by Chris Dolley
“He’s not here, remember. This place is safe. He can’t hurt you anymore. Had you ... had you seen him before the night he attacked you?”
She nodded again.
“Where?”
The girl shrugged. “Around.”
“Around where? Was he a friend of your parents? A neighbor?”
“No.”
“Where did you see him? At school? At a friend’s house?”
Another shrug. “He said he’d been watching me. He said he’d seen me in the park, and at the mall with my mom, and going to school. He said I was special.”
She looked up, her lower lip starting to quiver. “I don’t want to be special. I want to go home.”
She started fading the moment she began to speak, her voice trailing away.
“She’s gone,” said Brenda.
Brian said he wanted to crack on, summon the Sacrifices and quiz them about where they they’d been taken from and when. He wanted to compile a map and look for patterns. But Brenda disagreed.
For one, Brian was still in his Count Fabio guise, but he’d lost his Italian accent. Which was all wrong. It was disconcerting enough having Fabio in the same room, but when he started speaking like Brian...
“You want me speak Italiano?”
He gave her a look. A smoldering fireman Fabio look. Brenda’s heart didn’t skip a beat – it double-dutched into a palpitating rush.
“No!” she said. “No Italiano and no Count Fabio.”
Not until later anyway.
Count Fabio melted into Brian, and Brenda eventually remembered her other objection to Brian’s plan. They didn’t want to know where he was taking the girls from, but where he was holding them. Daddy was clever. He’d been abducting children for thirteen years without anyone making even the slightest connection. So why think there’d be a pattern? He’d move from state to state, abducting a girl here, a girl there, and take them back to his bolt hole – which he’d make sure was nowhere near any of the abduction sites.
“So what do you suggest?” Brian asked.
“Daddy’s holding these girls for months, maybe years. There’s got to be something they know that we can use to find out where they are.”
“I thought you already asked them–”
“I did, but ... I didn’t ask them everything. I didn’t ask if Daddy let them listen to a radio. Or watch TV. Or got them books from a library. I can’t believe that he isolates them completely from the outside world. They don’t sound feral. They can talk. If we can just get a name of a local radio station or a library, we can narrow the search right down.”
“And he’d have no reason to keep their location a secret from them, would he? He wasn’t planning on letting any of them go.”
“Exactly.”
“So get summoning.”
“No! I only have a few minutes with each girl, so we need to make the most of that time. We need a complete list of questions to ask. Then I’ll summon Sacrifice.”
They brainstormed a list, working out all the ways a location might be deduced – local radio, TV, a price tag on a book, a local newspaper. And what did Sacrifice eat? Did Daddy prepare all her food, or occasionally give her takeout and candy? There had to be a certain amount of carrot in his brainwashing – it couldn’t all be stick. Would he give her treats when she behaved? Treats carrying a price sticker with the store name on it? Or maybe the store name was on the bag they came in, or the paper they were wrapped with.
And what about clothes? He’d have to buy her clothes. Did they have labels? A brand could be traced and cross-referenced to retail outlets.
There had to be a way. If this was CSI, Sacrifice would be sharing her cell with a rare beetle – something brightly colored and stripy – that only existed in one tiny part of the country.
She summoned Sacrifice, going through her usual routine of summoning trial and error – concentrate hard, envision various breaks, rips and tunnels in the fabric of inner space and persuade like mad.
“Sacrifice, I summon thee!”
“Have you finished?” said a woman’s voice.
A sweet sickly smell hit the back of Brenda’s nose. She opened her eyes. A dead woman was standing by the bookcase. She didn’t look a bit like the other Sacrifices. She was in her forties, well dressed – if not overdressed – and she was wearing a hat. Brenda had never seen a ghost in a hat before. The woman looked like she was attending a wedding. And she was blonde.
“Who are you?” Brenda asked.
“I’m Cynthia. You are the medium working with the Vigilante Demon, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but–”
“Good. I need you to track down my husband and frighten the crap out of him. Turn that slut of his into an old hag and give her something contagious. Nothing lethal, I’m not vindictive, just something with zits. And hemorrhoids too, if your friend can manage it. Is that him?”
Brenda stared at the woman. Who on earth was she?
The woman waved her hands in front of Brenda’s face.
“Hello? Can you still see me?”
Brenda considered pretending she couldn’t, but ... was there a chance this woman was connected to Sacrifice somehow? She’d appeared during the summoning.
“Do you know Mary Alice Cassini?” she asked.
“I told you, dear. You need to find my husband. Walt Bryant. He lives in Tulsa.”
“Wait,” said Brenda, picking up the picture of Daddy. “Is this him?”
“God, no. I’m talking about Walt. Walt Bryant. Are you really a psychic?”
Brenda gave Brian a look. ‘Are you picking any of this up?’
‘Unfortunately so. I think you’ve been hit by a drive-by. Tell her you’ll look into it and get rid of her.’
Brenda took another look at the woman. She hadn’t recognized Daddy, but could she be the mother of one of the victims?
“Did you have children?” she asked.
