Chapter 5.1
February 11th 1999
Blinking rapidly, the light flickering through her eyelids, Tiffany rolled onto her back and allowed the soft, crisp sheets to part around her bare body. The silence that had until now lent the trailer park an air of peace and tranquility now found itself shattered instantaneously, the roar of an engine and the slamming of car doors, one of Tiffany's numerous new neighbours up early and preparing for another day at work as the sun rose in the sky and swept across the countryside surrounding Spring Vale Trailer Park. The animals frolicking throughout the woodland surrounding the park no doubt bolting at the first sign of humanity, the calm morning air broken as they grazed from the grass and drank from the stream to the rear of her trailer. It had become something of a habit recently, the last month or so passing with minimal incident, the peace bestowed upon her seemingly infinite as she stayed up, often until sunrise, to watch. A deer emerging from the wall of trees and stepping delicately across the turf, approaching the trailer park with an unparallelef apprehension. A family of squirrels rolling through the leaves as they foraged for food, a blur as they played and fought. The beauty of nature had indeed been enough, so far, to invoke an almost zen-like attitude upon her. Tiffany sitting morning after morning with a steaming hot cup of coffee and allowing her eyes to gorge on the world around her. The urban jungle that was Chicago now nothing but a distant memory as an entirely new life seemed ready to open up before her, Tiffany hesitating at the precipice as it were. Swallow her whole and push her out the other side as she finally felt the journey enter the home straight. Ten years. Jesus had it been so long? She didn't like to admit it, but it had. The years melting away as life passed by like some unrelenting freight train. A lot had happened since that fateful night in 1988, the news still etched in her memory as she vividly recalled the images beamed across the city. The 'Lakeshore Strangler' finally unmasked and dealt with. A city in the midst of celebrations, all the while Tiffany dejected and heartbroken sinking to the bottom of a bottle. Since then, since that night, so much had happened. Sure the years had flown by. But the drama? The unwaivering pain, silently waiting, knife drawn around every corner as Tiffany pushed on? There was so much that had happened. Enough to fill journal after journal, something Tiffany had long considered, as life seemed to hurtle from one urine soaked puddle to the next. First there had been the revelations. Unbelievable. Crazy. Yet all the while completely logical given everything Tiffany had discovered. Then the search had begun. Harry Marsh, one of Chicago's finest boys in blue, falling at the first hurdle as Tiffany felt the first wave of disappointment. A feeling she would come to know well over the following decade. Her arrest that followed had been anything but a walk in the park too. Logan Correctional having a lot to answer for as Tiffany found herself released head first into the arms of the psychotic Mrs Appleby, the surrounding town of Mount Carroll providing anything but the rural retreat in which to start again. All effort had been made, obviously, but the digging of Rita Hernandez and her colleague, Will Hunter, had soon brought any false hope crashing to the ground, Tiffany reverting to type in an effort to silence Rita and preserve the freedom she had only recently become accustomed to. Of course, the web of deceit had rapidly unraveled from that moment on and Mrs Appleby's grand plan had finally been unveiled in full, Tiffany astounded as the wrinkled old hag laid bare her heart and demanded Tiffany deliver her the remains of Charles Lee Ray's latest body, the ensuing brawl reaching its climax as Mrs Appleby's house exploded around her, the inferno illuminating the countryside for miles around as the fireball incinerated the little old woman in an instant. There wouldn't have been much left. Of anything. But Tiffany knew then that she had little option but to assume a new identity and lay low with the help of fellow Logan inmate Selena Thomas, the plan going pretty well until an idea came to Tiffany one night as she lay in her bed. The basement of Gorman's bar had been pounding with the unrelenting blare of the jukebox from the watering hole cum brothel above. The incessant smash of glass and the roar of drunken brawling had become the ambiance to Tiffany's evenings as she picked up the White Pages and found an outlet for that pent up aggression. The creative juices flowing as, finally, the monster within reared its ugly head and bellowed aggressively. Life once again had a purpose. The plan simple as she ran her finger over the names and addresses listed before her. Kill Sarah Pierce. But which one? She had no idea. Therefore every Sarah Pierce became a target. The invisible marker placed upon their heads in the stroke of a second, Tiffany's plan quickly gathering momentum as she set about her business in the most efficient and effective manner she could. Naturally the acts she had committed just over two years ago had made her incredibly popular. The tales of the 'Phone Book Killer' reaching both the East and West coasts as the investigation gathered pace. A trail of bodies left in her wake, Tiffany had been given little choice but to flee the city. To run once more. Now though, all seemed well again. The air of calm that resonated across Spring Vale Trailer Park bringing out a sense of humanity she had thought to be long dormant, maybe even lost forever. Buried deep within as she allowed her life to become a circus. Bogged down by the unspeakable acts she had felt compelled to carry out, not a single grain of mercy to offer. Not to say she had joined a convent during her time traveling. No, as far as Tiffany was concerned there was, unfortunately, still blood to be spilled were she to reach her end goal. It was inevitable. A certainty, as inevitable as days transition to night. The big question however, was exactly how much and when? Because, as much as she had come to regret her actions over the last ten years or so, nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to stand in her way. She had