The Ballad of Tiffany Valentine

by smngry

Taking place between 1988 and 1999, this story covers various periods of Tiffany's ten year separation from Chucky. Old characters return as our murderous maiden finds out the astonishing truth about the man she loves. What follows is a decade long, blood soaked tale of love, murder revenge and revelations.

24. Chapter 4-3

Chapter 4.3

November 16th 1996

The storm had continued through the night. The rain getting heavier as the occasional roar of thunder echoed throughout the region. A battle fought in the clouds above as the ensuing lightning storm played havoc with the electricity in the small motel room Tiffany had checked into late that night. Throwing caution the wind and enjoying a surge of spontaneity she had grabbed one of the many flyers from the front desk, hunger getting the better of her as she scoured the menu of a local take-out establishment for something that would satisfy her hunger. She'd found it exhilarating. A real night to herself without fear of interruption as she soaked in the deepest bubble bath she could, the water to the point of burning as she felt every pore open and become instantly cleansed, teetering on the brink of sleep as the knock on the motel room door suddenly helped her stir back to life, food arriving bang on time. The remainder of the evening had been spent curled up on the bed, the thick, warm covers helping to amplify the insulation of her bath robe as she grabbed a coke from the mini-bar and tucked into her pizza, turning on the TV to find a horror movie marathon on one of the many channels the motels cable service had to offer. Nightmare on Elm St, Evil Dead, Halloween, the list went on as Tiffany watched for hours, eyes glued to the screen as the blood flowed and the screams reverberated around the motel room walls, a knock from the adjoining room a polite request to lower the volume. Soon enough her eyes had begun to fall heavy, the next thing she knew it was well into the early hours, the distorted static from the TV throwing the room into a magnificent white glow as she reached for the remote and finally turned it off. She had a big day ahead of her and sleep was welcomed with open arms.

The following morning she found herself awoken by the sounds of birds. The chorus of chirps and tweets a welcome change from the revving of engines and the monotonous holler of Selena Thomas as she screamed for Tiffany get out of bed. No, she could get used to this. The clean, crisp bedding and the softest mattress she had ever encountered had given her a wonderful nights sleep as she stretched and felt reinvigorated for the day ahead. Looking at the clock, not long after ten, she decided the best thing was to get dressed and then make her arrangements as quickly as possible, the burning question spending over two years on her lips as she patiently waited, picking the time for this meeting and dragging the truth from Karen Barclay even if it involved climbing across that table and beating it out of her. Was she the one to enlist the services of Jack Fuller? Most likely. Tiffany had come to this conclusion years ago. Who else would be so obsessed with Chucky and the stories surrounding his demise and new lease of life? After all, it was nothing more than a myth. Especially to go to such lengths as paying through the nose for somebody to do the digging for them. No. She had to be the one behind Fuller's involvement. Why though? Was it fear? Hatred? That was what she planned on finding out. Among other things. She could read newspaper reports all day long, but now she had the chance to quiz this bitch herself and find out every last detail. Like what went on in that apartment of hers? Why them? Oh she could go on. She could probably sit and write a list longer than a Leonard Cohen song in fact. The only problem was, Karen Barclay would probably not just volunteer such information. Especially not once she knew who Tiffany was. And there was the problem. Everything leading to this moment. The years of curiosity. Now she had the answers only a stones throw down the road, and seemed to be stumbling at the last hurdle. There was, of course, one route she could try. By now Tiffany figured Karen Barclay must be going mad staring at four walls, nobody to listen to her, nobody to believe her. Surely she'd jump at the chance to engage in conversation with a neutral party. Somebody that displayed an interest, a belief even, in the wild and outrageous claims she made eight years previous. It wasn't guaranteed, but it was the best she could come up with and it was going to have to be enough. Climbing out of bed, Tiffany headed to the bathroom, crossing the deep carpet and feeling a warmth she hadn't felt since she was a child. A comfort that made her spine tingle as she crossed the room, bath robe wrapped tightly around her waist, and entered the bathroom. The immaculate white tiles gleamed as the sunlight shone through the window and filled the room with light as Tiffany pulled the shower curtain back and flicked on the shower, the water instantly spraying across the length of the bathtub, the miniature jets containing enough pressure to leave dimples in the skin as Tiffany slipped her robe to the floor and climbed beneath the shower head.

Who knew what today would bring?

Emerging from the bathroom, slipping into a pair of jeans and buttoning up a crisp white blouse, Tiffany slipped on her leather jacket. One at a time she slid her arms down the sleeves as she pulled the garment up and flicked her hair above the collar. Turning and slipping into her heels, she dropped to her knees and quickly buckled the thin, leather straps around her ankles before standing and briefly stopping at the mirror hanging on the motel room wall, giving her reflection one final glance before heading to the window and surveying the parking lot out front. The highway traffic zipping by as Tiffany's heart jumped into her throat. Out in the parking lot, standing beside Tiffany's Plymouth Fury, stood a police officer. As Tiffany stopped dead in her tracks, she watched as the officer gave the tyres a little kick, before stooping forward and lifting his hand, shielding the sunlight as he checked out the interior of the vehicle.

"Shit!" Tiffany spat through clenched teeth, instantly dropping to her knees, beneath the window of the motel room as the officer turned in her direction.

What the fuck was this? Had he run the plates through their system? He can't have. That was one of the first thing she did. New plates to avoid any unwanted attention. That car hadn't been registered to Mrs Appleby for over two years now. There had to be something though. Why else would he be so interested? Unless he were on the lookout for the plates. Maybe somebody had seen her. Either yesterday or the night before. If so then the entire state could be out looking for that car. Lifting her head slightly, fingertips white as she gripped the windowsill, Tiffany took a quick look back across the parking lot, just in time to notice the officer examine his watch as he turned and began to walk towards the motel reception. Sensing an opportunity, Tiffany quickly hurried, standing in a heartbeat and scooping as many of her clothes, toiletries and possessions into the holdall resting on her freshly made bed. One quick look around the room wielded nothing alarming. Nothing incriminating anyway. Unless leaving a half eaten pepperoni pizza counted as a felony she should be relatively safe. So long as she could make it to her car without being spotted that was. Grabbing the handle of the motel room door, she twisted and slowly pulled it open, the sunlight beginning to filter through the crack and gradually making its way across the carpet as Tiffany examined the parking lot through the gap before her. The coast was clear. From what she could see anyway. Pulling the door slowly, she stuck her head into the crisp air of the morning and allowed her eyes to run along the line of doors to her right. The coast was indeed clear, much to Tiffany's delight as she emerged from the room, smiling as she stepped onto the tarmac and heaved the bag over her shoulder. Without closing the door behind her, Tiffany moved quickly, her heels striking the concrete beneath her as she felt her heart swell in her chest, every beat ringing in her ears as she reached the Plymouth and yanked open the trunk, throwing the holdall inside before slamming the trunk closed once more. Not even risking a glance towards the motel reception, she headed down the length of the beautiful red machine, fumbling in her purse, frantic with worry as she searched for her keys, a voice calmly greeting her from behind as Tiffany Valentine froze on the spot.

"Morning ma'am." The voice said.

Hand still resting in her purse, Tiffany lifted her eyes to the window of the car, the reflection indicating the presence of the police officer she had seen examining the vehicle just moments ago. Hand still rummaging inside her purse, Tiffany felt her fingers fall upon something cold and hard, steely almost, as she allowed her palm to grip what she suspected to be the handle of her knife come nail file and turned to face the officer. Like a coiled spring she felt the tension rise, muscles she didn't now she had preparing to act as one as she gave the officer a friendly smile and replied.

"Good morning officer." She responded, hand tightening around the knife as she surveyed the area for any potential partner. These guys very rarely travelled alone. "Is there a problem?"

"Is this your vehicle?" The officer enquired as he allowed his attention to turn to the Plymouth, the hulking red vehicle standing proudly behind her. Following his gaze Tiffany also turned and admired the car.

"Why yes, it is." She smiled, her body temperature beginning to rise as she began to sweat. "Is there a problem?"

"Problem? Hell no." The officer laughed as he lifted his hat slightly and rocked back on his haunches. "The only problem is you don't see these babies on the roads nowadays."

"I'm sorry?" Tiffany asked with a sigh of relief as she noticed a figure leave the motel office and begin to head towards another of the cars parked along the row, one of Best Western's other satisfied clients off to face their destiny.

"No ma'am. You want to see cars like this these days you got to go to the car shows." The officer continued as he stepped around Tiffany, stopping and inspecting the interior. "My old man used to have one just like it. Purred like a lioness."

