Days came and went. Harry worked his missing person case amongst other easier solvable cases. He went home to Colin. And every few days he visited Bill. Sometimes he saw Luke, and they'd chat for awhile. Sometimes not.
Most visits he would chat to Bill about whatever happened to be on his mind at the time. A memory. The war, albeit an altered version. His guilt. It wasn't hard to keep to the muggle version of events. Emotions were emotions, no matter the intimate details behind them.
At the end of each visit he would read from Officer Bellingtine's diary. And each time, Bill would make some sign that he heard. A tap. A twitch of the hand. A low grunt. Once his arm had swung out and smacked Harry. That had been the one and only time that Harry had read while sitting next to Bill; from then on he kept a safe distance while reading. But still he came. Still he read.
He's left me alone this week. I don't understand why. Was I not a worthy enough opponent for him? Has he found another to replace me, his dear Inspector Abberline? It makes me anxious, off balance. I cannot disappoint him. I've been a disappointment to everyone in my life. My Mum tells me it was my fault my Father left us. I was a bad child. He couldn't handle the shame of producing a such an awful spawn. I disappointed her often too. I don't know why she never abandoned me, the way Father did.
Look at me, prattling on about my failures. God, haven't I tried? I've tried so hard. To be the perfect son. To be the perfect officer of the law. It's never enough, is it? Mum still tells me I need to be a better son. Especially since the accident. She won't ever forgive me, I can tell. I was driving. I don't know what happened. I had asked about something that I'd remembered, a memory from childhood. Back when she talked about how the Pied Piper, that devil, would take me away if I wasn't good. How she had to sacrifice other children to protect me. Ensure I wasn't hurt. She was angry. I wasn't home enough, she told me. I'd spent two hours away from her, that day. It was too long. I know, I shouldn't have done it. But god, I just wanted to breathe. It's bad enough I'm away from her to go to work. She tolerates that because it means I'm able to spend the money I earn on her. I have to help her out. I owe her, after all.
She lectured me about staying home more. She threw in my face how she'd lied, I'd caught her and she'd panicked. What are you playing at, I'd asked her. This isn't funny. Is this supposed to be funny? Did the Piper get to you too? She mocked me for being gullible, weak, and in that moment. I don't know. The car crashed.
Now she's in the wheelchair. I do my best to keep her happy. I am grateful she didn't dump me at an orphanage as a kid. I know I was a bad child. Sometimes I missed the dust on the lampshade. Sometimes I forgot to wipe the floors twice a day as she asked. Sometimes I talked too much. Made too much noise. God I owe her, to take care of her now.
Mum told me back then she protected me from the devil. That the very fact that I am alive I owe to her. I know I should not dwell on this. She told me not to think about it. Not to say it. But I can't help but think about it. I know she would punish me if she knew I am writing it down. But she can't tell me what to do, now. She lied, she admitted she lied because I caught her with that dead child.
There were others. I pretended not to notice. I know she killed them. To protect me from the devil, she said. I sit and I wonder now, all these years later. Is that the truth? And I think I have the answer. I think she is the one she warned me about. She must be the evil one. The devil himself, the pied piper she warned me about. Perhaps. Sometimes my mind feels fuzzy. Is anything real?
I wish we'd both died in that car crash. We didn't. It's my responsibility to rid the world of these monsters, these demons. I must rid the world of them while I can. I think she's planning something. She can't walk but her mind is sharp. God. I've got to prepare. She's planning to take over my body. I have to stop her.
And I have to catch him. I have to prove I'm still the perfect officer of the law. I have to prove I'm a worthy opponent. I think I'll go by the bar tonight. Perhaps he needs to be reminded that I'm still here. I'll wait until Mum is asleep, of course. No need to worry her.
Harry had stopped there for the day, too flooded by a mass of memories and the emotions that came with them to continue. Sometimes it felt like the man writing understood him far too well. Some of the man's thoughts were confusing - there had been several pages of scribbling about a demon who had tortured him relentlessly, and his strange plans on how to rid the world of such a creature - and he'd been unable to follow this particular train of thought, although he could understand the metaphorical idea of being tortured by demons. But the way it had been written - Harry figured that whatever had happened to this man as a child had been real. He'd simply found a way to write about it in a unique way.
His next visit was nearly a week later. Harry talked about the latest news in his search for Jane Jones while pacing the length of the small room. "I finally tracked down the man that Jane had an altercation with several years ago, back when she worked at the Ministry. Turns out that he's dying from some terminal disease, but I was able to talk to him before it was too late - and he confirmed the information that I learned from Dennis, when I talked to him. Dennis used to work with her. But all this still leaves me with the question. Where the hell is she? The bloke who she'd had a row with in the hallway at her job was some ex-boyfriend. They'd been fighting about custody of their shared cat, from what I found out. It's another piece in this puzzle, but I'm still missing something."
Harry paced, and talked, and paced some more, before at last settling down to read more of the diary.
