Chapter 3.7 (Part One - Jack Fuller)
June 7th 1994 (Ten Months Later)
Silence hung over the small, rustic store. The constant 'tick-tock' of the clock, sitting above the counter, the only sound as a calmness enveloped the small, wooden building and lent a pleasant atmosphere as the deserted business sat motionless, time seeming to stop briefly as the door to the office slowly opened. Slowly and confidently leaving the office, Tiffany smiled a beautiful, wide, carefree smile as she emerged into the stifling heat, the summer weather beating its way in through the huge storefront window. Turning and allowing her guest to follow on, Tiffany pulled the office door closed behind them and extended an outstretched hand.
"Well that was a lot of easier than I imagined it would be." She grinned, the man standing before her returning her smile as he clicked the lid on his fountain pen and closed the folder sat in his hand, accepting her hand and giving it a shake. Not the tallest, nor indeed the most attractive, man Tiffany had ever met, Anthony Kennedy had the privilege of being referred to Tiffany's probation case following the death of Rita Hernandez, the coroner and police reports both arriving at the verdict of 'accidental death'. Hitting the ground running it had taken Tiffany time to become trusting, Rita's behind the scenes investigating leading to many a restless night over the last ten months. Nevertheless, here she stood, beaming from ear to ear as her end of year assessment came to a close, Anthony offering nothing but a glowing reference as they laughed and joked as though they'd known each other for years, Tiffany seeming to warm towards him as time passed. Just under six feet tall, slightly overweight and with some of the worst breath Tiffany had ever had the misfortune to come across, Anthony had gone above and beyond recently, lifting Tiffany's curfew, reducing the 'check in' frequency down at the local Sheriff's Office and now offering her optimism as she entered the final six months of her probation period, a move back to the city and possibly long term employment to boot if she kept up the good work.
"What did I tell you?" Anthony laughed. "I don't know why you were so worried. You dot every 'I', cross every 'T', this review couldn't have been any more straight forward."
"I know, I know." Tiffany sighed, releasing Anthony's hand. "But it's like my mother used to say... 'Plan for the worst, hope for the best'."
"Wow." Anthony stepped back in a mixture of surprise and humour. "Appleby alert."
"Jesus." Tiffany closed her eyes and shook her head. "Did I really just say that? I need to get out of here."
"Get your head down, and I swear this next six months will be a blur." Anthony advised as he placed the folder upon the counter of the store, fishing through his pockets and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, opening the pack to reveal nothing, the empty cardboard container immediately feeling the wrath of an anxious smoker as he screwed up the packet and tossed it to the trash can by the office door.
"All out?" Tiffany asked with a sly laugh.
"Looks that way." He answered, scanning the aisles as he turned and examined the store. "Don't suppose you have any menthols do you?"
"Sure do." She replied with an infectious giggle. "Third aisle, next to the magazines and newspapers."
Walking into the centre of the store, eyes whizzing from left to right, Anthony stopped, dropping to a squatting position as he snatched a pack of cigarettes from the shelf and examined the price.
"Jesus..." He stood holding the pack for Tiffany to see.
"What's wrong?" She asked as she stood by the cash register, attention drawn from the open magazine hidden beneath the counter.
"Has the old witch cornered the tobacco industry?" Anthony asked as he turned the pack towards him, his eyes taking in the price once more. "These prices are crazy!"
"You don't have to tell me." Tiffany mumbled, pulling her own pack of cigarettes from beneath the counter. Removing a solitary cigarette, she allowed the filter to delicately sit between her lips, lipstick instantly marking the orange tip as she struck the flint of her lighter and held the flame, slowly inhaling as she felt the warm and comforting rush of nicotine beginning to enter her system. Watching on, the craving becoming too strong to simply ignore, Anthony held the pack of menthols tight and returned to the counter, placing the smokes before Tiffany as he began to fish the change from his pockets.
"Damn near extortionate." He muttered under his breath. "No wonder she never has any customers."
"Don't worry about it." Tiffany took another suck on the end of her cigarette, raising her hand as if to wave his money away. "She'll never know."
"Miss Valentine, I do believe that's stealing." He started, lifting the folder from the surface of the counter and peeling it open.
"What?" Tiffany asked, stunned.
"I'm joking." Anthony laughed, snapping the folder shut as he picked the pack of cigarettes from besides the cash register, jamming them in his pocket.
"I should charge you for those now." Tiffany laughed as Anthony turned and began making his way to the door, gesturing over his shoulder as he pulled open the door to Appleby's Store.
"I'll see you next month Tiff." He hollered back through the door.
"Okay." She replied, watching, waiting as the door slammed closed behind him, safe in the knowledge that she was now alone. "You fat fuck!"
Finally, the feeling of revulsion could pass, the sickly manner in which she ramped the charm up to number eleven and pretty much proceeded to smile, giggle, flirt and agree her way through every single meeting could take a back seat as she watched Anthony climb behind the wheel of his Jeep, cigarette in hand as he slammed the door closed and started the engine. True he had become a push over, a teddy bear compared to the way Rita had turned out, but the amount of flirting and fluttering of the eye lashes hadn't been overestimated as Tiffany toyed with him. All the way from day one, assessing the best way to play him along, pull the strings and effectively write her own reports, influence her own recommendations as she played the nice girl act to a tee. Right now, with the sickly feeling washing over her, his breath still fresh on her face, Tiffany had to laugh as Mrs Appleby entered through the rear of the store. Shuffling across the rough, wooden floor, slippers rapidly scraping along, the old girl tied her apron strings tight as she greeted Tiffany with a suspicious look.
"The hell are you laughing at?" She asked Tiffany, arms waving the cloud of cigarette smoke from her face as she approached the counter.
"Nothing much." Tiffany replied, quickly stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray by her side, closing the magazine and hiding it down the side of the cash register.
"Where's lover boy?" Mrs Appleby asked as she looked around the store. "Let me guess. Even he feels nauseous after an hour of you sucking up to his fat ass?"
"Oh please." Tiffany rolled her eyes. "Nothing wrong with a little harmless flirting."
"Never happened in my day." Appleby muttered on, slowly stooping to one of the many shelves before her as she rearranged a few odds and ends. "My mother used to say, 'you can always smell it, on women that sell it'."
"Is there anything your mother 'didn't' used to say?" Tiffany asked, Appleby's head snapping in her direction as she finished her sentence.
"Well she never said sarcasm and bad manners were a winning combination, so cut it out!" She angrily retorted.
"Sorry." Tiffany mumbled. Although rocky at first, it was a pleasant relationship that now existed between the two women, Tiffany's respect soaring after the Rita Hernandez event, Mrs Appleby never once allowing a bad word or even a rumour to evolve into gossip as she valiantly stood by Tiffany and gave a statement in her defence, the coroner concluding a broken neck, attained in the fall, to be the cause of a sudden and painless death. An article even appeared in the local paper, explaining Tiffany's history alongside the death of her probation officer, sending Mrs Appleby into a furious spiral of anger and resentment as she phoned the editor and warned him of future conduct, otherwise she'd see to it that his insipid little rag never made it onto a newsstand within fifty kilometres of Mount Carroll. Tiffany had been overcome with emotion, simply asking why the old dear was so intent on keeping her name clear. Her answer? Tiffany could remember it now, warm, yet with an eerie chill to it.
