of the ensemble. It would be a teddy bear dressed in a bridal gown and it would look like our daughter . . . sans the blue hair.

  A TEDDY BEAR ARTISAN PROFILE

  Penny French

  One of the things I really enjoy about writing these books is inserting some of the actual teddy bears that my wife Joyce and I own into the tale. For instance, in Chapter Two, Brad buys a bee-costumed bear from artist Penny French as a birthday gift for Ashleigh. Been there, done that. The bumble-bear and the artificial tree he’s climbing are on display in our home, as are nine more of Penny’s sweet creations. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn’t just arrange for a monthly allotment from our bank account to Penny’s, because we can’t seem to get enough of her wonderful Back Mountain bears. We’re also honored to count her as one of our friends, and she is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met.

  Penny lives with David, her husband of forty-seven years, in Trout Run, Pennsylvania. She made her first teddy bear back in 1970, when her two-year-old son wanted a Winnie-the-Pooh bear for Christmas. Money was tight and Penny couldn’t afford to buy a bear, so she decided to make one.

  “I spent seventeen cents to get a copy of Woman’s Day that had a teddy bear pattern in it, and used an old coat lining for my material. Then I used a small piece of red knit fabric to make a little shirt.” Penny recalled. “My son loved the bear! After that, I began to make more bears for my nieces and nephews and other family members.”

  For the next sixteen years, Penny made the bears exclusively for family and friends. Then in 1986, she took the plunge and became a full-time teddy bear artist. Up until that time, she’d been modifying commercial and other people’s patterns to create her bears, but now she began developing her own designs and was surprised by her own creativity.

  “It was like opening Pandora’s box,” Penny said with a chuckle. “Except the box was full of warm and sweet and fuzzy things, instead of creepy stuff.”

  Warm and sweet and fuzzy things, indeed. Penny’s bears radiate a tangible aura of kindness and joy. Joyce and I aren’t the only ones who hold that opinion. In the winter of 2006, one of Penny’s bears won the People’s Choice Award at the prestigious Teddy Bear Artist Invitational show in Binghamton, New York.

  When asked about the creative process that goes into making a bear, Penny told me that she views fabric the same way a sculptor envisions a figure within a block of stone. She can somehow “see” a bear’s face in the mohair or plush fur, and it’s her goal to bring that vision into existence. And like so many other bear artists I’ve spoken to, Penny doesn’t consider a teddy bear finished until you can look into its eyes and see life. However, she is also quick to clarify that she doesn’t give the bear its “soul,” she merely helps make it manifest.

  Metaphysics aside, Penny is a bear-making machine. It takes her six to eight hours to make a bear and she creates on average one a day—a fact I find mind-boggling. It also provides some insight into just how popular her stuffed animals are among collectors and fur fanatics. Another amazing thing is the constantly changing variety of bears you’ll find at her booth. The reason for this is that Penny tends to produce small limited editions of her bears, which allows her the freedom to experiment as fresh designs occur to her.

  “I get bored and I want to explore new ideas,” said Penny. “Yet there’s a fine line. I’m always looking to redefine my work, but I also want people to be able to recognize my bears.”

  Penny needn’t worry about that. Whether it’s one of her spectacular angel bears, a magical Celtic Santa bear, or one of her cute little girl bears in a party frock, Penny’s creations are immediately identifiable. They mirror her infectious humor, warmth, an
d sincerity.

  Penny attends teddy bear and craft shows throughout the northeastern and mid-Atlantic regions of the United States. If you’d like to learn more about her event schedule and her bears, she can be contacted via email at davidfrench@kcnet.org.

  Afterword

  I’m sad to report that there is no annual teddy bear show in Sonoma’s lovely and historic Plaza. If there was, my wife and I might be induced to return to California to attend it. But like Brad and Ashleigh, we’d only go back to the Golden State for a brief visit. We have a blissful life here in the Shenandoah Valley.

  As in the past, I’ve mixed some genuine folks up with my fictional characters. Donna Griffin, Mac Pohlen, Karen DiNicola, and Rosalie Frischmann are all real teddy bear artists and Joyce and I are honored to have their creations on display in our home. Susan and Terry Quinlan are also real, as is their incredible teddy bear museum in Santa Barbara, California. If you want to find out more about the museum, please visit www.quinlanmuseum.com. On a technological note, both the Japanese scientist and his remarkable humanlike androids that I obliquely referred to in Chapter 13 are authentic, too. Dr. Hiroshi Ishiguro is the director of Osaka University’s Intelligent Robotics Laboratory and one of the world’s foremost pioneers in this field.

  Finally, I want to thank all my readers who’ve either sent me photos of their teddy bears or brought their furry treasures to my book signings. I’m humbled that you’d share such a joyful part of your life with me.