Chapter 1.2
November 12th 1988
Throwing her head back, the taste for vodka growing with every mouthful, Tiffany swallowed, the clear liquid burning her throat as she breathed through her nose, the alcohol fuelling her system as she violently lowered her head and removed the bottle from her lips. Allowing a dribble to escape her lips, she wiped the spill from her jumper and pulled the covers up and over her body, the cold unrelenting as winter finally kicked up a gear and began to assault every nerve in her body, her bed the only place of refuge as the apartment resembled one giant ice box. She had money for gas, electric, food, but she didn't have the drive to see to it. The only thing Tiffany could concentrate on was where the next drink was coming from, sleeping and then the next drink once more. Suddenly, she was shaken from her drunken stupor by a pounding, echoing down the hall, the front door almost falling from its hinges under the beating it was taking. Shaking her head and blinking her eyes, Tiffany threw the covers back and stood from the bed, her bare feet skipping across the floor, her thick jumper and jeans eventually found at the back of a rarely used drawer in her dresser, not often seen even in extreme cold like this. Bottle in one hand she entered the hall and made her way to the front door, yanking it open amidst the banging and finding the tattooed figure of Johnny McBride standing there with the biggest smile across his face. Known to people around the area as Johnny M, he had become acquainted with Tiffany over the years as a kind of on/off dealer, peddling his weed and other paraphernalia around the apartments at all hours, day and night. Usually Tiffany was happy to see Johnny, but now, as she took in his tall, gangly and colourful figure, she simply found nothing of interest.
"Hey Tiff." He beamed, his shoulder length dreadlocks swinging as he moved inwards.
"Johnny." Tiffany replied, her arm shooting out across the gap between door and frame, quickly blocking off any possible entry.
"You're not gonna invite me in?" He stepped back, a little puzzled.
"No." She spat, her eyes narrowing in disgust. "What do you want?"
"I heard about your guy." Johnny, shuffled his feet a little and concentrated on the ground. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry, that's all."
Tiffany opened the door a little wider, lifting her hand from the door knob and taking another swig of vodka.
"Well aren't you the sweetest." She smiled, a haunting look of sarcasm etched on her lips.
"Yeah, so..." Johnny continued. "You need anything? Just let me know if you do yeah?"
"I should be okay thanks." Tiffany took another swig. "I'm off that shit for a while. I need to figure some things out."
"Things?" Johnny laughed. "What kinda things?"
"Just in general. Life, that kinda shit." She answered.
"Well you're not gonna find help at the bottom of a bottle." Johnny smiled coyly as he lifted the see through bag, the smile growing bigger as he noticed Tiffany's eyes dilate, the weed getting her attention as she quickly opened the door fully and grabbed him, yanking him inside and slamming the door behind him.
Thank god for Johnny...
Two hours later, and Tiffany was feeling it. She'd not felt this way in a long time, calm, peaceful, serene, the entire world taking on a much more tranquil haze as she felt herself slowly slipping deeper into the cushions of her dirty, third hand couch. Grasping the filter-less roll up between her fingers, she placed it to her lips and took a deep breath, holding and holding until she felt her lungs cry out in misery, slowly but surely releasing the fumes from her lungs, the smoke floating into the air and dancing a pungent ballet around her head as she passed the remnants of the roll up back to Johnny, laid at the opposite end of the couch and equally at peace. The time had flown since she'd grabbed him from her doorstep before any of the remaining neighbours could see. One of the few people to know of her involvement with Chucky, he hadn't mentioned anything else regarding the incidents of the other night, the police, the shooting, her lover and best friend, gunned down and left for dead by Chicago PD's finest. Smoke billowing from his mouth as his face lit up in delight, Johnny coughed the acrid smoke forward and passed the weed back to Tiffany as he sat up, ready to roll yet another joint.
"So I gotta ask." He began. "You know about all that?"
"Know about what?" Tiffany smiled as she kicked him playfully with her foot.
"Your man, the love of your life. A damn murderer. I always thought he was a little intense, but fuck... You knew?" He started sprinkling the weed into the paper of the cigarette, a very little amount of tobacco to follow.
"Yeah." Tiffany nodded as she examined the joint almost burnt to the end. "I knew."
"No way." Johnny turned back to her, astonished. "Hey did he ever..."
"What?" Tiffany asked, interrupting Johnny.
"He never mentioned... You know." Johnny seemed to be squirming a little. "... killing me?"
Tiffany laughed a little and sat up, thrusting her hand into the ash tray, dousing the finished joint in an instant.
"A couple of times." She carried on laughing. "But don't worry. I talked him out of it. Said I couldn't bare anything to happen to you."