come too far, suffered too much. Now rising from the sheets she swung her long naked legs over the edge of the cold, metal bed and let her feet dangle, lifting her arms and throwing back her head, a yawn escaping as she blinked back the tears of exhaustion, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. Then, placing the soles of her bare feet upon the frosty, blue linoleum tiles of the trailer's floor, she felt the cold spread across her skin and a shiver ripple down her spine. The biggest disadvantage to living in a trailer, it would seem, was the cold. This time of year, even as spring seemed to be approaching, the cold would spread across the steel structure and leave not one inch untouched. This was despite the bright sunlight flooding in through the open curtains adorning each and every window and illuminating the interior as she now pushed herself from the bed and rose to her feet, sweeping her bathrobe from the floor and quickly throwing it across her back as her arms slipped down the soft, satin sleeves and she quickly secured the cord around her naked body, reaching out once more and snatching the almost empty packet of cigarettes from the bedside table. Placing one between her lips, the flame from the lighter almost instantaneous, she proceeded to suck the smoke through the filter with a satisfied smile, turning on the spot and striding across the bedroom floor, every step like ice upon her skin as Tiffany passed through the thin material partition and into the living area. It wasn't much. Wasn't big. But it was home. Her home. The first she'd really had in years. No room-mates, no convicts, no psychotic old ladies and no bar full of brawling bikers upstairs. She'd made a couple of changes since moving in, but besides the odd piece of furniture picked up at local flea markets, the place remained the same as the day she moved in. A chaise longe and a small sofa flanking either side of the trailers interior as she strolled on by and towards the door to her right, throwing it open and allowing the influx of light and fresh air to work its magic, the smell of the trailer becoming stagnant and heavy overnight. Turning back to the kitchen work surface opposite the open door, the cool breeze infiltrating the trailer and slowly causing the bath robe to flap around her thighs, Tiffany flicked the switch on the small kettle and waited patiently as the water within began to bubble. Deciding against the tea spoons sat piled high by the side of the sink, she then grabbed the nearest jar of coffee and hurriedly unscrewed the lid, cigarette clamped between her lips, a determined look spreading across her face as she wrestled with the jar, both hands required as finally the plastic seal broke free, Tiffany pouring a generous amount straight from the jar and into the waiting mug as the kettle refused to cease boiling. Now billowing, the steam shot from the spout and filled the trailer with moisture, the sickly blue wallpaper, an unending floral tapestry, absorbing as much as it could before beginning to bubble and drip under the constant bombardment.
"Fuck." She spat, snatching the kettle from its housing and pouring the piping hot water into the mug, the smell of instant coffee to die for as she returned the kettle and lifted the mug to her nose, inhaling deeply as the aroma filled her nostrils, the rich caffeine infused fumes bringing a smile to her lips. Turning, mug firmly held between both hands, she approached the open doorway before her, the blinding sunlight welcoming as she stepped outside and down the small steps to the gravel path running alongside the trailer, a small outdoor table and a couple of chairs waiting patiently for her as she placed the mug upon the table and sank unceremoniously into the deck chair. Suddenly, she jumped, another slamming door, this time from the trailer opposite, catching Tiffany's attention as a figure appeared from behind the van parked close by, Tiffany's high pitched voice ringing out across the way as she called to the young man with a playful smile and crossed her legs, the robe leaving little to the imagination as the hem rode up her thigh and she allowed a foot to dangle provocatively.
"Morning Jesse." She cooed, her neighbour of the past month glancing up before quickly averting his eyes. The embarrassment evident as he rounded the van and approached the driver's door.
"Morning Tiffany." His voice carried an authentic tone, his thick dark hair and tanned complexion seemingly ignited in the morning sun.
"Going anywhere nice sweet face?" She asked, another lungful of smoke exhaled as Jesse pulled open the door to the van and jumped inside.
"Just, into town." His reply was brief, hurried. "You know how it is. Errands to run, jobs to do."
"Sure do." Tiffany laughed, her eyes never leaving the young man. "Heading out that way myself soon. Who knows, maybe I'll see you there."
"Yeah, listen I gotta..." Jesse forced a smile, pulling the van door closed and gestured on with a nod of his head.
"I understand honey." Tiffany beamed, leaning forward with a grin, drawing on the cigarette for a final time. "You take care."
"And you." Jesse replied, turning the key in the vans ignition and shifting into gear, the wheels slowly beginning to move as he gave the engine some gas and the van pulled away. No matter her devotion to the cause Tiffany had to admit, a guy like that could sure turn a girls head. Truth be told, she hadn't talked with him much since they had become neighbours. She hadn't talked to anybody much really. If she were absolutely honest, she had been grateful to just find somewhere low key. Somewhere she could crack on with life. Minimal disruption as she sought to bring this final chapter to its long overdue conclusion. An effort in itself, as Tiffany rose from the table, mug of coffee gripped firmly in her hand and returned to the entrance of the trailer, her eyes finding themselves gravitating towards the battered and beaten chest sitting beside the sofa, the hundreds of random doll parts sitting inside just waiting to serve a purpose.
"Let's see what we can find today." Tiffany sighed, the optimism subsiding momentarily, one final drag on her cigarette before casually flicking the spent butt through the air and across the gravel outside.
