Daddy's Little Girl

by William Malmborg

“Oh, no, no, no!” Gloria said.

  “That’s a fucking gun,” Liz added.

  “Lindsey, think about what you’re doing!” Gloria urged.

  “I am thinking about it,” Lindsey said, opening the revolver so that she could load the cylinder, memories of her father always telling her to leave one chamber empty as a safety precaution echoing since there was no safety on this piece.

  “I’m sorry,” Gloria said, putting her hands up. “I’m not going to be a part of this.”

  “Fine.” Lindsey turned to Liz. “Let’s help her get a dress.”

  “Lindsey, I’m not really cool with this either.”

  Lindsey stared at them both while tucking the gun into her coat pocket, and then, without a word, pushed by them and headed into the hallway toward her room.

  Bitsy was sitting on her bed, waiting.

  She stood, hands folded.

  “Liz said you wanted a dress so that Misty doesn’t get mad?” Lindsey said.

  “Yes,” Bitsy said. “If it’s okay with you.”

  “Go ahead,” Lindsey said, motioning toward the closet. “Pick out whatever you want. Just not the blue one.”

  “Thanks,” Bitsy said, quickly moving toward the closet.

  “Lindsey,” a voice said from the doorway. It was Liz.

  “Yeah?” Lindsey asked.

  “You’re really going to go do this?”

  “I am.”

  Liz nodded. “Okay, then I’ll go with.”

  “And Gloria?” Lindsey asked.

  Liz shook her head. “She left.”

  “Are you a schoolgirl?” Bitsy asked.

  “What?”

  “You have a schoolgirl skirt.”

  “I do?”

  Bitsy pulled it out to show her, the tartan pattern barely visible in the flickering candlelight.

  “Oh that,” Lindsey said. It had been part of last year’s Halloween costume. “You can wear it if you want.”

  “No, no, the Daddy-man doesn’t like it if I wear stuff like this. But if you did, he would like it. All the girls that come home with him wear them. And Misty has one that she got online, but it is a surprise. She wore it the other night when she wanted me to act like a boy so she could see if she really likes being a schoolgirl.”

  “I think I’ll stick to wearing this,” Lindsey said.

  “Okay, but the Daddy-man won’t like it.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Lindsey said. She touched the butt of the gun within her coat pocket, a thought on how the Daddy-man wasn’t going to like her no matter what she wore arriving.

  “Maybe you should wear it,” Liz said.

  “Why?”

  “Because if he likes stuff like that, it might catch him off guard, which could be to your benefit.”

  Lindsey considered that and said, “Shit, you’re right.” She turned to Bitsy. “Okay, I changed my mind. If you think the Daddy-man will like it, I’ll wear it.”

  “He will,” Bitsy said, face brightening. “And maybe you can then come live with us once we find our new home. You, me, and Misty can play games and have parties. Do you like Mario Kart?”

  “Um, yeah, I do,” Lindsey said.

  “Me too. It’s my favorite.” Bitsy handed her the skirt. “Hopefully the Daddy-man will let you play with us.”

  “Do you have a second one?” Liz asked, motioning to the skirt.

  “I don’t.”

  “The Daddy-man has some,” Bitsy said. “Leftover ones from the other schoolgirls. I’m sure you can wear those if you want to stay with us too.” She pulled out a frilly dress that one of Lindsey’s aunts had given her for Christmas two years earlier. “Can I wear this one?”

  “Sure,” Lindsey said.

  Bitsy smiled and then said, “You need a shirt too.”

  “Ah, yes.”

  Bitsy reached back into the closet and pulled out a white long-sleeved blouse.

  “Wow, going all out,” Liz said.

  “You suggested it,” Lindsey said.

  Liz shrugged.

  It really was a good idea. Anything that could cause a moment of hesitation with this Daddy-man would be an advantage for her.

  She looked at the schoolgirl outfit and then over at Bitsy, who was holding the dress up to herself.

  Are you really going to do this?

  Maybe Gloria is right.

  She then heard the scream from the scanner replaying itself in her memory, the statement about Norman being hurt echoing over and over again.

  The girl had gotten on a first-name basis with her father, which didn’t seem good, and he was hurt, which was even worse.

  Topping it all off, someone had ended her most recent call several rings before it normally would go to voicemail.

  She couldn’t sit around waiting for the police, not with this department.

  No.

  And if what Bitsy said was true and the van was in the cemetery that her mother was buried in, then she likely knew more than the police did.

  “Okay, let’s get changed and then head out,” Lindsey said. “Don’t want to risk missing them.”

  Bitsy nodded and then said, “I might need help with the back.”

  “I’ll help you,” Liz said.

  “Thanks.”

  Katie stared at her radio for nearly two minutes following Abigail Abbott’s sudden cry for help, waiting—hoping—for more.

  Nothing followed.

  “Was that the girl?” Owen asked. “The kidnapped one?”

  “Yeah,” Katie said, still shocked. “I think so.”

  “Norman’s hurt!”

  Their Norman?

