Chapter 2.2
September 17th 1990
After pulling out every drawer and throwing open the small wardrobe within her humble room, Tiffany was at a loss. Spending the previous day turning the piece of paper Officer Marsh had given her over in her hands for hours, the phone number for Midtown Childrens Crisis centre leaping at her along with the name of a Miss Grace Pool, she had finally thrown together a false identity, consisting of a name and background. Not air tight, but enough to cover over the cracks in her fractured police record, and in particularly the constant mentions of her name in almost every article relating to Chucky. Now came the daunting task of making herself 'employable' in the eyes of some uptight old bitch across town, that would no doubt look down on her in the same manner as everybody else, the narrowed eyes and look of disapproval saying more than words ever could. The secretary had seemed nice enough as she took Tiffany's name, or to be precise, Tiffany's new name. She had to giggle as the electricity of deceit crackled through her veins, her new identity open and waiting to be filled with whichever stories and qualifications she wished. The name hadn't been too hard, she had considered something simple, that nobody would suspect, whilst all the time flashing it in their faces. Charlene Ray had been up there, but in the end Tiffany played it safe and decided not to risk the wrath of the authorities any more than she had to, opting for the name of Officer Marsh's long suffering wife Marie. Sure enough, she had an interview arranged for the next day, and as things stood, that interview was to take place in exactly two hours as Tiffany panicked, clothes littering the bedroom floor and almost every single piece of furniture as she desperately sought an outfit that would help her inside the centre and allow her to snoop around, hunting out the little shit that had caused all this outrage, Andy Barclay. She wasn't going to do anything to him, she could never be that callus, but she did want answers. What had Chucky told him? What had Chucky done? Was there something she didn't know? Everything that had happened, right after she last paid a visit to John Bishop, had no doubt made her doubt her own sanity. But the stories, the details, something had to be there for all this to have exploded in such a way. After all, why on earth would a six year old boy have fabricated such lies? The truth, streaked through the stories that people seemed to shake their heads at, known only to close personal friends of the antagonist repeatedly mentioned as the chain of events were discussed time and again. True, a lot of fingers had ended up pointed at the mother, Karen Barclay, as the police, and the general public refused to believe the manic claims from mother and son. Many assuming her to crack up, the pressure of work, running the extremely upmarket apartment on such small wages the department store had to offer, all thrown into the mix with the grieving widow routine, eventually creating a powder keg of emotion as she finally broke, taking her son with her as the incredible, insane stories of a killer doll began to take Chicago, even the country, by storm. No matter what though, Tiffany had set her sights on her next target, and was determined to find out more as she finally ended two years of sitting on her ass and waiting for god knows what. As she continued to pull out drawer after drawer, throwing the many tops, jeans, skirts, dresses over her shoulder, she finally stopped as her face lit up. Pulling the pinstripe skirt from her drawer, she turned and clutched at the crisp white blouse thrown, moments ago, across her bed the creases from the time spent abandoned displayed prominently as she held them up and allowed them to catch the light. Clean, but in need of pressing, no doubt about that, as she spun on her feet and headed to the hall, yanking open the door to the cupboard besides the bathroom. Grabbing the iron, she headed back to her room and closed the door, sliding the lock into the latch automatically as she dropped once more to her knees and plugged the iron into the outlet, waiting patiently for the metal plate to warm through before running it across the skirt and blouse, now laid out as straight as possible across the floor. Within a matter of minutes she had finished, the dress looking splendid as she held it up, reaching into her wardrobe and retrieving a hanger, carefully placing it inside the blouse and hanging it back in the wardrobe as she slipped off her robe and pulled on the skirt. The soft fabric gliding effortlessly over her smooth legs and hugging her waist as she sat at the hideously old fashioned dresser and began to apply her makeup.
No mistake, she would look like the model employee.
Sitting in the waiting room, Tiffany found herself surrounded by parents, or maybe the more accurate term would be 'potential' parents, as each couple chatted with one another regarding the status of their foster/adoption application, one man in particular asking Tiffany how her experience had been with the system. To say she had been taken by surprise would be an understatement as she found herself explaining that she was simply there for a job and had no interest in kids whatsoever. Nobody really bothered her after that, which suited her down to the ground as she found the nauseating, sickeningly nice atmosphere a little too much to stomach, relief evident in her face as the secretary entered the waiting room, clipboard in hand, each couple looking her way in optimism as she spoke.