"Because we're friends." Her reply had been accompanied by a wide smile. "Friends to the end."
From that point on things had changed between the two of them, for the better. Tiffany found a respect, an interest in the history behind this little old woman. The more she asked, the more she found out. The happiness of past years, the heartbreak of losing her husband, the news that her womb was barren, no children ever to Grace the Appleby household, the trauma still residing deep within to this very day as she took Tiffany further and further under her wing, sheltered her from any impending danger and tried her hardest to keep her on the straight and narrow. The year had let her see Tiffany blossom, the beautiful young girl, once full of hatred and rebellion, now considered by Mrs Appleby to be the daughter she had never been given the chance to have.
"Listen." Mrs Appleby slowly stood, her old back only just bearing up as she grabbed a hold of the shelf before her. "It's a nice day. I don't see us fighting customers off any time soon, so let's call it a half day."
"Really?" Tiff seemed stunned, this was a new one.
"There's plenty to be done in the garden mind." Appleby casually said, Tiffany suddenly realising the half day was too good to be true.
"I don't know..." She replied. "I'm not much of a gardener. Besides which, what if we get a delivery?"
"Ah, the hell with that." Mrs Appleby gestured, waving Tiffany's concerns away. "They'll come up to the house if it's that important."
Slowly turning and making her way to the front entrance of the store, Mrs Appleby flipped the sign in the window, the little card hanging by a piece of string now reading 'Closed' as the old woman cast her eyes upon the empty car park, the streets of Mount Carroll more desserted than usual as time seemed to stop. Taking a look at the sun, beaming in from the heavens and casting a shadow across the quaint little town, the wrinkled face of Mrs Appleby screwed itself into an anxious smile as she turned and looked at Tiffany. Removing the cash drawer from the register Tiffany carried it to the office, the safe hanging open in the corner of the small room, awaiting the daily takings which seemed to be getting less and less over each and every month. A few seconds later, as Tiffany emerged from the office, Mrs Appleby twisted the key in the door, the metal lock scraping into the old, rusty chamber as the premises became secure.
"Get some old clothes and a good pair of gloves." Mrs Appleby said, clapping her hands together and rubbing them with enthusiasm, her smile widening as Tiffany turned to her with a look of concern.
"You're gonna need 'em."
Taking a well earned break, Tiffany stood by the kitchen sink, the glass of water disappearing faster than the clunking, groaning, plumbing of Mrs Appleby's house could deliver it. Over the last three hours she figured she must have muttered every curse word known to man, even throwing in a few new ones, as she climbed trees, pruned branches and waded waist high through rose bushes, thorn after thorn piercing her skin and digging into the denim of her dungarees as Mrs Appleby, sat hollering orders, 'Hideous Old Cow' mode now fully engaged as Tiffany showed great restraint, fighting the urge to respond with her own verbal abuse.
"Not that much you stupid girl!" Appleby had yelled from the safety of her chair, drink in hand, relaxing on the patio as Tiffany hacked away at the rose bush, blood beginning to flow from her finger tips as the gloves fell to pieces in no time at all.
"You're doing that all wrong." She'd screamed across the vast lawn as Tiffany practically dangled from the branches of an oak tree, one foot on the step ladder, the other hanging free, spare hand gripping the branch as she worked up a sweat. Sawing through the thick, wooden digit as it extended across the lawn, she had only realised her beginner's mistake at the last minute, crashing to the ground as the branch gave a loud creak and snapped from the tree.
"What did I tell you?" Appleby screamed from her deck chair, leaning forward, face screwed up in annoyance. "Idiot!"
"I nearly killed myself you stupid old bat!" Tiffany had instantly hollered back, standing in a daze and swivelling in the old woman's direction, ribs aching from the fall. Appleby's eyes had widened in shock as the words landed on her ears.
"No stamina you youngsters." She replied as Tiffany bent to the ground and retrieved the saw from besides the now severed branch.
"Screw this." Tiffany muttered beginning to walk towards the old woman. Reaching the patio she threw the saw at Mrs Appleby's feet, continuing to walk on past as the serated blade landed inches from her wrinkled stockings, her short legs dangling over the edge of the chair.
"Where the hell are you going?" Mrs Appleby had yelled after her, Tiffany already halfway through the open door and into the kitchen, remaining silent as she yanked open the cupboard door and grabbed a glass. Standing by the kitchen sink, twisting the tap and allowing the water to flow, Tiffany had taken a deep breath before lifting the glass to her lips and taking a drink. A sip turn into a gulp, which eventually led to her downing the cooling fluid in seconds, her thirst only barely quenched as she placed the glass back under the tap and twisted again. As she stood and waited, her eyes began to wander, as they always did, across the spacious kitchen area, taking in the surroundings she had become so familiar with over the past twelve months. As the glass filled with water, she shut the tap off and felt a comfort come across her. A warm, cosy feeling as she let her eyes wander, not a thing out of place. Not a thing, except... In the corner of the kitchen, hidden in the shadows as the sunlight filtered through the windows, there was something amiss, Tiffany's eyes falling on the heavy trunk. The padlock was still firmly attached to the clasp, locked tight no doubt about that, but once more, as had happened many months ago, Tiffany noticed something protruding from within. Sticking from beneath the lid was something unusual, the tapestry of colours catching Tiffany's attention as she downed her water and took a look back to the door. Still alone, she placed her glass on the kitchen worktop and quickly walked over to the heavy looking trunk, dropping to her knees and grabbing the material that had interested her so much. A fabric, soft to the touch, but tattered and dusty. The dirt, ground in, gave it an aged look as Tiffany remembered a similar incident to the one she was experiencing now. Denim, rougher on the hands, but in a similar condition and appearance had been spotted in the same manner just under a year ago, protruding from within as though caught in the midst of an escape. This material wasn't denim though, it was finer. All blues, reds, greens and whites as Tiffany examined it carefully. She had seen this somewhere before, she was sure of it. Taking another look behind her, Tiffany pulled, the material moving slightly before becoming stuck once more. Trying again, it was no good, Tiffany judging it to be either stuck on something or part of something much bigger altogether. Suddenly, she recoiled in shock, jumping to her feet as Mrs Appleby's voice screeched through the air.
"Tiffany!" Her tone had an air of urgency about it, voice cutting through the wall of the house as Tiffany turned and raced to the door. As she reached the patio, she felt relief, panic over temporarily as Mrs Appleby stood on her tip toes, staring down the side of the house. Arm raised, the flat of her hand shielding her eyes from the blaring rays of the sun, Mrs Appleby surveyed the view, eyes cast over Mount Carroll as Tiffany came to a stop by her side. Looking out over the sleepy town, still and quiet, Tiffany struggled to see what all the fuss was about, turning to Mrs Appleby and following her gaze towards the store down below, the silver Mercedes slowly pulling up in the parking lot.