  Did he come upon the scene only to be attacked while trying to help the girl?

  As crazy as it sounded, that had to be the case, for how else would Abigail have gotten hold of a Smallwood Police Department radio?

  Shit.

  “Now what?” Owen asked.

  Katie looked at him and then at the two storm chasers who had been looking at the map with them, Tess trying to be helpful in determining the area that Bitsy had been found in, Ramsey looking bored and as if this was all a big inconvenience to him.

  “I have no idea,” she said.

  Owen didn’t reply to that.

  Katie pulled out her phone and called Gary.

  “Yeah, I heard it,” he said before she could say anything. “We all did.”

  “Did Norman say anything about where he was?” she asked. “It sounds like he must have stumbled upon them and tried to help.”

  “We’re trying to establish that,” Gary said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Turns out Norman never checked in during the six o’clock. And no one has heard from him since right after the storm.”

  “What? How is that even possible?”

  The same way it’s possible for convoys to make wrong turns and for soldiers and contractors to get into firefights with each other because no one thought to mention they would both be hitting the same area, her mind said. People!

  “I don’t know,” Gary said. “We got overwhelmed.”

  Katie shook her head, but then realized she wasn’t one to talk, not after Bitsy had simply walked out while under her watch. “So, what’s Bell doing?”

  “She’s on the phone with the county right now trying to get manpower out here to help with what she feels will likely be a hostage situation, though that is proving difficult given that the entire county was devastated by the storms. Same is true with the state. Most of those boys are trying to clean up a hog truck that was flipped and is blocking most of 39.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah. It’s a mess.”

  Katie couldn’t even begin to imagine.

  “Bell has also talked with Powell.”

  “Oh jeez. Am I going to get it for playing detective?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

  Something in his voice told her she should do just the opposite, especially if Bell was worried about
her own failures and tried to deflect attention away from them.

  Not now!

  Focus.

  “What are we doing about Norman?” she asked. In her mind she pictured dozens of officers converging on an area, a determination to rescue a fallen comrade guiding them. Unfortunately, they didn’t even have a dozen officers, nor did they know what location it was that they needed to head toward.

  “We’re trying to figure that out right now. He isn’t answering his phone, but it is on, so we’re going to try and pinpoint its location, though that could take some time. And of course, everyone is going to be on the lookout for his cruiser.”

  In other words, they had no idea where he was and didn’t know where to start looking.

  “I think he is somewhere south of town, likely around the same area where Bitsy was picked up,” Katie said. “We should have everyone converge on that area and start sweeping.”

  “That’s my—” A conversation developed away from the phone, Gary’s voice recognizable, but not what was being said.

  Katie waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  “A call just came in from the county,” Gary said, the return of his voice startling her. “They say one of their deputies reported seeing what appeared to be a fire in a field off of Route 7 and was going to check it out. Now they can’t reach her.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did they say the address?”

  “No. She wasn’t sure. Most of the road signs down there are gone. She also didn’t know if it was something that needed fire and rescue or was just a fire that a homeowner had going for debris. That’s why she decided on checking it out before calling in anything. Didn’t want to divert anyone away from something serious by mistake.”

  “And now no one can reach her,” Katie noted. “It has to be connected.”

  “Hard to say,” Gary said.

  “Come on, you and I both know it is. She probably approached the area without realizing she was walking right into the middle of situation involving a serial killer, one who had already gotten a jump on Norman as he approached earlier to offer help.”

  Gary didn’t reply.

  “I’m going to head down that way and see what that fire is all about.”

  “I’ll get some backup for you as well. Let me know what road the fire is on once you locate it.”

  “I will.”

  “Also, be careful on Route 7. Most of the stop signs from the cross streets are gone. We’ve already had two accidents from people pulling out onto 7 without stopping.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah, between that and the electrocutions from people trying to take selfies next to downed power lines, the post-storm stupidity is on its way to being more deadly than the tornado itself.”

  Katie didn’t even know what to say to that.

  Gary went quiet as well.

  And then a thought arrived, one that chilled her to the core.

  “Oh shit,” she said.

  “What?” Gary asked.

  “They might have access to patrol vehicles.”

  “Christ, you’re right.”

  “I better get down there,” Katie said, turning to head toward the doors.

  “Yeah, you do that. I’m going to put out word about the cruisers.” He sighed. “This is fucking crazy.”

  Katie agreed.

  “I feel ridiculous wearing this,” Lindsey whispered after closing the door to the back seat of her car. Bitsy was inside, wearing the red and white frilly dress that Lindsey had only ever tried on, comments about looking like a candy striper echoing from her lips while her father tried not to laugh.

  “Are we really doing this?” Liz asked, ignoring Lindsey’s wardrobe statement.

  “I am,” Lindsey said. “If you don’t want to…”

  Liz stood by the passenger door, contemplating.

  “It’s now or never,” Lindsey added.

  Liz answered by getting into the car.