"Marie Marsh?" Her voice was gentle, although Tiffany expected nothing less. Her hair swept back in a ponytail, pushing her round glasses back up to the bridge of her nose as she looked up and across the waiting room, Tiffany figured she could only weigh about 120 pounds, maybe a little more, but not much.
"Here." Tiffany found herself clutching her bag with one hand, the other slowly raised as she stood, straightening her skirt before grabbing her coat from the back of the chair and following the secretary through the door and across reception. She closed the waiting room door behind her and turned, catching a glimpse of the obviously judgmental secretary examining every inch of her body, her high, yet sensible heels, her bare legs the freshly pressed skirt, the clean blouse.
"Why not take a picture?" Tiffany muttered to herself as she followed, the secretary turning, clipboard gripped firmly to her chest.
"I'm sorry?" She asked.
"What a lovely picture." Tiffany gushed, smiling broadly as she gestured to the large, school class type photo hanging on the wall. Kids from one end to another, in multiple rows, flanked by the various carers and social workers that had been given the task of looking after them. The secretary turned her head and carried on walking, refusing to acknowledge Tiffany's comment.
"Flat chested bitch." Tiffany mumbled again as she picked up the pace slightly.
"I beg your pardon?" The secretary turned again, Tiffany unsure whether she was beginning to get irate because she could hear, or because she couldn't.
"I have a blasted itch." Tiffany ground to a halt, stooping as she slid one of her feet from the suede heels and gently scratched the ball of her foot, taking just a second before slipping her foot back inside and carrying on as they made their way down the hall, the secretary stopping as she reached a dark, wooden door.
"After you." The secretary stopped and turned to face Tiffany, smirking as her arm grasped the door handle firmly, throwing it open as her arm followed fluidly, motioning inside as her eyes once more gave Tiffany an amused examination.
"Thank you." Tiffany brushed past, her face inches from the wooden, emotionless scowl of the secretary, the name tag now visible as she stood perfectly still, Tiffany's breath in her face as her eyes dropped to the name tag before returning quickly to the secretary's eyes. "Jayne..."
"My pleasure..." Jayne replied. "Miss Marsh."
Tiffany stepped slowly over the threshold, the office before her giving her the creeps as the door slammed behind, the surprise visible as Tiffany jumped in her skin. The chequered linoleum floor and the old fashioned, wooden furniture like something from a classroom. Likewise with the walls as paintings and pictures produced by the kids passing through adorned the beige plaster, the most advanced piece of equipment being the photocopier stood proud against the back wall. Suddenly, Tiffany found herself dragged from her daze by the calm voice emanating from behind the heavy, wooden desk.
"Miss Marsh I presume." The thick, Chicago accent drifting towards Tiffany.
Turning and focusing on her host, Tiffany noticed a woman, much older than at first expected, her heavy mop of brown curls sat atop her head, clown like in appearance to Tiffany as she noticed the drab clothes. The frumpy green cardigan and floral blouse beneath speaking a thousand languages, yet every one yelling 'boring'.
"Pardon?" Tiffany answered, her identity lost within a sea of confusion.
"You are Miss Marsh aren't you?" The woman turned away, running her eyes over her diary, open on the surface of the desk. "Marie Marsh?"
"Oh..." Tiffany replied, her senses returning. "Yes. That's me." She smiled as she approached the desk and held out her hand.
"Pleased to meet you Miss Marsh." The woman stood, smiling friendly as she did and shaking Tiffany by the hand. "I'm Grace Pool, welcome to Midtown. Did you find us okay?"
Grace released Tiffany's hand and began to sit, her arm gesturing to the empty seat at the other side of the desk, beckoning Tiffany to take a seat.
"Oh yeah..." Tiffany gave a little giggle. "I just called a cab. Dropped me right at the door."
"I see." Grace smiled. "The best way when going somewhere new I guess."
"Not necessarily." Tiffany replied, forgetting herself for an instant. "Asshole tried to overcharge me."
"Really?" Grace seemed both tickled and shocked by the revelation.
