Curious Toys

by Elizabeth Hand

  Without warning, Henry butted Francis’s head, twisting to kick Bennie in the groin. Bennie doubled over as Francis staggered backward, and Henry sprinted down the hill.

  “Henry!” Francis yelled as the small figure grew even smaller in the distance. “Henry, wait!”

  “Pin Maffucci—that’s the same boy who found the body, right?” Bennie gasped. “And this fellow says that was him, disguised as a girl? Who the hell is Max?”

  “I told you, a burlesque performer. That’s why no one’s recognized him—he wears a costume for his act. So one person says he has a mustache, the other says he’s clean shaven. Fairyland’s the name of the picnic area. It sounds like Pin’s trying to trick him into thinking he’s a girl, so they can claim the reward.”

  “If Henry’s telling the truth,” said Bennie, “the guy could’ve killed that kid by now.”

  Francis shoved blindly past him down the hill. All he could see was how Gina’s face would look when he told her that her child was dead.

  Chapter 95

  SHE DIDN’T STOP running until she reached the dark copse of trees. Behind her, Hell Gate’s recorded moans and screams faded into the sound of wind in the leaves. At the edge of the trees she stopped to catch her breath, suddenly mindful of where and what she was: a girl entering the woods, alone.

  She held as still as she could. She could hear crickets and katydids, a nightjar buzzing in the low grass. The wind caught her white sailor collar so it flapped in her face. She slapped it down before it could catch the eye of anyone who might be looking in her direction and turned her as head slowly as she could, searching for the glow of a cigarette.

  She saw him from the corner of her eyes a fraction of a second before he saw her. She knew the instant he did. Her gaze locked with his, she saw the red tip of his cigarette as he raised his head, so that his hat brim revealed his face.

  “Why, hello,” he said in a pleasant tone. “What are you doing here?”

  Terror flooded her: she’d been recognized. But then he took a cautious step in her direction, and she realized no, he was afraid he’d spook her if he moved too fast. She cleared her throat—she had to make her voice sound different, higher.

  “Hello.” She stared at a glowworm crawling in the grass. What if he recognized her voice?

  “Are you lost?” He tossed his cigarette, lit another. In the flare of the match his face was a skeleton’s. “Do you need to find your parents? I can take you back to the midway.”

  His tone was gentle but also indifferent, as though he’d just as soon leave her alone. Her terror eased. What if she’d been mistaken? What if he just happened to have those doll photographs, for some reason she couldn’t imagine? What if it was only an ordinary doll, what if the dresses just happened to resemble Maria Walewski’s, and her sister’s?

  He shook the match and dropped it, took a drag from his cigarette, slipped his hand into a pocket, and withdrew a small tin. She heard the soft snap as he opened it. In the gloom, she saw him put something in his mouth, begin to close the box, then look up, remembering she was there.

  “I’m sorry—would you like a lemon drop? They’re very good.”

  She stiffened and almost said no—what, did he think she was an idiot?—but caught herself and nodded. “Yes, thank you very much.”

  He held out the tin and she picked up a lemon drop. It felt gummy, as though the box had sat in the sun all day. She forced a smile, daring a glance at the man, who smiled back.

  As soon as she put it in her mouth, she knew the lozenge had been doped. She recognized the taste; it was the same horrible syrup her mother drank to help her sleep. So that was how he’d done it. Poisoned candies. With her sister, all he would have had to do was offer her candy, poison or not, and smile kindly, and Abriana would have followed him anywhere.

  Pin blinked. He was watching her. If she spat out the candy, he’d know she was up to something. She let the lozenge slip beneath her tongue, tried not to swallow even as her mouth filled with sweet liquid.

  “You can have another if you’d like,” he said in the same offhand tone, and popped a second lozenge into his mouth. Were only some of them poisoned? But that wouldn’t make sense. He was bigger, that was all, they would hardly affect him unless he ate the whole tin.

  He continued to gaze at her with those shadowed eyes, so she nodded and took another. She clutched it, her palm sticky, sweat trickling between her breasts. The wind gusted, the tree limbs rustled like dry hands rubbing together. Lightning flashed and she steeled herself for the thundercrack that followed seconds later. It came, and she turned her head to spit out the lemon drop.