The town centre jostled with life as Tiffany made her way across the square and towards the library. Her daily internet fix waiting within as the glass doors to the huge building parted automatically and she skipped on through, the silence staggering as she heard the almost inaudible hum of the doors closing magically behind her. To say the volume of the library was low would be an understatement, only the faintest of whispers and the tapping of numerous keyboards as Tiffany strolled across the lobby and towards the barricade, a quick swipe of the library card registered to one Tiffany Hendricks causing the barrier to open and allow access to the rows and rows of computers sitting beyond, the desks already heaving with activity as people of all ages sat and worked away on the world wide web, Tiffany quickly pulling up a chair in one of the least populated areas and opening up the browser. A quick click of the mouse, a few keys and she was in, the website appearing abruptly before her very eyes and asking for her login details, Tiffany wasting no time at all as she keyed in her information and waited patiently for the site to load. To say she had become a regular on the site was putting it mildly. Logging in daily, commenting where and whenever she could, the grim subject of discussion left her feeling exhilarated, the sheer amount of like-minded people also leaving her speechless as the conversations grew and grew, the forums brimming with activity twenty four hours a day as they discussed the grizzly subject of death and serial killers of days gone. Some even sought to solve crimes that had so far puzzled local police authorities. Stringing together whatever evidence they could and making their own assumptions off the back of it, such was the information available to each and every member. Now though, as Tiffany watched the screen load up, she felt her heart jump in her throat as the screen sitting in front of her indicated a private message sitting in her inbox. Somebody reaching out and either requesting, or offering, information no doubt, Tiffany wasting no time as the pointer frantically shot across screen and hovered over the icon, a single click causing the screen to flicker with life. Before Tiffany could figure out what was happening, a flurry of images appeared on screen, dozens of thumbnail pictures sitting beneath the message from a user Tiffany had become acquainted with over the last month or so, 'FUBAR96', the message simply reading 'Thought you'd appreciate these'. Curiosity peaking Tiffany quickly positioned the mouse, the pointer now sitting above the first image as she gave another click and watched the small image expand rapidly across the screen. Looking on, she felt puzzled, the image of nothing more than an apartment. In fact no, not an apartment, this was more like a penthouse. The views from the huge windows in the background seeming to stretch across the city beyond. For some reason, a plethora of police labels, usually used to indicate areas of interest and evidence, sat in random places of the grand penthouse, dozens of them in fact as Tiffany allowed her eyes to examine every single detail. Sparkling black tiles coated every square inch of the floor as toys, what looked like thousands of them, lay strewn in random areas, the well stocked bar of crystal decanters filled with what would probably be the finest single malt scotch in the background indicating the occupant to be somewhat wealthy. Moving on and selecting the next image, Tiffany's excitement began to dwindle even more, practically the same picture but from a slightly different angle, more yellow evidence labels individually numbered and even more toys, not stacked or placed, but apparently thrown left, right and centre, the scene reminiscent of a child's bedroom. The next image offered little else, the photographer moving on a little, each click of his camera revealing more and more, nothing of interest as Tiffany clicked and clicked, making her way through the seemingly irrelevant images at her disposal. Until there it was. Something fascinating. Something to get excited about, the assumption of interest suddenly making sense as the hairs on the back of her neck sprung up. The picture now on screen had more than stoked the fires of her curiosity, previously smouldering impatiently, the body in the background of the picture gracing the screen sitting slumped across a glass desk. Moving on, Tiffany beamed radiantly, the image a more up close shot of the victim. Male, late fifties, possibly early sixties. Face buried in the clear, sparkling glass, the man was decked in a white shirt, pristine, his trousers the same, black and perfectly ironed, creases and all as he lay prone, arms either side of his head, a yo-yo sitting unravelled by his side, out of place among the office stationery and paperwork. Turning her attention to the browsers address bar, Tiffany read carefully as she looked for a clue. An indication as to who this nameless man could possibly be, the answer coming as she read the file extension of the image now on screen, but unfortunately no better understanding of why this particular murder scene should interest her. The name of the man appeared to be one Derek Sullivan, the name completely lost on her as Tiffany fought to remember. Had she ever met anybody by that name? No. She was sure of that. Then suddenly an idea came to her. A lightbulb moment as her hands shot to the keyboard sitting before her, opening another page and quickly bringing up the search engine, the name Derek Sullivan more or less entering itself, Tiffany's hands a blur as she frantically typed. Within seconds the search engine had worked its magic, an almost unending list of web sites reporting the death of Derek Sullivan, Tiffany noting the various sites to have reported the news little over a month ago, still nothing to suggest a reason Tiffany would be so interested in this murder, the answer suddenly coming as a headline leapt from the screen and made Tiffany freeze on the spot.
'DEREK SULLIVAN DEAD. PLAY PALS C.E.O MURDERED'
This man, the one sitting dead on the screen in front of her as she returned to her inbox, was none other than the C.E.O of Play Pals? She couldn't believe it. And one month ago? Not much, but definitely prior to the events at Kent Military School. Was it possible? Did this mean what she thought? Grabbing the mouse, fingers clicking furiously, Tiffany sped from one image to the next, eyes working over the pictures frantically as she looked for any signs whatsoever, a close up of Sullivan's computer screen suddenly popping up and causing Tiffany to stop, the name on the screen all too familiar as the bright green lettering escaped the bleakness of the screen.
'Barclay, Andy.'
"Jesus fuck!" Tiffany spat, attention turning to the disgusted old man sat on the computer opposite as she offered a faint, embarrassed smile. Reading the text now on screen in front of her Tiffany read on, the very brief synopsis of Andy Barclay's life to date. The details revealing to say the least. Ideal to somebody attempting to track him down, that in itself giving Tiffany a rush of blood as she clicked on, and on, the rest of the images showing nothing other than a trail of destruction. Toys battered and broken positioned all across the penthouse, the television still playing to itself, the yellow box resting on the couch.