"This is my husband's." Tiffany spun on the spot and relaxed, withdrawing the keys from her bag and sliding them into the lock on the car door, the mechanism levering open as she twisted her wrist.

"Sure is a beauty." The officer whispered as he stepped back and allowed Tiffany to open the door. "Mind if I take a look inside?"

"Sure thing Sweetface." Tiffany giggled, gesturing inside with her free hand as the car further along roared into life and began to back out of its parking bay.

"This really is something." The officer laughed as he inspected the Plymouth's interior, emerging slowly after a good sixty seconds as he stood upright and walked to the front of the car, enthusiasm in his manner as he reached the hood and fell to his knees.

"Looks like the fender took some beating." He said as Tiffany walked over, heels clicking along the asphalt as she stooped to examine the mangled chrome trim now in the officer's grip.

"Raised kerb." She lied, mentally recalling the incident with the second Sarah Pirce. "I need to get that fixed before my husband finds sees it."

"Not be happy huh?" The officer asked, Tiffany giving a shake of her head.

"I don't imagine he will be when I see him." She smirked. "But it's like my mother used to say. Accidents will happen."

"Can't argue with that I guess." The officer gave a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure he'll understand."

"I doubt it." Tiffany laughed.

"Got a bit of a temper has he?"

"You have no idea." Tiffany said as she approached the open door of the Plymouth and began to climb inside. "No offence officer, but I really do have somewhere I need to be."

"No problem ma'am." The officer replied as he raised his hat slightly and stepped backwards from the car. "Thanks for humouring me. You take care now."

"And you Sweetface." Tiffany replied as she fired up the engine and let her lips curl into a mischievous grin. Watching as the officer returned to his patrol car, Tiffany shifted the car into reverse and backed slowly out into the parking lot, the engine beneath the hood rumbling loudly as she did so, stopping briefly before changing into first and moving off, the officer giving one final wave as she pulled onto the highway and into the traffic.

'Now to make a phone call.' Tiffany thought as she resumed her day.

She'd only been on the road ten minutes, the facility constantly signposted as she noticed the distance counting down gradually, when she happened upon a layby filled with cars. The roadside cafe, basically a steel cargo container with hole for a counter, sent an aroma of bacon, eggs, sausages and tomatoes spiralling into the late morning air as she left the Plymouth and threw the heavy door closed. Striding across the dirt strewn concrete and past the row of trucks parked beside the cafe, she yanked open the door of the phonebooth and lifted the receiver, inserting a quarter as she dialled the number for the facility, now engrained in her memory. Sure enough the call connected. The ringing tone echoing down the line with an occasional crackle of static as she waited anxiously for somebody to answer. It didn't take long, the phone ringing only a handful of times before the line burst into life and a male voice calmly identified itself.

"Illinois State." The voice began. "Randy speaking."

"Oh... Good morning." Tiffany replied, hesitant and stammering as she tried to relax. "I'm wondering if you could help me."

"That depends Miss." Randy replied. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm wanting to arrange a visit if that's possible." Tiff asked, closing her eyes as she prepared for the worst.

"I can do that." Randy politely answered, a pause as Tiffany heard him straining, reaching for something. "Do you have a request slip?"

"I'm sorry, a what?" Tiffany asked once more.

"A request slip. Our residents send them when they want to invite somebody to arrange a visit." Randy explained, Tiffany's heart dropping as she suddenly found a potential obstacle blocking her way.

"I'm sorry." Tiffany replied. "I don't."

"Right." Randy sighed. "I'm afraid that's usually how these things are arranged. They request somebody, we send a slip, then that person phones and arranges their visit. Who is it you're wanting to visit?"

Tiffany felt a lump in her throat. Her heart beating so fast as she felt her chance slipping away. Her mind racing as she felt the phonebooth begin to close in on her, the name evading her lips as she began to answer, remembering at the final second.

"Karen Barclay."

The line fell quiet. Too quiet for Tiffany's liking as she found the pause broken after a few seconds.

"You should have said." Randy replied with a slight laugh. "Reporter or cop?"

"I'm sorry?" Tiffany asked, astounded.

"The only people that come really. Apart from one other guy. All we hear from that one are requests for cops and journalists. Which are you?"

"Reporter." She answered before she had time to think. The words rolling off her tongue automatically without a second thought.

"Really?" Randy answered, a surprised tone tinting his voice. "Thought you guys had stopped returning her calls."

"Well," Tiffany began to answer, regain her composure with every second that passed. "We're putting a fresh spin on things. Looking at it from a new angle."

"I see." Randy replied emotionless. "When are you wanting to come in?"

"I'm in the area, so how about this afternoon?" Tiffany asked, screwing her eyes shut as she waited for the response.

"We can do that." Randy replied. "How does three thirty sound?"

"Perfect." Tiffany beamed.

"Great. I'll let Karen know you're coming." Randy said. "Just do me a favour."

"What's that?" Tiff asked.

"Don't go overboard with this doll thing. She's still pretty convinced and the last thing we need is her getting excited."

"Oh you can trust me," Tiffany said with a grin. "I'll be very gentle."

And with that she replaced the phone, the cradle emitting a low click as the call ended and Tiffany turned and slid the door of the phone booth open, the enchanting smells of the roadside cafe instantly entering her nostrils once more as she stepped into the morning air and approached the counter of the cafe. With time to kill, and a big day ahead of her, she guessed the best thing to do was try and eat something. Despite the butterflies in her stomach, breakfast was the most important meal of the day.

As her mother used to say.

"Right, listen up people." Captain Senior hollered across the briefing room of Chicago Police Departments seventh precinct. Chairs scraped, feet scuffled across the heavily worn wooden floor, and voices hummed in unison, one collective murmur as the collection of officers assembled before him and took their seats. In the mix, fearing the next half hour of his life sat Officer Harold Wan, his partner Officer Patrick McCain pulling up a chair beside him and slouching to his seat, not a care in the world as he began to tap his weathered and chewed finger nails on the desk in front of them as the Captain continued.

"We had a plan yesterday." Senior began as the room fell silent, striding to the wide open door to the briefing room and throwing it closed with one strong, firm push of his arm. "Now I want to know what happened to it."

Returning to the front of the room, Captain Senior flicked the light switch and cast the room into darkness, a projector firing into life overhead as an image of Sarah Pirce's mutilated corpse found itself plastered cross the wall of the room. The officers sat and stared, the majority unflinching, seemingly unmoved by the image as Harold Wan closed his eyes and turned his head, the memory already providing a sleepless night. Sitting on the couch of her apartment Sarah's body slumped forward, the multiple knife wounds evident as blood began to coagulate upon her clothes. The vacant expression adorning her face lending the image an eerie feeling as she sat at peace. Her last moments full of blissful ignorance. Behind her, scrawled across the living room wall in what the officers assumed to be Sarah's blood, were words that still made Officer Wan's skin crawl.

'I DIED IN '88!'

The blood had dried into the magnolia paint upon the wall, but had still found the opportunity to drip when applied, making the words look childish and hurried in appearance.

"You all seeing this?" The Captain barked at his underlings as he stretched out an arm and gestured towards the picture on the wall, the brutal realism on display as he spat through gritted teeth. "Those words! 'I DIED IN '88!'"

Silence among the gathering of officers.

"We're being fucking toyed with!" Senior continued as he retracted his arm. "Whoever's doing this is taking time out to leave us calling cards."

The silence remained. A pause before Captain Senior continued, gesturing once more to the graphic image gracing the briefing room wall.

"This," He turned and monitored his crew. "This message, 'I died in '88!'' goes no further! You all understand? I don't want the press getting wind of it and whipping up a frenzy. This stays between us!"

Nods all around as, allowing the silence of the room to linger slightly, Senior composed himself and approached his desk, hitting a button as the image of Sarah Pirce disappeared and the gathered officers found themselves faced with another picture altogether. Slightly chubby, with an unkempt beard and wavy, shoulder length hair beginning to cover his high visibility jacket the picture of the man stared calmly into the room as Captain Senior hollered once again.

"Ladies and gentlemen I give you Marcus Van Sleen."

"Who?" McCain found himself automatically asking as eyes fell upon him.

"This is our witness people." Senior smiled. "Our only witness too I might add. See Mr Van Sleen thinks he saw our killer entering the lobby of the building as he left for work yesterday."

"So we have a description?" A random voice called out.

"Indeed we do." Senior strode to the front of the room, the projector flashing as the image changed. The image now greeting the assembly of police officers was a hastily cobbled together photo-fit, gasps ringing around the room as the reality of the situation sank in. Long dark hair, plump cheeks and pouting lips, the put together picture of the woman Van Sleen described hung on the wall.

"Jesus, that's a woman!" McCain gasped, Wan sitting beside him now narrowing his eyes as he observed the face.