  When she turned back, he was staring fixedly at her. Her hands and arms went cold, she needed to spit again, get rid of the horrible sweet taste on her tongue. She wanted to run, but she’d backed up against the tree, and he was suddenly too near, just inches away. The smoke from his cigarette stung her eyes, and she smelled his breath, lemons and whiskey and cherry cordial. She opened her fingers and the poisoned candy fell to the grass; inched her hand down toward the shiv in her boot, and made the mistake of glancing up.

  His face had twisted; he gazed at her as though she were one of the freaks in the Ten-in-One, something disgusting. He knew she meant to fight. Abriana hadn’t fought, it might be better not to fight. He was going to kill her. She was going to die.

  Something snapped inside her chest and spun out of her like smoke: she saw herself from above, as though watching a movie, a small white figure pressed against a tree as a shadow engulfed it. She could no longer hear the wind, there was a seashell roar in her ears that drowned out everything except for something, something she needed to remember, someone…

  “Henry!” she screamed.

  He grabbed her throat and pressed his other hand against her mouth, choking her with a cloth as he pushed her to the ground. He hadn’t needed poisoned candies, he was so much bigger than she was and stronger, much stronger; she had never imagined Max might be this strong. She tried to bite his hand, but he thrust the cloth deeper into her mouth. She gagged as she tried to scream Henry’s name, she’d told him to follow her, he should be here by now he should be here where was he where was Henry?

  But the man pinched her nostrils closed and it was like trying to breathe in a dream of dying; and then it was too late.

  Chapter 96

  THEY RAN DOWN the path past the arcade, past the minstrel show and burlesque tent and Woodland Cabaret. Three young men stood outside Max’s tent, smoking.

  “Hang on,” Francis ordered Bennie. He pointed at the She-Male banner and called out to the three men. “Have you seen him?”

  The men tossed their cigarettes and ran off. Francis cursed, pulling at the tent flap to look inside. No one. It was the same with the shack Max used as a dressing room.

  “Look at these.” Bennie thrust a handful of postcards at Francis. “Our man has peculiar taste. No kids, though.”

  Francis flipped through them—pictures of women missing arms or legs or both; an actress named Polaire, whose wasp waist must’ve made it nearly impossible for her to eat. A smiling girl in pigtails and a checked frock, sitting atop a haystack.

  “What about her?” he asked Bennie.

  “Nope. That’s Peggy Driscoll, she’s twenty if she’s a day. Come on.”

  Outside, thunder drowned out sounds from the park as they followed the path into the woodland. There were no electrical lights here. As Francis’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he picked out familiar trails beneath the trees. Some led to glades where people would lay their picnic blankets, but most meandered off into tangled underbrush. He’d lost his way there even in the daytime, chasing pickpockets or truant boys.

  Now it seemed an impenetrable forest, though he knew the Velvet Coaster loomed not far away, and the brickyard that bordered the woods to the north. He looked at Bennie, who nodded. They walked, silent, for about thirty paces. Then Francis raised his hand, signaling Bennie to stop. He cupped a hand beside
each ear, listening.

  Nothing but the rustle of leaves, the murmuring of the North Branch. How could that little madman Henry have disappeared without making a peep? Maybe he’d been in collusion with Max all along.

  From within the trees, a girl screamed, “Henry!”

  “That’s her.” Bennie pushed his way through a wall of brambles. Francis remained where he was.

  “No! Listen. I think it came from there.” He pointed to a coppery smear low in the sky. “Bricktown. The kilns.”

  They crashed through the woods until the undergrowth gave way to an expanse of sand and gravel. Stacks of wooden pallets littered the ground between abandoned buildings, enough fuel to burn for days. In the center of the lot a looming smokestack spewed bright cinders.

  “Henry! Henry, help!”

  The two men halted as a small figure emerged from the woods and ran wildly toward the kiln.

  Chapter 97

  SHE WOKE, BURNING hot and jostled as though she sat in the last car of the Blue Streak. Why was she sleeping? And where? Someone carried her, clutched against his chest like a sack of flour. Her windpipe ached. It hurt to swallow.