"Who's that?" Tiffany asked, curiosity coarsing through her veins.
"Nobody I know." Appleby replied as she watched on. "Doesn't look like the normal kind of customer that's for sure. Get down there and find out what he wants."
Setting off, tearing down the side of the house and leaving Mrs Appleby in her dust, Tiffany reached the top of the stone steps leading down towards the store and began her descent.
"Wait for me God dammit!" Mrs Appleby screamed, beginning to move, faster than she had in years as her legs frantically laboured after Tiffany, her much younger acquaintance creating a substantial gap by now.
Reaching the bottom of the steps and hitting the dirt at full pelt, Tiffany raced to the parking lot, the Mercedes sitting empty as she rounded the corner of Appleby's Store and came to a standstill, head shooting left, then right as she searched for the driver. Finding nobody, Tiffany leapt up the handful of wooden steps leading to the entrance of the store and prowled the wooden veranda, cupping her hands over her eyes and pressing her face against the window of the establishment, the interior completely clear of movement as she pulled her face away from the glass and slowly turned back towards the dusty parking lot.
"Hey." The man greeted her from below, Tiffany jumping a mile as the surprise hit her full on, hands flying to her heart. Tall, his face wrinkling as his smile grew and with a head of greying hair, the man held his hands, briefcase and all, up in a peaceful gesture and gave her a friendly smile.
"Woah, woah..." He almost whispered as he waited for her to calm down and catch her breath.
"Jesus Christ." Tiffany smiled, almost laughing as she felt her heart banging in her chest.
"Sorry." The man apologised, his eyes working their way over her. The clothes were ripped to pieces, her hair scruffily tied up by a bandana, but her figure was exquisite, his eyes drinking in every curve, especially her breasts, raising with each breath and pressing against the thin material of her t-shirt, the denim of her dungarees sitting slightly below and serving only to lift her bust. "Didn't mean to scare you miss."
"It's okay..." Tiffany replied as she began to descend the wooden steps, brushing her hair from her face as she took another long look at her visitor, guessing his age to be late forties to early fifties as he flashed her a grin. "Can I help?"
"Well I certainly hope so..." The man beamed, pausing and turning his head as a figure hurried round the corner of Appleby's Store, Mrs Appleby herself, out of breath as she came to a stop besides Tiffany and bent double, the old woman severely lacking breath as Tiffany grabbed her shoulder and rubbed her back.
"Give me a second." Tiffany turned her attention to the old girl, helping her stand upright as she waved Tiffany away, her breath slowly returning, as was the colour in her cheeks.
"Damn near broke my neck." Mrs Appleby gasped, her lungs expanding under pressure as she took deep breaths.
"Sorry about that." Tiffany turned to their guest and smiled, hands placed firmly on Mrs Appleby's frail shoulders. "This is Mrs Appleby. This is her place."
"Mrs Appleby." The man reached out, his hand meeting Mrs Appleby's as he slowly and gently began to shake in a display of friendship. "Please to meet you. The name's Jack Fuller."
"Spare the formalities." She spat, breathing almost back to normal as she wiped the corners of her mouth along her sleeve, long greasy hair hanging either side of her weathered face. "What do you want?"
"With you?" Jack laughed. "Nothing."
"I don't understand." Mrs Appleby said, confused.
"If you'd both let me explain." He continued. "I'm looking for a Miss Valentine? Tiffany Valentine?"
Face turning solemn, Tiffany's eyes fixed on Jack as she spoke, stunned.
"That's me." She answered, accepting Jack's hand and allowing him to shake.
"Wow." Jack gushed, shaking her hand vigorously. "It's a pleasure. It really is."
"I don't understand." Tiffany asked, completely at a loss.
"What's all this about?" Mrs Appleby asked, interrupting and breaking the tension as Jack turned from one to the other.
"Miss Valentine, I'd like just a few moments of your time. I have a few questions, if you'd be willing to help me out I'd be extremely grateful."
"He's a reporter!" Mrs Appleby snarled, raising a bony finger and casting it in his direction.
"Fuck." Tiffany spat, turning and beginning to march from the scene, a deflated feeling sinking in.
"No." Jack stammered, beginning to fish through his pockets, pulling free a wallet, flipping it open and flashing a form of identification in the direction of the two women.
"You're a cop?" Appleby's eyes narrowed as she adjusted her glasses and squinted, trying to make out the details on the I.D. Hearing this, Tiffany felt her blood run cold stopping on the spot and turning back towards Jack.
"No." He stammered again. "Not a cop. Not anymore at least. Private Investigator."
"What do you want with me?" Tiffany asked sternly, catching a glimpse of the wallet as Jack slipped it back into his trouser pocket.
"Miss Valentine I have questions. I was hoping you could answer some for me, shed a bit of light on things." He answered honestly. "See I've been following this case for some years now."
"Questions about what?" Tiffany felt intrigued, Jack taking a deep breath as a silence came over the trio. "What case?"
"Charles Lee Ray." Jack calmly replied, his eyes monitoring Tiffany for a reaction, finding nothing but shock
Feeling every nerve in her body suddenly become numb, Tiffany's mind raced. Memories, pictures, dates and times all came flooding back as her time with Chucky danced agonizingly across her eyes. The pain, the joy, each and every second igniting with a wondrous high and a corresponding low. Composing herself and drawing the first breath in what seemed like forever, Tiffany stepped forward and climbed the steps to Appleby's Store, pulling the key from her pocket and sliding it into the lock. As the door swung open, Tiffany tuned to Jack, his eyes following her every move as he waited with baited breath.
"Mr Fuller." She softly spoke. "You'd better come with me."
Without saying another word Jack took a step towards the steps and climbed, following Tiffany into the store. Weaving their way through the aisles of the small store, they eventually reached the office, Tiffany placing a hand on the door handle as she stopped and turned to Jack, quietly speaking as tears formed in her eyes.
"I'll answer whatever questions." She whispered, her voice trembling. "But I want some answers of my own."
Simply nodding, Jack watched as Tiffany opened the door and beckoned him in, proceeding to follow in a heartbeat as the door closed behind him. Standing alone in the doorway of the store, Mrs Appleby simply watched on as the couple disappeared into the office, her mind racing as she allowed a smile to cross her dry, scabby lips. Taking a deep breath and subconsciously thanking the Lord, the little old woman's mind began to work overtime as she felt the time finally upon her, the last year suddenly arriving at this, the critical moment of her little plan. Turning and beginning her arduous journey back to the house, Mrs Appleby mumbled with pleasure under her breath as she walked and, more importantly, planned.
"It's about time." She smiled. "It's about fucking time."