"Officer McCain your powers of observation never cease to amaze me." Captain Senior replied, a low murmur of laughter rippling across the room.

"Are we sure?" McCain asked still shocked.

"Everything adds up Officer McCain." Captain Senior said. "Our witness identified our girl to be carrying the box we found in Sarah Pirce's apartment. The contents of which appeared to be a wreath, with a sash, that acknowledged the passing of Miss Pirce."

"I saw her." Wan calmly stated as his memory ignited into life, the entire room turning as one and facing him.

"I bet you did." Captain Senior's smile disappeared. "Walked straight in the front door. Probably straight past your squad car. According to Mr Van Sleen our girl is probably about early to mid-thirties. Attractive, long dark hair, the usual. Mr Van Sleen even held the door to the lobby open for her."

"So that's how she got inside!" McCain nodded.

"It is indeed Officer McCain." Senior continued. "Needless to say the enormity of the situation hasn't been lost on our witness. He was apprehensive about coming forward at first, given the severity of this event. But I have assured him that Chicago's finest are able to provide him with adequate surveillance and protection. More than we afforded the late Sarah Pirce at least."

"How do you mean Captain?" A voice shot from the crowd.

"Starting immediately I want somebody outside Mr Van Sleen's apartment. Not the building but his actual apartment. I want his door monitored twenty four seven for any sign of suspicious activity. Officer McCain, that's where you come in."

The eyes of the briefing room suddenly found themselves cast on Officer McCain as he slumped back in his chair, head back and a groan escaping his lips.

"You want me to babysit this guy?" McCain asked as he flashed a look of disbelief towards his superior.

"Protect him McCain." Senior replied. "Last time I checked that was in your job description."

"And what about him?" McCain lifted his hand, thumb extended as he gestured to the seat beside him and Officer Wan. "The kid can barely wipe his nose without me."

"I have another job for Officer Wan." Captain Senior grinned as he leaned toward McCain before straightening up and approaching the light switch, a massive hand throwing the room into light. "Right, on your feet people. I want squad cars outside the remaining four Pirce households, constant communications. If Sarah Pirce goes to the bathroom I want to know about it."

The deafening scrape of metal on wood once again reverberated around the briefing room as the group of officers stood noisily and began to approach the door, a low hum of chatter as they left, Captain Senior feeling the need to raise his voice as they did so.

"Officer Wan remain seated, please!"

Feeling his heart drop, Wan sank back into the plastic, moulded seat and watched McCain shoot him a look of empathy as he left. The kind of look that said 'I'd rather it was me' but also said 'I'm glad it isn't.' As the room emptied Harold Wan felt an impending doom as the Captain approached the briefing room door and gently closed it behind the last officer, locking it from the inside before turning and marching over. Pulling aside the seat previously occupied by officer McCain, the Captain lowered himself and gave a sigh.

"Hell of a discovery you boys made yesterday."

"You could say that sir." Wan answered with a strained sigh of his own.

"You know nobody could have seen that coming." Senior empathised, sensing the doubt and regret clouding Wan's head.

"If I'm being honest, that doesn't make it any easier sir."

"I know." The Captain gave a nod of his head. "Which is why I think it's best if I reassign you. Temporarily of course."

Officer Wan gave the Captain a look of surprise and curiosity. What did reassign mean? Did he, deep down, believe this was Wan's fault? Did he think Wan wasn't up to the job? Or was it both? Taking deep breath and composing himself, Wan knew that the manner in which he accepted the Captain's decision could possibly dictate his immediate future at Chicago P.D.

"Whatever you think is for the best sir." He responded with a look of unquestioned acceptance. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well I know you're just as determined behind a desk as you are on the streets." Captain Senior clasped his hands together and leaned in towards the young officer. "So here's your assignment. I want you to go digging. Find out whatever you can."

"Sir?" Wan asked confused.

"Here's what we know." Senior mused as he began. "Somewhere out there, in the middle of Chicago, is a dark haired, female in her early-thirties that seems to have a grudge against a woman called Sarah Pirce. To be honest, I don't think she knows which one, which is the reason for this little spree of hers. Now I want you to get down to records and see what you can dig up. What you can find on anybody called Sarah Pirce over the last twenty or so years. Murder, extortion, kidnap, I don't care if it's a god damn parking ticket."

"That's fair enough I guess sir." Wan agreed as he thought about how best to start his search. "Makes sense in the long run."

"That apartment. She left us a message. 'I died in '88!'. Now maybe something happened in 1988 and that's the root of this entire shit storm we currently find ourselves in. If that's the case, then whatever it was we need to know."

"Yes sir." Wan nodded once more.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Senior said as he stood suddenly. The chair scraping with an unholy screech as he did. Officer Wan also stood to attention and without a second thought began to stride across the briefing room floor, laying a hand on the door handle and stopping dead in his tracks as his superior called out to him one last time.

"I'm not sure how long until we have another body on our hands." Captain Senior spoke calmly, his words firm and his tone strict.

"Don't worry sir." Wan gave a confident nod of his head. "If there's anything to tie all this together then I'll find it."

"Very good Wan." Senior responded. "But remember. You find anything, you come to me."

And with that Officer Wan pulled open the door of the briefing room and stepped into the busy hall of the precinct, leaving the Captain stood soaking in the silence of the room.

Whatever next?

Making his way along the corridor, Captain Senior took his steps quickly. An avalanche of nausea bearing down on him as he marched along. Pictures of retired officers whizzed by, a blur as he became lost in his own thoughts. They finally had an eye witness. More importantly they had a description and knew exactly what they were up against. Well, perhaps not exactly what they were up against but they knew a hell of a lot more than they did twenty four hours ago. The question still remained though. What was this all about? This girl obviously had some grievance against these women. But what in God's name drove somebody to commit a series of such heinous acts? There was the key alright. Identifying a motive. Do that and you were halfway there, that was rule one, the very first thing he'd learned at the academy. Right now though, they had nothing. No CCTV footage, the apartments of North Lakeshore Drive not being equipped with such facilities. All they did have was a hurriedly put together photo-fit of what was assumed to be their girl. Mumbling the occasional greeting to the passing members of staff, Captain Senior reached the door to his office and stepped inside, the murmur of voices dying instantly as he closed the door behind him and strode across the luxuriously deep navy carpet towards his desk. Slumping to his seat behind the thick, dark and heavily lacquered desk, he surveyed the surface as the soft leather of his seat absorbed him and began to mould itself around his generous physique. Taking a deep breath, he sat forward and grabbed the assortment of mail piled neatly before him.

'Can it possibly get any worse?' He thought to himself as he started flipping through the envelopes, stopping dead in his tracks and feeling his blood run cold as he suddenly noticed something odd. A manila coloured envelope, about the size of an A4 sheet of paper, immediately stood out as he hurriedly thumbed through the bundle. Not because of the colour or size as such, but more the writing. All he other envelopes were either professionally printed or written by hand.

But this one...

This one was different. Captain Senior's name and address graced the surface of the envelope, but not in the usual manner. Instead, each word had been done individually, one letter at a time and had been crafted from clippings from what Senior correctly assumed to be one of the many tabloids readily available across the city. That feeling of nausea once again rearing its ugly head Senior lifted the envelope free and threw the rest across the desk in front of him as he sat forward and inspected the envelope carefully. Hands trembling, he hooked a thumb beneath the seal and tore straight across, reaching inside and withdrawing a solitary piece of paper, the words once again crafted letter by letter using glue and newspaper clippings. Immediately he understood. This was a landmark moment, completely unexpected as he read the simple, short letter.

caPtAiN

S. PiRCe 1 – sHOt fOuR tiMEs buT siX SHoTs FirEd

s. piRCe 2 – ShoT aFTeR lEaVInG hiGH gRoVe HotEl

S. PiRce 3 – yOu FouND mY MesSAgE

NoW thAt I hAve yOuR AttENtiOn pLeAse LisTeN

LeavE PirCe cASe AloNe

CoNsiDeR thIs A WArniNg

Shaking as he lifted his free hand and massaged his temples, Captain Senior couldn't believe it.

Contact.

Pulling into the parking lot of Illinois State Mental Facility, Tiffany guided the Plymouth across the smooth tarmac and applied the brakes, the car creaking to a stop as she twisted her ignition and felt the engine die. Looking across the parking lot, from her seat behind the wheel, she found herself pleasantly surprised. The building looked incredibly friendly and seemed to greet people in a much less hostile way than she had first imagined. It seemed that TV and the many countless movies had somewhat exaggerated the medieval, gothic, decayed look of 'mad houses' and 'asylums' over the years. The front of the building seemed rather modern, the glass front inviting her in as she grabbed her bag from the passenger seat and stepped from the car into the afternoon breeze, the sun slowly disappearing over the fields to her right as she locked the car door and strode towards the entrance, the sign beside the door asking visitors to ring the bell for assistance. Lifting a nervous arm and giving the bell a press, Tiffany was greeted by a friendly voice from within the reception.