  Lindsey followed, the stupid schoolgirl skirt riding up to the point where the back of her legs got a shock from the cool leather of her seat, the moment bringing back memories of wearing it to the Halloween party last year, the outfit one that she had to sneak by her father because of the garters that showed, garters that had kept coming unhooked throughout the night until she had finally given up on reconnecting them and simply let them dangle, her thinking being that a zombie schoolgirl would do the same.

  And then she had been tagged on Facebook, her father seeing everything anyway.

  She shook her head.

  This time around she didn’t have a garter problem.

  Instead, she had a “gun keeps digging into my side” one.

  Call the police.

  No.

  She looked in the rearview mirror, her eyes finding Bitsy, who was looking out the window, seat belt buckled across her body, hands folded in her lap.

  Kind of looks like a doll, she noted to herself, the frilly dress one that she would have seen on Liz’s dolls when they were over there. Then, This is fucked up.

  “You okay?” Liz asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s going to be okay,” Liz added.

  Lindsey nodded, though deep down inside she wondered. On the day her mother had died she had somehow known her mother was gone before her father had come out to tell her. It had just clicked. Would the same happen here?

  “Officer Adams?” Tess called.

  Katie turned, right hand slipping her phone back into her jacket. “Yeah?” she asked, hearing her own impatience.

  “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “No. Not at the moment. Just stay here. If we need anything, Owen will come get you.” She glanced at Owen, who nodded. She then turned to continue toward the doors.

  A girl came barging through them, looking winded, almost as if she had been running.

  “You need to help me!” she cried.

  “What is it?”

  “She has a gun!”

  “Who?” Katie asked, hand going to her own sidearm.

  “My friend. Lindsey.” She took a breath, a hand pressed into her side. “We heard on the scanner that her dad was hurt, and now she is going to go and try to help him.”

  Scanner?

  Lindsey?

  Fuck!

  Katie had met the girl a few times during holiday events and on the shooting range, Norman often bringing her there and boasting about how she was a better shot than he was. It was true too. Lindsey was a better shot than most of the Smallwood officers. She could probably give all the county deputies and state troopers a run for their money as well.

  “I called nine-one-one, but they’re all fucked up,” the girl continued.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They kept asking if I was in Smith’s Grove. Said they couldn’t find the address I was talking about. So I said fuck it and ran here.”

  “Okay,” Katie said, noting that people were gathering. Owen and the two storm chasers had stepped closer as well. “Take a breath and tell me what happened. Where is she right now?”

  “At her house. Right down the street.” She motioned toward the doors. “But they won’t be there for long. They’re going to go find her father.”

  “They know where he is?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How?”

  “This girl, or boy…fuck, I don’t know.” She threw up her arms. “Says her family is by the cemetery.”

  “Bitsy?” Katie asked.

  “What?”

  “The girl, was her name Bitsy?”

  “Yeah, how—”

  Jesus! “You said the house is right down the street?”

  “Like two blocks that way. It’s the one with the toilet in the front yard.”

  “Show me,” Katie said and then, while stepping toward the door, turned to Owen. “Radio this in.”

  Owen nodded.

  “What’s your name?” Ka
tie asked once the two were outside.

  “Gloria.”

  Katie nodded.

  A few seconds later, they were getting into her patrol vehicle, Katie throwing on the switch for her emergency lights.

  “Ramsey, the cemetery,” Tess whispered.

  “What about it?” Ramsey asked.

  “We know where that is.”

  “So?”

  “We should head down there.”

  “No way!”

  “Why not?”

  Ramsey simply stared at her, lips slightly opened.

  “Why not?” Tess repeated.

  “Because, you heard the radio. People are being hurt down there, maybe even killed.”

  This time it was Tess who simply stared.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Ramsey added.

  “You drove us into a fucking tornado.”

  “That was different.”

  “How?”

  “We were trying to film it. To make money.”

  “And is tornado footage the only thing that the news stations will buy?”

  Ramsey didn’t reply, his mind suddenly focused on all the times he had seen amateur footage used in news broadcasts, the most memorable being the grainy shootout footage from the Boston bombers a few years back. Had the news stations paid money for that, or had they simply taken it from Twitter? If the former, how much would they be willing to pay, and if the latter, had it boosted the original poster’s notoriety and social media reach?

  And we have a professional camera.

  “How do we get there?” he asked. “The car is wrecked.”

  “It’s in bad shape, but not even close to being wrecked,” Tess said.

  “True.”

  “And if you get some good footage of a standoff, maybe even a shootout, and it’s the only stuff available, and news stations pay for it, it might pay for the repairs.”

  He nodded.

  No reporters were present in Smallwood yet, but once word spread that there was a hostage situation underway that involved a serial killer who had kidnapped a high school girl, all the reporters that had gone out to gather storm-damage shots would be diverted. This area was going to be crawling with news vans and camera crews, likely before the sun came up.

  And most likely, none of them would arrive in time for the good stuff.

  If any good stuff unfolded.

  “So…” Tess pressed.

  He hesitated, thoughts on their mother and how she would kill him for bringing Tess into something like this working their way to the forefront of his mind.