The bar was packed last night. The monster was there. Ignored me at first. I admit this upset me. I may have waited until the bar closed. Waited for him by his car. He seemed pleased by it. He wasn't even surprised when I pinned him against his car. I couldn't say anything. I'd had this whole speech. So much I wanted to say. You can't ignore me, I wanted to tell him. But I couldn't say anything. And he didn't speak either. He looked back at me for long minutes. God, there was something in the air. I don't understand. I know who he is. I know what he's done. He knows who I am. Knows what I'm trying to do.
Is there anything I wouldn't do, to catch him? And I find myself strangely thrilled by the answer.
It's my turn now. Another week and he's been ignoring me. Not at the bar, not anymore. I know he's toying with me. Running hot and cold. And oh, I can't stand for that, oh no I won't Canice. Oh no I won't.
Two weeks now. I've been following him. He knows it. I make sure he sees me, catches a glimpse here and there. He's been very careful. Hasn't gone anywhere out of the ordinary. At first he stuck to a handful of places. Work. His home. The gas station, the store. Nowhere unusual. A few days ago he started to add the gym to his routine. I watch him there, sweat running down his muscled pecs, and just as he seems to relax into it I make sure he sees me. His eyes widen. It's the only reaction he will show. I think I'm getting to him.
Sometimes Harry thought he missed it. Missed the chase, the excitement, the rush of power he felt when hunting an enemy. His rivalry with Malfoy, all those years ago at Hogwarts. His hunt for those pieces of Riddle's soul. Hunting the remaining Death Eaters, fresh from Auror Academy, dangerous thrills each day rushing through his veins. It hadn't been that way, not in a long while now. Perhaps that was why he was so desperate to solve this missing person case. Why he chased down every lead, no matter how irrelevant. He missed the hunt.
Several days went by. Harry went to work. Went home. Fought with Colin. Made up with tears and kisses and promises. He was okay. They were okay. Weren't they? He went to Liza in a fit of despair. I feel like I'm slipping, he admitted. And his Mind Healer sat there, and he didn't think she really understood what he meant. And so he slipped further away. It was easier. He pretended not to see the worry and fear in Colin's eyes. Bill didn't look at him like that. Bill didn't look at him at all, most times.
Another visit. He ranted about Liza to Bill. Cried about Colin. It's my fault. It's Colin's fault. Why can't they fix me? He immersed himself for awhile in someone else's world, reading aloud as though his life depended on it.
The more I work the case the more I understand him. I'm not sure even Captain Keller would like it if I told him that. But to catch a killer you've got to understand him, yes? I think he needs attention. I think he needs to kill, needs the rush he gets from it. And I'm figuratively choking him. Me. His dear Inspector. I've made sure we haven't released any of his letters, none of the information in them, no mention of how he believes he's some descendent of Jack the Ripper. He's desperately trying to prove this to me. As though it's important I believe him. Old news clippings of supposed family members killing through the ages have been sent to the precinct. Hell, even a heart from an alleged victim, kept in a jar and handed down through the years, a family heirloom. That came yesterday. I've sent it to the lab for testing. God, this man is desperate to prove himself to me.
He's stopped ignoring me. This isn't a cat and mouse, anymore. This is cat vs. cat, a battle of wills, a test. I'm not sure who's following whom, anymore.
God I'm not sure how I ended up here. The parts of my life not dedicated to Mum or work is just - this. I talk to Canice at the bar almost nightly now. And I follow him. And he follows me. Some of my fellow officers talk behind my back. I hear them. Laughing about how I seem to be obsessed with catching this killer. How it's almost like I'm some crazy ex-girlfriend, the way I chase down the clues. Thank god they don't know the half of it - they don't know of this game. That is between me and him.
Captain Keller thinks the case is getting to me. Says I should take some time off. I looked at him like he was crazy. Are you nuts, I told him. You're just as obsessed with catching this guy as I am, I said. He told me to take the next few days off. Get some rest. He said it looked like I hadn't been sleeping. I haven't been sleeping much, but he doesn't need to know that.
I resisted for a moment, but then I thought - I could use the time wisely. So I accepted it. I think the Captain was a little suspicious, but he let me go without question.
The obsession. Harry knew he was obsessing but didn't care. He had to know more. He had to solve his case. Where was Jane Jones? Who was this Officer Bellingtine? Who was this man he was chasing, the man who he called a monster, the monster who in turn seemed to be hunting him? He had to know. He had to know, he wanted to learn more, wanted to find some scrap of information what would lead him to find this man in real life, wanted to talk to him. Ask him if he had killed his demon, the one that was referred to constantly, the one he seemed to be obsessed with ways to make it go away. Ask if he'd caught the monster. Ask if he could help. Help fix me. Help find Jane Jones. Help. Help me.
Colin had asked him if he was okay. Of course I am, he'd snapped. But you don't seem okay. Go sleep. I don't want people to say that you're not sleeping enough. You look awful. You must be tired. Just go. And Colin had looked like he'd wanted to argue, but in the end had sighed and left the room, and Harry hadn't been able to sleep that night.