"Yeah..." Stammering, how to recover... "But maybe he was new. He definitely didn't know the area. I think he was Indian."
As she spoke, Tiffany could see her grave beginning to get deeper and deeper, what the fuck was she doing?
"But yeah, apart from that, I found you pretty well."
"Well you're here now Miss Marsh. That's all that matters." Grace plucked her glasses from the desk and sat them across her nose, sitting back in the leather chair and clapping her hands together. "So... You know the basics, I'm looking for somebody to cover a six month maternity period. Nothing too strenuous, just your average secretarial work. You'd be working alongside Jane that you've just walked down here with. Have you brought a resume, maybe a couple of references?"
'Shit!' Tiffany found herself thinking, all the while trying to keep her face from exploding in anger. Such a little thing, an obvious thing. It was as if her brain had taken vacation for the day, the voice inside her head simply whispering 'good luck' as it took a break.
"Oh, shit." Grace's brow lifted as she peered over the top of the spectacles, Tiffany's language surprising to say the least.
"I'm sorry?" Grace asked, sitting forward and resting her elbows on the desk.
"No, sorry. I was in such a rush." Tiffany pleaded. "It's on my kitchen table. Fuck!"
"Miss Marsh!" Grace interjected.
"Sorry." Tiffany apologised once more.
"It's okay, just relax." Grace sat back again. "How about references?"
"Nothing recent." The reply almost whispered. Boy, did this bitch know how to make you feel worthless.
"Oh really?" Grace asked, her interest prickled. "Why is that?"
"I've been otherwise engaged." Tiffany found herself cooing. "My mother took a turn for the worst several years ago. I've been looking after her until recently."
"I see." A look of sympathy appeared on Grace's features. "I assume your mother passed on?"
"Yeah. She had it coming a long time though apparently." Tiffany replied.
"But you took time out to care for her? I applaud that. That's just the kind of selflessness I want in a person Miss Marsh." Grace smiled once more, Tiffany's face lost in a daydream as she snapped back to the present.
"Miss Marsh?" Her brain gone again, suddenly realising she was at risk of blowing her identity wide open. "Oh, yes. Well my mother always said, 'blood's thicker than water'."
"Indeed it is."
Just as Tiffany was beginning to recover, there was a knock, the door behind her opening instantly as Jane appeared from nowhere, an urgency in her voice as she spoke clearly, ignoring Tiffany and addressing Grace without a second thought.
"Miss Pool. I have Joanne and Phil Simpson on line 2."
"Okay Jane. I'll be straight out." Grace spoke calmly, unfazed by the drama unfolding in the head of her secretary. Or one of them. How many did she need? Tiffany found herself wondering why somebody would need two secretaries. She was lost once more as her eyes followed Jane out of the door, completely ignoring Grace.
"Miss Marsh?" Grace spoke. Nothing. "Marie!"
Tiffany spun back around her eyes wide.
"I'm just going to have to take this call." Grace stood and walked around the desk, reaching the door quickly. "Please excuse me. I shouldn't be too long."
Leaving through the door, closing it behind her, Grace left the room as Tiffany felt something. It was her brain, back and kicking as it screamed at her, telling her over and over again, this was her chance. Get up, look for something. Standing to her feet and taking another look back at the door, Tiffany headed to the filing cabinet behind the desk, yanking open the heavy steel drawer and thumbing her way through the tabs atop each file, soon enough letting her thumb stop on the name she was searching for.
'Barclay, Andy.
Date of Birth - November 10th 1982'
Pulling the file from the drawer, Tiffany opened it out and spread the contents along the top of the cabinet, taking in the basic details, her eyes stopping as they found what they were looking for.
'Room number 118, Midtown Childrens Crisis Centre.'
Taking a quick look at the photo, held within the file by a paperclip, Tiffany hurriedly crammed all the papers back inside and threw the file back into the drawer, slamming it shut. Turning, she looked for something, every office had one, where was it? Then she noticed it, the far wall, near the window. Racing across the office, Tiffany ran her finger over the evacuation plan, the map of the building highlighting meeting points in events of fire, first aid kits, and other interesting features in event of an emergency. Sure enough, there it was. Room 118, on the floor above, more or less above the office in which Tiffany now stood. Making a mental note, Tiffany headed to the door and slowly turned the handle, pulling the door open gradually and taking a quick look into the hallway, the area clear of bodies, Grace's voice carrying down the corridor, muffled, Tiffany able to make out part of the conversation as she ghosted around the crack of the door.
