You know what this kid reminds me of? Fairytales. He's full of all that shit of happy endings and love and other icky things I hate. He talks to me as if I were a fairy godmother. I'm no god-nothing. But you know WHO this kid reminds me of?

Me…

Detective Michael W. Norris. The letters engraved in bold served as a golden bridge today. Mike leaned forward and slid his small Iron-Man action figure over it. "Ka-chaa! Ka-ching!" The man could feel the intense burning in his chest, but he would not give up his pursuit of the one who held his wife, his beloved, captured. He would relentlessly pursue that evildoer until he had his precious gem back. There would be no river he could not cross, no mountain he could not scale! He would fight for her. Because he loved her dearly, he could never let her go. He would get her back no matter what the cost, even if it meant he would die trying.

"John!" she cried. "John, don't give up!"

"Don't worry, Isabelle! I will save you!"

The coughing at his door startled him. Mike quickly snapped back into reality. Looking up, he saw a woman with fiery red shoulder length hair, staring at him as though he came from another planet. He might as well be. What detective still played with little dolls? What pissed him off most, though, was that the woman had interrupted his climax. Now the world would never know if John had rescued Isabelle, or if he had died, or if when he rescued her he died…

No matter. Sighing, he put on what he called his "crafty detective grin" and held out his hand. "Michael W. Norris, Ma'am, at your service! How may I help you?" She gave him a suspicious glance before taking his hand cautiously. "You're that detective from the news last night, right? The one who was chasing Charles Lee Ray?" He nodded in confirmation. "I'm Maggie. Maggie Peterson," the woman said crisply before glancing around her. Suddenly her confident demeanor changed. "Do you mind if I close the door?" she asked softly. Mike was dumbfounded. "Close… close the door? Uhmm… yes, if you like, but, may I ask why?" Ms. Peterson closed the door and sat at the chair next to his desk and scooted close. "I don't want anyone else to know this."

"Ok…" Mike was a bit intrigued. Perhaps she had witnessed a murder. Maybe her fiancé was the killer, and she didn't know how to deal with it, seeing as she was in love with this monster. Could she still save his heart, or was he gone for good? She snapped in his face. "Hello? Mr. Norris?"

He really needed to stop doing this.

"Sorry, Ma'am," he said sheepishly. "What were you saying?" Ms. Peterson rolled her eyes before crossing her legs and folding her hands neatly over her knees. "Listen, I have a suspicion. You may think it's crazy, but…" she sighed. "I have to tell someone about this. I don't want to be someone who could have done something but didn't." Mike fought the urge to show too much anticipation. He was waiting for the point, the point! What was her predicament? He noticed the bruise on her forehead; it was turning purple around the edges. Remain, calm, Michal, detectives do not show much emotion. They have to be casual, not passionate.

"It's… well, it's this doll." she was saying. Mike turned his attention back on her. A doll? Funny, Charles Lee Ray was holding on to a doll when he died. "I bought this doll for my friend's son. I got it from a pawn shop for a good price, almost too good, even for a pawn shop, but I took it, you know? My friend's son really wanted that doll…" Mike nodded, to show he was listening; and he was. This was getting interesting. Not even John and his plight with Isabelle could distract him now. This was a real plot going on, right in front of him. "Anyways," she went on. "Of course, her son took it with all the joy any child would have when they get what they've always wanted. But then…" she paused for a moment, before Mike told her to go on. "I had to babysit the son. Karen-my friend- was called by our boss on a surprise late-night errand. I had put her son to bed, and I so sure he was fast asleep. But I was attacked," she pointed at her bruise. She opened her purse and pulled out a small toy hammer and laid it on his desk. "Mr. Norris, do you know who I found lying there on the floor, at a close enough distance to have hit me with this?" Mike shook his head. A boy as a killer? Almost impossible, but Mike had learned already that it could be done…

"The doll." she said. Mike jumped, startled. This he did not expect. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly? Are you trying to imply that the doll…?" Ms. Peterson nodded her head. "Oh, I know, it sounds crazy, doesn't it?" she said, noticing his expression. "But listen. There's no way that the boy could have…" Mike held up his hand. Something had dawned on his mind. "No, no, wait a minute. What kind of a doll was it? Did you mention?" Ms. Peterson looked astounded. "Ah, no, actually, I didn't. It was a Good Guys doll… why do you ask?" Mike leaned back in his chair, sure that the woman was confused by what must be the ecstatic look on his face. "Tell me, Ms. Peterson, what's the doll's name? Charlie, perhaps? Or maybe…" he leaned towards her. "Chucky?"

Ms. Peterson jumped back. "How… how did you..?" Her eyes were wide as saucers. Mike smiled. A subtle smile, Michal, good job. You may be an effective detective yet. Madeline would be proud of him. "Well, Ms. Peterson," he began. "Your scheme may not be as insane as you think. I have a proposition." Now it was Ms. Peterson's turn to be intrigued. "And what is that, Mr. Norris?" she asked curiously. "I believe that, your doll," he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a file, and slammed it down on the desk dramatically as he announced. "is Charles Lee Ray!"