“Two of them, but it’s Walt and his fancy woman I want hounded first. We can get to the children next week. And I’ve got a couple of so-called friends we could torment the hell out of, too.”
“Right,” said Brenda. “I’ll get onto that right away.”
“Good.”
Brenda shuffled position on the floor ... waiting ... rearranging her pen and notepad. The woman showed no sign of leaving. If anything she was glowing brighter.
“Well?” said the woman. “What are you waiting for? Aren’t you going to scry for him? The slut’s name’s Rita. Rita Gonzales. You’re not writing any of this down–”
“Go!” shouted Brenda. “You’re ... you’re blocking my path through the astral plane. I can’t get to Walt and Rita with you here in the way.”
“Okay. Keep your hair on. You only had to ask.”
The woman winked out of existence. Brenda let out a deep breath, cleared her mind and began the summoning process again, adding a new filter – all Cynthias keep away.
She forgot to add mothers.
Her cell phone rang. What was this? A conspiracy to stop her finding Sacrifice?
She took the phone out, stared at the caller’s name – her mother – considered switching it off. Then relented.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Brenda, are you still in town? Do you and Fabio want to do lunch?”
“Sorry, we’ve moved on. We’re ... on a driving vacation. Taking in the sights.”
“Oh.” Her mother sounded really disappointed. “Are you coming back this way? Maybe this weekend.”
Brenda had known this would happen. Last night had gone too well. But while one dose of Fabio was a blast, two would cause complications. There was a limit to how many times they could change the subject or fall back on Fabio’s charm. Her mother would want to know all about his work and Susan would stake out his hospital. It would all end in disaster. Her mother would be devastated and Brenda would be consigned to the doghouse’s doghouse.
“We’d love to,” she said. “But Fabio’s going to be bus
y at the hospital. He had to swap shifts to get these few days off. God knows when even I’ll be able to see him again. Is that the time? Sorry, I’ve got to rush. Talk to you later.”
This was not going to end well.
She switched off her cell phone, warded her living room against Cynthias and all forms of distraction and threw herself into summoning Sacrifice.
A minute later, an eleven year-old Sacrifice appeared, dressed in jeans and a Spiderman T-shirt. Brenda was struck by the remarkable similarity of all the Sacrifices. The same face, the same long unkempt hair.
“What do you want?” the girl asked.
And the same voice. Always with that hint of echo as if her voice was being relayed from a large distant room.
“Are you Sacrifice?”
“Yes. Who are you?”
“I’m Brenda. I’m here to help you.”
“How?”
This was one of the older, self-assured Sacrifices.
“By finding out where you lived.”
The girl shrugged. “I know where I lived.”
“Where?”
“In my room.”
Brenda decided to start again. This time she’d ask the questions. She picked up her list and started at the top.
“Did you ever listen to the radio?”
“No.”
“TV?”
“Yes.”
“What channels?”
The girl reeled off a list, starting with one Brenda had never heard of – Evangelical TV – then progressing through a strange mix of kids channels, news channels, more Christian channels and ending in what sounded like a list of her favorite shows.
Brenda hurriedly wrote them all down, asking Sacrifice to stop and repeat the one’s she’d missed.
“Did you ever watch local news?”
The girl shrugged.
“When you saw a weather report what cities did it mention?”
“Lots.”
“Such as?”
“New York, Boston, Miami, Los Angeles.”
“Was there one city that was mentioned more than others?”
“No.”
This was not going as well as Brenda had hoped.
“I’ll Google the TV channels,” said Brian. “I might be able to narrow them down to a particular provider.”
Brenda was less hopeful. None of the channels sounded regional.
“What’s your favorite food?” she asked.
“Pizza.”
This was more promising. “Does your pizza come in a box?”
“No-o.” The girl looked at Brenda as though she was crazy. “It comes on a plate.”
Brenda moved on to drinks and candy. And failed again. Drinks came in glass or a cup, not in a bottle with a price tag on it. And as for candy – if there was a price tag on it, Sacrifice never noticed.
The same went for books. Yes, Daddy gave her books to read. But there were no library marks or anything to identify the store on them.
Only clothes to go.
“I like your Spiderman T-shirt,” said Brenda. “And your jeans. Did they have a price tag on them when Daddy first gave them to you?”
The girl shrugged. “Can’t remember.”
“Did they come in a bag?”
“A green one with a stag on it. Daddy always gets my clothes from Bergmans. He says they’re special. Like me.”
Brenda had to control her excitement. “Bergmans? Are they a clothes store?”
The girl shrugged again. She was starting to look bored.
Brenda glanced over at Brian, he was hunched over the computer, tapping furiously at the keyboard. If only Bergmans could be a small store in a small out of the way town.
“Is it a long way to Bergmans?”
Another shrug. The girl wasn’t even looking at Brenda any more. She was watching Brian.
“What’s he doing?”
“He’s trying to find Bergmans. We’d like to go there. Do you know where it is?”
“No. Is that a computer?”
“Yes.”
“Can I have a turn?”
“Perhaps later. Does Daddy ever mention any places he visits? Other stores, towns?”