"Well if you're still not sure then why not come down and meet him yourself?" Grace's voice floated along, gentle and caring, a honey glaze as she spoke. "Seriously Joanne, you have nothing to worry about. Hang on, let me see... I can't do tomorrow, but I'm free the day after. Looking at your reputation with Midtown, you could take him home the same day I'm sure. You will? That's great..."
Pulling the door further open as Grace carried on her call and finding the hall empty, Tiffany stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her, quietly skipping to the foot of the stair beside the office and treading carefully as she took one step at a time. The floorboards, old beneath her feet, creaked as she moved, lucky to have the odd shout, the cackle of laughter from the children on the floor above to mask her heavy footsteps as she eventually reached the top and turned the corner, the empty corridor a sight sent from heaven as Tiffany picked up the pace and looked at the numbers on the doors. Sure enough, about halfway down and on the right, Tiffany found it. In front of her right now, sat the door behind which lurked answers, as she reached out, her hands about to grip the handle, less than an inch from her grasp when suddenly... The door opened, Tiffany stunned as she lowered her eyes and let them fall upon the sweetest, most beautiful little boy she had ever seen. His big brown eyes, resembling those found on a mischievous puppy, his hair hanging over his forehead, just falling short of obscuring his vision as he looked up, his mouth carrying an air of uncertainty as he found Tiffany staring straight at him.
"What are you looking at microchip?" The boy asked comically. Tiffany was caught off guard, the words knocking her a step backwards.
"Hi." She managed as the boy continued to examine her. "I'm looking for somebody."
"Who?" The child asked, his head tilting slightly, his intrigue getting the better of him.
"What's your name?" Tiffany asked, quiet, calm, almost friendly.
"I'm Andy." He spoke as he smiled.
"Barclay?" Tiffany asked once more, the boy nodding.
Without warning, Tiffany seized her chance, her body flicking into autopilot as her brain took over, dropping to Andy's level, squatting before him and looking him straight in the eye her smile developing, growing.
"Hey Andy. I'm Tiffany." She spoke kindly. "Tell me Andy, what do you think to this place? Do you like it?"
"It's not bad." Andy looked slightly confused as he answered, his lip curling a touch as he thought. "I sure do wish I was home with my mom though. But she's been taken away for a while."
"Why's that Andy?" Tiffany asked once more, her smile still fixed on her face. "Is it because mommy told some stories that people didn't believe? Did mommy go crazy?" The smile started to fade, although Andy didn't seem to mind the direct approach, unable to pick up on the fire beginning to build in Tiffany's voice.
"Who are you again?" He asked.
"Listen, it's very important you don't freak out. Okay?" Tiffany grasped Andy's shoulders, her eyes staring right into him as she spoke, becoming agitated as she did so.
"Okay?" Andy seemed a touch confused.
"My name is Tiffany." She began. "And I'm a friend of Chucky's!"
Andy's eyes grew wide in terror as every hair on his neck stood in unison, the very name sending a ripple of fear down his spine as Tiffany spoke, causing him to take a step back, try to get away from this woman.
"It's very important Andy." She tried to reassure him, grabbing him firmly and pulling him back towards her. "What do you know? How did he do it? What did he want? Why you?"
"I don't know what you're saying Andy started to cry, his arms flying up as he attempted to clear his eyes of tears.
"I just want to know what he wanted with you Andy. Why were you so important?"
"He needed me." Andy barked, his voice becoming raised, echoing down the corridor. "Alive."
"Why?" Tiffany asked.
"Because he needed to transfer his soul into my body." The tears were flowing faster, Andy began to shake as he spoke. "I was the first person he told. So it had to be me. But we wouldn't let him! Alright?"
"Jesus!" Tiffany's eyes began to wander as the voice came blaring down the hall. The unmistakable voice of authority, Grace Pool.
"Miss Marsh!" Grace hollered from the end of the corridor, starting to make her way to both Tiffany and Andy, Tiffany standing to greet her as she did so, reaching them in no time at all, Andy's distress not going unnoticed.