"Really?" Johnny pulled the fresh, drug laden cigarette to his lips and took a drag, passing it immediately to Tiffany. "You must think a lot of me then?" He laughed.
"Not really." She answered seriously as her eyes focused on the joint. "But let's be honest Johnny, where the fuck would we have gotten our shit from?"
She looked at Johnny, his face shooting from happiness to dismay in less than a second, leaning forward on the couch and cradling his head in his hands.
"Ouch." He gasped, attempting a half assed laugh.
"I'm glad you called round though." Tiffany mumbled, before taking a drag. "Honestly I am."
Johnny sat up straight, turning his head slightly and taking in the site before him. As she lay on the couch, the heavy woollen sweater lending her a cute, cuddly appearance, he felt the drugs buzzing around his head. Without thinking he lunged towards her, his arms wrapping around her curvy frame as Tiffany's eyes flew wide open in shock. As he leaned in to kiss her, Tiffany leaned back, as far as she could go, deeper into the cushions, the burning tip of the joint still gripped firmly between her lips. With nowhere else to go, the wriggling body of Johnny McBride atop her, his hands working furiously to unbutton her jeans, Tiffany did the only thing she could think of. Lifting the crudely wrapped cigarette from her lips as Johnny tried to kiss her, the panic took over as she pushed it into his eye, the sizzling sound of burning flesh causing him to fly back in pain as the agony sent him sprawling across the filthy floor of Tiffany's living room, screams of bewildered, excruciating pain filling the void separating them as Johnny lifted his hands to his face, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"What the fuck Tiff?" He yelled.
"Johnny, I..." Tiffany started.
But she was cut off mid sentence, as Johnny stood, his tall frame filling the window behind him as he instinctively reached into his pocket and withdrew the flick knife, the switch making Tiffany jump as the blade of the knife flew from its handle, the sun light glistening along the thin, serrated edge.
"You shouldn't have done that Tiff!" Johnny spat as he wiped the tears from his face.
Snapped from her drug addled state by the events unfolding in front of her, Tiffany lay perfectly still, waiting to see how things unfolded as Johnny moved the knife from hand to hand, starting to laugh, giggle, as he took small, calm steps towards her.
"I didn't mean to..." She started again.
"Shut your fucking mouth." He interrupted, shooting her down in an instant.
As he took one final step Tiffany realised it was too late to make a move, Johnny almost on top of her once more as his shadow fell across her body. She hadn't felt like this in a long time, not even the day before, as Bill Sutton's hand wound its way around her neck and slowly strangled the air from her lungs. Pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her body, Tiffany felt a fear unlike any other as her former friend started to unbuckle the belt of his jeans, dropping them to the floor, his underwear quickly following as he stood before her, his intentions clear.
"Lose the jeans." He murmured, the weed still giving him a high.
"Please Johnny..." She began to beg.
"Lose them!" He repeated, the knife gesturing downwards as his hands floated in front of him.
With no sign of an escape route, and nothing to defend herself with, Tiffany realised she had no choice, slowly unfolding her legs, stretching out across the couch at a diagonal angle as her feet delicately touched the floor. Reaching down and pulling up the bottom of her thick sweater, she fumbled for the button of her jeans, her hands shaking as she unhooked the clasp and unzipped them arcing her back as she slowly slid the denim and accompanying underwear across her smooth legs and towards her ankles. As she sat back up, she looked into Johnny's eyes, glazed over as he waved the knife again, sideways this time.
"Spread 'em!" He ordered, his voice silently gliding through the air, poison to her ears.
Slowly, she opened her legs, terror filling every pore of her body as her spine began to tingle, stiffen up and ache, the sickness spreading throughout her body like a wildfire as Johnny slowly leaned over her, lowering himself on top of her and kissing her. She tried to turn her head, get away from the sight of him as she closed her eyes, trying to find a happy place, somewhere to disappear to. Johnny had other ideas though, grabbing her chin and snapping her head towards his face as he looked into her eyes.