Yet another shrug. The girl was far more interested in Brian and his computer. She begun to walk towards it. A flowing, skater’s walk.
“I’ve got it,” said Brian. “Bergmans – a regional department store chain with 22 stores. Their logo’s a white stag on a green background.”
“Where are they based?” asked Brenda.
“Hold on. There’s a store locator map.”
Sacrifice was standing beside Brian now, her hand reaching out towards the computer screen.
“Central New York State,” said Brian. “From Rochester in the west to Utica in the east and down to Binghampton in the South.” He turned to look at her. “With stores in both Rome and Syracuse.”
Where Ashley and Laura had been murdered. Was this his home base? It was classic profiling. He starts out killing close to home, then moves further afield as he becomes more adept and feels the need to hide his whereabouts.
“How big an area’s that?” she asked.
Brian looked at the screen, inclining his head to one side. “I’d say about hundred miles by seventy-five.”
“Why can’t I touch anything here?” asked Sacrifice. Twice her hand had passed both through the screen and the keyboard. “What is this place? Who are you?”
“I’m Brenda and this is my home.”
The girl pushed at the sofa, both hands passing straight through. She was becoming distraught.
“I want to go home!” screamed the girl, her body pulsing between dense and bright and wispy and faint. Her voice was drawn and distorted by some strange, ethereal wind.
She was leaving, rising towards the ceiling.
“Wait!” shouted Brenda. “You’re safe here. Don’t go.”
The girl was fading.
One last, desperate question thrust itself into Brenda’s mouth.
“Are there any strange beetles in your room?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Brenda stared at the computer screen. Twenty-two Bergmans stores, seventy-five hundred square miles, probably nearer ten thousand when you took each store’s catchment area into account.
“Call up another Sacrifice,” said Brian. “See if we can cut the search area down further.”
“What more can they know? I asked every question on the list.”
“You didn’t ask how they got there. If we can find out where they were abducted from, and how long it took to drive to Daddy’s, we can narrow the search area down.”
“They won’t even tell me their real names. I doubt if they’d even admit they were abducted.”
“But they might. Ten thousand square miles is a hell of an area to search. You can cut that down dramatically, and it’ll only take ten minutes.”
They made another list. Where were you abducted from? How long did it take to get from there to Daddy’s? Did you see anything along the way? A landmark, a town name? Was Daddy’s hideout in the town or the country? In a house or a barn?
And how were you transported? Did Daddy have a car or a truck? What make was it? What color?
Brenda jotted all the questions down. She doubted if any of Sacrifices would answer. The memories would either be too painful or suppressed beneath years of brainwashing. But Brian was right – there was always a chance.
She took up her position on the floor, went through her various routines, and then pushed all doubt aside. She was going to find a Sacrifice who had refused to be broken. One who’d pretended to go along with Daddy, but had kept hold of her memories.
“Sacrifice! I’m calling you. The strong one. The brave one. The one who remembers a life before Daddy.”
No answering call came. She called again. She pleaded, she cajoled. “Sacrifice. I summon thee. Here! Now!”
“What do you want?”
That voice again – distant and windblown. An
d this time she was six or seven, dressed in pajamas covered in pictures of Tigger and Roo.
“What’s your name?” asked Brenda.
“Sacrifice.”
“What’s your other name?”
“I don’t have another name.”
“Not even when you were very young?”
“No.”
“Do you remember when you were very young? When you first met Daddy?”
“No.”
A more emphatic denial this time, her face turning serious – almost a frown.
“What’s your oldest memory?”
The girl shrugged and looked away, leaving Brenda feeling lost and out of her depth. There was undoubtedly an art to questioning child ghosts that Brenda didn’t have. Should she press harder, ease off, skirt around the subject? Were there special techniques? It would help if she was used to interacting with young children, but she wasn’t.
She tried again.
“What kind of car does Daddy drive?”
Back came the shrug – something else that all the Sacrifices shared – the silent shrug every time the questioning moved into areas they were uncomfortable with. How was Brenda supposed to break through it?
“You’re doing fine,” said Brian. “Keep going.”
Easy enough for him to say.
Brenda took a long hard look at the girl. She was winding a strand of that long dark unkempt hair around a finger. Strange. The girl’s face, her clothes, her teeth – they all looked clean. But that hair – like all the other Sacrifices it looked as though it hadn’t been washed for weeks or seen a brush for months. Why?
Was it something to do with Mary Alice, the original Sacrifice? And how did he find so many girls that looked alike? Did he travel the world? Was he a plastic surgeon? Was he...
She felt stupid when it suddenly came to her. Shapeshifter! It was the logical explanation – once you’d met Brian and seen the ease with which he could transform others.
‘Ask her if there’s a mirror in her room?’ said Brian. He must have been eavesdropping in Brenda’s head.
Brenda did. There was no mirror in Sacrifice’s room. Was that to stop her noticing her face changing?
‘Ask her if her hair’s always been that color?’ said Brian.
She didn’t get the chance. Cynthia materialized in front of her, glaring at her.