"What the fuck?" Tiffany murmured to herself another look of disapproval from the old man sat opposite, Tiffany snapping without thinking. "Suck it up grandpa."
Returning her gaze to the screen, she clicked again, the yellow box resting on the couch still hovering in the background out of focus, other items in the photographers field of vision as they snapped away, Tiffany clicking and clicking until finally the bright yellow box, complete with brand new Good Guy doll residing within, came into focus, the smile on the doll's face friendly and warm, the note propped up against the box anything but as Tiffany strained her eyes and made out the words.
'Andy Barclay
Kent Military School,
Boonsville,
MO,
Deliver ASAP'
"Chucky," Tiffany smiled elatedly sitting back in the comfort of her chair, the sickly sweet smile of the Good Guy returned from the screen. "You son of a bitch!"
A gentle ambiance crept over the ironically named Quick-Mart, the elderly cashier taking what seemed forever to scan the items of the person in front as the monotonous music, a constant drone of keyboard based elevator jingles, resonated gently across the sparsely populated store. The display of impulse items, placed appropriately near the cashiers conveyor, caught Tiffany's attention as she stood in line, the large flat pack box by her side now resting on the floor as she waited patiently, the gentleman in front offering his thanks and taking his change as the cashier looked up and bowed her head towards the next customer. Beady little eyes staring over the rim of her glasses, placed dangerously close to the tip of her nose, she examined Tiffany with a vague curiosity, watching as she lifted the large, flat box and moved towards the register, the conveyor usually a good sign of a person's lifestyle as the cashier began scanning item after item. Years of experience taking over, the cashier switched to autopilot, eyes investigating the front of the flat pack box by Tiffany's side, the large picture on the front of the box indicating a crib of some description as she chewed her gum and made an attempt at small talk.
"When are we due?" She asked, the question startling Tiffany as she found herself snapped from her thoughts.
"I'm sorry?" Tiffany asked, the confusion evident on her face.
"The baby sweetheart." The cashier repeating herself with a smile. "When's it due?"
"Oh, any time now." Tiffany laughed and gave a grin, knowing full well that the little bundles of joy both she and the cashier envisioned differed somewhat. "Hopefully."
"Now?" The cashier pushed, narrowing her eyes and turning her attention towards Tiffany's belly, all the while her arms continuing to scan the items now rolling along the conveyor. "Well I'll be damned. I'd only have said five months." A silence fell between the pair, the cashier digging further as she continued. "Six tops."
"What?" Tiffany asked flatly, her smile disappearing as the small queue of people lined up behind her leaned forward to get their own view of her figure.
"Must say you're looking well for it." The cashier continued, oblivious to her mistake. "Carrying well."
Completely speechless, Tiffany stood gobsmacked, the last of her groceries now scanned and waiting as the old girl glanced at the till and flashed her head back towards Tiffany, the gum still rolling around her mouth as she spoke.
"That's seventeen fifty honey."
"Well as soon as the little fucker gets here I'll have to bring him by." Tiffany replied, her smile forced as she handed over a twenty dollar bill and snatched the handful of cgroceries from the counter. "Something tells me he'd love to meet you."
Her jaw dropping, the elderly cashier could do little more than watch on, wide eyed and shocked as Tiffany lifted the brown paper bag with one arm and grabbed the crib with the other, smile disappearing as she fixed the elderly woman an ice cold stare a d turned on the spot, marching to the automatic doorway and stepping into the streets of Lockport town centre. Outside the sun shone across the square, hardly a cloud as Tiffany squinted and looked to the heavens. A beautiful day and nothing to do. Did it get any better? Possibly, but not much. Turning and heading along the row of stores and businesses, Tiffany found herself pondering upon the elderly cashier's words, a moment of worry causing her to stop rather suddenly and examine her reflection in the store window by her side. Had she put weight on? No, she didn't think so. Maybe a pound or two here and there, but nothing excessive. She didn't look pregnant anyway, that was for damn sure. And definitely not five months! No, as far as she was concerned, she looked the same as she always had. Her figure had always been a touch curvy, but she liked that. Chucky liked that. At least that was what he'd said ten years ago, a worrying feeling creeping over Tiffany as she twisted left and right, trying to get a better view in the reflection of the store front window, her eyes suddenly adjusting, now focusing on something beyond the glass. Something beautiful catching her attention. Sure enough, there in the window display of the toy store, unnoticeable to the casual observer as it sat nestled between a magic set and a stack of board games, sat a doll, Tiffany gasping at the detail and beauty as she lowered the bag of groceries and allowed the crib box to fall slowly to the street by her heels. Lips curled in a sweet smile the doll staring back at her was dressed in a resplendent white wedding dress, crisp and smooth, her dark hair tied up beneath a veil residing across her head. For some reason the doll seemed to talk to her. Calling out as Tiffany stood and admired from the street, a continuous flow of people making their way around her as she stepped towards the glass, entranced by the beauty she allowed her eyes to gorge on. Heels silently striking the sidewalk, Tiffany came to a stop and pressed the palm of her hand against the glass, her smile genuine and a warmth resonating through her heart as she examined the price tag and considered the purchase, blissfully unaware of her admirer parked across the square, the beaten and battered Ford Galaxy sitting conspicuously among a row of family station wagons as the occupant observed from distance.