"You fucking look at me!" He snarled, the knife floating inches from her face as he leaned further in, his lips making her skin crawl as he kissed her, his arms shooting either side of her head, digging into the arm of the couch as she felt his erection brush up against her, Tiffany gasping as he slowly, quietly, but unrelentingly entered her. She felt lost, her world freefalling, the darkness enveloping her as she tried to black it out, but it was no use. Suddenly, Johnny thrust forward, his erection filling her all at once, making her eyes tear as the situation became even clearer. As he kissed her, he pulled back, the empty space between her legs immediately filled once more as he lunged forward and filled her again, every inch bringing even more despair. Fighting back was useless, she could tell this, but she noticed that as the minutes went on, the more involved in the situation Johnny became, the less attention he paid to her. All the while she waited, every second, every touch, every caress and thrust filling her with hatred and murderous rage as she slowly moved her hand to towards his, the knife still in his grasp, his mind elsewhere as emotions became too much for him, Johnny beginning to reach climax within minutes. As he started panting, Tiffany felt him swell and throb inside her, Johnny throwing his head back in ecstasy as he ejaculated, the feeling sweeping through him, a wave of euphoria as he felt himself reach the crest of the wave. It was in this instant, as Johnny carried on, a huge smile appearing upon his face, that Tiffany suddenly and without warning grabbed the flick knife from Johnny's hand, the moment causing him to lose focus as he felt her snatch the blade and opened his eyes in shock. The vision before him was a different one to what he had expected as she lay beneath him , a look of disgust shooting straight at Johnny as Tiffany's hand, knife and all, dropped to the living room floor before instantly cutting up, slicing through the air and landing in the side of Johnny's neck, the blood flying from the wound as Tiffany withdrew the knife before ramming it in again, the artery bursting as the blade sliced clean through, Johnny's face taking on a look of shock, horror and surprise. In and out, over and over, she pulled the knife free from his neck, before plunging it back in, the blood spraying across her chest and face as Johnny's hand reached up, feeling at the wound as Tiffany let go of the knife, now sticking clear of Johnny's neck. Before taking his last breath he turned back to her, his face full of regret as he finally gave up the ghost, flopping forward and lying across Tiffany, pinning her to the couch as he lay still inside her, his body now lifeless as Tiffany tried to push him off.
It was no use though. His body weighing a hell of a lot more than she had originally thought. Spinning her head and looking around her immediate vicinity, Tiffany noticed the situation she now found herself in, as she lay flat on her back, legs wide open with the dead body of her former friend, her rapist, laying on top of her. Beside the couch, on the floor, she noticed the joint, still casually burning away, the tip smoking, bright orange as she reached down and brought it back up to her lips, fumbling down the back of the couch and finding the remote for the TV. As she took a huge drag, she looked up into Johnny's haunting eyes and turned her head away in disgust, aiming the remote at the TV and pressing the power button as the TV set fired into life, WDOL news seeming to just finish a story focusing on a multi car pileup, just the other side of the city. It was as she lay there puffing on the drug filled cigarette, her thoughts running away from her, the last five minutes beginning to catch up and make her mind spin, that something else caught her attention. Turning to the TV set in disbelief, Tiffany tried to sit up, but found it impossible, Johnny's body still warm, filling her and making her uncomfortable as she turned the volume up and stared vacantly at the report unfolding in front of her. What she saw was bizarre.
"Thank you Terri." The anchor spoke as he turned to address the camera. "The body of a man discovered after an explosion at a derelict building on Cicero avenue, Austin has been officially identified by police this morning. Eddie Kaputo, a fugitive from Chicago Police Department after feeling his captors during a transfer to a prison bus, was killed in the explosion that brought the property crashing down on top of him. With only a six year old boy as a witness, police were less than optimistic about a positive identification, the pathologists reluctantly resorting to dental records."
Tiffany's eyes widened even more as she began to laugh, the bellows of laughter beginning to fill the almost empty room, the walls reverberating with each cackle. She'd never liked Eddie, always sneering at her, his eyes mentally undressing her whenever she shared the same room as him. As the news anchor began talking again, she quietened down.
"Kaputo was first arrested on the evening of November 9th, and questioned concerning charges of aiding and abetting serial killer Charles Lee Ray, known by thousands as 'The Lakeshore Strangler'. Ray was shot and killed that same night by Chicago Police as he fled his home after police received tip off concerning the disappearance of local woman Sarah Pirce, eight months pregnant, later found gagged, bound and injured in Ray's basement. Miss Pirce was later rushed to hospital where she was given a caesarean section, Ray's assault causing complications."
As Chucky's image flashed up on screen, Tiffany felt a wave of nausea ripple over her as she pulled her legs up and pushed as hard as she could against Johnny's chest, his body falling with a crumpled 'thud' to the floor. Tiffany sat up, stunned, Johnny's blood spilling over the incredibly thin carpet, pooling around his body as he lay motionless, his eyes boring into Tiffany as she flicked the remote once more, powering the TV off.
Time to visit an old friend...