He found himself talking to Bill the next day. He didn't know what he was saying. He was so tired. He fell asleep in the room's hard plastic chair and woke hours later with a blanket draped over him. Harry stretched and yawned and went to reading as though nothing had happened. And Bill sat there, his vacant eyes pointed out the window.
I'm following him constantly now. Oh how trapped he must feel. He can't do anything questionable, can't do anything that might raise my suspicions. I caught him today, in the pool. I don't know what came over me. I saw his lean, muscular body, the water clinging to him in reverence. I think I may have lost my head a bit. Came up to him after he'd hauled himself out of the water. Drops slid down his frame and he stared at me. My mouth had gone dry. And then he'd started to talk to me. Smooth talker, this man is. Mocked me with innocent sounding words. But I could hear it in his tone. I gave as good as I got. I've learned. He's taught me how to insult in sweet talk, oh yes you have, Canice.
I don't know why I said it. He'd said something. Got under my skin. Stop pretending, I told him. Admit it. I know who you are. Admit it. Admit you've ruined a life. Admit you've ruined Captain Keller's life.
And he just looked at me. Cold. Calculating. I feel sorry for your Captain, he said. Your Captain understands that whatever happened to his darling Mollie in those final hours...was so much worse than what most people can even imagine. And he was amused as he spoke, his tone laughing at me, at my failure to catch him.
You know I'll get you in the end, I told him. He laughed in my face. You're nobody, he said. He told me I'm just some sad motherfucker who pretends to care. Said I love the hunt. Said I don't want it to end. Told me if I didn't have some monster to chase I had no purpose. God, did I ever see red. I took a swing at him, he ducked. Ended up falling back into the water. I jumped after him. Tried to hit him again but he caught my fist in midair. Tugged me into him. We were face to face. I could feel his body against mine. All sharp angles and edges. He stared at me. It was like that night I'd pushed him against his car outside the bar. The air was thick.
And then he pushed me away. He started to swim laps again. Ignored me. I watched him for a minute. Couldn't breathe. Managed to pull myself out of the pool. As I turned to leave I saw Canice give me a wave through my peripheral. God, I didn't even know it was possible to mock someone with a simple wave. What has this man done to me? I don't understand this emotion. I have to catch him. It's me who has to do it. God. This man is mine.
Mine. Mine. Harry could understand that. Wanting something, someone, so badly you could almost taste the feeling. The thrill of the chase. The high of the catch. The push and pull of the fight. In the middle of the fight, the chase, the high - he knew who he was, understood his role, his purpose. He was alive. Chasing dark enemies, chasing Ginny after the war, the high of it all - and then the crash, and he was lost, but he found he could still chase criminals, and eventually Colin was there to woo, Colin, with his easy smile and infectious laugh -
He brought home flowers for Colin after that visit. Needed to see that smile, hear that laugh. And Colin gave him that, that and so much more, and Harry cooked for him and made him laugh, and everything was perfect, and in the high of their shared ecstasy he felt invincible.
But in the morning hours he could feel that brief respite fade. He looked at Colin's sleeping form and was angry for no reason he could see. He made breakfast alone. Left for work alone. Left Colin to wake up in the cold bed. Argued with Ron about the best course of action on a new case they'd been assigned. Shouted at his assistant. Took his lunch break at St. Hope. Read more to Bill. Help. Help me. What more could he do.
The lab came back with the results today. It wasn't even human remains in the jar. It was cow meat. I'm gleeful at this news. I want to shove this in his face. I asked Captain Keller if I could reveal our behavioural profile of this monster. I was calm. I explained my rationale. This might make him make a mistake, I said. He'll be desperate to prove his version of the story. He'll want to impress us. I almost slipped, I almost said impress me, but caught myself in time. We don't have any other leads, I said. We're fighting a losing battle here. Let's try this.
In the end, he agreed. I gave an interview. Talked about how our suspect is delusional. Indoctrinated into the belief that he is carrying on a family tradition. Not even a day went by before the monster sent an angry letter. He was pissed as hell.
Two days later. I was on scene for another murder. Shit, this monster really took out his rage on this girl. I thought the last one was something but this - a whole new level. He's sending me a message. Quite literally. Wrote it out in her blood on the wall. "Catch me when you can", he'd spelled out. Another letter came to the precinct. Do you have what it takes, he'd written.
Does he have what it takes? Harry didn't know anymore. He was a sleepwalker these days, sleepwalking through his life. On autopilot. He had been suffering for years now. Alone. Colin knew some of this. He had tried to talk a few times about this feeling. This suffocating feeling. He had tried to tell Liza of this feeling. He didn't think he had explained it well enough. Talking about it didn't help. He could still feel it. He didn't think he had what it took to keep going the way he had been. He could feel it, feel his chest break in a million tiny pieces every day, more and more, tiny shards of glass that jabbed at him day after day, and something had to give, he couldn't keep this up. He didn't think he had what it took.