  She remembered: Max.

  She drew a few shallow breaths, afraid to move. If he knew she was awake, he’d choke her again. His shirt reeked of sweat and urine. She’d read about the stink of fear, of being paralyzed by terror, but she’d always believed those were things made up for the magazines.

  She cracked her eyes open. Mostly she saw his shirt, but when she cut her eyes, she caught a glimpse of buildings, darkness behind them and a flare of heat lightning in the clouds. The rattle and screams from the Velvet Coaster echoed in the distance. The air had a red tinge like Hell Gate, but there were no lights, not even streetlights. The carnival riot of Riverview sounded the way things sound underwater. Smoke stung her nostrils, and she saw a sliver of gold shoot up against the black sky.

  Not lightning. Embers. They were in the brickyard, the one her mother insisted had been dismantled; the one where the Black Hand burned their dead.

  She bit down on her tongue to keep from screaming. Held her breath, straining to hear voices or any sound of pursuit, but there was only the grumble of thunder and Max’s heavy panting, the slap of his feet on the ground. Her terror dulled into a numb heaviness.

  Where was Henry?

  He had gotten lost. Or scared. Or he had simply forgotten, distracted by his imaginary enemies rather than her real one. She would become a name, like Elsie, Maria, Gilda, her sister, and all the others. Only there would be no photo of Pin. No one would remember her except her mother.

  Her thoughts spiraled back to where she was now, her face pressed against the folds of a man’s reeking shirt. Her wig had come loose: she rubbed her head against his chest to keep the wig from falling off. He still doesn’t know who I am, she thought, fighting another surge of terror. What would happen when he did?

  Max’s steps had slowed. His hold on her had loosened—he wasn’t concerned about her escaping. He’s not afraid of being caught, she realized. He hadn’t bound her arms or legs; he probably thought she was still unconscious. But he couldn’t carry her forever. He would have to set her down; at some point he’d stop.

  When he does I’ll run. I’ll scream, someone will hear me. Henry will hear me.

  I’ll scream now.

  “Henry! Henry, help!”

  “Shut up, you fucking bitch!” Max squeezed her until she whimpered in pain, and he began to run again. If she struggled, he’d kill her. She had to stay calm, make another plan. Make another plan. Now.

  He thought she was a girl. She moved her right leg, and something bit into her ankle. Her shiv. He hadn’t taken it. He didn’t know she had a knife.

  She did what she had as a child when she didn’t want to go to bed, and made herself into a dead weight, sagging in his arms. After a few seconds he slowed, his breathing so loud she could hear nothing else. A few feet in front of them was the base of the smokestack. That was where they brought the bodies. The Black Hand. And him, Max. She tried to writhe free as he kicked the door, kicked it again and again until she heard wood split and the roar of flames and an unbearable heat surrounded her. They were inside.

  Chapter 98

  HE NEARLY DROPPED her as he battered at the door. Perhaps she was already dead. He didn’t care. He wanted her dress; he should have smothered her back there in the woods and taken it.

  He coughed at the stench of scorched stone and burning coal. In the back of the room the kiln’s iron door glowed like those rivers of fire in The Inferno. Broken brick covered the ground, clinkers, coal dust. Smooth patches where sand had fused into glass. In a few minutes she’d be a twist of smoke eaten by the clouds, like the Italian girl. He’d be in time to catch his train.

  He set her down, leaning her against the wall so as not to spoil her clothes. She sat there, motionless, and he felt a stab at his heart.

  How beautiful she was—like his sister, with her blond curls and blue bow, her sailor blouse and skirt rucked up above her knees. Her skin like the Gypsy girl’s, darker than any doll’s he had ever seen.

  But still: a doll, her eyes closed. A doll’s sleep-glass eyes would open, if it were sitting up like this.

  Her eyes did. Staring at him, not with fear or mindless dreaming, but fury. Before he could move, she’d pushed herself to her feet. Her head fell away from her body, and he gasped.

  But it wasn’t her head but a wig. A different girl stood there, cropped hair and unsteady on her feet, someone he knew, what was her name, how could he possibly know her, he had never—

  “Pin?”