Slipping the cab driver a couple of twenty dollar bills, Tiffany opened the door and stepped out onto the side walk, standing gracefully as she turned and slammed the door shut, the cab immediately hitting the gas and screeching away from the run down area she now found herself surrounded by. As the snow fell around her, slowly, delicately floating as it hit the ground and melted into the whiteness covering the asphalt she took a step toward the alley, carefully hidden between the two dilapidated buildings. The darkness beckoning her onwards she took in the smell of urine and marijuana as she took another look around, various people, homeless, wasted, strung out as they went about what resembled a life, failing to pay Tiffany a second thought as she slipped down the alleyway and out of sight. The jeans and polo neck had been a bizarre, but inspired decision as the chill wrapped around her and squeezed the last gasp of air from her lungs, her breath swimming into the air around her as she hurriedly made her way to the back of the building, the courtyard behind the apartments opening out as a thriving mini community thrived along, the apartments stacked on top of each other, resembling a high rise shanty town. The smell of food as people cooked, the snow dampening no spirits as laughter echoed, bouncing from each wall. Washing flapped in the cold November breeze, how the hell the multitudes of people thought it was going to dry as flakes of snow floated around them, Tiffany had no idea. She'd never noticed this before, but the entire row of faces before her were of Caribbean descent, laughing and joking as they threw rice, peas, chicken and whatever else in pots, the stoves beneath burning bright as the stews and rice boiled, steam escaping the pans and spiralling into the cold afternoon air. Making her way through the small crowd, chickens clucking around her as people barked orders and friendly banter back and forth, Tiffany reaching her destination in no time at all, skipping up the small wooden steps and onto a veranda of the ground floor apartment. Looking around, she slowly clenched her fist and raised her arm, allowing her hand to hammer on the door a handful of could hear movement on the other side, shuffling as the occupant moved towards the door, the footsteps falling closer and closer with every second until the door was instantly pulled open, the chain preventing it from opening fully. Looking back at her, slightly shocked, the face spoke as the eyes grew wider.
"You!" The man spoke, his face contorted in confusion.
"Hello John." Tiffany spoke as she reached down and opened her purse, John's eyes following as she withdrew her hand, the pack of cigarettes gripped firmly as she removed one from the packet and placed the filter between her lips, the blood of Johnny McBride freshly washed away before leaving her apartment. As she replaced the packet, Tiffany removed her lighter and calmly lit the cigarette, taking a deep puff as she closed her bag and looked John square in the eyes, her high pitched voice resonating. "Long time no see."
"What do you want?" He spat, rage taking over as he struggled to confine his temper.
"I need to come in." Tiffany replied, her voice unmoved. "It's important. Just for a minute. Please."
Without saying a word, John stood speechless before slamming the door, leaving Tiffany stood in the cold wind. Leaving it a few seconds, Tiffany decided the game was up and turned, ready to leave, her efforts in vain. She'd only taken one step when the grating noise from behind the door startled her, causing her to stop, the door springing open as John stood to the side and waved her in, his loose fitting shirt flapping as he swung his arms inwards, the pure white beads wrapped around his neck jingling slightly as he pushed the door closed and turned to address his guest, finding her now taking a seat on the living room couch.
It had been a couple of years since Tiffany had last seen John, the apartment changing incredibly over time as she took in the garish surroundings, the masks adorning the walls, the tacky furniture littering the apartment as candles burned in each and every visible nook and cranny. If anything, she felt at home surrounded by plethora of junk. Looking up as she crossed her legs and took another drag of her cigarette, she found the staggered figure of John Bishop standing before her, his face twisting with rage as he clenched his fists. Slightly nervous, Tiffany knew John well enough to know that violence wasn't his forte. In all the years Chucky had known him, he had been arrested once, at a protest of some sort, and a peaceful one at that, a night in the cells for resisting arrest. How Chucky had laughed about that. Suddenly he spoke.
"What do you want?" He spat again. "Say what you will and leave. You have no business here!"
"I take it you heard the news?" Tiffany asked as she removed the butt from her lips, the smoke spiralling into the air. "Chucky's dead!"
"Yes!" John span on the spot, reaching out to the small table besides him and grabbing the paper, holding it up and pointing the same picture of Chucky, laying dead besides the dolls. "I had heard. Not before time by the sounds of it."
"Now, now." Tiffany's leg began to kick slightly as it hung over her opposite knee, playfully kicking the air as she replaced the burning embers of nicotine between her lips and inhaled. "That's not a nice thing to say. Not about a friend."
"He was no friend!" John took a step towards her, throwing the paper to the ground as the papers scattered in all directions. "That man used me! He gained my trust. The trust of my elders, my brothers, gaining our knowledge, all the while parading round this city, preying on the vulnerable! That is no friend of mine!"