Colin tried to talk to him again. His words were slow, unsure, and Harry could tell he didn't know what to say, what to do, and it made him so angry. If Colin didn't know what to do, what made him think that Harry would? He yelled at Colin to stop, just stop, please just stop. He didn't remember what happened next. He didn't know, but Colin wouldn't look at him for two days and Harry was cold, so cold inside, please, you can't ignore me like this -
Harry was scared. Fix me Liza, I don't remember what happened that night. Why can't I remember. And Bill still sat there, unmoving, and Harry read. And read. And didn't know what else to do.
Mum asked me why I'd come home after going to the gym this morning. Why hadn't I gone to work like a good little boy? I was puzzled. I had, after all, gone straight to work after the gym. Then I found it. Upstairs, in my room. Sitting on my bed. A doll with a letter in her hands. The press has dubbed this monster with the name "Dollmaker", and it's stuck. Hell, even the other members of the precinct have taken to calling this monster by that name. The letter the doll held was short. A few simple words. You frustrate me so, my dear Inspector, he'd written. Are you sure you have what it takes?
I don't know how he got in. Mum doesn't let strangers in the house. No windows were broken. Doors are always locked. I'm not even allowed peace in my own home, am I? Oh my dear Canice, you will regret this.
A light knock on the halfway ajar door. Harry stopped reading as a nurse popped his head in. "Sorry, I don't mean to disturb - are you reading a book about the Dollmaker murders?"
Harry blinked up at the man. "You know what this is referring to?"
"I went to nursing school in America, of course I know about the Dollmaker murders. It was a big topic of discussion in the news at the time. And - I knew one of the victims."
Harry closed the diary. "I only know what I've read in here, and it's only one perspective. Can you tell me more, Mr...?"
"Goodwin, but please call me Rick," the nurse said. "Sure, I can tell you what I remember. The Dollmaker's been quiet for awhile now. Far as I know, he hasn't been caught. I haven't kept up with the latest news on it though, so mayhaps that's changed since I last heard."
Harry leaned forward. A small part of his brain noted that Bill was lightly tapping the side of his bed again, but he focused his attention on Rick.
"The news decided to be clever and call this person the Dollmaker. He - I say he but who knows, it could've been a women I suppose - would leave a broken doll head somewhere by each victim's body. The victims were people who wouldn't be missed by society, people no one would report missing. There was a string of these murders durin' the time I lived in New York, when I was goin' to school."
"How many victims?" Harry asked.
"About a dozen in less than a year, but who knows if that's accurate. Like I said, he was takin' people that wouldn't be missed, and while I had the inside knowledge to know more than most, it's likely I didn't know of them all."
"What do you mean, inside knowledge?"
Rick pushed the glasses he wore up on his nose. Harry saw him take a breath. "For that, I'll have to tell you a bit of my story. Are you up for that? This ain't pretty."
"I work in law enforcement," Harry said. "My job isn't for the faint of heart. I can handle it."
Rick gave a nod. "I grew up poor, mind you. There was no way I was goin' to make it to nursing school, let alone some fancy school in the big city. So I borrowed some money from a friend. The dude sold his car for me, got me enough to make it to the city, enough to enrol to get me a degree after I got outta high school. I was low, man. I was real low. Started selling my body to get enough money to share rent on some drab apartment. My roommate was a chick I'd met in the life. She was in deep though, places I refused to go. Drugs. Ugly men with a boatload of cash, ya follow?"
Harry nodded, his interest caught. "What happened?"
"We started hearing rumours from others like us. We were disappearin' from the streets. Only the women, mind you. Far as I know, whoever this was left the men alone. A time or two we'd hear of the body of one of us turning up, the pieces scattered across the pavement plain as day, like they didn't care if people knew. I was scared for my roomie, as vulnerable as she was. High all the time. I was right happy when she met her boyfriend. At least until I learned he'd gotten her hooked on somethin' worse than what she'd been doing. The idiot went and got himself killed not long after that, pissed off the wrong guy - oh, pardon my language."
"That's quite all right," Harry said. "Please, keep going."
"Right," Rick said. "So around that time her long lost Father entered the picture. Dude was a policeman. Captain, I think. Saw him once, when he picked her up from our place. Guess he brought her into rehab. Didn't see her for awhile. Figured she'd stayed clean, got herself a better life."
"Did she?" Harry asked.
"It seemed so. She got in touch with me months later. She was clean. Working a day job. Taking classes at night school. Had dreams to be an actress, some star on the big screen. I was nearly through my nursing degree at the time. I asked her out. She accepted."
Rick paused, and Harry was startled to see unshed tears in his eyes. "She didn't show to our date. I figured I'd been stood up. Wasn't sure if her Father didn't think I was worthy, or if she'd relapsed - didn't know what to think. A few nights later I was workin' my normal street corner. One of my regulars hit me up for a quickie in the alley. Dude was some married big shot with three kids. Couldn't find it in him to come out, start over. Had him in my mouth when he started screaming, pointing. I turned. Didn't comprehend what I was seeing, not at first."
