I felt a prickling at the back of my neck—an impression, like someone was watching me—and turned. I caught a flash of movement, low to the ground, a flutter of cloth heading down the hallway.
"There," I said, and pointed.
We charged out of the kitchen. The hallway led to the bedrooms and a bathroom. The doors were open. We couldn’t tell where the intruder had gone.
"What’d you see?" Frank asked. He’d stopped before he reached the first door.
I looked nervously at him. "I think it was the doll."
"This isn't the time for games."
"You're holding a gun. I couldn't be more serious."
Frank hesitated. "How can a doll move?"
"Find it, and maybe you'll find your answer."
A sense of foreboding settled over the house like a wet wool blanket, suffocating us, weighing us down. Frank's grip on the gun tightened.
"This is stupid," he said. "I refuse to believe a doll can move. It has to be something else. Someone else." He advanced on the first door. "Shout if you see anything."
He stepped into Nathan's bedroom. I heard him shuffle around, open what must have been a closet door. He emerged moments later and shook his head. I started to tell him a doll that size could hide anywhere, but he held a finger to his lips.
I nodded my understanding.
Frank checked the twins' room and the bathroom. Both were empty.
That left his and Kerry's bedroom.
Gun gripped in both hands, he stepped inside.
The hostility I'd sensed earlier exploded. It grew quickly, spilling into the hallway. The animosity was so powerful, so terrible, it soured my stomach.
Frank shouted—no, he screamed. A terrified scream. A sound I'd never heard him utter in all our years together.
The gun went off with an ear-shattering crack.
Out of Frank's bedroom ran the doll. It loped toward me on all fours, its tiny face twisted in rage. Bits of yarn protruded like broken teeth from a mouth that was no more than a slit in the fabric of its face. It saw me and snarled.
Stunned at the sight of a doll moving, I froze. It almost cost me my life.
The doll leapt with surprising strength, launching itself at my face, its tiny mouth open. Although it was made of soft cotton, I sensed it could do real, serious harm. I sensed it could kill me.
Frank barreled out of his bedroom, gun pointed at the ceiling. His face was pale, almost pasty.
"Brad!" he shouted. "Get down!"
His voice brought me out of my shock. I dropped, rolling when I hit the carpet.
The doll sailed over me. Frank leveled his weapon and fired. A second concussion of sound punched at my ears.
The doll disintegrated in an explosion of sparks and smoke.
Ozone stung my eyes. An electric charge passed over the surface of my skin, making my nerves twitch. Bits of charred cloth fell to the ground like volcanic ash. A button landed on my cheek. I swatted it away.
Frank approached. He was talking, but his voice sounded fuzzy, like it was coming from the far end of a long, long tunnel.
I pointed to my ears. "Can't hear you."
"Are you all right?" he shouted.
"My ears hurt."
"The gunshots." Frank went to holster his firearm. His hand shook so much it took him three tries.
I picked up a scrap of cloth. It felt impossibly light. "You shot it."
"I know."
"You shot it, and it blew up."
He helped me to my feet. "What'd you want me to do, let it get you?"
"It exploded," I said in wonder. "The damn thing exploded."
"Must've hit the power cell. It caused an electrical discharge similar to the one in your office."
"A power cell? That's what you think the egg-thing is?"
"Has to be. What else could make the little fucker move?"
"You know there's more to it than that."
Frank grimaced. "I know. Like, how did its arms and legs move? What caused those weird facial expressions? Most importantly, who was controlling it?"
I puzzled over his words. "You think it was radio controlled, like a toy race car?"
"Nothing else fits."
"The range on those things isn't far."
"Whoever did this heard the shots. He's long gone by now."
The doll had loped on all fours, and had reacted when it saw me.
"Frank?"
"Yeah?"
"Do we have technology that sophisticated?"
* * *
The doll's remains were spread out on Frank's dining room table like a museum exhibit. We found scraps of burned cloth and cotton. We also found two pieces of parchment-thin, metal latticework.
What had us stumped were several filaments so thin they resembled the threads of a spider's web. Frank took one in his hand. He could bend it, twist it, or tie it in a knot. What he couldn't do was break it. It seemed perfectly elastic, and perfectly indestructible.
"Any idea what it's made of?" he said, holding one up.
"Doesn't look metallic. Some kind of fiber optic cable?"
"Possibly. You find anything like this in your doll?"
"No, but I wasn't looking."
We checked the rest of the evidence (for want of a better word) and found nothing else we would call unusual. Frank made two piles, one for the explicable, one for the inexplicable. He went into the kitchen and returned with two quart-sized plastic storage bags. He dumped the cotton and cloth into one, the metal and filaments into another, and sealed both.
"We're not scientists," he said. "We won't get anywhere trying to puzzle through the physical evidence. I do want to examine your doll, see if it has any of these filaments running through it. After that, we may have to call on your brother."
"Fair enough."
Frank caressed the cigarette pack in his shirt pocket. "Why make the damn thing move? Before that happened, we had no reason to believe it was more than a simple doll."
"The house was supposed to be empty. Maybe we caught the guy off guard."