"I was looking for the restroom." Tiffany started to explain. "I wasn't feeling well and..."
"Bullshit!" Grace scolded her as she placed a hand on Andy's shoulder, blissfully unaware of the fact that Tiffany's hand was now placed firmly behind her back, the fingers carefully wrapping themselves around the blade of Tiffany's switchblade, hidden carefully along the hem of her skirt.
"Just what are you doing here Miss Marsh? If that is your real name!" Grace asked once more, her face red with anger, her voice drizzled with venom.
Tiffany was just about to answer, make something up, as Andy opened his mouth, Tiffany thinking all the while, 'Keep it shut kid. Don't you say a fucking word!'
"She was asking me about Chucky." Andy wept. "She said her real name was Tiffany and she was a friend of Chucky's!"
Shock spreading like wildfire across Grace's face, Tiffany took a step back as she tried to get the words out, nothing at all coming, the wind well and truly taken from her sails as Grace immediately reached out and pressed the alarm, one of many placed along the hall. The bells ringing out were enough to make most children cover their ears, the piercing trill of the bell rattling their heads like a woodpecker on steroids as Tiffany did the only thing she could think of and ran, Grace reaching out, and narrowly missing as she made one last ditch attempt to restrain Tiffany. Reaching the end of the corridor, the staircase just coming into view, Tiffany was almost caught completely by surprise as Jane came hurtling round the corner and threw herself across the hall, Tiffany stopping just in time as Jane smashed into the wall and crumpled to the floor in front of her, blood and teeth flying everywhere as the glass from her spectacles shattered and lodged in her eyes, Jane screaming for help as the agony began to get too much. Stepping over her and running as fast as her heels would allow her to, Tiffany reached the foot of the stairs in no time at all and tore across the entrance, reaching the doors and crashing through into the sunny Chicago afternoon, traffic flying by as Tiffany came to a very abrupt stop by the edge of the kerb, the passing cab seeing her wave as he turned off his light and circled across the oncoming traffic before pulling up and allowing her to jump in.
"Where to miss?" The heavy Indian accent spoke as Tiffany found herself laying across the back seat, reaching back and furiously pulling the door shut behind her.
"Just fucking drive!" She screamed as the driver turned to argue, seeing the doors of the centre fly open and thinking more about it. Pressing his foot to the floor, the cab accelerated away from the kerb as Tiffany sat upright, turning and kneeling on the seats casting her eyes over the scenes of chaos behind them as Grace Pool stood on the kerb, disbelief written through every movement as she struggled to figure out where Tiffany had escaped to.
'That...' Tiffany thought to herself as she sat back down and faced forward, removing her shoes and laying her feet across the back seat of the cab. 'That was too close.'
September 18th 1990
The wind whipped and howled outside as the leaves blew frantically across the street, the red brick of the apartment building drying out as the rain passed overhead and paved way for a fresh breed of storm. Up and down the backs of the buildings, women raced from the shelter of their tiny kitchens, the rain abating and allowing the wind to work its magic as laundry was thrown over washing line after washing line, the bubbling of pans, the screaming of tormented brothers and sisters unleashed from within almost every apartment down the block as Tiffany leaned through the bedroom window and cast her eyes over the street below, the cigarette almost smoked to the filter as she allowed her gaze to follow the unrelenting traffic, the odd pedestrian as they used the street as a rat run from one block to another. Plucking the burnt out tab end from her luscious red lips and tossing it from her vantage point, Tiffany retreated to the warm surroundings of her room, the clothes from the previous days till littering the floor and the majority of the bed. Yesterday hadn't gone as planned, no doubt about that, but there'd be a next time, and next time she'd have a plan that didn't involve racing in with no specific target or goal. She'd half expected a knock from the police, Andy Barclay no doubt spilling the beans as soon as she left. He knew her name, Tiffany could kick herself now, why the fuck had she been so honest? All it would take was one phone call, the police linking a Tiffany to Chucky in no time and hammering on the apartment door. But it hadn't come yet. Which led Tiffany to believe the right thing to do would be to lay low, stay out of the way. Stepping back and feeling the soft linen covers of the bed brush against the back of her legs, Tiffany allowed herself to fall backwards, the sturdy mattress catching her as she sat, head in hands, nowhere to go, no trail to follow. As she lifted her head her eyes caught the framed picture, pride of place on her chest of drawers. Staring back at her was the cold, unanimated face of her one true love, gunned down, left for dead, alone as he worked whatever miracle he had done and transferred his soul into that... that.. that doll. What a mind fuck! Tiffany found her mind asking questions as she stared at Chucky's corpse in the picture, the front cover of one of the many local papers running the story at the time. Had he gone into that toy store with the intention of doing what he did? Had he performed his 'party trick' before the lightning struck the store? So many questions, yet very little answers. Suddenly, Tiffany was startled, a distant noise calling to her as she snapped from her trance and shook her head, the noise coming from the hall and taking a couple of seconds to register.