Harry listened, horrified and intrigued. Rick wasn't looking at him, but off in the distance. Harry knew the look. He wasn't seeing the room they were in, not really. He was in that alley. Reliving that nightmare.
"It was Mollie. She'd - been pretty well messed up. Cut open. Dumped out. And she was still wearin' that bracelet I'd made for her, one of those days she'd convinced me to try Mary Jane with her and I'd weaved her a bracelet out of the extra mint floss she'd found in some john's hotel room."
Rick took a deep breath. Harry could see him blinking rapidly. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean - you didn't have to - "
Rick waved a gruff arm at him. "I think I needed to talk about it," he said. "You were reading about it and I knew you'd listen and I - I haven't told anyone this before."
"Thank you," Harry said quietly. "Can I ask - you said her name was Mollie. What was her last name? Was it Keller?"
Rick stared at him. "How'd you know her name?"
Harry lifted the diary. "The book I've been reading. It mentions that a victim's name is Mollie. And that she's a Captain Keller's daughter."
"That's her," Rick said. "I've never forgotten seein' her like that. I never worked on that particular street corner again. Thank Christ I graduated school a few months later. I got outta that life as soon as possible."
"I'm not sure what to say," Harry said. "But thank you for telling me your story."
"Thanks for listening," Rick said. "I didn't mean to go into detail quite like that, to be honest. I think I needed to talk about it."
Harry thought about Rick's story long after he'd left the room. The words he'd been reading seemed so much more real now, so alive. This man had been a real officer. Who'd worked with Captain Keller. Who had a daughter named Mollie. Who had been murdered. Discovered by a man who had known her. He wanted to know these people, talk to them. He'd asked Rick if he'd known of an Officer Bellingtine, but Rick hadn't heard of him. Hadn't stuck around to be interviewed. He'd called in an anonymous tip. Didn't want to be known as the working man who found her. Couldn't afford the reputation, so early on in his nursing career.
He looked over at Bill and was surprised to see that the man had closed his eyes. Harry stared at him in silence. He stayed in that silence for the rest of the visit.
Harry walked home that day. All these stories. All these puzzles. Help me. Distraction. The door closed behind him. Colin. Hold me. Help me, he didn't say. Warm soup. Warm bubbles. Colin's touch. I love you so much, he whispered into Colin's ear. It's all just flashes, he didn't say. Little moments, gone in the blink of an eye. Mollie gone, in the blink of an eye. No goodbyes. Rick didn't get to say goodbye.
Days pass. He doesn't quite know the day, the time. He feels lifeless. What is all of this for, he wondered. His demons hurt him, it hurts - he knows how the man writing in the diary must feel, fighting his own demons. He can feel some sort of kinship with the writer of these words. Who are you?
And all he had to answer that question are the words on the page. So he reads. Bill sits. Harry reads.
I must destroy her. She's evil. Stares at me, tells me to be a good little boy and won't I sit with her and read? Look at this, my son. Look at this, she commands. She's trying to put her thoughts in my brain. She wants me to be evil too, wants her evil inside me. I have to stop her. What if - what if the monster has come into my life to help rid the world of evil? Can monsters win against the devil?
I visited him at the bar again. Those pretty little lips of his sure can talk the talk. He's clever with words, aren't you, my little monster? But two can play this word game. Waited until we were alone. Just us and the jukebox belting out some country tune far too cheerful for the words I threw at him. I mocked him for being weak. You're not special, I told him. You have a fascinating psychosis, but that's all it is. You're weak, a pathetic little boy with delusions of grandeur. I laughed at him. And I don't know what came over me. But I kissed him. Rough, quick, dominating. I think he was taken off guard. He took it, then fought back, his lips the weapon. I reached down, cupped him roughly. I don't think he expected that. He growled, pushed himself into my hand even as he tried to resist.
And I pulled back. Pushed him away. Told him he was sick, so sexually repressed he was gagging for it from his enemy. Now who's nobody, I asked him. I left him there. His face - oh god his face. Stunned and aroused and so much fear and anger. God it was brilliant.
I really am as sick as he is. And right now I fucking adore it.
Didn't it feel good to let go? Harry was tired of fighting it. Embrace the darkness. Embrace the sickness. It was easier to let go. He slipped further away. Ron asked him if anything was wrong. You seem distracted lately, mate. Are you okay? Of course he was okay. Why wouldn't he be? Colin surprised him with breakfast in bed one morning. I'll eat more then what's on that plate, Harry had told him, and Colin had laughed and made him laugh, and it was a good day.