Ms. Peterson's reaction was not what he expected. "What?" she scoffed. "Come on! Are you just making fun of me? I was being serious! What if this doll is a secret terrorist conspiracy? Charles Lee Ray, for goodness sakes…" why was she being so defensive? Mike had thought she'd be happy…

"Me? Let in that Lakeshore Strangler into my best friend's house? I couldn't! That's impossible! After all the pain he's caused her…" she stopped immediately and shut her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I shouldn't have been babbling to myself. I just…" she sighed. "No. Charles Lee Ray is dead, Mr. Norris. There has to be another solution."

Alright. If she wanted to be mysterious, so be it. Mike stood. "Well, whatever it may be, Charles Lee Ray or terrorist conspiracy, the same procedure must be done." He stood and walked to the door. "There will have to be an investigation." Ms. Peterson stood quickly. "Umm… Mr. Norris? Please, do you think there's any way we could…" she ducked her head shamefully. "Any way we could investigate without my Karen knowing? I don't want to cause a fuss and then find it was for nothing." Mike nodded slowly. "I'll do what I can, Ms. Peterson," he said. Opening the door, he gestured her out. "But until then, wait for my call. I'll need your number." Ms. Peterson nodded. "Yes, of course," she said. Hastily, she wrote down a telephone number on a tissue from her purse.

Mike was still looking at the number when she drove off. The tissue was a scented one. "Hmmph," he said to himself before re-entering his office. As he sat, he fingered the photograph of a young attractive woman with long dark hair. "Don't worry, Madeline," he said softly to it. "I will figure out your last words yet…"

***

Ok, don't get me wrong. When I said he reminded me of me, I didn't mean the me now. I meant who I used to be. A sap. A wuss. You know what?

Not anymore. Not me. No more fairytales from this guy.

I always hated the happily ever after part anyways…

***

Andy knew his doll was real. His mom would tell him, of course sweetie, he's your friend. But Andy knew she didn't really believe him. No one did. But that was okay, because it was like he and Chucky had a some sort of a secret between them, and best friends always had secrets, didn't they? Or course they did!

Chucky wasn't exactly what he had expected. He was grumpy, had nothing nice to say most of the time, and was extremely pessimistic. But that was alright, too. At least now, he had someone to talk to. A boy he could confine in. Right? And even if his advice wasn't something Andy would seriously consider, he at least made him laugh. Sometimes, anyways.

Andy didn't blame Chucky for being the way he was. Sometimes he'd hear him muttering to himself about who things were "when he was a kid". The bits and pieces Andy caught didn't sound too nice. He guessed that was why Chucky was so cranky. He would be too.

But at least Chucky would play with him. Blocks and things like that. Even if when they built the tower Chucky would knock it down, Andy kind of liked him. He hoped they would be friends forever.

***

Mike was sitting on his bed. 12:00 A.M. He sighed and lay back down, trying to relax, but it wasn't working. Ever since that woman had come in and mentioned that doll, he'd been having memories. Memories that he had been trying to move on from. He remembered on his way home, he overheard the women in the streets gossiping. About him. He had tried to pretend he couldn't hear them whispering, but the words still stuck with him.

"What's he doing as a detective? He's nothing of the sort!"

A snort, a laugh, more talking.

"Shoulda stuck to the romance novels he wrote."

"And what's with that dead flower in his pocket? It's so gross, I'd throw that out…"

"Hush. You don't know anything. His wife died on their wedding day. Ever since then, he became an agent to track down the killer, Charles Lee Ray." There was a gasp then. He had felt their eyes boring in him. "Charles Lee Ray killed his wife?" a shy voice squeaked. "Who has that Lakeshore Strangler not killed?" someone else piped up, and there were several people who agreed, "true, true indeed."

"He killed my dog."

"My son."

"My husband."

Then they had looked on him with pity. Mike didn't know whether he wanted their pity, or if he wanted them to just keep talking behind his back. It had been this way once before, all through his school years. He had been the odd one, the one who never spoke, the shy one. He had ignored the women's stares and tried to shut them out. Thought of Madeline. Madeline. He could still hear her voice, calling his name. He groaned and rolled over in his bed. She was the one who had reached out to him. She had encouraged him to publish his novels. She was his beloved. He remembered sometimes she would flounce in his house and just wrap her arms around his neck and surprise him. She was the light in his dull world, the color in his coloring book. They had had so many plans, of their dream home, their honey moon…

They were going nowhere now. That honeymoon never did come around. His only honeymoon trip was to Madeline's grave. Every month. Because of her, he was determined to find Charles Lee Ray.

Because of her, he was also determined not to kill Charles Lee Ray.

Just before she had died, she had told him. "Michael, honey, Charles Lee Ray, he's just, he's only a…" after a long struggle for air, however, she had left him with. "…I love you…" He could still feel her body go limp in his arms, could still feel the helplessness. If only he knew what she had tried to tell him! If Madeline were here, he would know more about Charles Lee Ray.

No. Screw Charles Lee Ray. If Madeline were here, they'd be happily married. But she wasn't. She was gone. And to think, at one moment in his life…

…he had had hope for a happily ever after.