'The phone!' She thought to herself, standing and pulling her dressing gown shut, tying the cord around her waist as she skipped through the multitude of clothes piled in every corner of the room, reaching her door and tearing into the hall. Skidding to a halt, her bare feet sliding over the wooden floor, Tiffany grabbed the receiver and took a deep breath, her voice breaking slightly as she greeted her caller.
"Hello?" Her nervous whisper crackled down the line.
"Miss Valentine?" The voice of Officer Harry Marsh called back, the public payphone breaking up slightly, the years of vandalism and misuse causing problems.
"Oh thank god." Her sigh of relief was evident as she relaxed, her body loosening as the tension subsided.
"No need to thank god Miss Valentine." Officer Marsh replied quickly, the sound of him sucking on a cigarette all too familiar. "Just thank me with money for getting you what you wanted."
"When?" Tiffany gasped, her pupils dilating, her body tingling with excitement as a charge of ecstasy sped through her veins.
"One hour, the same place. Don't forget the money Miss Valentine." Marsh snarled slightly. "Let's make this the last we have to do with one another."
Before Tiffany could speak the line went dead, the static as Marsh banged the phone into the cradle almost making Tiffany's ear drum burst. Replacing the phone, Tiffany turned and sprinted back to her room, snaking in through half open door, the plethora of clothes on the other side making it impossible to open further as she slammed the door closed and slid the latch across. Ripping her dressing gown from her naked body, Tiffany began to get dressed, no time for ceremony as she threw on the nearest garments to hand, an incredibly short, not to mention tight, black dress and jacket plucked from their respective mountains as she dropped to her knees, her bare skin feeling the thin rug beneath offer little protection from the rough wooden floor as she ran her hand under the bed and withdrew a black sports bag. Dumping it on the bed, she stood quickly and sat beside the bag, unzipping it and exposing the money inside.
"Here goes nothing." Tiffany quietly said to herself as she examined the contents of the bag, zipping it back up before standing, throwing the bag over her shoulder and heading to her door. As she reached the hallway she slipped her naked feet into a pair of stilettos, doubling over and securing the soft leather straps around her ankles before standing up straight. Grabbing her hand bag to retrieve a pack of cigarettes and a lighter she rammed them into her pockets before dropping the bag to the floor beneath the coat hooks and pulling open the door to the apartment, turning to close it before heading down the stairs and into the street outside, her mood now filled with fresh optimism as she skipped along.
The clock ticking down.
Hearing the door to the apartment slam shut, the apartment momentarily shaking slightly as it did, the door to Evan's bedroom very slowly swung open, the lock scratching in the chamber as he carefully unlocked it and stepped into the hall, surveying his surroundings and making sure the apartment was empty as he poked his head around the living room door, taking a second to look in the kitchen, the bathroom too. Sure enough he was alone, the psychotic roommate leaving him in peace as he returned to the hall and slowly approached the phone, lifting the receiver and steadily punching in a sequence of numbers, the phone down the other end of the line beginning to ring as Evan stood perfectly still, his eyes focused on the door to the apartment and nothing else. Four rings in and the call was answered, the male voice on the other end sounding tired, dazed as he answered the call, Evan's face unmoving as he slowly spoke into the phone. His own plan was about to be put into action, and he was determined to carry this out no matter what.
"She's gone." Evan's voice carried hardly any emotion as he paused to listen for a second. "I don't care if you're busy. Just get over here quick. It's time this cheap bitch learned not to fuck with me!"