"What're you talking about knowledge?" Tiffany asked, surprised.
"That doesn't matter. The key to everlasting life is not something one can be taught. It requires faith of the highest order. Something that man could never possess."
"What do you mean? I don't understand. Do you remember when was the last time you saw him?" Tiffany asked casually, John taking a step backwards as he lowered his hands to his sides, his mind racing.
"Of course you don't you stupid girl! As for the last time I saw him... I cannot remember that." He answered. "But I wish to Damballa I had never set on eyes on his evil little face. The day I met him, will forever haunt me."
"The press keep mentioning a woman. Something Pirce?" She leaned forward and tossed the burnt out cigarette to the floor. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you John?"
"I have no idea!" He answered calmly, dropping to sit on the seat behind him, rubbing his head with his fingers, confrontation not one of his strong points. "The media are mentioning a great deal I did not know about our mutual friend."
"So you knew nothing at all?" She asked, pressing for information, standing to examine one of the intricately carved masks hung beside her on the wall. As she stood, her bag fell from her shoulder and hit the soft cushions of the couch, falling over as the contents spilled from the unzipped opening, John's eyes shocked and enraged as the blood stained flick knife of Johnny McBride hit the wooden floor and skidded towards his feet. As Tiffany turned to examine the commotion from the couch, her eyes immediately fell on the knife, panic tearing through her soul. Suddenly John stood, taking a huge stride forward and grabbed her arm, throwing her bag into her chest, pulling her along with force, ushering her towards the door, he obviously didn't want her there, and Tiffany knew she would do well not to resist.
"What's the rush?" She asked. "Can't we talk?" She almost tripped over her boots as she was manhandled the short distance to the exit.
"I have nothing more to say to you Tiffany!" Calmness streaked through john's words. "I want nothing to do with you, either of you, in life or death. In fact, I feel degraded for having ever shared a room with either of the pair of you!"
Reaching out with his free hand, John's hand fell on the handle as he pulled the door open and gave Tiffany a shove into the cold afternoon air, causing her to spin as he relinquished his grip, leaving her stood on the wooden deck. A few of the neighbours had noticed the commotion, stopping to listen and take in the argument. Stunned, she took one last look at him and pleaded for help.
"Please." She begged as she held her hands out in a prayer. "I need answers. I don't even know his address!"
Panting, John stood motionless, his eyes examining every wrinkle on her face as the tears started to well up. Without saying another word, he left the door wide open and disappeared back inside, the heat emanating from within and filling Tiffany with a warm comfort. Before Tiffany could take a step back towards the apartment, John appeared once more, his hand thrusting forward as he handed her a piece of paper.
"That is what you require. So be it." He motioned for her to take the paper.
"What is it?" She asked as she reached out.
"That my dear child, is the address of the late Charles Lee Ray!" He turned back to the apartment, ready to slam the door in her face. "Now be gone with you. The smell is already unbearable!"
And with that he threw the door closed, leaving Tiffany nothing but a piece of paper, the barely legible writing leaping at her, increasingly so as her tears began to fall, hitting the paper, the puddles spreading outwards as they splashed along the surface. Folding the paper and sliding it into her bag, Tiffany raced down the steps and through the courtyard, hurriedly reaching the urine soaked alleyway and reaching the street, raising her arms and hollering at a passing yellow cab. As the cab skidded to a halt, Tiffany pulled open the rear door and jumped inside, reading the address John had given her to the driver as she placed her bag beside her on the seat. Just as the driver began to set off, he instantly slammed on the brakes, throwing Tiffany forward from her seat, almost banging her face into the seat in front of her as the driver began cursing.
"What was that?" Tiffany asked, sitting upright and leaning back in the seat, confused.
"Looked like some kid." The driver angrily replied. "Ran straight in front of the car. Little ass hole!"
Craning her neck round to the alleyway she had just emerged from, Tiffany caught a slight glimpse as the child headed round the corner. A head of ginger hair, blue dungarees and trainers so red standing out against the snowy background.
"Some people..." Tiffany began, as she turned back to face forward. "... Shouldn't have kids!"
Sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands, his heart racing, John sat and regained his composure, the confrontation with Tiffany not going as well as he could have hoped, but ending without any unpleasant business nonetheless. Standing to his weathered and aching feet, he strolled into the kitchen and reached for a cup, the tea bag in his hand tossed quickly inside as he was made to jump by an unexpected, yet eerily familiar voice.
"Hello John..."