Someone at work played a prank one of the other Aurors, and fireworks shot through the office. Harry came home a wreck, unsure where he was, who he was, what he was doing. They're trying to kill me again, he told Colin in a frenzy. And Colin had tried to soothe him but it wasn't him they were trying to hurt, how could he be so calm - he's not sure what happened then, but he can remember screaming and chasing someone - who had he been chasing? And Colin, afraid. Why was Colin afraid?
Do you know what it's like to have people chasing you, trying to hurt you, he asked Bill. Bill didn't reply. Harry ranted for several minutes before he sat down. Listen to this, Bill, he said. Listen to this.
Followed the monster again. Followed him right to my house. Watched him walk right through the door with a key. How did he get my house key for fucks sake. Stood outside, didn't know what to do. Walked in. Heard my Mum chatting with the monster, as cool as you please. I get the message, Canice. Loud and clear.
Turned the tables on him today. You gave me ideas, my little monster. It's your own fault, you know. If you hadn't brought my Mum into this...I wouldn't have had the idea. Took me a week to do it, but I found the monster's Mother. Watched her for awhile. Carefully. Didn't want him to know, not just yet. You'll find out when it's time, my little monster.
Sweet talked my way in this afternoon. Made sure my monster didn't see me. He thought I was still at work. The precinct is the only place he will not follow me into, the only place I can be sure he stays away from. I know he watches from outside. I watched him watch me, and I found a way to sneak out.
His Mother's a sweet one. She's gone through utter hell, she has. I'm not sure how she's still sane. Ashley was barely of legal age when she hooked up with the monster's Father. Sean was seven years her senior, physically the type every girl dreams of having. Love, obsession - it was the same thing to me back then, she told me. They were engaged barely a month after they'd met. She called their courtship more of a "love bombing from both sides". An odd turn of phrase to be sure. Sounded like she was looking to get out of Texas as quick as possible, and he was the ticket, with the added bonus of looks and the personality of a perfect gentlemen. And he was looking for something much more sinister, but she didn't know. Might not have cared if she did, at that point. Her family life wasn't pretty.
Barely a week after the proposal they were in Brooklyn and married. She was thrown for a loop hours after the vows. The nice guy act dropped. He roughed her up. Told her she was to be his breeder. Broke her down. Didn't take long. He was brutal. Wasn't long until she was knocked up. When Canice was born she was given a choice. Stay, raise the child. Or die. What choice did I have, she said to me. She wanted to protect little Canice. Sean pretty much left her alone. Let her go to school. Get a psychology degree like she'd always wanted. As long as she stayed in the lines Sean drew for her, for the child, she had some semblance of happiness.
Sean had an ironclad rule, she said. Never go into the basement. So she didn't. She watched her son go down there with his Father, watched him grow from a child to a young boy, and to this day doesn't know what Sean and Canice did in the basement. Sean's been out of the house for years now, and she still hasn't gone into that room. Therapy can only do so much, she told me. She's still scared.
I asked her what happened to Sean. How did she and her son escape that man? I tried to kill him, she told me. I was shocked she'd trust me enough to tell me all this. I think she's lonely. Hasn't had a friend in her life since she hooked up with Sean. She tried to kill him. He was too strong, she couldn't overpower him. Nearly killed her. But her son heard the ruckus. And little Canice, not even fifteen yet, stopped him. Sean was imprisoned. Later put in a mental institution. She took Canice and moved away. She was terrified Sean would come for them someday. Canice suggested they change their last name to Lawson. She kept her first name. He didn't. Eventually they moved back to New York. Canice had convinced her that hiding in plain sight would be best.
I shouldn't have asked, but my curiosity got the best of me. Does Canice still spend time in your basement, I asked her. She got nervous at that. I don't ask questions, she said. I have my son back. The nightmare is over. I just want to live in peace now. She politely kicked me out after that.
That's all Harry wanted. To live in peace. But nobody wanted to let him. Liza, and her questions that dug at him, twist into his gut like a knife. It hurt. Bloody hell it hurt but the pain felt so good and he couldn't stop it, he needed that pain to sharpen him, keep him awake. The numb of the first years after the war - he didn't want to go back to that, and so he needed that pain. Colin, ever patient and loving Colin, and the way he bent over backwards to make Harry feel good, and the way he listened to him no matter what the topic and how he was just so utterly perfect and kind and good - it hurt to see because he would never be worthy of it, he was broken and flawed and nothing. He wanted Colin to be more like him -
And so he came home, and sniped at Colin, and tried to point out Colin's flaws, and Colin was just so understanding, it made him angry, and sick inside, and he shoved Colin into a doorway - and fix that bruise, you look ugly that way -
Bill didn't have bruises. Bill didn't talk to him. He just listened. He let Harry be Harry.
Canice's Mother may be too afraid to see what's in the basement, but I'm not. Snuck in when no one was at home. Shit, I've stumbled into something big. Canice's Father is the one who indoctrinated his son to believe this whole 'descendant of Jack the Ripper' crap. Sean Kassidy's the monster who made the monster. Hundreds of photos of that man's victims. God. I've got to think. I can use this information to my advantage somehow.