The interior of the car was nothing short of filthy. Half eaten sandwiches and packets of potato chips were strewn across the seats. Bottles of soda, alcohol, prescription painkillers and all manner of medications, some empty some pretty full, also found their way into the odd gap here and there, the unbearable odour enough to induce nausea as the mysterious inhabitant sat and stared through the windshield of the Ford, his chest rattling as he breathed laboriously. Unable to hold back, the man sat within the car suddenly released a long, wheezing cough, his lungs straining as he closed his eyes and lifted a deformed hand to his chest. Of the four fingers and thumbs usually found only two fingers remained, the index and pinky finger curling into a semi fist as the man held his chest and continued to burst forth in a fit of short, rapid coughs. His chest felt heavy, the cold that came with late winter playing havoc as he finally gained control and threw his head back against the headrest of the driver's seat, a quick wipe of the mouth as he wiped away the phlegm hocked from his lungs and reached towards the passenger seat to his right. Gripping the strap of his camera between his remaining fingers, the man lifted it across the centre console and dropped it on his lap, his left hand in much better condition than the right, only the ring finger missing as he lifted the camera and aimed through the drivers window and across the square. Straining his eyes and allowing the camera to sit comfortably in his good hand, the man peered across the square and towards the traffic passing by the front of Thompson's Toys, the target now acquired and staring through the huge glass fronted store. The occupant of the car had no idea what she had discovered in that window display, but whatever it was she seemed entranced, standing perfectly still as he zoomed in as best he could and began snapping away, the two fingers of his deformed hand working in unison to steady the camera and get the shot he required.
"That's it." He wheezed to himself, his voice a whisper as the shutter of the camera snapped and snapped away, taking a second here and there to alter the exposure, maybe try and get a clearer shot as the people on the street stepped on by. "Stay right where you are."
The shutter of the camera clicked and whirred, the film within winding on as the man continued to take photographs, pausing only briefly to lower the camera and reach across to the passenger seat, a half eaten ham sandwich poorly gripped and lifted towards his mouth as he took a bite and returned the sandwich to its packing. Swallowing, the man felt something strange, not right as he lifted his arm and grabbed the rear view mirror with his two fingers, grimacing in pain as he adjusted the mirror and opened his mouth, the sight not a pretty one as he examined his teeth. Stale bread and bits of ham were wedged in the gaps, the majority of teeth missing as the man raised a wounded finger and gave his remaining teeth a rub. Happy to have cleared his gums of any lingering debris, he couldn't help but notice the skin gracing his face. The sight of it still made him feel sick to this day. The disfigurements not restricted to a hand or two, but to the majority of his body, the eyes staring back at him like two holes poked in the heavily scarred flesh hanging from his face. Without taking a second look, the reflection in the rear view mirror too painful to observe, even now, the man strained and reached for the can of soda resting beside the half chewed sandwich, popping the seal as a jolt of agony caused his arm to recoil slightly, the soda spilling over the side of the can and making a mess of the man's already filthy trousers. Stained heavily, the trousers matched the rest of his attire, unwashed, unpressed and far from clean, the smell unnoticeable to him now as he sat in the Ford and kept watch over the object of his desire. Tiffany Valentine. Once more, still chewing what remained stuck between his teeth, he lifted the camera and took aim through the window of the vehicle, Valentine's hand pressed against the store window as she admired something within, a cry of her name causing her head to snap instantly from the store display and across the sun-drenched town square, the mysterious observer also finding his attention dragged towards the voice now crying out across the way.
"Tiff!" The voice hollered once again, Tiffany turning from the store window and finding Damien Baylock bolting towards her, his screams causing the throng of people to turn and stare, his heavily tattooed figure a sight to behold, long black hair floating behind him in the wind as he tore across the square, a group of pigeons taking flight as he approached, the volume of his voice and the thunder of his footsteps startling them as they flapped their wings and took off, Damien now lifting his arms and fighting his way through the birds now crowding him. Looking on from across the street Tiffany had to lift her hand to her mouth and stifle a giggle as she watched the madness that was now transpiring before her very eyes, the humour completely lost on Damien as he swung his arms left and right, as though fighting off some imaginary attacker, one of the pigeons finding it all too much and leaving it's mark, defecating mid-flight and hitting the bull's-eye, Damien lowering his gaze to his now stained shoulder, the bright white standing out against the deep black shirt.
"God damn!" He sighed, craning his neck back as he attempted to get a better view of the mark, slowly approaching Tiffany who now stood by the toy store window looking less than impressed as Damien lifted his eyes and gave her a pathetic smile. "Hey Tiff."
"The hell are you doing here?" She asked coldly, an apprehension spreading over Damien as he came to a stop and fixed her a hurt look.
"Why don't you ever seem pleased to See Me?" Damien asked.
"Most likely because I never am." Tiffany answered flatly, turning back to the store window as Damien stepped forward and up by her side, trying to follow Tiffany's gaze as he examined the display within.
"Cute doll." He mumbled, eyes zipping left to right across the other toys on view. "You buying it?"
"Na." Tiffany turned from the window and began to walk away, her attention now turning to the sidewalk as she stepped between the cracks in the asphalt. "Besides which, I have enough odds and ends to last a lifetime now."
"You can say that again." Damien replied as he caught up, striding by Tiffany's side as they passed the long stream of stores and businesses.
"Meaning what exactly?" She asked, eyes still on the sidewalk.