Reaching the address, the cab driver slowed to a stop, the tyres skidding slightly on the slush built up beside the road. They had reached the address John had given them, Tiffany speechless at the state of the area. Burnt out cars, addicts, every manner of peasant floating along on a high as they sniffed glue and aerosols, staggering across the road as cars whizzed past, horns blaring at them to get out of the way.
"You sure you don't want dropping at the door?" The driver spun in his seat.
"No." Tiffany answered as she ran her eyes over the neighbourhood.
She could see the entrance to the four storey apartment block now, a solitary car parked outside, the light on top indicating a police presence somewhere nearby. She was just about to reach into her purse and pay the driver of the cab, stopping suddenly as two figures raced from the apartment block and headed towards the police car. A spark made Tiffany's head spin as she cast her eyes on the man. His leather jacket and tan pants, the swept back head of immaculate hair and the chiselled face. That was the man held responsible for shooting Chucky. The cop, his name escaping her as she sat stunned, watching from the back of the cab. The woman with him was unrecognisable, dressed in her long camel hair coat, shoulder length blonde hair, maybe his partner, both of them a blur as they jumped in the car and fired the engine, the wheels screeching as he floored the gas pedal and took off down the main street. Try as she might, she couldn't remember the cop's name. She cast her eyes over the neighbourhood again and quietly slipped the driver a couple of twenties, opening the door and quickly leaving the cab, the broad heels of her boots beginning to make dull thuds in the snow as she walked away from the cab and approached the dirty looking building at the bottom of the hill, the brown front looking desperately in need of a wash, or a friendlier coat of paint. Crossing the street, Tiffany entered the building, head down as she searched for apartment 6, a ground floor apartment, the bags of garbage stacked at the bottom of the stairs outside the door letting off a foul and putrid odour. As she immediately came face to face with the door, for some reason left wide open, she took another look around. The door swung ever so slightly, the police no doubt leaving in the middle of searching the place. As she entered the entry of the apartment she felt the coldness creep over her, a window left slightly open in the next room no doubt, the smell of damp still relatively overpowering as she moved inside and closed the door behind her. Moving quickly through the door in front of her, she felt her heart sink as she finally took in the sight on the wall straight opposite, the mural bewildering her, all the while ripping into her stomach and stirring the contents, the nausea making her feel faint as she took a step into the room and rotated a full turn. The walls had been painted a dark, unsettling purple colour, the mural depicting a man, naked and on his knees, inflicting cuts to his arm, time and again as the naked figures of both male and female forms lay before the face of some kind of deity. Mannequin parts, and dolls filled every corner of the room, hanging from the walls as Tiffany slowly raised her hand to her mouth, the shock sickening her deeply. The table besides the couch disturbed her as she knelt slightly and placed a hand upon it, the thick rug like texture of the surface covering the source of the legs protruding from beneath. The sight of bodies, gracing the wall behind her, as they became entwined, reaching outwards for salvation, the words 'Thank you oh mighty Damballa for life after death' displayed prominently amongst the insane brushstrokes. Turning back to the main mural, the unsettling images of harm and sacrifice leaping from the plaster, Tiffany took another long step, her boots thudding as they hit the hollow wood of the floor beneath her feet. Right in front of her seemed to be a man, depicted kneeling, reaching and looking up to a figure, Caribbean in origin, dressed head to toe in ceremonial robes, the man at his feet worshipping, as she noticed the resemblance to Chucky, staggering her immensely. Taking a step back and letting her eyes take in the sight once more, she noticed the painted graphic dead centre of the wall. Two flags, crossed halfway along the mast as they appeared to be flanked by a couple of serpents, the star sitting atop them like some weird, demented Christmas tree. As she looked back at the Caribbean figure being adored and worshipped by the man at his knees, she looked into the eyes, lazy, hanging low, the face coming to her instantly. John Bishop. Standing before Chucky, arms flayed out either side, a knife in one, a long staff gripped firmly in the other as he breathed in the praise. What was it John had said to her? "The key to everlasting life is not something one can be taught. It requires faith of the highest order." Something didn't sit right. Repulsed, confused, Tiffany headed to the kitchen, the pin up posters held up by the light fittings lending a cheaper, even tackier feeling to the atmosphere as she looked around. Nothing of interest except the door in the corner. Reaching out and pulling the door, it swung open, Tiffany jumping a mile as a cat came hurtling from nowhere, leaping past her and onto the kitchen counter before racing along the surface and disappearing into the living room, the feline completely unmoved by the barbaric paintwork on offer. Turning back to the door and peering inside, the darkness sent a chill down Tiffany's spine, the