"Can I help?" The voice asked.

"Tiffany Ray." She replied with a smile and a wave through the door. "I have an appointment with Karen Barclay?"

"One moment Miss Ray." The voice came back, the intercom dying for a few seconds before a low buzz sounded from the door, the lock retracting and allowing the door to swing open as Tiffany pulled it open and stepped inside. The inside of the building was even more impressive. Immaculately clean and very sterile, as Tiffany approached the reception and found herself greeted by a male orderly, his green smock and warm smile relaxing her as she observed his name badge and found it to be Randy from their earlier phone conversation.

"Miss Ray." Randy extended a long, muscular arm and began shaking her hand gently as she came to a stop. "Got to admit we weren't sure whether you'd show up or not."

"Oh?" Tiffany said, surprised.

"We get a lot of cancellations." Randy continued. "We figured this whole thing had been put to bed and the world moved on. Obviously, somebody still cares."

"You can say that again." Tiffany laughed, watching as Randy opened a thick leather bound book and pushed it towards her, rotating the book as he did so.

"If you could just print your name there, company name here and then sign on the dotted line." Randy asked, pointing to each respective area of the page. "Just helps us keep check of who's been in. Am I okay to check your bag?"

"My bag?" Tiffany asked as she began to scrawl her false details across the page. "Sure. Any reason?"

"Sharp objects, contraband." Randy reasoned. "Better to be safe than sorry."

Signing her name and thanking her lucky stars she had removed her knife, Tiffany placed the pen on the top of the desk and watched as Randy slowly picked through the contents of her bag. The contents were sparse at very best, Tiffany traveling very light indeed as Randy zipped the bag closed and returned it with a smile.

"Do you have your press accreditation?" He asked.

"Jesus no." Tiffany sighed, not entirely sure what that was.

"No worries. Amazing how many of you guys don't bother with it these days." Randy said, with a chuckle. "Come on, I'll take you down."

Returning the smile and retrieving her bag, Tiffany picked up the pace and followed Randy to the security door, heels echoing across the open lobby as she walked quickly. Scanning his security card and hearing the door emit a low buzz, Randy pulled it open and gestured Tiffany to go through, the amazing white corridor beyond almost blinding as she stopped and waited for Randy to follow. Turning to the left, they began to walk to corridor, the series of open doors either side giving Tiffany an in depth look into the running of the facility. Counselling rooms, activity rooms, common rooms and a dining area were remarkably friendly and, dare she say, normal. She had always had an image in her head of electroshock therapy rooms. Dirty overcrowded cells. People screaming uncontrollably. But this place didn't seem anything like that. If anything it was more like a hotel. Finding themselves coming to a stop outside a door labelled 'Visiting Room 1', Randy once again scanned his security card and the pair watched as the door swung open, the lone table and chairs waiting patiently inside.

"If you want to have a seat I'll go get Karen." Randy gestured with a smile as he fished something from his pocket, gave it a twist and handed it to Tiffany. Closer inspection revealed it to be a necklace of some sort. A loop of grey wire with a small white cylinder attached, a green light flashing intermittently above a small circular button. "Although before we do anything, I have to insist you wear this."

"Okay." Tiffany accepted the device. "What is it?"

"Security pendant." Randy answered. "Place it around your neck. Any trouble then press the button and we'll be here in seconds."

"Think that will be necessary?" Tiffany asked.

"Better safe than sorry Miss Ray." He reasoned, gesturing her inside once more.

Slipping the pendant over her head and allowing it to rest between the opening of her blouse, just above her chest, Tiffany returned the smile as she stepped into the cold, sterile room. Removing the strap of her handbag from her shoulder, she jumped as the door closed with small bang behind her. The plastic table and chairs resting before her looked incredibly uncomfortable, but she figured would have to do. Probably to conform to some incredibly tedious health and safety act, just in case a patient decided to go nuts and attack a visitor. Pulling a chair from beneath the table and placing her jacket over the back rest, she took a seat and pulled herself up to the desk, reaching to her handbag now resting on the floor and grabbing a small notepad and a pen.

'Got to look the part.' She thought to herself.

Tiffany found herself alarmed as a door on the far side of the room suddenly jerked open. Previously well concealed, the door matching the walls of the room incredibly well, Tiffany watched on in wonder and anticipation as slowly but surely the small, frail woman emerged from the corridor beyond. Blonde wavy hair, standing a good couple of inches shorter than Tiffany the woman looked strangely familiar, yet weathered. Like sleep was a thing of the past. As though she fought a constant battle night after night. Eyes slightly sunken, dark circles ever present and so thin she looked on the verge of death. Was this the same woman she had read about over the years? Could it really be? Everything she had read and heard had indicated some beast of a woman. Fiercely fighting to prove herself sane and protect her son, Tiffany had built a mental image many moons ago and fair to say it was far from what she now found before her. Entering the room fully, Karen slowly approached the table, eyes on Tiffany all the way, unflinching as the door closed behind look was an apprehensive one at best. Maybe even hostile as she placed one hand on the surface of the table and the other on the chair, pulling it out and taking a seat as she let her eyes wander over Tiffany, top to bottom before returning to the top. Sitting and pulling herself up to the table, Karen narrowed her eyes and bit her lip. Like she was trying to work something out inside her head. Then suddenly she spoke.

"You're new." Karen's voice was low, full of curiosity as she examined her visitor.

"Miss Barclay..." Tiffany took a deep breath and began, finding her introduction halted as Karen instantly intervened.

"Mrs Barclay!" She corrected her. "People seem to forget that."

"I'm sorry." Tiffany whispered, attempting to regain what little composure she had started with.

"Never mind." Karen sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Well, I must say this is a surprise!"

"I can imagine Mrs Barclay." Tiffany smiled, finding the fragile looking woman before her seemed to be anything but.

"Call me Karen." Karen said, taking a lung full of air as she appeared to loosen slightly. "So what exactly can I do for you Miss...?"

"Ray." Tiffany smiled sweetly.

"Okay Miss Ray." Karen said. "I'll put it another way. Why are you here?"

"Well let's just say this case has interested me for some time." Tiffany smiled, feeling the irony was somewhat lost on her new friend.

"Which part?" Karen asked, leaning across the table, palms flat across the surface.

"All of it." Tiffany began to hit a stride. "I want to find out whatever I can. Straight from the horses mouth so to speak."

"I see." Karen pursed her lips and looked around the room. "And who are you working for?"

"Working for?" Tiffany asked.

"Tribune? Times? Echo?" Karen continued. "Why is a tabloid suddenly interested in the absurd rantings of some middle-aged widow? Nobody cared all those years ago. In fact now I come to think about it all it did was make me a laughing stock and help place my son into care."

"Well it's only a small town thing." Tiffany lied as she tapped the end of her pen on her notebook.

"Forget it then." Karen slammed the palms of her hands upon the surface of the table and stood, the plastic seat vibrating across the linoleum floor as she did so.

"Wait." Tiffany gasped, Karen pausing as she stood, arms spread wide as she still found herself supported by the table.

"No, you wait." Karen spat through gritted teeth. "I'm not prepared to go through this again. Re-live one of the worst periods of my life. All for the satisfaction of some backwoods tabloid. Now stop wasting my time!"

"What if I told you I wasn't?" Tiffany folded her arms and leaned across the table, desperate. "That maybe I could help you?"

"Help me?" Karen laughed as she flopped back into her seat and threw her head back. "About eight years too late don't you think?"

"But what if I believed you?" Tiffany carried on. "Told you I could find evidence. Prove that what you said really did happen?"

The laughter finished as suddenly as it began as Karen lowered her head and locked eyes with Tiffany, a look of anger emerging upon her face as her lips shifted into a snarl and she spat with vitriol.

"I'd say you were full of shit." Karen scolded her.

"Maybe." Tiffany sat back and crossed her legs under the table. "Maybe not. Put it this way. What do you have to lose?"

Karen's eyes flitted from left to right as she considered Tiffany's words. Although she hated to admit it, the young lady had a point.

"Alright." Karen nodded. "What do you need from me?"

"Everything." Tiffany answered. "Tell me everything. Starting at the beginning."

Karen exhaled as she sat back and ran her hands through her hair, the wavy, yet greasy locks swept from her face as she rubbed her eyes, obviously tired.