Drawing the blinds of the office closed, peeking through the window and seeing the frail figure of Mrs Appleby begin to climb the mountain of stone steps before her, Tiffany turned to her guest. Pulling a chair from beneath Mrs Appleby's desk, Jack Fuller sat in one fluid motion, raising his briefcase before gently placing it upon the surface of the desk. Crossing the office floor, Tiffany yanked the soft leather seat out from under the desk and sat, fumbling in her pockets and fishing her cigarettes. Flicking the lid of the packet, she removed a solitary stick of tobacco and placed it between her lips, eyes never leaving the mysterious stranger now sat across from her. Before she could blink, a lighter was thrust towards her, held under her nose as the flame burned bright, Jack's extended arm solid as Tiffany hesitated, looking into his face and finding herself met with the smoothest of smiles, his weathered skin telling a story of a life well lived, the stubble adorning his chin giving the impression of a man that spent more time than he should at work.
"Thanks." Tiffany smirked as she sucked, the harshness hitting the back of her throat immediately, the nicotine entering her system and calming her as she allowed herself to sink back into the soft leather of the chair. Crossing her legs and feeling the rough, tattered denim of the dungarees, she watched as the smoke danced majestically from the tip of her cigarette, twirling through the air, illuminated magnificently by the dim light of the office, spiralling with a complete, unbridled freedom that excited, yet amazed, Tiffany. Placing his lighter on the desk and beginning to flick through various documents, Jack began to hum, the silence relieved as the pair sat opposite each other, the tension beginning to build as both wondered exactly how the scenario before them would play out. Jack wasn't stupid. He'd read Valentine's file and knew enough. Anybody even remotely connected to the man that was Charles Lee Ray had to have secrets, skeletons in the closet, although that wasn't exactly what he was here for. He needed answers. Hell not even answers, just information. In exchange he was willing to answer any questions headed his way. After all, why not? What harm could that possibly do? To think this had all started years ago, just another case. At first it had seemed preposterous. The very things his client had spoken of almost laughable as Jack sat and listened, shaking his head as he closed the door behind them and poured himself a scotch. A large one at that.
Now?
This was more than a case... The things he had seen, the things he had found... There was something in all this. He'd realised some time ago, a twinge of guilt as he remembered the way he had reacted in the beginning, mentally branding his client pathetic and insane, among other things. But now, here he sat, years of investigation finally culminating in this moment as he sat across from Tiffany Valentine, the infamous lover, the illusive accomplice, of the late Charles Lee Ray. If anybody could shed light on the events of recent years then make no mistake, this was the person, Jack's eyes falling to his paperwork as he began to perspire, Tiffany's gaze never leaving him as she sat completely silent, the burning embers of her cigarette glowing red as she inhaled deeply before removing the cigarette from her thick, plump lips and exhaling a lung full of seductive smog.
"So..." Jack started, flicking through the pages of his notebooks. "Where to begin?"
"We could start with an explanation." Tiffany answered calmly.
"Explanation?" Jack asked, his head jerking upwards.
"Just what in the hell are you doing?" Tiffany asked.
"How do you mean?"
"Why are you digging all this shit up?" Her question had a playful ring to it, her lips moving seductively as she allowed another cloud of smoke to float free, a long curl of hair slowly winding around her finger. "What's the point?"
"You don't seem thrilled with my research." Jack noticed.
"Probably because it's not entirely appreciated." Tiffany leaned forward, stubbing the cigarette in the ashtray before leaning back and into the comfort of the chair once more. "Why are you doing this? Why now?"
"Because it's my job." Jack replied, staggered at the question.
"But you're not a cop... Not anymore apparently." Tiffany snapped, her eyes emitting a slowly burning anger as she gripped the arms of her seat and pushed herself into a standing position. Walking slowly across the floor of the office, she returned to the window and peeked through the blind, the darkness beginning to creep over Mount Carroll. "And I know you private investigator types don't do this for the good of your health."
"What are you getting at?" Jack could feel the tension building, the girl before him not one he had planned on antagonizing.
"Who are you working for?"
Silence...
"That's confidential." Jack answered, turning back to his notes fingers moving rapidly through page after page.
"Really?" Tiffany smiled. "Then so is everything I know."
"Look... Could we please..." Jack stammered, the situation growing beyond his comfort zone. "Could we just start again?"
Turning from the window and approaching the desk, Tiffany stopped. Placing her hands on her waist, she casually asked once again.
"Who are you working for?" She growled. "Who hired you?"
"I'm really not at liberty to divulge that information." Jack's tone ambled through the air, enriched with a calmness. "You know the person Mr Ray was. The last thing my client wants is retribution from either you or him."
"Say that again..."
"I'm sorry, what?" Jack's eyes narrowed.
"You'd have to be pretty highly strung to fear retribution from a man that's been dead for six years." Tiffany slumped to her seat.
"Well let me put it this way..." Jack continued. "My client would prefer to take no chances."
"Fair enough. If they want to believe those 'stories' then let them."
"How did you and Mr Ray become acquainted?" Jack asked, flipping the top from his pen and beginning to scribble in his notebook.
"What's that to do with anything?" Tiffany asked.
"Just helps build a bigger picture." Jack reached for the pack of open cigarettes, now sitting in the middle of the desk, grabbing one between his lips and sliding it from the box. "See for all we know there was a side to Mr Ray that the public never heard about. Sure they know about the murders, the rituals, the 'stories', as you put it, following his death..."
"He saved my life." Tiffany interrupted.
"Saved your life?" Jack was taken aback. "How?"
"It was late." She carried on, her eyes glassing over as she rolled back the years, her memory on autopilot. "I was walking home from work one night when I was attacked. The guy wanted my money... He was going to rape me... Then Chucky appeared out of nowhere."
"So that's how you met?" Jack squirmed in his seat, allowing a smile to Grace his lips. "It's funny you call him Chucky."
"In what way is that amusing to you Mr Fuller?"
"Because at the time of his death he had no aliases, no nicknames, no pseudonyms to speak of on his file." Jack flicked through the notes once more, the smoke hanging in the air, a haze around his greying hair as he sucked in the filter of the cigarette, eyes whipping from left to right across the pages before him. "Of course, the media had labelled him with this 'Lakeshore Strangler' thing. Probably helped sell a few more papers, but in the long run nothing else."
"Get to the point Mr Fuller." Tiffany sighed, her tone becoming lethargic.
"But then, merely days after his passing, a six year old boy claims his doll is possessed by the soul of Mr Ray." Jack shot forward, foster wrapped around his pen as he allowed a tiny bit of a spark to ignite.
"I remember..." Tiffany started, shot down instantly as Jack continued to pursue the same line of inquiry.
"Only he calls his doll Chucky... Do you not find it strange? That a six year old boy would suddenly know that? Not only that, but also certain aspects of Mr Ray's life?"
"I think you're reading a lot into this." Tiffany laughed. "Kids will say anything their mothers tell them."
"Like the address of one Eddie Caputo?" Jack asked. "How do you explain that? The child in question, Andy Barclay, was present when Caputo was incinerated."
"Really?" A smirk crossed Tiffany's lips. "And I suppose you're going to tell me that my dead boyfriend was behind that too?"
"His mother, Karen Barclay seemed to think so."
"The last time I checked, the name Karen Barclay wasn't regarded as the most reliable when it came to this sort of thing." The smirk grew effortlessly into a fill on grin, as though there was a humorous side to the conversation now taking place. "You know... Credible testimonies and all..."