top of a staircase leading into the abyss as she reached in and fumbled for a light switch, finding the pull string and yanking it firmly, the stairway suddenly bathed in light from above. The staircase had seen better days, the wood beginning to rot and split beneath her feet as she stepped through the door and began to walk downwards, the room beneath the kitchen coming into view, revealing more and more with every step. The floor was thick with dust as Tiffany took a final step from the bottom of the staircase and covered her mouth, tears beginning to run from her eyes, dancing rapidly across her cheeks as she looked at the bedlam around her. As the light from the windows high on the wall filtered in, she found herself surrounded by literally hundreds of flowers, the yellow petals beginning to turn a variety of deathly shades as the stems wilted in their vases, the rancid smell of decaying pollen hitting her nose and making her want to vomit. Masks, similar to John's place, lined a dresser at the far side of the room and the respective walls, even the beams and pipes above her head bore the foul, long turned, flowers and masks of all shapes and sizes. She slowly walked through the basement and found herself spinning, the same sight greeting her time after time, masks, flowers, death... She found, right in front of her, a small couch. Maybe not a couch, but not a bed either, more of a chaise longue than anything, a small, paisley cushion sat undisturbed at one end. As the eyes and ears of various figures and masks looked down on Tiffany from every conceivable angle, she allowed her eyes to fall to the floor, the pool of dried blood staining the floor of the basement, dead centre of the couch. Tiffany could hear and see the news reports, the anchors' eyes focusing on her as they spoke of a woman, the various news papers speaking of a stabbing, the woman, apparently pregnant, rushed to hospital as surgeons worked frantically to perform a C-section and save her child, the knife judged to be the cause of complications. Taking a step backwards in shock, Tiffany crashed into the dresser as flowers scattered in every direction, masks fell from their position and clattered to the floor, one or two shattering on impact and splintering across the floor as Tiffany's world spiralled into darkness. She knew Chucky was a killer, a cold blooded one at that, but this was something else. Never in a million years did she think he was capable of such a thing. But why was she down here, this Pirce woman, what was the reason? Why did he have her here, restrained, pregnant... Suddenly a thought slammed into her, knocking her sideways. Was Chucky the father? Was it his child? No it couldn't have been. Not even Chucky could perform such a monstrous act. As she began to visibly weep, Tiffany had to get out, her feet moving automatically as she skipped across the floor and towards the decrepit staircase leading to the kitchen. Reaching the top of the stairs, Tiffany raced through the doorway, spinning and grabbing the door, throwing her body up against it as she violently slammed it closed, taking a deep breath of the cool, fresh air circling the room. As she turned and leant against the door, the kitchen shrinking around her as she allowed her eyes to wander, she noticed something. Not noticeable at first, not to the untrained eye at least, but it was there. Hidden away, behind the toaster sat proudly in the corner of the kitchen, the crumbs built around it, sat the corner of a photograph. As Tiffany reached forward, she grabbed the tattered end and pulled the picture free, her face lighting up as her heart skipped a beat. The picture she held in her hand was actually one of hers. Probably the only picture she had of Chucky and her together, taken last new years eve as they partied with various acquaintances at O'Grady's bar, Tiffany pulling a party popper and laughing with delight, her cleavage threatening to overspill, as Chucky took in the surroundings, awestruck as the celebrations exploded around him. She'd lost the picture a while ago, feared lost as she moved from one rundown apartment to another, a casualty of a misled life. Now she had found it, she felt happy again, the thought of Chucky taking it as a memento filling her with joy as she clutched it to her chest and smiled.
Chucky loved her. There was no doubt. The ring, the photograph. She didn't know the story behind this Pirce woman. She probably never would. But she didn't care now as she left the apartment.
Throwing open the door to her tiny, shitty apartment, Tiffany hurried inside taking a step backwards as she shut the door, noticing the letter waiting, the white envelope standing out against the dirty, dark mat. The name scrawled across the envelope in marker simply read 'Miss Tiffany Valentine', no address, no postage, whoever had delivered this had seen fit to deliver it personally. Ripping open the envelope, Tiffany pulled out a sheet of paper and opened it, allowing the envelope to float to the floor. As she unfolded the paper, she started to read.
'For the attention of Miss Tiffany Valentine,
Further to instructions dictated in the last will and testament of Charles Lee Ray, it is our duty to inform you of various funeral arrangements. Mr Ray has stipulated we contact you with the time and date, and also stress that all arrangements have been prepared according to Mr Ray's wishes.
The funeral is to take place at Forest Hills Cemetery, Hackensack, New Jersey at the time of 10:30am, Thursday November 17th 1988. As already explained, arrangements are in place according to Mr Ray's wishes.