"You know that chest creeps me the fuck out." He said, stifling a small laugh as he did so. "It's like you've been grave robbing with Barbie and Ken!"
"They're only plastic Damien." Tiffany snapped.
"Yeah, but still," Damien gave a shake of the head. "I just don't get the obsession."
"I'm not obsessed!" Tiffany answered immediately, an elderly couple strolling by, the two couples passing closely as Tiffany quietened her voice. "Lots of people have hobbies."
"It's more than a hobby Tiff." Damien shook his head once again. "I mean isn't it that the whole reason you're down here in the first place? What was his name again?"
"Chucky?" Tiffany replied without so much as a glance in Damien's direction.
"That's the guy." He clicked his fingers and came to a stop, the two of them reaching Tiffany's Pontiac, Damien watching as Tiffany lifted the trunk of the immaculate red vehicle and threw the flat box containing crib inside, the groceries quick to follow. "Speaking of which, what the fuck do you need a crib for?"
"Just a little project I've got in mind." Tiffany smiled slamming the trunk closed and approaching the driver's door, pulling it open and sliding inside, the luxurious leather seats welcoming her with open arms as she pulled the door closed and inserted the key in the ignition barrel, a deflated sigh as the passenger door opened up and Damien hopped in beside her uninvited.
"What kind of project?" He asked inquisitively, Tiffany ignoring the endless stream of questions and pulling a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her bag, igniting the end of the nicotine loaded roll of tobacco and exhaling a cloud of smoke across the car as Damien coughed and choked.
"Damien, let's be clear from the start. If you become even slightly annoying," She lifted both hands and placed her fingers millimetres from one another. "I mean like even just a bit."
"Yeah?" Damien asked with a wry smirk.
"I'll kill you myself!" Tiffany spat, lifting the cigarette to her lips and twisting the key in the ignition, the Pontiac's mighty engine growling into life as Damien sat speechless and Tiffany shifted into gear.
"Is that a joke?" Damien asked apprehensively, Tiffany's reply short and blunt.
"No."
Checking both ways, Tiffany signalled and crept from the parking bay, steadily joining the flow of traffic before accelerating slowly down the high street and past the town square, completely unaware as the beaten up old Ford also signalled and followed on.
Slowly the Ford chugged along the winding country roads, the beautiful countryside scenes Lockport offered now going completely unnoticed as the occupant of the vehicle kept his eyes locked dead ahead, the Pontiac a few hundred yards up the road, only a family sedan to separate them. Hanging back, the driver switched from fourth gear to third and gave the engine a blast, the revs picking up as the road reached a steep incline and the cars began to climb. Woodland and endless hills flanked either side of the uneven road as the suspension of the Ford soaked up as much of the impact as it could, the chassis still prone to rocking left and right as the car bounced with each jolt. Remorseless to a tee, the vibrations brought a hiss of pain from the man as he squinted involuntarily, struggling to see the road as he fought off the constant agony now spreading across his shoulders and down through his legs. Fighting back the tears, he lifted a disfigured hand and reached for the painkillers in the passenger seat, lifting the bottle to his mouth and tearing the lid with what remained of his teeth, the sharp pain exploding across his gums as he gave a muffled scream and proceeded to pour tablet after tablet down his throat.
'It shouldn't be like this.' He thought, returning his attention to the road and discarding the bottle through the open window of the Ford, the empty plastic container bouncing along the asphalt before casually disappearing into the foliage lining the side of the road. In all his years he'd never known pain like this. Day after day. Night after night. An endless stream of anti-inflammatories and pain killers. Morphine if he could get lucky. But whatever he had at hand had to suffice, just to take the edge off and let him make it through the day, each nerve rearing its back in a defiant roar and unleashing a fresh hell each and every morning as he tried to struggle on. If only for the time being. If only until he tracked down the person responsible and had his vengeance. Which he would. Offering her a glimpse into his life and allowing her to witness what she had done to him.
Up ahead the Pontiac signalled left, the car rocking gracefully along the road as the shockers absorbed each and every pot hole, the brake lights illuminating as the trailer park entrance loomed into view and the car slowed. Eventually coming to a stop, the vehicle sat, mid-turn, and waited patiently for the oncoming traffic to pass, the steady stream of jeeps, station wagons and even a police patrol unit going by in relative peace, the Pontiac now cutting across the road and entering the chain link entrance ahead. As the patrol car passed by the Ford, the heavy breathing within increased in pace, the breathless voice whispering to nobody in particular as the patrol car continued by and the driver noticed the Pontiac slow by the fence, the lines of mailboxes laying open as Tiffany leapt quickly from her vehicle and pulled a handful of mail from one of the boxes, climbing sharply back into the car and slowly entering the trailer park ahead.
"Not a clue." He mulled to himself, a quick glance in the wing mirror as the patrol car headed towards town, shifting into gear and rolling past the entrance to the trailer park. "Well never mind boys. At least one of us is doing our job."