“Doing what, running around looking in my underwear drawers? Technology like this has to cost major bucks. Why not use it in the boardrooms at Apple or Google, or the halls of Congress, or the White House? Places with valuable information." Frank grumbled deep in his throat. "We don't have state secrets. We're not worth spying on."
"Which means spying wasn't the objective. It had to be something else."
"Motive usually boils down to power, money, or sex. Information is power, and it looks like we've ruled that out. I'm not missing anything valuable. Are you?"
"We barely have two quarters to rub together."
"The expression is 'two nickels.'"
"Inflation," I said. "Seriously, Toni has some jewelry, and I have a pocket watch my grandfather gave me. They might be worth something, a few thousand dollars to the right people. That's it."
"Not nearly enough to cover the cost of losing a valuable piece of technology. The return has to outweigh the risk. The money aspect doesn't play right to me."
"That would leave sex."
"They aren't blow-up dolls, Paco."
"No, but you're expecting another baby. I assume the process involved sex at some point."
Frank gave me a frosty look. "I'm not into threesomes with a doll, either."
"That's not what I meant." I gave him the PG-13 version of last night's sex marathon. "Did anything like that happen to you and Kerry?"
To his credit, Frank didn't blush—he didn't even bat an eye—but when he spoke, anger choked his voice. "I didn't know what was happening. Kerry had taken a bath to relax. I found her in bed. The kids were out of the house. We hadn't had alone time in ages, so I slipped into bed. Before I knew it, we were going at it like teenagers. I'll spare you the rest of the details, but our baby came out of that love-fest."
"Did you feel anything, any sensations you'd call unusual?"
"We keep coming back to that word, unusual." Frank scratched
at his cheek. "I do remember a tingling sensation across my skin. It seemed to, I don't know, excite me. Sound familiar?"
“Very familiar.”
"You said Toni had a bath before your romp?"
"She did."
"We have a connection." Frank glanced at his watch. "I gotta go. I’ve got a meeting at one with the district attorney. We'll have to pick this up later."
My first patient wasn’t until two. That gave me enough time for lunch and to make a few phone calls. I wanted to check in with Dee Dee Belle and ask about Doug. "Meet at my place around eight? We can check out Thumbkin."
Frank lifted his bulk from the chair. "You might want to reach out to Steve. See what it would take to get these analyzed." He picked up the bag containing the metal fragments and the filaments and handed them to me. The other one he left on the table. "Something freaky's going on, Paco. Watch yourself. And don't let your guard down."
"You, too." I looked at the remains of the doll which had impossibly tried to attack me.
For the first time in my life, I wished I owned a gun.
Chapter Ten
I arrived at my office and started making calls. I left Dee Dee Belle for last. She answered on the third ring.
"What can I do for you, Doctor Jordan?" she said, her tone unfriendly.
"How’s Doug? Did he get a green light from the doctors?"
"He's fine, no thanks to you."
I took the jab, and prepared for more. Her son had been hurt while in my care. I would expect no less. "There were no lasting effects?"
"He had some numbness in his fingertips, but that's gone."
"Nothing else? No episodes of dizziness or disorientation? No fugue states—"
"What?"
"Walking and talking but not being aware of it, like he's sleepwalking."
"No, nothing like that."
"Is there a family history of epilepsy?" I recalled yesterday, where Doug zoned out on me. "Any neurological disorders at all?"
"What’s with all the questions?"
I told her about the episode, and my concerns for Doug. "Some forms of epilepsy can result in explosive or unusual behavior. I want to make sure we're considering all the options, Mrs. Belle."
She paused. "Can't brain tumors do the same thing?" Her voice grew fearful. "Do you think that's what he has?"
"Has he complained of blurred or double vision, uncontrolled vomiting, or smelling burned rubber all the time?"
"No. At least, not to me."
"Then a tumor’s unlikely," I said. "An old doctor friend of mine once said, when you hear hoof beats, think horses instead of zebras. Let's focus on the horses before we look for the zebras. Now, is there any family history of epilepsy?"
"Not that I know of."
"Have you noticed anything else, anything that stands out after yesterday's session?"
"He had trouble sleeping last night, but that's been going on for weeks. Dougie can have such terrible nightmares."
"About what?"
"I dunno, stuff."
"Anything specific?"
"No," she said stiffly.
I jotted a note reminding me to ask Doug about his nightmares. Maybe they would help bring to light whatever was bothering him.
Also, I didn't trust Dee Dee Belle to tell the truth.
"Is there anything else?"
"Have you decided whether you'll bring him Friday?"
"Not yet," she said, and hung up.
* * *
I had four appointments, which meant I didn't finish until after six. I called Toni, asked about dinner plans, and mentioned Frank's visit later in the evening.
"Why don't I make soup and a salad?" she said. "Keep it simple."
"Sounds good. I'll see you soon. Love you."
In the parking lot, I headed for the rental. Darkness had spread over the sky like an ink stain, blotting out the warm glow of the setting sun. Mindful of Frank's warning, I kept my eyes open, reached my car without incident, got in, and fired up the engine.