"I'm sure you know already." Karen began, Tiffany interjecting immediately.

"Just humour me Karen." She spoke softly as she grabbed her own and opened up the notebook. "I want to know everything."

"It was November, 1988." Karen began. "My little boy's birthday was coming up, he was about to turn six years old."

"Okay..." Tiffany said, allowing her to continue.

"All he wanted was a Good Guy doll." Karen reasoned as her eyes opened fully, a wild look appearing. "He'd got everything else you see. PJs, tool box, everything. He was even addicted to the cartoon. I knew he wanted a doll, but they were so expensive."

"Right. So you couldn't afford one?"

"Not really." Karen carried on. "But I was doing everything I could to make sure bills were paid, rent was on time. I was working overtime and planning to buy him one later on in the year. Christmas time maybe. He needed clothes you see, and his little face when he opened his birthday present and found clothes. I felt so bad."

Karen buried her head in her hands as she sighed.

"I just wanted to make him happy." She finished.

"So how did you end up with the doll?" Tiffany asked.

"I was working. It was the day of Andy's birthday and my friend, Maggie, told me there was a pedlar behind the department store where we worked with a Good Guy doll. Cheap too."

"I see."

"I mean which parent wouldn't want to make their child happy?" Karen sobbed as she began to breakdown, arms laid across the table as she dropped her head and cried into the sleeve of her sweater.

"Did this pedlar happen to mention how he came into possession of the doll?" Tiffany asked.

"No." Karen shook her head, eyes on Tiffany's hand, writing frantically as Karen spoke. "It never occurred to me to ask."

"So you bought the doll, gave it to Andy, what happened next?" Tiffany asked, trying to hide her fascination, enjoying every sentence as the words left Karen Barclay's lips.

"I brought the doll home." Karen lifted her head and continued. "But I had to work that night. My friend Maggie said she'd babysit. I went to work, came home and found the police in my apartment. She'd been killed."

"Maggie?" Tiffany asked, Karen answering with a slow, gentle nod. "So who did the police suspect?"

"Andy." Karen teared up as she stared into Tiffany's eyes.

"But you blamed the doll?"

"No," Karen started. "Not at first. But then the next day there was an incident. I dropped Andy at school, he insisted on taking Chucky. We found out later that Andy and Chucky sneaked out and made their way downtown. There was an explosion, a man died. Andy was there, with Chucky."

"And you think this was orchestrated by the doll too?"

"Listen! The man inside that building when it went up in flames was a guy called Eddie Caputo!" Karen paused to assess Tiffany's reaction. There was none. "Eddie Caputo was the driver that left Charles Lee Ray to be shot dead by the police the night he died. Now I'd say that's more than a fucking coincidence wouldn't you?"

"I see what you're getting at." Tiffany scribbled in her book. "So you think the doll was getting revenge?"

"Yes." Karen laughed. "We didn't think it then, but that night Andy was being monitored at a psychiatric hospital. They thought it was him. That this whole Chucky thing was his way of dealing with some mental health issue."

"So what made you so sure it wasn't?" Tiffany asked.

"That night I brought Chucky home and I was a mess." Karen sighed. "I moved his box and that was when the batteries fell out."

"Batteries?" Tiffany asked, stunned.

"Don't you see?" Karen asked. "He'd been moving and talking for the last two days without any batteries. So I checked. I opened his battery compartment and found it empty. Then, when I threatened to throw him on the fire he came alive in my hands. He attacked me, I fought him off, but then he bit me before running off. I lost him."

"So what did you do next?" Tiffany asked. "Go to the police?"

"I tried." Karen sat back and placed her hands behind her head. "God knows I tried. But do you think they believed me?"

"I see what you're getting at." Tiffany reasoned as she continued writing. "So what next?"

"I went looking for the pedlar."

"That sold you the doll?"

"Yes." Karen continued. "I found him, it turned violent, but luckily Mike had followed me down there."

"Mike?" Tiffany asked surprised.

"Mike Norris." Karen sat back. "I should have mentioned him. He was one of the cops from my apartment the night Maggie died. He stepped in and forced the pedlar to tell us where he got the doll. Not that he liked the answer. I knew then that he was spooked."

"So what did you and this Mike find out?"

"We found out that he got the doll from a burnt out toy store down in the city. When he found out, Mike turned silent. I asked him what had upset him and that's when he told me."

"Told you what exactly?"

"That was where Charles Lee Ray had been shot and killed, and that it was Mike that killed him."

Tiffany's hand suddenly stopped writing. Sitting completely still, the silence deafening she lifted her head and felt her heart beating frantically, her ribs literally pounding as they battled to contain the pressure. She hadn't expected that, not by a long shot, the memories of that following morning flooding back and hitting her like a freight train. So the bastard that shot Chucky had actually been assigned to the freak show that followed? Gathering herself, Tiffany continued.

"So after this Mike believed you were telling him the truth?" Tiffany asked as she took a deep breath and tried to relax.

"You would think so right?" Karen laughed as she sat back in her chair, the flimsy plastic back rest bending as she did so. "But no. Instead he dropped me at home and insisted I was crazy. It was only afterwards that I found out he returned to the station and looked through Chucky's file. Then, as he was driving home, Mike said that Chucky attacked him with a knife. Luckily he was able to fend him off."

"A knife?" Tiffany asked, leaning across the table. "Doesn't sound like the Chucky I know."

"Excuse me?" Karen asked as she sat back and gave Tiffany a puzzled look.

"I just mean that the more you research, the more you find out that Charles Lee Ray's preferred method of execution was asphyxiation." Tiffany recovered hastily, a voice inside her head berating her for almost slipping up.

"He apparently tried that too. I think he was desperate enough to try anything." Karen continued, a wariness to her tone as she spoke, eyes never leaving Tiffany's face. She'd examined Tiffany over and over, ever since entering the room as a matter of fact, and there was something she just couldn't put her finger on. Beneath the bosom of her blouse Karen could make out some kind of tattoo, hovering slightly above her right breast. What it said was anybody's guess, but the loudness of the deep red ink lent her visitor a somewhat trailer trash appearance.

"Desperate?" Tiffany broke the silence as she scribbled on. "In what way?"

"In that he threatened to kill Mike Norris and Eddie Caputo in the minutes before he died."

"Really?"

"That's what Mike told me, yes."

"So after this failed and incredibly desperate attempt on Mike Norris's life, what happened next?" Tiffany queried, a hint of sarcasm flying straight over Karen's head.

"The next time I saw Mike was the day after." Karen nodded as she spoke, the cold enveloping her as she wrapped her arms around herself and began to slowly rock back and forth to keep warm, her eyes locked on Tiffany's hand as the writing continued. "I couldn't sleep so I found out where Chucky lived and went check out his apartment. Mike guessed where I was and met me there."

A spark ignited in Tiffany's memory, a burning that tore through the years and delved deep into the past as Karen's words brought back an image. Suddenly there Tiffany was back in 1988, sat outside Chucky's apartment in the days following his death, watching from her cab parked further up the hill as a man and woman raced from the brown fronted building and jumped quickly into the police car parked outside. She had been unable to recall the officer's name at the time, and was completely clueless as to who the blonde haired woman in the camel hair coat could be. But now she knew. The officer in question, the man she had recognised at the time from the seemingly endless news bulletins regarding Chucky's death, was none other than Detective Mike Norris. The woman, had been none other than Karen Barclay. The very same Karen Barclay now sat less than a yard from her across the flimsy, plastic table of Illinois State Mental Facility. She could kick herself now. That was where she had seen Karen Barclay before, her instincts kicking up a gear as she had entered the room earlier, Tiffany finding her instantly familiar in some way yet shrugging off the gut feeling. She had recognised her because she had been there eight years ago and watched her leave Chucky's apartment building. She could remember it now, as clear as day, just moments after her confrontation with an enraged John Bishop. The way they had raced from the scene, not a word spoken as though there was somewhere else, somewhere much more important that they needed to be. Calming her heart and taking a deep breath, Tiffany shook away the cobwebs and continued probing, digging deeper as she found a rabbit hole of unknown information suddenly widening and swallowing her whole.

"So after you left Chucky's apartment what happened next?" Tiffany asked. "Where did you go that was so important?"

"So important?" Karen asked.

"You left in a hurry?" Tiffany nodded.

"Yes. We found a link to a man called John Bishop." Karen proceeded to fill the gaps as she told her tale, still wary of her visitor. "In Chucky's file there was a list of known accomplices and John Bishop was mentioned, along with Eddie Caputo and some woman. I forget the name. I just remember it had a 'Trailer-Trash' sound to it. The reason we knew to go to him was because his mugshot bore a strong resemblance to a man painted on one of the rooms in Chucky's apartment. There was a man. Kneeling. Obeying. It looked like Chucky. And the man he was kneeling before was the spitting image of John Bishop."