The once bright and vibrant sign hung above the entrance, Spring Vale Trailer Park apparently offering reasonable rates and the very best in facilities if it were to be believed, a dirt-track leading past the office and wending it's merry way between the myriad of static trailers confined within as the rear of Tiffany's Pontiac disappeared into the maze and out of site as the figure sitting inside the Ford watched on from the road. Suddenly the car behind gave a blast of its horn, an obscenity barely audible through the windows of the cars as the man looked in his rear view mirror and held up his hand in apology, now slowly accelerating away from the entrance. Heading inside wasn't an option, such an action only likely to enhance the chances of being spotted by his target,. Not an issue to most, but the state he was in the chances were that if anybody should see him, they most likely wouldn't forget about it any time soon. Unwanted attention something he couldn't afford. No, there had to be another way. Another method of seeing within and surveying the land and surrounding areas. The wheels of the Ford now picking up speed, the swift gear changes accompanied every time by a groan of pain and a wince, the man cast his eyes to the trees lining the carriageway, a gap in the woodland offering a brief glimpse over the trailer park and into the distance. It wasn't much, the blur of green and brown reappearing almost as quickly as it had disappeared, but it was enough. Over the top of the trees and nestled somewhere in the distance sat a hill. A rock face in fact. High up and looking out over the outskirts of Lockport, but more importantly over the trailer park resting beneath, the man realising the advantage this gave him. The possibility of an eagle eyed view was too tempting as the driver of the Ford kept his eyes peeled as the road whizzed beneath the vehicle at a constant rate, smiling as best he could as a dirt track sharply appeared to his the steering wheel of the Ford anticlockwise, the car skidded. Wheels screeched upon the tarmac as the car struggled to maintain stability, the car behind once again offering a blast of the horn as the Ford left the road in an instant and headed up the beaten track, the heavily scarred and disfigured driver now with a plan and a goal.
'Let's see what you're up to Valentine.'
Gravel crunching beneath its mighty white-walls, the Pontiac crept to a standstill beside the steel structure of Tiffany's trailer. The stream running peacefully in the background, the woodland gave an impressive view as Tiffany killed the engine and tried to remain calm, Damien's incessant babbling refusing to cease throughout the entire drive home.
"-then there was this guy made a move on me outside the Arcade, you know, that nightclub in town?" Damien's eyes lit up as he jabbered on, hands a blur as he relayed his story to his friend. "Wrong move pal. Next thing I knew, I had a knife to his throat and I just sliced Tiff, I just sliced that guy up."
"You know Damien…" Tiffany spun in her seat, hearing enough and snapping automatically. "I'd like to believe you. I honestly would. But not one of these 'murders' was ever reported. There's no evidence. Now quit trying too hard and just tell me the truth! Or at least make this shit believable."
"Tiff," Damien placed a hand on his chest and allowed a shocked expression to cover his heavily made up face, his piercings shifting as his muscles shifted beneath his skin. "I swear to you. I've killed before."
An uninterested sigh from Tiffany as she turned from Damien and pulled the keys from the Pontiac's ignition, placing her hand on the door handle just as Damien jabbered on again.
"And I'll kill again." He said, his face solemn and serious.
"Sure you will." Tiffany replied, smiling politely as she pulled the handle and opened the door, carefully swinging her long legs over the ledge of the car door and planting her heels into the gravel, standing and hearing the passenger side door also open and close as she turned to see Damien peering over the Pontiac's roof.
"Seriously, why do you have such a hard time believing me?" He asked, exasperated.
"Well considering the lack of any actual evidence Damien, I'd say my doubt was justified on this occasion." She said, approaching the rear of the car and opening the trunk, the flat-pack crib and groceries waiting within.
"What?" Damien gasped, astounded at her as his jaw dropped a mile.
"I just don't think you've got it in you." She calmly replied, lifting the box from the trunk, Damien grabbing the bag of groceries and slamming the trunk closed, struggling to catch up as Tiffany stepped carefully across the loose ground beneath her feet and continued. "You're too 'nice'."
"Seriously," His hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, yet another sigh as she twisted on the spot and faced him, his voice a whisper among the tranquility of the surrounding trailers. "I, have seen, so much blood."
Rolling her eyes and spinning back towards the path ahead, Tiffany remained quiet as she approached the steps to her trailer, the keys jangling in her hand as she spun through the seemingly endless collection, finally finding the key for the trailer and inserting it into the lock on the small, static home. Without saying another word she threw the door open and struggled inside with the large box, a thud as she finally lowered it halfway and then let it crash to the hollow floor of her home, the days mail thrown on the table beside the trailer's entrance. The air felt stale as she took a deep breath and looked around the small confined area, the floral wallpaper lining either side of the trailer, along with various random surfaces, making her wince in embarrassment as the door slammed to a close behind her and Damien barged past.
"So…" He turned and grinned, placing the groceries upon the work surface of what loosely resembled a kitchen and spreading his arms along the length of the kitchen counter, his back to the wall as he fixed Tiffany an excited look. "What should we do now?"
Eyes shooting to the thin, veiled partition separating the kitchen from the bedroom, Tiffany quickly shook her head and cast any sexual intent to one side, the annoying, and pathetic figure before her trying his best time and time again.
"You know what Damien?" She muttered, as she manhandled the crib into the corner of the trailer's living area, wrestling it into a standing position before turning back to the mail she had recently placed upon the small table.
"What?" He asked, his eyes leering over every inch of her body, her short dress and incredibly tall heels enveloping the curvaceous paradise beneath.
"It's been a long day." Her reply was blunt and short, not even addressing him to his face as she lifted the envelopes and began flicking through the mail. Bill, bill, final warning, bill, but then something that snagged her interest in a heartbeat. The brown, A3 sized envelope carrying her name and address, yet handwritten, something of a growing rarity these days and a good indication that whatever awaited inside was more than just a circular. Without further hesitation she placed a finger beneath the sealed lip of the envelope and began to tear, the paper parting rapidly as she ran from one end to the other and stuck a hand inside, the paper within reinforced by a cardboard backing as she pulled free her mail and gasped in wonder.
