Glenda looked down at the sparkling red pool, where Janine and Jeremy lay, bobbing and unaware. They would almost be serene, if it weren't for the tense facial muscles, or the eerie dead eyes. Chucky had made an offhand comment about how they would probably want to spend the night in a hot tub together if they were alive, so this was technically doing them a favour. Glenda didn't really understand why, but as she peeked under the cover of the hot tub, standing in the cool afternoon shade, she wanted very much to let the sunlight pour over them. Where the light could get in, it glinted on the surface of the water, making it look like red satin. Experimentally, she reached a chubby plastic arm into the tub, fingers hesitating mere fractions of an inch from the surface. Biting her lip, and closing her eyes, she felt her fingers slide through the microscopic film , and opened her eyes to see one or two ripples spread across the water. She splashed a little, sending more ripples, making the red water dance, and making the bodies bob up and down, their powerless, lifeless bodies bumping against the tub, the cover and each other. She smiled, briefly, but turned away. It wasn't that much fun; it felt just the same as any other water.

She had killed three people now. The first was a moment of blind panic, she wasn't really aware of what she was doing until she was standing on his back, with the curtain falling down behind her. The second, Liza... she wasn't sure how she felt about that one. She had wanted to hurt Liza, for a long time, but again, she had acted in haste, and not had time to think about it before or after. And now number three had happened, she was beginning to wonder whether she was right for this. She had felt excitement, fear... guilt... she had wanted to see him suffer, but she wasn't sure he'd deserved to die... or was she? There was something that had been bugging her for a while now. Quietly, she slipped back inside the house.

Chucky was reclining on the couch, flicking through TV channels. He didn't look round when Glenda entered.

"I think you're gonna need to call your mom again soon. Get her really rattled."

"Dad?"

"What?"

"I was alive, before, wasn't I?"

To Chucky, this was nonsensical to say the least, and he had very little time for nonsense.

"Come again?"

"Before this." Glenda wasn't looking at him. She was staring into the empty fireplace, a puzzled expression on her face, as though she was trying to remember something from long ago. "Before Mom was Jennifer. Before... before I was a human. I remember... You were still like that, but... but Mom wasn't... who she is."

"That's right." Chucky spoke carefully, sitting up and watching her closely. He'd seen this before. Kids sometimes can't deal with the more messed up stuff that happens to them, and so they section off areas of their mind, they push all the memories and emotions down and forget that they ever happened. He'd seen what happens when they broke, too. Grown men reduced to wailing, wide-eyed wrecks, huddled up and crying because the world they'd built for themselves was built on fake memories and phoney emotions. They could never keep it repressed for long. Sooner or later, everyone had to give in to what actually happened. Glenda had the same half-haunted look in her eyes, but she was different. There was another, more inquisitive look lacing her brow. She wanted to know. "Your Mom was Tiffany Ray. I killed her and put her soul in a doll, just like I did with yours. Then she got pregnant and gave birth to you and Glen. And because we were both dolls when she got pregnant, you were both dolls when you were born."

"Except... it wasn't me and Glen, was it?" She looked at him now... or, to be more accurate, looked through him, staring at him with eyes that showed her mind was elsewhere. "Me and Glen... I was different. I was... only half there."

"Sorta." Chucky admitted, still watching her closely. "You were... that is, you and Glen both shared a body."

"You wanted Glen." Her eyes narrowed, tone a lot sharper. "You wanted Glen, but wanted him to be a killer. Mom wanted me, but wanted me to be... be... normal."

"Killing people doesn't make you abnormal, Glenda..." Chucky began, not really sure how to deal with the particular line this conversation seemed to be taking.

"But that's what Mom said." Glenda's voice started to rise. "Mom said she wanted us to be a normal family, and wanted me to be a normal girl. And you wanted your killer, but you wanted a boy. Didn't you?"

"Well, I didn't..."

"You wanted Glen!" Her heart twisted and burned like she was choking on a hot potato, boiling her chest, making it hard to breathe. It hurt like this had all happened yesterday, instead of nine years ago. "You wanted Glen over me, didn't you? Just like Mom..." She started to back across the room; feet unsteady on the laminate floors... she stumbled and sat quickly, eyes screwed tight. She curled her knees up to her chest, and wrapped her arms around herself. She looked, Chucky couldn't help but notice, a lot like a certain other nine year old who'd had problems dealing with the idea that being a murderer was a part of his identity. A nine year old who, after being on the streets for a little over two years, had killed two people and left one other to bleed out in an alleyway. A nine year old who had cried for his lost Mother, because he had been left to a world of sin and bloodshed by the only person he had ever trusted.

Chucky sat down beside her, and slowly rested his arm on her shoulder. He grimaced as a part of his brain screamed rage at how painfully out of character this was for him, but then... even if he wasn't ready to call himself a father yet, he was still human enough to acknowledge that Glenda was a poor, confused kid who needed reassurance. She continued to sob quietly, her breathing light and uneven. Chucky pulled her closer, wrapping his other arm around her, until her head rested on his shoulder. They sat there, on the floor, in near silence for some time, her feeling as though a large part of her mind had just gone, or returned, and not knowing how to deal with it, and he, wanting nothing more than for her to stop crying.