Went to the bar. He's flustered. Doesn't seem to know how to act around me since that night. I've got the power now. God does it feel good.
Found some books Mum left lying around. Supernatural. Possession of the soul for dummies, essentially. Shit. I've got to stop her. She's going to take over my soul if I don't. I can't sleep for long. What if she comes for me at night?
I keep having these strange dreams when I do sleep. I'm floating over my bed. God. What if she's already started coming for my soul? I must stop her. How?
I've figured it out. My monster can help me slay the demon. And I can do the same in return. I can slay the monster who made my monster. You don't have to know the name of the game we're playing, dear Canice. You only have to make the moves I want you to. And I know you will.
Shit. I slipped up today. Thought I'd shaken my tail. Touché, little monster. He saw me outside his Mother's home. I wasn't yet ready for him to see me there, was hoping to wait a week yet. I may have to move faster than I'd intended. But not to worry, dear Canice. Justice will be done soon.
It's not even a day after he saw me outside the house and he's sent me a message. A body was found not two blocks from the precinct. He's broken his own MO on this one - it was a man this time. A man who looked extraordinarily like me. He's angry, unravelling. I'm getting to him. Might not have even connected it to him, but he wanted me to know. Left his usual broken doll head and a note of warning. Curiosity killed the cat, Inspector, he'd written.
Didn't go in the bar tonight. Waited for him outside. I asked him if his Mother knew his secret. If she knew what was in that basement. He was so angry, shaking. I think I made him forget himself, for a moment. He dropped his cool exterior. Pinned me against the building. You're playing with fire, he said to me. So are you, I told him. He growled at me. Don't you get it, he said. You can't win. He was so close. I've had dreams like this. Dreams where he would be even closer. Dreams where we might finish what I started, that night of our kiss. Neither can you, I told him.
He didn't kiss me tonight. But I've got him wanting it. He held me against that wall for ages, his eyes flicking down to my mouth multiple times. I've never wanted anyone so badly in my life. I'm no longer ashamed to admit what I want. And I want him. Oh god do I ever. And if what I felt against my leg tonight was any indication, my monster truly is mine.
Just a little longer, my dear Canice. We'll have it all, you'll see.
Got caught sneaking out to go to the bar last night. Mum read me the riot act for sure. I don't think she suspects that I know she's a demon. Or maybe she does. But no matter. Plans are underway. Humans have been mistaken for demons for centuries. But every now and then, demons are mistaken for humans. And they live among us. A human wouldn't hurt a child. But a demon would. I must act before it's too late.
Shit. The monster saw me sneaking out of the basement window of his Mother's house. God, he's like a bloodhound. Always seems to find me even when I don't want him to. He's not happy. Saw his face as I hightailed it out of there.
Another night at the bar. I don't know what to make of it. Tonight the monster was charming. Flirtatious, even. I've never seen him in this good of a mood. I'm suspicious. I should be scared, perhaps. But god, I'm not. Not even a little bit. I enjoyed our banter. God he makes me feel alive. He had this look in his eye. Smug. Like he's holding all the cards. But I'll worry about that tomor
Harry frowned as he looked at the page. The sentence had just ended, the word unfinished, no attempt at punctuation. "Odd," he muttered to himself. "That's not his usual writing style." He turned the page. It was blank. He flipped through the remaining several pages. There was nothing there.
"That's all there is, lad," a voice said. Harry turned sharply. Luke was standing in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, his arms folded. "He didn't get the chance to finish writing."
"Have you read this before?" Harry asked. "How do you know...?"
Luke sighed. "That's Bill's journal you're reading."
Harry's mouth dropped open. He glanced at Bill. The man was rocking back and forth silently. "This is yours - I've been reading your words to you - I didn't know!" Harry turned to Luke. "I didn't know, I swear. I didn't mean to pry. Colin found a bag left at the park not too far from here and I didn't know who it belonged to..." he trailed off. "I shouldn't have snooped."
"I don't blame you for being curious, Harry." Luke entered the room fully and sat down on the chair across from Harry's. "I wasn't sure where I'd lost the bag. I foolishly carried it around with me wherever I went - it was Bill's. Makes me feel closer to him. Carrying around some of his old things."
"Have you read this whole thing?" Harry asked, holding up the notebook.
Luke nodded. "That one and the others like it, yes."
"He had other journals?"
"Yes he did. The other ones are hard to follow, more so than this one. Almost every page full of ramblings about demons and monsters and plans on how to rid the world of them."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "There was some of that in this one too. He seemed to think his Mother was a demon."
Luke rubbed his forehead. "His Mother put some funny ideas into his head. It wasn't much of a stretch for his mind to start coming up with funny ideas of his own. Her parenting skills - well, you've read the journal. What do you think?"
"I get the feeling growing up with his Mother wasn't sunshine and rainbows," Harry said. "She seemed to be very - controlling."