"Let me see..." Jack skimmed through the pages again. "She was something of an enigma by the looks of this. The stories she told them were outlandish, sure. But Karen Barclay passed every psychiatric evaluation with flying colours."
"What can I say?" Tiffany leaned forward. "Some people are crazy, some people are just smart."
"What does that mean?" Jack asked.
"That woman, and her kid, were splashed across every front page in Chicago. If she was looking for attention, then she got it."
"She lost her son." Jack snapped, astonished.
"Sacrificed him more like." Tiffany corrected him. "Let me ask you this... If even half the shit she mentioned actually happened, then what would you do?"
"I'm not sure I follow." Jack shook his head and lay back in his chair.
"Would you expect people to believe you?" Tiffany held her hands up in disbelief, palms upwards, arms outstretched. "Or would you destroy the 'remains', if there ever were any, and then get on with your life?"
"That's an interesting point of view." Jack exhaled, a deep, long lung full of smoke ejected from his lungs as he tossed his cigarette into the ashtray.
"It's the only point of view as far as I'm concerned Mr Fuller." Tiffany spat, an anger beginning to re-emerge. "I found it incredibly disrespectful that my Chucky's name was dragged through the mud like it was."
"Are we on about the same guy here?" Jack returned to his notes, holding a solitary piece of paper up before his eyes and reading. "Wanted for approximately thirteen murders? Victims killed in the same manner? Strangulation, knife wounds..."
"You paint him to be some kind of demon." Tiffany calmly interrupted.
"He needs no help on that score Miss Valentine." Jack immediately answered. "Listen... I think we've started off on the wrong foot. Now you said you have questions, as do I. All I'm proposing here is a little bit of give and take."
"I scratch your back, you scratch mine..."
"Something like that, yes." Jack smiled. "I don't necessarily need answers. Just information. Kind of a 'fill in the blanks', if you will. You on the other hand seem to have some questions. Throw them my way, maybe we can reach a friendly compromise."
"What do you want to know?" Beginning to massage her temples, Tiffany sat back and closed her eyes. "Because believe it or not Mr Fuller, I've moved on. I'm in a better place these days."
"So I can see." Jack answered, reaching for the briefcase, sat open on the surface of the desk, and retrieving a manila file. Opening the manila folder, he read calmly, the name 'Valentine, Tiffany' scrawled across the header. "Attempted murder? Downgraded to self defence..."
Looking up as he spoke, Jack found the ice cold eyes of Tiffany Valentine burning into his skull, piercing whatever mental armour he had erected and sending a child down his spine.
"I don't mean that the wrong way." He instantly backed up. "You do seem friendlier than most people."
"How do you mean?"
"Very first place I went on this little investigation led me to a cult."
"A cult?" Tiffany seemed surprised.
"It wasn't very well organised." He elaborated. "More of a gathering than anything. You ever hear of Forest Hills Cemetery?"
"That's where he's buried." Tiffany's voice had a vacancy about it as she cast her mind back to the winter of 1988.
"Indeed it is." Jack nodded. "There were reports of a disturbance up there a couple years back. Somebody, maybe this 'cult', even attempted to exhumed the corpse of Charles Lee Ray."
"Jesus."
"I know." A shake of the head from Jack. "Like I said though, they weren't very well organised. They dug half way down and pretty much gave up."
"That's terrible."
"There have been other disturbances too." Jack recalled as he folded his arms across his chest. "The caretaker, Ted I think he was called, mentioned groups visiting the grave, séances, chanting. People were actually taking dolls up there and trying to resurrect the guy."
"Listen." Tiffany cut in. "I'm sure there's a point to you telling me all this. But what exactly do you need to know?"
"I just want to know about the man." Jack answered honestly. "To be honest this isn't really about my client anymore. They seem satisfied that there's no truth, no substance to these 'killer doll' stories."
"But you're not so sure?" Tiffany asked.
"Let's just say I've seen and heard things that can't be ignored. That there are too many 'coincidences' along the way."
"Like...?"
"We'll get to that." Jack held a hand up, his palm seeming to shush her. "Did Mr Ray ever mention any such knowledge? Voodoo, that kind of thing?"
"Not especially." Tiffany thought to herself. "Although he moved in some pretty strange circles."
"In what way?"Jack asked.
"He had one leg shorter than the other... How do you think I fucking mean?" Tiffany spat.
"He kept company you weren't keen on?"
"Eddie Caputo was an abortion that never came to fruition and John Bishop ticked all the wrong boxes for me." Her tone achieving a level of smugness she had been previously unaware of, Tiffany watched as a smile developed on Jack's face.
"How come?" He asked.
"Everything about him was creepy. From his apartment, right down to the clothes he wore." Tiffany explained. "Chucky spent a lot of time with him. My guess, it was him that put all this voodoo bullshit in his head."
"So this was a friend of Chucky's you didn't get along with? What makes you think he was the catalyst for this 'voodoo bullshit'?"
"I visited Chucky's place." She continued, recalling the events of years past. "Not long after he died. I needed answers so I caught a taxi over there right after I called in on John Bishop. Let's say the decor left little to the imagination. John Bishop had a hand in this."
"So you visited John Bishop?" Jack seemed surprised, pen scratching its way across the surface of the paper, the scribbling noise cutting through the air.
"Yes."
"And what happened there?" Jack asked, pushing, pulling, trying to get his bigger picture.
"He threw me out." She laughed. "Told me exactly what he thought of me."
"Which was..."
"He wasn't keen, let's leave it at that."
"So then you visited Mr Ray's place?" Jack asked, eyes whizzing left to right, the plethora of notes before him becoming jumbled. "What were you looking for?"
"Answers..." Tiffany honestly replied.
"Answers?" Jack asked.
"The news had reported a woman..." Tiffany started, not getting chance to finish as Jack carried on the sentence for her.
"... In the basement?"
"Yes." A look of unease crossed Tiffany's face. "How do you know that?"
"It's nothing new to me." Jack said, pulling yet another file from his briefcase and holding it in his hands, thumbing through the pages. "The woman's name was Sarah Pirce. Eight months pregnant at the time. Knife wound to the stomach causing complications for the baby. Delivered that night, but with difficulties."
"I don't want to hear this." Tiffany felt an unease as she squirmed in her seat, sitting on her hands as she cast her eyes to the window. She hadn't sat on her hands in years, a sure sign in her childhood of either a guilty conscience or an uneasy feeling.
"It's not pleasant, I know. But the baby lived. Only the girl was born without the use of her legs." Jack continued reading, lifting his eyes and offering Tiffany a small smile as he pressed on. "Other than that, she's now approximately five years old and lives a pretty full life."
"And what about the woman?" Tiffany asked.
"She survived. Although an experience like that has..." Jack paused. "Repercussions."
"I was more interested in what the hell she was doing there. Why was she in my boyfriend's basement?" Tiffany's voice had no life, her tone falling flat as she spoke, Sarah Pirce's wellbeing obviously not a priority.