A pause of silence.

"Look, I know this sounds crazy, but you have to believe me." Karen pleaded.

This became even more incredible. Was she seriously saying that just minutes after leaving Chucky's apartment they headed to John Bishop's place? Where Tiffany had been just moments before? The irony almost knocked the air from her lungs.

"So what did you find when you arrived at John's apartment?" Tiffany quizzed her further, hand frantically working overtime to get everything down, build a fuller picture.

"We arrived too late." Karen lay her head in her hands as she rekindled the memory. "Chucky had already been."

"What?" Tiffany gasped in shock. How was that possible? The time frame between Tiffany leaving and Karen arriving with Mike surely had to be no more than fifteen, maybe twenty, minutes. Was she seriously suggesting that in the available time, Chucky had entered and dealt with John? Once more she felt a ripple of nausea creep over her body as the stark realisation hit home. Had she left her own apartment just ten minutes later that day, she would most probably have bumped into Chucky there and then. But wait. As she was leaving... The cab she called. She recollected the cab almost hitting a child as it set off, not getting a good look as the small figure headed down the narrow alleyway towards the apartments, but seeing the bright blue dungarees, the orange hair, the deep red sneakers... That was no child. That was Chucky! How she could kick herself now, the opportunity she had missed out on by a matter of minutes. She felt her head spinning as Karen's voice brought her back round.

"I said we were too late. Chucky had already been." Karen looked up, concern evident as she carried on. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Tiffany smiled as she gathered her thoughts. "Just a headache. I've had it all day. Please, continue."

"There was quite a lot of blood." Karen narrowed her eyes and appeared to zone out, almost as though she was there and relaying information from the scene. "He helped us. Before he died I mean. He was the one that taught Chucky how to do it you see. Put himself in the doll. According to him, Chucky was turning human, something to do with being in the doll too long. His heart was vulnerable. He said that the only way for Chucky to get out of the doll was to transfer his soul into the body of the very first person he told of his real identity."

"I see." Tiffany whispered, exasperated at the news. "Which would have been your son? Andy?"

Karen nodded.

"So we set off over to the hospital, to get Andy." Karen's voice had now become a whisper, faint and breathless. "But he wasn't there."

"Wasn't there?" Tiffany queried, enjoying the story, although trying her hardest to hide it.

"We spoke to a young girl. She said that Chucky had already been, and that he was looking for Andy, but nobody could find him."

"Where had he gone?" Tiffany asked.

"I'd always told him that if he ever found himself in trouble, then he had to go home. There was a key under the mat. So we headed home."

"Let me guess." Tiffany interrupted, causing Karen to look up, arms folded across the table and cradling her chin. "Chucky was already there?"

"We raced up to the apartment. It was cold. My god it was cold. Thunder was echoing through the building, lightning was flashing over the building and these clouds... They just seemed to gather overhead. It was terrifying, but not as bad as the chanting."

"I'm sorry." Tiffany seemed taken aback. "Chanting?"

"Yes." Karen nodded again. "I can hear it now. The very thought makes my blood run to ice. He was chanting, which seemed to make the air around us hard to breathe, like it was charged somehow, with static. I remember a name. Dambulluh, Dembella..."

"Damballa?" Tiffany interrupted, recalling the mural in Chucky's apartment.

"Yes..." Karen replied, astounded at just how much Tiffany knew.

"So what happened once you got inside?"

"It was horrible." Karen's eyes filled with tears as she spoke, her voice a quiver. "Andy was unconscious, and he had this... This thing kneeling over him. Mike and I got inside and pulled Chucky away from Andy."

"I can imagine he didn't like that." Tiffany gently intervened.

"You'd imagine right." Karen carried on. "He turned violent. I think he stabbed Mike in the leg then began to chase me and Andy through the apartment. We scuffled and I managed to throw him into fire."

"The fire?" Tiffany seemed shocked as Karen nodded once more, her face allowing a defiant smile to appear.

"He begged us." Karen said as she lifted her head and laughed. "Pleaded with us in fact. But there was nothing he could say. We set fire to the son of a bitch and watched him burn. We thought it was over. It was only when I sent Andy to get a first aid kit for Mike that we found out Chucky was still alive. I can picture him now. This charred, melted and burnt out black thing coming slowly towards us with the knife raised in its hand."

"He seems to have been pretty resilient." Tiffany gave a small chuckle of her own, Karen in turn sitting bolt upright and shooting her the hardest and sternest look Tiffany had ever seen.

"Resilient?" Karen snapped. "Are you kidding me? Are you getting some sick satisfaction from all this?"

"No," Tiffany began, feeling herself slowly losing control, along with what little trust she had already managed to build up. "I just mean he seemed like he took some finishing off."

"I put god knows how many bullets in that thing! By the end it was basically a head and a torso. One leg, one arm. But did it end there?"

"No?"

"Mike's partner, Jack, arrived." Karen wiped a tear from her eye as she spoke. "It came through the air vent and attacked him. There was another struggle. It was then that I finally put a bullet through his heart and he stopped moving. My god, I think back to that night every day and I can still hear his voice now."

Karen broke down slowly as she began to rock back and forth, faster than before as she closed her eyes tight and wept through gritted teeth.

"What did he say?" Tiffany asked, curiosity at fever pitch.

"Give me the boy and I'll let you live." Karen burst into tears as she finished, tears streaming over her cheeks and down her face. Sitting stunned, Tiffany allowed Karen a moment before breaking the silence and softly asking a question Karen had never once asked herself.

"Do you think he would?"

"Do I think who would what?" Karen replied, wiping away even more tears as she began to calm down.

"Do you think he would have let you live?" Tiffany asked. "If you'd have given him your son?"

"I don't know." Karen replied vacantly. "I was never going to do that. I would have given my life for my son. Even now. Any mother would do the same."

"So after all this went down, what happened next?" Tiffany asked. "Now that you finally killed the doll."

"Mike took us to the station. We all gave a statement. Although the looks everybody gave us made me wonder why we ever bothered."

"Didn't believe you?" Tiffany asked. "Not even with Mike and his partner backing you up?"

"I was hoping that would give us some kind of..." Karen paused as she pondered the word she should use, Tiffany chipping in.

"Validity?"

"Something like that." Karen nodded. "Just some weight, some punch, some leverage you know? That our story was legitimate."

"That didn't happen?"

"Not really. We stayed at Mike's that night. The next thing we knew, Jack Santos was withdrawing his statement."

"You're joking!"

"I wish I was." Karen laughed half hearted. "His superiors questioned his statement, along with Mike's, and applied pressure. Said there wasn't much of a future on the force for somebody making such ludicrous claims."

"And Mike?" Tiffany asked.

"Mike stuck to his story." Karen replied instantly with a nod, eyes shooting to the Tiffany's notebook as she tapped the table with her finger. "All the way. Even stood in a court of law and recited the series of events, word for word as they happened back then. Of course, this was after the media got wind of things and portrayed the two of us as mentally unbalanced to say the least. The toy company tried to say that maybe a disgruntled factory employee fiddled with Chucky's voice box. Other professionals claimed that maybe a gas leak, carbon monoxide, could have caused us to hallucinate. Imagine what happened."

"Do you not think that could be remotely possible?" Tiffany asked, willing to rule it out based on Karen's reply.

"I'm telling you now, this was no hallucination!" Karen spat, her words filled with vitriol. "Maggie, Eddie Caputo, John Bishop, Dr. Ardmore, do you think thy died because my aprtment had a god damn gas leak? I know what happened! I went back the day after and I saw that son of a bitch. Still there, still dead, blood all over my god damn wall. I lost my son through all of this, so don't you sit there and tell me this was the figment of my fucking imagination!"

"Okay, okay." Tiffany lifted her hands, palms extended in a calming motion. "Karen, can I just ask, did you have any knowledge of Charles Lee Ray before he died?" Tiffany asked.

"No." Karen answered. "I'd heard of the Lakeshore Strangler. But that was it. Half the city had heard of him."

"And you never knew the woman Charles Lee Ray kidnapped prior to his death?"

"No." Karen replied. "We never knew him, we never knew any kidnapped woman. It was just a chance meeting. We were unlucky. That doll could have gone to any number of families."

"Mrs Barclay I need to ask you one more question." Tiffany asked quietly, sensing Karen beginning to get worked up, grow tired of the meeting. "Did you hire a private investigator to look into your experiences and anything that happened afterwards?" A man by the name of Jack Fuller?"