"That's a diplomatic way of saying she was an asshole," Luke said frankly. "I loathe abusive people. But to hurt a child the way she hurt my Bill - that's a whole new low. She deserved what she got. At least one good thing came out of all this."
"What happened?" Harry asked.
Luke gave another sigh. "The Dollmaker happened, Harry."
Harry narrowed his eyes in thought. "Are you telling me that the Dollmaker killed Bill's - "
"Yes lad, Elizabeth was killed by the Dollmaker."
"Can I ask - do you know - what happened?"
"I can tell you what I know, but only Bill and the Dollmaker know the full story. I had a contact on the force who told me what they found, and the conclusions they made, but there's still a piece or two missing in the puzzle."
Harry leaned forward in his chair. "Go on."
"The police don't know how he got in. The journals were not found during the processing of the crime scene. My Bill hid them well. So they don't know that the man Bill was following had a key, but this still doesn't help."
"Why?" Harry asked. "Bill seems pretty sure in his writing that this man - Canice - is the Dollmaker."
"I'm getting there," Luke said. "Near as the police can tell, the Dollmaker entered the home, tied Elizabeth up. Somehow managed to subdue and tie up Bill too, which can't have been easy, given his training. They think he made Bill watch while he tortured and killed Elizabeth. Good riddance," Luke said with a shudder.
"She must have been awful to live with," Harry commented.
"The early days of our romance were some of the happiest times of my life," Luke said sadly. "But she changed, later on. Or maybe she simply stopped hiding her real personality. By then Bill had been born - I stayed for awhile. Tried to protect him. It was hard, Harry. Elizabeth had to be in control of everything. What we ate, what we wore, hell, how we talked - and if we didn't do as she said she'd punish us...I was young, Harry. Young and stupid and scared and in over my head. I left. I shouldn't have left without my son. I should have tried harder. But - I left. And now I'm trying to make up for it."
Harry was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. "My ex-girlfriend had a pregnancy scare once," he said abruptly. "Ginny and I were young, hadn't been together long. We were fresh out of school, trying to make a life for ourselves. I was - struggling. With my sexuality. Ginny didn't know. But she knew I was unhappy. When she told me she thought she was pregnant I - I didn't take it well. I tried to hide my relief when she found out she wasn't expecting. But she saw. Confronted me about how unhappy I was." Harry took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "She was right, in the end. I didn't want what I thought I did. I didn't want to be with a woman. I didn't want to raise children, or live the life others expected me to. But I would have. I would have done it, if she had been pregnant. I would have done anything to give that child the life I wish I'd had growing up, no matter the personal sacrifice. Children shouldn't have to pay for our mistakes."
Luke was nodding his head. "I should have been more like that. I wish I'd stayed for my son."
"No," Harry said. "I was wrong, before, to assume. I didn't know your situation."
Luke shook his head. "In the end, we can only do what we can do," he said. "Shall I go on?"
Harry motioned for Luke to continue. He glanced at Bill. He was still rocking back and forth. Luke cleared his throat. Harry looked back at him.
"The police estimated that it took hours for Elizabeth to die. They'd known that the Dollmaker liked to...shall we say, play with his prey, before finishing them off, but there was something about this one - they think it was more personal. And, given what Bill has written in that journal, I'd say that they're probably right about that. But here's where the mystery lies, Harry." Luke paused, leaned forward. "My contact on the force showed me the reports written by the first officers on scene. They observed a female, bloody and lifeless, tied to one end of a bed. A male, my son, tied to the other end, awake but non-responsive. And lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, a man with a gunshot wound. No one else was in the house, and no gun was found."
Harry's brain whirled. "Who shot the man? Who was that man?"
"I think you'll recognize the name from my Bill's writings. The man on the floor was Sean Kassidy."
"So Canice's Father is the Dollmaker?" Harry asked, stunned.
"That is the conclusion that the police made, yes. But they can't prove it."
"Why not?"
"Sean Kassidy has been in a coma from the gunshot wound to the head ever since he was found. They've kept him alive in the hopes that he'll wake up and they'll be able to question him, from what I've heard."
"So if he's the Dollmaker...who shot him?" Harry wondered.
"Sean Kassidy and my Bill are the only ones who can answer that question...and neither one of them are talking."
Harry looked over at Bill. "Is this why he's like this? Why he doesn't..."
"Yes," Luke said. "They think the trauma of his experience induced a catatonic state. He's been like this ever since. They think he may have been more susceptible because of the abuse he suffered growing up. So I guess...in a way, I'm responsible for this."
"You're not responsible for the actions of others," Harry said.
"That's kind of you to say," Luke said. "I sit with Bill every day, I plead with him to wake up - I think he's trying, hearing you read has been helping, I know it."
"How do you know?" Harry asked. "I've been reading his own words, his own awful experiences back to him without realizing it! What if that hurt him, what if I did more harm than good?"
"Call it faith, lad. But I know it's helping him. I can feel it."
Harry hoped Luke was right. He didn't think he could live with the guilt if he was wrong.