  She raised her hand, and he saw something shining in the dark. A knife? He didn’t understand, who was this? Why would a girl have a knife?

  She flung herself at him, her free hand clawing at his eyes, his mouth, whatever she could reach. He shouted; his arm slammed against her as something cold, then hot, grasped his throat. Didn’t grasp: slashed.

  “Pin!”

  She looked away as another voice shouted hoarsely. Max caught her arm, yanking her toward him as the knife plunged through his cheek.

  “Henry!” she screamed.

  Max wrenched her arm back as the knife spun into the air. She screamed again as he grabbed her and stumbled toward the glowing door at the back of the room. The other girl hadn’t fought; he’d slung her into the kiln like a log. Why would a girl have a knife? Thunder roared behind him, too close to be thunder. A train, he thought wildly, he’d miss his train. A weight fell on him and he toppled to the floor. The girl rolled free. A small figure crouched there with a knife in its hand, the girl, her face twisting as she drove the knife down repeatedly and screamed a name, Abriana, Abriana! Pain exploded in his chest and erupted into flame, not light but dark, nothing but darkness, heat, an agony of time as he struggled to speak but his mouth filled with blood. Why would a girl have a knife? Then nothing.

  Chapter 99

  THUNDER PEALED; SHE saw a bright flash and heard someone shouting her name.

  Pin! Pin!

  Henry. She dropped the knife as Max’s body fell alongside her, she tried to push it away, but she was too tired, so she just lay there, waiting. Henry came, Henry came. I knew he would.

  Chapter 100

  SHE’D ALWAYS THOUGHT a hospital might be exciting. It wasn’t. At first she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there—Max, the brickyard, Henry. A knife. Fatty Bacon and another man, then many men, policemen mostly. A woman screaming, was that her mother? She’d heard Henry’s voice, he’d been there with her inside the kiln. But where was he now?

  In the hospital, they pumped her stomach. Even after her stomach was empty, they did things to make her throw up again, “to get the poison out,” a doctor said, though she tried to tell them she’d spat out the lemon drop, she hadn’t swallowed enough poison to kill a fly. The room smelled of disinfectant and carbolic soap, scents that reminded her of Henry. Someone had dressed her in a long shapeless linen shif
t that felt stiff and cool against her bare skin. After a long time, she heard her mother’s voice.

  “Pin.” With great effort Pin opened her eyes, to see her mother leaning over her. “My brave girl. You’re safe now. Go back to sleep. Everyone will talk to you in the morning.”

  Her mother’s eyes were red, her face swollen. She looked the way she had after Abriana’s disappearance.

  But Pin herself was alive, right? She wondered again where Henry was. He worked at the hospital, he must be here somewhere. Someone placed a cool compress on her forehead, smelling of rubbing alcohol and antiseptic. She heard her mother speaking, but she sounded very far away. The room grew light, then dark. When she next woke, there was only a nurse in the room with her, and her mother, who jumped from her chair, no longer grief-stricken but angry.

  “What in God’s name were you doing? You could have been killed—you nearly were killed.”

  The nurse left the room as Pin struggled to sit up. “Aw, Ma.” Her throat hurt too much to argue. She looked around, blinking in the sunlight, and spotted a newspaper on a small table.

  Riverview Owner Says Reward Will Be Shared By Heroes

  The reward! “Are the police here?” she rasped. “I need to tell them—”

  Her mother nodded wearily. “They’re here. They’re waiting to talk to you. Lots of people want to talk to you,” she added. “But not until you feel up to it.”

  “I feel fine. I need to tell them about the reward, we—”

  But she didn’t feel fine once they had finished questioning her. Policemen, doctors, the police captain from Riverview, and another man, the Chicago police commissioner, Deneen. More doctors.

  They didn’t believe her when she told them about her plan. They didn’t believe her when she mentioned Henry and told them that he worked here at the hospital, even though they asked repeatedly about the second man and how she knew him. The second man wasn’t a hero, they told her. He’d fled, almost certainly he was there to assist the murderer, then ran when he saw the policeman and the reporter. When they asked how she knew Max, she lied and told them she only knew him by sight, from the park. No matter how many times they questioned her, she repeated the same answer.