"No." Karen seemed taken aback. "Why would I do that?"

"What about Detective Norris?"

"No." Karen again answered. "That was never something we considered. Mike could do all that himself if he needed to."

"A fair point." Tiffany nodded, a feeling of dismay sinking in as she realised Karen was telling the truth. "It's just..."

Suddenly Karen interrupted. Confusion evident as she sat and thought, as though reliving the conversation, eyes zipping left to right before finally centring on Tiffany as she began to take a series of rapid, shallow breaths.

"How did you know he was a detective?" Karen asked as she examined Tiffany with a renewed apprehension. This wasn't the first time she had felt this uneasiness as her visitor sat, pen in hand, quizzing her on every single little detail, delving deeper with every question as she almost seemed to take some sadistic enjoyment from the interview. No, there had been too many red flags. Whoever this girl was, she knew more than she was letting on, and Karen was willing to bet she wasn't a legitimate journalist either.

"You must have said." Tiffany lied, feeling the situation suddenly begin to evolve into something beyond her control.

"I never did." Karen shook her head as a smile began to form. "No, you knew!"

"I didn't." Tiffany tried to calm her once more.

"Yes you did!" Karen calmly replied, her voice stern, her eyes now locked on Tiffany who had begun to squirm awkwardly. As she sat in silence, returning Karen's glare, Karen took the opportunity to ask one more question, fear laying its and upon her shoulder as she dreaded the response from her mystery visitor. "Who are you?"

"You know who I am." Tiffany replied. "I'm here to help you. Tell your story..."

"Cut the bullshit!" Karen snapped back, standing as the chair screeched out behind her. "You're no reporter!"

"I..."

"I'm going to ask one more time." Karen cut her off immediately. "Who the fuck are you and why are you here?"

"I think I should go." Tiffany pushed her chair back and leant to her side, reaching for her bag in one fluid movement as the neck line of her blouse shifted slightly. Karen's eyes opened widely as a look of disbelief crossed her face, an anger streaking through her spine as she noticed the tattoo delicately placed above Tiffany's right breast. Before Tiffany could move, before she even knew what was happening, Karen struck. Throwing herself the length of the table, Tiffany looked up just as she connected, the two women falling to the floor as one as Tiffany felt the wind knocked from her lungs, a cloudiness taking over as she felt her head connect with the linoleum floor. Unable to defend herself she tried to let the haze clear as Karen swung a leg over her body and straddled Tiffany's stomach, clawing at her blouse and ripping it open as buttons flew in every direction, Karen lifting a hand to her mouth and screaming as she took in the view before her, Tiffany's tattoo now in full view, a single love heart of deep red suspended below a word that brought a fear to Karen's very soul.

'Chucky.'

As Karen screamed, the reverberation making Tiffany's ears ring, she suddenly remembered the pendant hanging from her neck, managing to grab it just in time and press the panic button as she heard an alarm instantly blare into life. Both doors to the room flew open as a succession of orderlies entered at pace, Karen still sat on Tiffany's chest as the final scream emerged from her mouth. Swinging a series of fists and connecting with Tiffany's face and ribs, the orderlies grabbed Karen by the arms and lifted her from her visitor. Arms flying, legs kicking, Karen fought as hard as she could a she let fly with a blood curdling scream and a torrent of abuse.

"THAT'S HIS BITCH!" She yelled, lungs almost bursting under the strain as she struggled against the group of men, arms and legs a blur as she jerked her head backwards and forwards, the white smocks of the facility staff swarming all over Karen as she continued.

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME! IT'S HER YOU WANT! SHE'S THAT FUCKER'S WHORE!"

Without stopping to answer any questions, Tiffany grabbed her belongings and fled into the corridor, the right hook from Karen still leaving her jaded as she entered the sublime white hallway and hung followed the signs, the exit signposted to the right. The furore could be heard up and down the length of the complex as Tiffany walked along nursing her cheek, the pain beginning to peak. Nursing staff and other residents stepped from their rooms and offices to investigate the commotion, such was the noise as Karen's voce echoed along. Feet moving quicker with every step, Tiffany clutched her bag to her chest and pulled her blouse closed across her chest, approaching the exit and reaching for the door, almost finding herself knocked from her feet once more as it swung open and a man appeared from the lobby beyond. Briefly stopping to apologise, the man appeared to be in his early fifties, his weathered and slightly wrinkled face greeting Tiffany with a friendly smile as he held the door open for her to pass, turning his head towards Karen's meltdown in shock before apologising once more and setting off towards the eye of the storm. Sensing another feeling of recognition, Tiffany stopped as she headed through the door to the lobby and looked back down the corridor. The man had stopped also, doing the same as he turned and gave Tiffany a confused look before shaking his head and carrying on at a canter. Sensing the opportunity to leave without answering a plethora of questions Tiffany continued into the lobby and allowed the door to the corridor to slam closed behind her. Sat at the desk, a beaming smile running the width of his face, Randy rotated the guest book sat on the reception desk to face her as he stood and greeted Tiffany.

"Miss Ray." He laughed. "Leaving so soon? Don't forget to sign out... Jesus, what happened to your face?"

Massaging her cheek once more, Tiffany said nothing as she raced to the entrance, Karen's screams still ringing through the building, muffled and dull, but still audible. Reaching the door to the parking lot and grabbing the handle Tiffany pulled, her arm almost yanked from its socket as she found the door stuck fast. Another pull wielded the same result as Tiffany's anger finally got the better of her, a roar of frustration as she pulled again with no luck, eventually turning to Randy who stood open mouthed.

"OPEN THIS DOOR YOU FUCKING PRICK!" She screamed, Randy instantly stepping back as he pressed the door release button by the side of his desk. Grabbing the door handle once more, Tiffany pulled and found it finally free as she heaved it open and stepped into the dark, late evening air of the parking lot, rain cascading from the heavens and bouncing from the tarmac as the glow of the moon nestled over the freshly drenched floor. Pulling her leather jacket over her head and beginning to run Tiffany felt the water between her toes as her heels skipped along the floor, the legs of her jeans quickly soaked as she reached the car. Sliding the key into the door of the Plymouth Tiffany risked a glance back through the downpour, disturbed to see the middle aged man from just moments before come racing through the lobby door and frantically gesture to Randy, the facilities guest book immediately slipped beneath his nose as he ran his finger over the list of names and slammed the desk with the palm of his hand. Turning his head in the direction of the parking lot and laying his eyes on Tiffany he began to move. Sensing a confrontation, Tiffany ducked into her car and pulled the door closed, the rain hitting the windows of the car like bullets. Ramming the key into the barrel of the ignition and twisting, the engine of the Plymouth fired into life as Tiffany turned on the headlights and slipped the car into gear, reversing from her bay before working the transmission and heading to the exit of the parking lot. Suddenly she found the door to the lobby of the facility thrown open behind her, the man from the corridor emerging into the rain as Tiffany observed through her rear view mirror, watching as he raised a hand in her direction before turning on the spot and heading into the maze of parked cars. Wipers working overtime Tiffany swept her hair from her face as she followed the narrow, gravel track to the highway, alerted to the parking lot behind her as another pair of headlights flickered into life. The car in the parking lot reversed violently as Tiffany's eyes flitted from the road in front to the rear view mirror, skidding to a stop before lurching forward and after Tiffany's Plymouth. The highway was remarkably quiet as Tiffany gave the car some gas and joined the carriageway, pitch black all around as the wipers struggled to keep up with the ensuing storm, the rain slamming against the windscreen as the glass began to cloud over. Lifting a hand and wiping away the fog building up on the inside of the windscreen, Tiffany turned on the heaters and tried to focus on the road now whizzing by at an astonishing rate. Checking her rear view mirror once more, Tiffany was alarmed further to see the other pair of headlights had joined the highway behind her and were now quickly catching up. The scorching light burning into Tiffany's retinas she lowered her gaze and faced forward, blinking manically as she tried to keep the car straight, noticing the sound of an engine as the car behind pulled out to overtake. As the car drew level, Tiffany held her nerve and gripped the steering wheel tightly, glancing once or twice to her left and attempting to get a better look at the driver, no doubt the man from the corridor of the mental facility. Darkness filled the interior of the man's car, the only light the occasional reflection from a rare sign post. Although passing her pursuer in the corridor just moments ago, Tiffany found her memory blurred slightly, such was her rush to leave the premises. But there was no doubting it, she felt the same feeling she had felt as Karen Barclay entered the visiting room and sat across from her. She had seen this man before. But where? Pressing her foot to the floor, Tiffany felt the engine of the Plymouth snarl and snap as the engine laboured on, speed increasing as the car remained by her side, the silhouette sat in the driver's seat casting his eyes in her direction as he also applied a little extra gas and began to overtake, his car now passing, inch by inch, as Tiffany remained helpless. Watching on as the car finally passed she sat and watched as the car suddenly cut across the front of the Plymouth, Tiffany swinging the wheel to the right and only narrowly avoiding a collision as she braked as hard as she could. Sparks flew from the brake discs as the wheels seized and the hulking, leviathan of a vehicle skidded across the tarmac, a weightlessness taking over as the car left the highway and glided across the saturated grass verge that flanked the road. Steering wheel trembling under her grip, Tiffany clamped her eyes tightly closed as she noticed the tree approaching at some rate, the broad trunk not a welcoming sight as she braced herself for impact.