"Believe me when I tell you it wasn't her decision." Jack answered, reading on. "According to her statement, she was taken there under the influence of narcotics. When she awoke, Mr Ray had her restrained. She remained there for several weeks."
"But why?" Tiffany seemed puzzled. Here was her chance after all these years. Answers at her finger tips.
"She met Ray that summer. At a barbeque held by a mutual friend." Jack's eyes remained fixed on the paper in his hand, eyes ripping through the statement. "Shortly after that her husband Daniel drowned, assumed an accident. According to Ray, he killed him. Cleared a path before making his move on Mrs Pirce. She wasn't interested, which led to Mr Ray taking rather extreme actions."
"So he kidnapped her?" Tiffany gasped, dumbfounded.
"He was obsessed by the sounds of things." Jack tried to reason. "Kept on about wanting a family. One day while he was out, Pirce managed to alert the authorities. Ray made a run for it, later that night he was gunned down by Mike Norris."
"He was with me the night before he died." Tiffany recollected. "He left in the middle of the night. I was asleep. That was the last I ever saw of him."
"What about before then?" Jack asked. "How long were you together?"
Rolling her eyes and beginning to think, Tiffany took a deep breath and began to mumble to herself.
"A little over six years." She answered, her reply lacking the hostility of the past half an hour.
"And did you know?" Jack pushed her, asking as he raised his eyebrows.
"Did I know?" Tiffany repeated the question, seemingly confused.
"About how Mr Ray chose to pass the time... The murders..." Jack elaborated.
"Yes." Tiffany answered quietly.
"Yet you did nothing about it?" Jack continued scribbling.
"That's not what you do when you love somebody Mr Fuller." Tiffany's eyes fell to the notepad, attempting to read Jack's scrawl. It would have been a hard enough task the right way up, such was the quality of the handwriting. From across the desk it was nigh on impossible.
"Have you ever murdered anybody Tiffany?" Jack dropped the pen and rubbed his eyes, sinking back into the seat.
"I don't get what that has to do with anything." Tiffany replied, dodging the question.
"It's a simple enough question." Jack stroked his chin. "Have you, Tiffany Valentine, ever murdered somebody?"
A quietness once more draped itself across the office as the tension built, the atmosphere becoming increasingly awkward with every second of absolute silence as Tiffany's eyes remained locked on her guest, unblinking, her chest moving rhythmically as her deep breaths controlled the rampaging heartbeat that lurked beneath. Suddenly her lips parted, a brief pause, a split second of hesitation as she gathered her thoughts, composed herself.
"Tell me Mr Fuller, may I call you Jack?" Tiffany asked, Jack nodding positively. "Then tell me Jack... Have 'you' ever killed anybody?"
"This isn't about me." His reply was calm, his demeanour anything but as he gulped and took a deep breath.
"Ah, but this wasn't about me either. Yet here we are..." Tiffany smiled, leaning forward, elbows now resting on the desk as she cradled her chin in the palm of her hand. "So tell me. Have you ever killed somebody? Anybody?"
Without saying a word, Jack's eyes fell, his head shaking as beads of perspiration began to appear upon his brow.
"Well let me tell you." Tiffany continued. "It's a feeling like nothing else. Exhilaration is one way of describing it. You feel a surge of power, almost sexual, like an orgasm. I take it you've had one of those?"
Jack's head shot up, alarmed at the look of excitement now greeting him as Tiffany carried on, her playful tone chiming in stereo as her voice, sexy and full of energy, caused his head to spin.
"Chucky was the only one that understood that with me." She carried on. "The thrill I mean. Always the same. Your heart beats, your senses heighten, you feel a charge of static ripple through your body, always the same. Whether it's a knife slicing through the flesh of a homeless man, or a wire cutting off the air supply to a persons lungs you feel it. It ignites and it takes over, like a drug, almost addictive..."
"Okay..." Jack burst forward, his hands up. "I get the picture."
"I would hope so Mr Fuller." Tiffany coyly sat back and crossed her legs, pulling a cigarette free and placing it in between her lips, lighting it and drawing a lung full of the acrid fumes. "Because I'm through with your questions. Now it's my turn."
A brief pause as she exhaled a plume of smoke in Jack's direction.
"I want my fucking answers!"
Jack felt his heart racing, the room beginning to spin as the beautiful, at first approachable, young woman before him smoked her cigarette and smiled, an evil lurking beyond the facade of kindness as Tiffany finished her sentence.
"I don't think I know anything you don't already..." Jack began, Tiffany instantly speaking over him. Make no mistake now, she controlled this conversation.
"You said you believed these 'stories'." She interjected. "That you'd 'seen' things. That they couldn't just be coincidences. Start there!"
Composing himself and clearing his throat, Jack started to talk, Tiffany listening as he stuttered and stammered his way through the chain of events starting November 1988. From first contact with his mystery client, Jack began to paint his own picture as Tiffany remained silent. Sure enough, the events surrounding her separation from her beloved Chucky, almost six years previous, now began to flesh out, the story told from a slightly different angle now adding fresh light on a long muddied subject. As Jack described certain, long forgotten, aspects of the once infamous 'Killer Doll' case Tiffany found herself asking question after question, the more she asked, the more Jack explained as he answered in vivid detail. The death of John Bishop was news to her as she found herself reminiscing about their brief conversation following Chucky's death. Karen Barclay's testimony made for interesting listening too, as Jack read from files and notes. The burning, shooting and dismembering of a supposedly possessed killer doll never likely to fall on anything but deaf ears as the rantings leapt from various, crumpled pages. Things began to get interesting as Jack started to delve into the year of 1990. The Barclay case thrown out, Play Pals Toys requesting the evidence, the doll, so as to carry out their own internal investigation, remove any bad publicity from the shoulders of the once untouchable brand that was Play Pals, redeem their already crumbling stock prices and declare their product blame free and fit for retail once more. Harry Marsh was also mentioned, although only very briefly, the missing evidence from the case appearing in the back of his squad car, Marsh himself murdered, repeatedly knifed in the throat, Jack going into great detail, enthusiasm growing as Tiffany became absorbed in the sadistic chain of events. Gabriella and Johnny were left out, Tiffany breathing a small sigh of relief. Until the name Max Mattson was mentioned at least.
"I remember that." Tiffany spoke softly as she stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray, Jack stopping in his tracks as his story was interrupted.
"You do?" Jack asked taking a brief respite.
"It was all over the news. In the department store right before I was arrested." Tiffany's eyes stared vacantly ahead as she spoke.
"I remember it too." Jack nodded. "I didn't know it at the time but that's when things started to get really strange. "
"How?" Tiffany asked, curiosity climbing again.
"Well remember the coincidences I mentioned earlier?" Jack asked, Tiffany nodding intently, listening as Jack continued. "They all came about, in one way or another, from the Mattson murder."
"Go on..." Tiffany urged him to carry on, things picking up the pace as the story developed.
"Well here's the thing..." Jack coughed again, clearing his throat as he began. " I've seen everything there is to see about this whole thing, from the day Charles Lee Ray died, right up to this very moment. Now Max Mattson worked for none other than Play Pals Toys, you follow?"