"When Glen found us..." Chucky spoke quietly, and without realising he had anything to say. Still the rage-filled part of his brain screamed at him, but the other parts seemed content to sit back and watch where he was going with this. "I was stupid. I thought... I dunno, if I was going to have a kid, I wanted him to be a boy because I knew I'd have had any experience he could possibly be worried about. I knew I could relate more. But now I know you kids and... frankly, if it weren't for the whole doll thing, I'd question whether or not Glen's actually my kid."

Glenda sniffed a little, the sobbing fading away, but she kept herself curled up. Chucky took this as a hint that he was on the right track.

"You, on the other hand, have got all the great Ray tendencies. You're quick, you're brave, you can look out for yourself... If I have to have a kid, then I wouldn't have anyone else."

She peeked up at him over her knees, her almond-shaped blue-green eyes still damp with tears.

"Mean it?"

"I haven't had a partner for nearly ten years now, but you... Kid, I don't think I could find a better person to do a job with."

"Really?" She sat bolt upright, a wavering, sniffly smile on her face, but a smile none the less. Chucky laughed as she hugged him, more at Glenda's sudden changeability than anything.

"Yeah, but you're still a rookie. Now go get me some coffee."

Glenda smiled, before running into the kitchen. He hadn't hugged her back. Of course he wouldn't. You don't get that kind of reputation by hugging. And he didn't call her his daughter, and he wouldn't tell her he loved her, or that he was proud of her, but those few words of praise... those few words of assessed performance and truth, they meant more to her than all the meaningless "I love you"s her mother had tried to placate her with over the years.

Tiffany and Glen sat, staring up at the big flat-screen with weepy eyes as a black and white Humphrey Bogart declared his love to the equally monochrome Ingrid Bergman. Glen, in his sickly state, had wanted to watch a nice, heart-warming movie, and so he and his mother had curled up on the sofa to watch Casablanca together, a film that they both loved. It had just reached the climactic moment, where the lovers realised they could never be together, when Jennifer's phone began to ring loudly from her bag. Glen paused the video and lay his head in the spot his mother had just vacated. Still sniffing and dabbing at her eyes, Jennifer answered.

"Hello?"

"I heard about Liza."

"Glenda!"

Glen sat up, eyes wide. Jennifer smiled reassuringly at him, not wanting to worry him by suggesting that Glenda was using the same, petulant tone she had been last time.

"It was in the news. Do they know who did it?"

"No, they... the police think it might be a burglary gone wrong..." Jennifer fidgeted, pulling nervously at her skirt. Why was she nervous? Glenda was her daughter, damn it, worry and anger she was entitled to, but she shouldn't feel nervous. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Glenda, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, Mom." Glenda's tone remained unchanged, she sounded happy, but... awkward. Jennifer, as a mother, was instantly suspicious.

"Is there anyone with you? Are you looking after yourself? No one's made you do anything, have they?"

"I'm fine, Mom. Some guy tried to make me smoke something but I told him to fuck off."

"Glenda!"

"Well I did."

"Hmm."

Silence. Jennifer was reluctant to break it. She flashed another reassuring smile at Glen, but she wasn't entirely sure what she needed to reassure him about.

"I'm not coming back, Mom. Not yet."

"Glenda... we miss you."

"I don't care." Glenda sniffed. "You didn't believe me about Liza, but now that's too late, huh? So I'm gonna say it again. I hate Neil. And I don't trust him. You're better off without him."

"No, Glenda." Jennifer barked, feeling anger bubble up inside her. She took a deep breath. She could not let herself give way to fury. She had to be calm, and measured. She wasn't that person any more. "I'm not leaving Neil. Not because you have some petty grudge."

"Is that it?"

"Yes."

Another determined pause. Jennifer waited for the explosion of fury, but it never came. There was a click, then the purring of a dead line. Jennifer paused for a moment, her eyes flicked to Glen.

"Well... if that's the way you see it, sweetie." She smiled, continuing to talk into her phone. "Alright. Love you, sweet heart." She returned her phone to her bag, and smiled at Glen, wrapping her arm around him.

"What did Glenda say, Mummy?"

"Oh she's... staying with her friend for a while longer."

"Oh..." Glen toyed with the remote, staring at the screen. "Will she ever come back?"

Jennifer thought for a moment, unsure. But then, hugging Glen tighter, she smiled, and took the remote from him, pushing the play button.

"I'm sure she will, sweetheart."

Across the road, Chucky clapped his hand on Glenda's shoulder.

"It's dinner-time, kid." He grinned, as she dropped the phone, still staring out of the window. "Then time for bed. After all, you got a big day ahead of yourself tomorrow." He cooed the word, mixing with the same manic, piercing laugh Glenda had heard the first night she found him. She giggled back as they went through to the kitchen, her eyes glinting with barely suppressed menace.