But it never came.

Instead, Tiffany took a deep breath and let time pass. Nature take its course as she eventually opened her eyes and breathed a sigh of relief, the base of the tree sitting inches from the driver's door and leaving the vehicle practically unscathed as Tiffany unclenched her teeth and allowed a ripple of laughter to exit her mouth, lungs straining as she did so, releasing her vice-like grip and letting her hands drop from the steering wheel. The engine had died long ago, cutting out as Tiffany applied the brake frantically and forgot to work the clutch, the mechanism starved of power as survival had become the priority. Taking a look around, the other car was nowhere to be seen. The entire area was pitch black, the only light coming from the headlights of the Plymouth as it now sat at a right angle to the road, the only thing on display being the grass banking that now rested before the car, the only noise being the rain that still hammered incessantly over every inch of the car. Releasing her seat belt Tiffany shuffled across the width of the cars interior and to the passenger door, reaching it and grabbing the handle, pulling it and feeling another rush of relief as they heavy, metal door swung open and offered her an escape. Grabbing her bag, Tiffany swung her legs over the ledge of the door and instantly felt the cold and wet grass around her feet as her heels sunk into the soggy ground. Casting a quick look down, Tiffany was about to curse her luck when she suddenly felt her head snap back. A tightness around her neck, her body following as she found herself pinned against the chassis of her car as a loan figure seized her by the throat. Struggling to breathe and finding the only light coming from within the Plymouth as the door remained open, Tiffany lifted her hands to the arm now holding her against the car and tried to break free. No joy as she raised her eyes and stared into the partially illuminated face of the same man from the corridor of the mental facility, his breath warm as he leaned in, face contorted in murderous rage as he calmly snarled through gritted teeth.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, his grip tightening. "Hasn't she been through enough?"

It was between shallow breaths that Tiffany allowed her eyes to observe the man's face in more detail. Somehow managing to mentally airbrush the wrinkles from his face, see through the facial hair scruffily growing along his jaw line and imagine him younger, the feeling of recognition hitting twice as hard as it had done with Karen just one hour previous. Inhaling whatever oxygen she could, Tiffany gave a defiant grin, the man tightening his grip even more as Tiffany's face was involuntarily positioned skywards, her words straining but still legible as she greeted her mystery assailant.

"Detective Norris," She gasped, as calm as she could given the circumstances. "What a lovely surprise."

"Don't give me that." Mike spat at, bringing his face up to hers. "I asked you a question. What are you doing here?"

"Visiting an old friend?" Tiffany joked, her breathing becoming more and more laboured as Mike's hand remained locked around her throat.

"Don't even joke about this Valentine." He replied, a shake of the head as he sighed.

"Well, not really a friend." Tiffany grinned, a row of pearly-white teeth appearing between her plump, red lips. "More a 'friend-of-a-friend'. You know what I mean?"

"Why?" Mike asked, his volume raising slightly as a car passed in the distance, the highway not as empty as he thought. "Why now?"

"Would there ever be a good time?" Tiffany asked, a silence following as Mike proceeded to tighten his hand around her neck more and more, Tiffany finally caving and blurting her answer, a whisper as she felt her lungs begin to burn. "I needed answers... Alright? I deserve to know!"

"You don't deserve a god damn thing!" Mike said as he released his captive, Tiffany dropping to her knees and beginning to inhale deeply, one hand clamped to her throat, the other sinking into the grass as the rain continued to fall. Turning his back and running a hand through his wet, untidy hair, Mike considered his next move, finding his concentration broken as Tiffany's voice rang through the air.

"You're not the only Victims here." She screamed as the rain soaked her to the bone, hair clinging to her face, eye liner streaming over her cheeks.

"Don't you dare..." Mike turned and wagged a finger, the fury evident in his tone, rain lashing at his leather jacket and whipping through his hair.

"I lost something too!" Tiffany cried out, tears lost in the rain as she began to sob uncontrollably.

"Lost something?" Mike asked. "You didn't lose something! You had a chance. Don't you see? A chance to get out of the gutter, move on with life."

Feeling her hand sinking into the grass even further, Tiffany rocked back and landed with a thump against the side of the Plymouth, her backside beginning to feel the water creeping into the seat of her jeans as she lay her head back against the car and simply sat.

"I didn't want anything other than Chucky." She sobbed, lifting a hand and gesturing at Mike as she continued. "But YOU took him from me!"

"I did the world a favour that night!" Mike retorted angrily as he squatted before Tiffany, staring deep into her weary eyes as the two mentally examined each other.

"It was too late." Tiffany laughed. "I didn't know what was happening back then. I said my goodbyes at the funeral but I didn't know, I really didn't."

"I know." Mike said, his tone becoming more relaxed as he looked upon the pathetic girl before him. "I was there too. Just to make sure that son of a bitch was really dead."

"That how you recognised me?" Tiffany asked, Mike answering with a nod.

"Don't you think Karen's suffered enough?" He asked. "She doesn't need this. Not now. Not ever."

"I already said, I just needed answers." Tiffany sighed as she wiped a mixture of rain and tears from her face. "I was doing well too you know. Then that bastard Jack Fuller had to go raking up the past."

"Jack Fuller?" Mike asked, intrigued.

"You know him?" Tiffany asked.

"Used to be on the force." Mike replied. "Not to be trusted, put it that way. Comes as no surprise the two of you have been in touch."

"So you and the Barclays didn't hire him?" She asked again.

"Take my advice Tiffany," Mike began to answer as he swooped and grabbed Tiffany's bag from a puddle by her side, taking her purse and opening it. Thumbing through the various forms of fake I.D Mike ripped them all from within and placed them in his pocket, proceeding to do the same with all but ten dollars of her cash. Closing the purse and dropping it in her lap he stood to leave. "Get over this. Charles Lee Ray is dead. Nothing, absolutely nothing, will fetch him back."

"You expect me to give up?" Tiffany asked with a burst of laughter, shaking her head and snarling through clenched teeth. "I've come too far for that."

"Meaning?" Mike asked as the rain rolled over his face.

"You mark my words," Tiffany felt a fire raging in her belly, something she hadn't felt in years as she looked up at Mike Norris and continued. "Chucky hasn't finished with either one of you yet! You're all dead already. Don't you understand? You, that whore of yours, even the whore's son. None of you are safe!"

Dropping instantly to his knees and once again grabbing Tiffany by the throat once more, Mike squeezed until his fingers turned white, all the while his face remaining as calm as could be as he gently spoke into Tiffany's ear.

"You've been warned." His voice was a whisper through the thunder storm echoing around them, but Tiffany heard him clear as a bell. "Leave this. Leave it alone. Now. Before you do something we'll all regret. Take the ten dollars I've been good enough to leave you and spend it on gas. Get away from Chicago. Maybe you can double it, you know? Show somebody a good time. Pretty sure that would be worth ten dollars where you come from."

Giving a short, but solid shove, Mike slammed Tiffany's head against the door of the Plymouth, releasing her as he did so and returning to his feet. Looking on from her seat, on the floor beside the car, Tiffany watched on through the haze as Mike stepped over her and made the short walk back to his car, unseen by Tiffany as she heard him firing the engine into life before crawling back on to the highway and giving it some gas. Stumbling to her feet, hanging onto the roof of the Plymouth as her legs shook beneath her, Tiffany watched the tail lights of Mike's car disappear in to the storm as she let burst with a blood curdling roar, a bellow of rage filled hatred as she screamed into the night.

"THIS ISN'T OVER!"

Legs buckling, vision slightly cloudy, Tiffany rested her chin on the roof of the car and took a deep breath as she held on.

"I say when it's over..."

As the rage continued to burn, Tiffany watched Mike's car disappear into the avalanche of rain, eyes focusing vacantly on the faint glow hovering over the horizon as she stared back towards the city, the night lights of Chicago twinkling in the distance as Tiffany had an idea.

She'd never change, and she was happy with that.

Right now, she needed to let off some steam.

Like the good old days.