"Yes..." Tiffany nodded.
"Just a day or so earlier they'd received the evidence from the original case. To carry out their investigations." He shrugged his shoulders as he spoke. "According to staff at the factory, they cleaned the doll up. Only some machinery went haywire, fried one of the technicians and one of the board members flipped. Told Mattson to do whatever he had to with the doll, he wasn't particularly bothered so long as it was out of his sight."
"Okay, I see." Tiffany's ears pricked up.
"Last thing anybody saw of Max Mattson he was heading through the rain to his car. Even have a statement from one of the truck drivers, gave him a blast of his horn as he drove past. Said he saw Mattson carrying a Good Guy... 'The' Good Guy from 1988, refurbished." Drawing a deep breath and relaxing in his chair, Jack gave a sly smirk and addressed Tiffany. "So we have Max Mattson, headed to his car with the doll. Less than an hour later and he ends up dead? Not just dead either but murdered in a similar, brutal fashion used so often by your late boyfriend? Come on!"
"You know that could just have been a coincidence Jack." Tiffany
"Yes, I guess it could." Jack apparently reasoned, his smile growing as he spoke. "But to find the car, the body, in a parking lot just two blocks from Andy Barclay's new foster home?"
"You're kidding." Tiffany seemed concerned, her face wrinkling in disbelief.
"Also, Max Mattson's car phone was checked." Jack's voice rose in volume, his exuberance growing with every word. "Last number dialled was half an hour before the time of death. Who do you suppose Mattson called?"
"Enlighten me." Tiffany leaned back, the soft leather offering her sanctuary as she recalled the phone conversation between Mattson and Gabriella Cortez.
"Midtown Children's Crisis Centre. Grace Pool, to be exact." Jack continued. "Records show the phone call in black and white. A phone call enquiring as to the location of one Andy Barclay."
"And did this mystery caller not give any clues as to his identity?" Tiffany asked, breathing a sigh of relief. Jack's eyes ignited as he slammed his fist on the desk, Tiffany jumping in her seat as Jack carried on his theory.
"Somebody claiming to be his God damn uncle Charles!" He more or less screamed in delight, a little laughter rising to the surface. "That's not a coincidence, that's the soul of Charles Lee Ray, reanimated and with a fucking grudge to bare!"
"Well done Mr Fuller." Tiffany laughed, seeming to get the same satisfaction as Jack finished. "Is that it? Is this where the story ends?"
"We're only just getting started." Jack grabbed a notepad, flicking through the pages as his eyes feverishly devoured every word, eventually settling on one as his eyes widened in excitement. "This right here."
Pushing the pad along the desk, rotating it and sliding it to a stop, Jack looked at Tiffany, his eyes urging her to sit forward and read. Taking the subliminal invitation, Tiffany proceeded to sit forward and allow her eyes to work over the page before her. As she read, she began to slowly shake her head, confused as she pressed on.
"What the hell is this?" She queried, the words sitting beneath her nose barely legible.
"That's exactly what Andy Barclay told the authorities." Jack grinned. "Word for fucking word. See the first thing he discovered when he arrived at Phil and Joanne Simpson's house was a Good Guy. Obviously with there being something of a history, alarm bells started ringing, only this one was called Tommy."
"Woah, hold up a second." Tiffany held her hand up, the other hand pushing the notepad back across the desk. "Who the hell are Phil and Joanne Simpson?"
"The foster parents."
"Right." Tiffany rolled her eyes. "This is a lot of information."
"Trust me, it all makes sense." Jack answered. "You just have to open your mind a little."
"So they had one of those dolls... Big deal." Tiffany shrugged her shoulders.
"Yeah, big deal. The Good Guy was a popular toy. Nearly every house had one." Jack reasoned. "But according to Andy Barclay, the next day this one struggled to remember its name. Cue a handful of murders over the next few days and let's just say things began to make sense."
"Murders?" Tiffany seemed surprised, the ensuing story capturing her attention.
"First up, Barclay's teacher." Jack continued. "Beaten to death in her classroom. Janitor found her, bloodied yardstick judged to be the murder weapon. Coroner said she was struck with such force, her skull was fractured in three places, that there wasn't an inch of skin left unbroken. Now Andy Barclay clearly states that the doll showed up at school."
"Okay." Tiffany listened, piping up as Jack took a breath. "But aren't you looking for similarities? I never knew Chucky use a yardstick for anything."
"I see your point." Jack reasoned. "But you'd have to imagine he was more or less cornered in that classroom. Willing to use his initiative, whatever he could. Knowing what I do now, he probably took pleasure in using that yardstick."
"Probably." Tiffany raised her eyebrows, placing another cigarette between her lips and offering the open pack to Jack, his hand fishing one from within as Tiffany struck her lighter and offered the flame, Jack accepting in greater comfort than he had done an hour earlier. "But you're talking as though this is actually what happened. Do you realise how farfetched it is?"
"Do you believe in God Miss Valentine?" Jack asked, the abruptness cutting the air.
"Not really." She answered calmly.
"Neither do I. Yet billions of people have no problem believing in a virgin birth. In the rising of a dead man, three days following a public death by crucifixion. A talking snake, a worldwide flood, the list goes on, so tell me what exactly makes this theory of mine so outlandish."
"I see your point." Tiffany answers flatly.
"All I'm doing is basing my theories on the facts at hand." Jack took a drag from the cigarette between his fingers. "Let's move on shall we?"
"I'm listening." Tiffany answered, taking a deep hit of pure, coarse nicotine as Jack continued.
"Same day, that night in fact. Both Foster parents get taken out. According to Andy Barclay he was down in the cellar. He and Chucky fought, the noise alerted the foster parents who came to investigate." Another pause as Jack inhaled a lung full of smoke. "Phil Simpson was halfway down the cellar steps when Chucky struck. Barclay said the doll revealed itself, that the colour drained from Simpson's face right before he died."
"And how did he die exactly?" Tiffany asked.
"Broken neck. Died on impact." Jack explained. "Caused by the doll obviously."
"Obviously." Tiffany sucked on her cigarette. "Are there any other witnesses to these events, or are we just taking the child's story for gospel?"
"Funnily enough, that same night, Andy Barclay went back into care. That left the foster mother and an older foster sister." Jack screwed up his eyes and read from the notes. "Kyle, her name was. There's a surname in here somewhere, but it's not important right now."
"So this 'Kyle' saw something?" Tiffany asked.
"The events so far? No." Jack held his hands flat on the table as he allowed his eyes to work over Tiffany's body, climbing steadily from her barely visible hips and crossing her chest, eventually focusing on her face, full of expectation as she waited for him to add to his findings. "However... Whilst outside, having a cigarette, she came across the broken remains of the original Good Guy from earlier. You remember that?"
"Tony?" Tiffany tilted her head, the name escaping her for a second.
"Tommy." Jack smiled awkwardly and nodded. "There he was, buried right beneath the swing. I tried to examine the doll years ago, but there was no sign of it. The police simply wrote it off as a lost item, thought nothing more of it."
"So what did this 'Kyle' do after she found Tommy?" Tiffany asked.