Owing to the nature of recent events surrounding our client, Mr Charles Lee Ray, may we take the opportunity to request that you do not reply to this letter and please refrain from any future correspondence.
We would like to offer our sympathies on your loss.
Newton, Brown & Hammon Lawyers'
Feeling numb, Tiffany slid down the door as she fell, her legs bending and cracking at the knees as she allowed the shock to sink in. At least she had something.
She had a chance to say good bye.
November 17th 1988
Shattered, Tiffany took her seat on the plane, the day finally over as she fell into the economy seat she'd managed to blow the last of Keith Allen's ill gotten fortune on. The funeral had been a lot calmer than she'd expected. Nobody there but her, the priest and the undertaker as the hearse pulled into the parking lot, the flowers draped over the coffin bearing a freaky resemblance to the motif found adorning the walls of Chucky's apartment. Two serpents, each wrapped around a flag of some description, grand, beautifully arranged as they lay, one either side of the coffin, a star sitting along the bottom. As the rain lashed down and the wind tore through the cemetery, a crackle of thunder had been heard in the distance as the pallbearers retrieved the coffin and slowly began their march, the last walk for her man as she stood waiting to say her goodbyes, the wind whistling through the surrounding trees and slowly lifting her knee length, pinstripe dress, her stockings not providing nearly enough warmth as the cold began to make her shake, her teeth slightly chatter as the enormity of the situation had dawned on her. As she moved slightly to the side, to let the coffin through, her heels sunk into the wet grass, almost causing her to stumble as the undertaker put his hand out and caught her. Tiffany had nodded to him, glancing his name badge, the name 'Ted' emblazoned across the elegant panel, a thank you as she stood straight and tugged down her dress, her bag clutched in her hand as the coffin was placed atop the hole dug deep in the ground. One by one, the pallbearers turned and headed back to the hearse, stopping briefly to offer their condolences, a bow of the head, in some cases a touch of the shoulder and a reassuring smile. The service had been very short, Chucky not one for pomp and ceremony, definitely not for religion, so why a priest had been present, she had no idea whatsoever. But, credit to him, he kept it short, a brief run through of what Chucky had been like, how loved he had been by all around him, a very quick description of his life to date, albeit minus the kidnap and murdering. As the priest finished, he handed tiffany a box, the lid wide open, half filled with dirt, the soil from the ground. Reaching in, and fighting back the tears, Tiffany had grabbed a handful between her carefully manicured fingers and very slowly scattered it across the coffin, now sat six feet below her feet. As the priest wrapped things up, he offered the body back to the earth and closed his book of notes, beckoning to Tiffany that the service was now over as he gestured for her to walk with him from grave, Ted the undertaker wasting no time in getting to work as the rain picked up, hammering down as he grabbed his shovel and began to fill the grave in.
And that had been that. No sooner had it started than it had ended. Her cab arriving shortly after and taking her back to the hotel where she grabbed her case, before quickly heading back to the airport and boarding the flight she now found herself on. They had only been up in the air half an hour, Tiffany's efforts to get to sleep going completely unrewarded as she tossed and turned in her seat, the overweight business man in the seat beside her having no such trouble as his head flopped to face her, his slobbering mouth allowing a breath reminiscent of dog shit to sweep across her face, filling her nose with poison. As she gasped, she instinctively reached for the nearest thing with which she could fan away the fumes, finding herself grabbing the folded up news paper from the tray in front of the business man. As she waved frantically, she felt the air around her begin to clear as she looked at the news paper with delight. It was at this point that something jumped at her from the folded up front page. As fast as the news paper waved in front of her, no matter how blurred the headline became, one word jumped at her, hitting home like a nail through her skull. Slowly unfolding the tabloid, the front page filled her with a strange confusion. Dead centre of the front page sat a picture of a young boy cuddling his doll, a smile painted across his lips as he gripped the doll for dear life. This wasn't what had made Tiffany stop and examine the article though. No, that was nothing. What had made her stop and look had been the headline.
BOY BLAMES DOLL: CLAIMS CHUCKY DID IT!
As Tiffany skimmed the article quickly, she couldn't believe what she was reading as the name Charles Lee Ray appeared time and again, the young boy, Andy Barclay, claiming the doll was possessed by the spirit of Tiffany's dead lover and to blame for a series of murders in the Chicago area this last week. Not least of all, those of Eddie Kaputo and John Bishop. Her mind flashed back to John's words once more.
"The key to everlasting life is not something one can be taught. It requires faith of the highest order!"
His words lingered in her mind as Tiffany sat back and smiled. She didn't know how he'd done it...
But Chucky was alive...
Somehow.