Half an hour later, I pulled into my driveway. Toni had dinner waiting. I opened the beers. We clinked bottles.
"What kind of trouble are you into now?" she asked as we sat at the table.
"Trouble?"
"Frank's coming over on a weeknight, at eight o'clock. It has to be trouble."
"We want to check on something." I finished the soup and switched to the salad. "How was work?"
"It was fine. What are you checking on?"
"Nothing, really."
"Then quit being defensive and tell me."
"I'm not being—"
"Frank's coming over and you won't tell me why. I ask you and you avoid the question. I confront you and you play dumb. Cut the crap. We treat each other better than this."
I set down my fork. What was I supposed to tell her? We bought a doll that almost electrocuted a patient? Our best friends owned a similar doll that could run and sneer and leap and Frank blew it away in a blaze of fireworks? Someone might be spying on us with strange technologies? Frank thought we might be in danger?
Dinner conversation, Rod Serling-style.
She was also right. We should treat each other with more respect, but at the expense of worrying her, or worse, frightening her?
Like most quandaries, the answer could be found somewhere in the middle.
I filled her in on the dolls, leaving out the parts about them moving (or, in Thumbkin's case, possibly moving) or the potential surveillance. I opted for Frank's explanation for the lattice-work eggs.
"There were batteries inside the dolls?"
"We think they’re batteries," I said. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense."
"Batteries to do what?"
"That's why Frank's coming over. We need some good, old-fashioned detective work."
My cell started ringing. It was my answering service.
"Doctor Jordan?" The woman sounded slightly irritated. "I have someone asking for you. He won't tell me his name, but he sounds young. Says it's an emergency."
I told her to put him through. "This is Doctor Jordan."
I waited for a reply. When none was forthcoming, I said a little louder, "Hello, this is Doctor Jordan. Who is this?"
More silence. I was about to hang up when I heard a sniffle, soft but full of sorrow.
"Hello?" I said, more urgently. "I can hear you. You sound upset. Please, can you tell me who you are?"
More sniffles, definitely male sounding. I ran though my patient list. One name rose to the surface.
"Doug?"
The line went dead.
Swearing, I found Dee Dee Belle's number and punched it in. She answered immediately.
"Another call?" she said. "What is it this time?"
I explained the call to my service. "I think it was Doug. Is he home?"
"Where else would he be?"
"Is he with you right now?"
"No, he's in his room, drawing I think."
"Could you please check on him?"
"I assure you, he's fine."
"Please, I want to make sure."
"Whatever." I heard footsteps. A door opened. "Dougie, it's your doctor. He wants to know if you're okay." A murmured reply. "You're not upset or anything?" Another string of clipped murmurs, like lemmings falling off the edge of a distant cliff. "All right, honey. Go back to your drawing. I'll come by later and we can have story time."
To me, she said, "I told you he was fine."
"Better to be safe,” I said. “The alternative is often bad. Does Doug have a cell phone?"
"No." Dee Dee put as much irritation into one syllable as was humanly possible.
"Is there a house phone nearby, one he could use without you noticing?"
"Doctor Jordan, we've determined Doug is fine. I think we're finished here."
"Wait, before you hang up. You said Doug was working on a drawing. Do you remember what it was?"
"Oh Christ, I don't know. Kid stuff. Who actually looks at
that crap?"
Parents who care, I thought. Parents who want to know what their children are up to. Not, apparently, in Dee Dee Belle's world.
"Thank you for checking on him," I said. "One last thing. Could you do me a favor?"
"You're unbelievable."
"Could you bring some of his drawings on Friday? Sometimes they're helpful in determining what's going on inside a person's head."
"Fine. If we come on Friday, I'll bring them."
The line went dead for the second time tonight.
"Is everything okay?" Toni asked. She worried about my patients almost as much as I did.
"I hope so." I glanced at my watch. "Frank should be here soon. Let's clean up these dishes and—"
All the lights went out at the same time, plunging the house into darkness.
Chapter Eleven
"What the hell," I said, rising so fast I knocked my chair over.
"Brad," Toni said fearfully.
A hissing noise, like something burning, came from the direction of the front door. Light as bright as a welder's torch blazed, followed by the sound of metal thudding onto the floor.
It had to be the door's locking mechanism.
"Call the police," I told Toni, and bolted for the door. "Then run."
"Brad, no. It’s too dangerous."
"Do it." Concern for my wife outstripped any other thought; if I could keep the intruder at bay long enough, she might escape unharmed. "Go."
I reached the foyer as the front door banged open.
A figure entered, cloaked in shadow and menace. It looked like a man. A big man. He filled the doorway. Others huddled behind him. I couldn't tell how many, but there were a lot.
"Get out," I yelled. This went against everything I'd learned from Frank about safety—don't confront, don't attack, let the thieves take what they want—but I was furious. How dare they invade my home! Rational behavior flew out the window. "The police are on their way."
The big man advanced. The others flooded in around him. Bathed in shadow, flowing as they seemed to be, it was like being attacked by a horde of Azkaban's Dementors.
I searched for something I could use to defend myself but couldn't see well enough.
The big man loomed in front me.
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