"Needless to say, she was freaked. Naturally she went to check on the doll she just threw in the trash, you know... The one that little Andy Barclay was claiming killed the foster father."
"Let me guess." Tiffany removed the cigarette from her lips, her smile growing as her pupils dilated and her eyes grew white with wonder. "The doll was gone?"
"Upstairs, already taking care of the foster mother." Phil nodded with a grin. "Took Kyle prisoner and basically held her at knife point, telling her to deliver him to Andy, but he's halfway across town, back at the Crisis Centre."
"So what happened then?"
"She drives him there, he takes care of Andy's social worker and there's a pursuit." Jack explained.
"A pursuit?" Tiffany asked. "What kind of pursuit. I've got to say Jack, this sounds very 'glamorous' and 'Hollywood' for Chucky."
"Kyle chases them in the car, catches up but they get past her. Next thing either her or Andy Barclay know, they're actually at Play Pals... In the factory with Chucky holding Andy prisoner."
"But why?" Tiffany asked.
"Both statements say something about him needing the Barclay boy to be able to transfer his soul from inside the doll." Jack carried on. "But according to the boy, he'd ran out of time and it didn't work. Chucky flipped and set out to kill the both of them, hunting hem down, chasing them through the factory. Along the assembly line, through the factory floor, wherever they turned he was one step ahead."
"He always got what he wanted." Tiffany whispered, laughing nervously as she doused yet another cigarette in the now overspilling ashtray, Jack joining her as he did the same. "Persistent fucker, I'll give him that."
"Sounds like he was." Jack turned the page of the notepad, squinting as he struggled to read, the time beginning to get late. "Says here that he cut off his own legs to escape some kind of automated machinery, then was basically melted after they drained a vat of molten plastic over him."
"Jesus Christ." Tiffany's face took on an uncomfortable appearance as she whispered to herself.
"Even then he never gave up." Jack flipped the page again. "It took a compressed air hose to finish the job, decapitating him where he stood."
"You sound like you believe every word." Tiffany turned back to Jack, laughing, her curiosity peaking as she spoke. "This all happened at the Play Pals factory? On the edge of town?"
Jack nodded.
"That factory was shut down and sealed off the day after. Orders from up top." He proceeded to elaborate. "Production on Good Guys stopped instantly and hundreds of workers laid off just like that. Huge cover up. Didn't work though... Word got out, pictures leaked, news spread quickly. The bottom fell out of company and they were forced to sell off all their assets. All assets but that one factory. There's a security presence like nothing I've ever seen before."
"Really?" Tiffany asked, eyes flitting left to right as the cogs deep within her head started to turn.
"That place is locked down... Tight... It took me a couple of attempts to get in, but..."
"You've been inside?" Tiffany interrupted, Jack stopping and giving her a silent nod of the head, before reeling in terror as Tiffany stood bolt upright.
"WHAT DID YOU SEE?" She screamed, her voice loud enough to wake the dead.
"Everything..." Jack stuttered. "Why do you think I'm so sure about this whole thing?"
"Tell me!" Tiffany snarled through gritted teeth, arms spread wide, hands gripping the sides of the desk as she leaned over, the two people now almost nose to nose.
"It was just like they said..." Jack began, pushing back into his chair. "Everything as they said. From the colours of the machinery, the assembly line, the trail of blood scraped across the floor, all the way to the melted Good Guy doll, just sat there. Where they left it... Headless... Bleeding..."
"What do you mean bleeding?" Tiffany snapped, a rage burning within her soul as Jack felt her eyes burn into his skull.
"I... I don't know..." He stuttered again. "It was weird. There was blood... Inside... Organs too... Like a person! It wasn't just missing its head either, it had a knife, taped to where a hand should've been..."
"What else?" Tiffany demanded, her body shaking as she spoke.
"NOTHING ELSE!" Jack hollered back, instantly regretting is decision as Tiffany shot him an unnerving look. "What I mean is, I didn't have time for anything else. Security was headed straight for me. I got out of there as quick as I could."
"So you're telling me you've seen all this?" Tiffany's eyes began to fill with tears, her voice breaking as her words became a whisper. "It's all true?"
Jack nodded violently as he took a deep breath and replied, his voice calm and controlled as he began to relax, Tiffany's presence beginning to feel less threatening as the tears rolled over her cheeks, her lip beginning to tremble.
"I believe it is." He continued nodding. "One hundred percent in my opinion. This is where this obsession started for me. To uncover the truth... I mean only a mad person would believe this shit right?"
Tiffany remained silent, slowly beginning to back off, stand upright as her mind raced, a mental juggernaut, flat out and no brakes as it suddenly faced a brick wall.
"My client is unaware of this." Jack continued, standing from his seat in a shot. "They know nothing and I'd prefer it be kept that way."
Suddenly, a fire erupted within Tiffany, her head violently spinning and facing Jack, an anger in her voice and a look of disgust on her face as she spat the words through clenched teeth and addressed him.
"Who the fuck is this 'client' of yours?"
"I can't say." Jack held the palms of his hands out, a gesture of peace as he replied. "All I can say is that they definitely wanted to be rid of Mr Ray... For good."
Without saying a word, Tiffany spun from the desk, pacing the office floor as she reached the window and fiddled with the blind once more. The light had all but disappeared from the beautiful afternoon, the sun gradually replaced with the moon hanging high and bright in the clear summer sky. Her mind bouncing, the fire replaced in her heart, she could think of nothing more to say. Nothing more to do as she spoke, softly, not bothering to turn her head and give her guest the slightest bit of respect.
"I think it's time you left."
Jack nodded, leaning across the desk and scooping up the various paperwork. Files, notepads, torn and twisted pieces of paper, all grabbed in a hurry and thrown into the briefcase as he slammed the lid closed and dragged it from the surface of the desk.
"Can I leave my card?" He gingerly asked, the question causing his host to swing on the spot, the clay ornament gracing the window of Mrs Appleby's office missing his head by a matter of inches as Tiffany screamed at full volume, her lungs fit to burst as her voice screeched through the air.
"GET OUT!"
Ducking slightly and grabbing the office door, Jack quickly made his way through the aisles of the store, the entrance still unlocked as he shot through, emerging onto the wooden veranda of the small establishment like a bullet leaving a gun. Leaping the steps completely as his ageing legs landed on the dirt of the parking lot with a crack, Jack sprinted to his car, sliding behind the driver's seat and firing up the engine in one fluid motion, throttle flat to the floor as the tyres kicked up a cloud of dust, the lights of the magnificent vehicle disappearing as quickly as they had arrived. Back in the office, Tiffany perched herself upon the corner of the desk and placed her head in her hands. The shock and confusion was almost overwhelming as she began to process everything Jack had told her. Every detail now mentally examine as she replayed what little of the conversation she could. Suddenly a revulsion came across her. A sickly feeling as she sat and thought about Jack's experience at the toy factory, the discovery of Chucky's body by a complete stranger bringing on a severe case of self loathing as she began to make plans for her immediate future.
And they didn't involve this place.