"What the hell's that?" Damien asked as he stepped forward and examined the item, a large print of what looked to be a newspaper article, the headline bursting forward in a bold font as Damien narrowed his eyes and read it.
'BOY BLAMES MURDERS ON "KILLER DOLL"'
Seeing Tiffany's lips evolve into a smile, he stepped beside her and cast his eyes over the image to the top right of the article, the face of an innocent Good Guy doll beaming back from the grey and white print. The article seemed to be a relatively old one, written for a tabloid called 'Metro' by a journalist by the name of Andrew Hoffarth. Talking at length regarding the infamous Killer Doll case that swept across the nation in the 1980s, the article seemed to be yet another by the numbers recount of the grueling legal battle between the Barclay family and the toy company responsible for the manufacture of the aforementioned doll. Play Pals. Thrown to the wolves by all around her, the mother had not once changed her story, her son disappearing into the complicated web of social services and foster homes as the world gradually forgot about the Barclay's much publicised ordeal, Play Pals and indeed the name behind the whole phenomenon, that of Charles Lee Ray.
"Jesus Tiff." Damien looked disgusted as he finished reading, Tiffany snapped from her happiness and twisting her head towards her acquaintance.
"What?" She snapped, Damien stepping back as his voice took on a condescending tone.
"Like I already said." He sneered. A hint of jealousy as he allowed his eyes to flit from Tiffany, to the article, then back to Tiffany still admiring the large print in her hands with a childish grin. "You're obsessed."
"I'm not obsessed!" She replied, her eyes never leaving it, examining the text. "Just because people show an interest in something that doesn't automatically amount to an obsession."
"Yeah, but Chucky?" He asked again with a small burst of laughter, almost mocking her. "That whole Charles Lee whatever guy? Come on Tiff, broaden your horizons."
"Meaning what exactly?" Tiffany asked, turning to face Damien as she lowered the print and placed it back within the envelope.
"Look at Bundy." Damien lifted his hands as he spoke, his voice almost a plea as he began his speech. "Gein, Manson, whatever, just stop with this fixation that you have. I mean come on Tiff, that Chucky guy didn't even become famous until way after he died. And by the way, while I'm being honest, that whole 'doll' thing? What a crock of shit."
"There must be something in it." Tiffany calmly replied, placing the envelope upon the surface of her small dining table. "I mean just look at all these unexplained cases and incidents over the last ten years."
"Tiff!" Damien cried with a hysterical giggle. "Give it up. It's bullshit. Nothing more. Just some myth. Some urban legend told by high school kids doing their first joint that got way out of hand."
"So you don't believe it?" She asked, approaching Damien slowly, taking her time and allowing her heels to seductively strike the hollow, linoleum floor of the trailer.
"No! Not one bit." He answered immediately. An amused grin as he shook his head and subconsciously took a step back towards the trailers only entrance, the blonde figure of Tiffany Valentine almost upon him as she slowly placed one long, well toned leg in front of the other. Hips rolling as she walked, she lifted a hand and extended her index finger, the long exceptionally manicured nail now circling Damien's chest as he took yet another step backwards and felt the door suddenly up against his back.
"Well you know what Damien?" She asked as she stepped even closer, her chest against his as she leaned in and whispered through the strands of long, black, unruly hair and into his ear.
"What?" He asked, anticipation high as he felt her up against him, her warm curves igniting an explosion of hormones as Damien felt a stirring down below, excitement boiling over as Tiffany lifted her other hand and reached towards Damien's waist. Eyes clenched shut in a moment of euphoria Damien felt the air knocked from his lungs, his world suddenly thrown upside down as Tiffany twisted the handle of the trailer door resting behind him and watched him fall backwards and onto the gravel outside. The long, gangly figure rolled across the grass and came to a stop, stunned as he quickly recovered and sat on his knees, the hair hanging in front of his face blown skywards as he exhaled in an effort to clear his vision.
"You say one more fucking thing like that and I swear to god you pathetic piece of shit, I'll cut your fucking heart out and mail it to your mother, you son of a bitch!" Tiffany's voice carried as she stood on the threshold of the trailer, arm raised as she pointed with the same extended finger that just moments ago gave off a very different signal indeed.
"Tiff…" Damien began. "Baby… I didn't mean…"
"Don't you say another fucking word Damien." She angrily interjected. "Now get the hell out of here before I do something I really won't regret!"
The slam from the trailer door reverberated across the vast, open space of the trailer park, a number of birds startled and taking flight from the surrounding trees as Damien rose from his knees in a daze and tried the handle of the door as he quickly looked around. His audience was small, restricted to a couple of squirrels and a rabbit, Damien now wrestling with the handle of the trailer but finding it to be no use. Arms raised, he hammered upon the steel coated structure at will, the silence from within speaking volumes as he dropped to his knees and gave one last attempt at reconciliation, hands curled into fists as he gave one more bang upon the door and found no response. Unbeknownst to him, inside the trailer, curled in up on the black, wrought iron bed frame, Tiffany cuddled a pillowand softly wept. Lifting her hand to her face, the tears staining her cheeks she admired the ring now sat gingerly between her fingers and thought of everything it had been through with her. From the night Chucky died, years spent waiting on a shelf within an envelope at Logan Correctional Facility, to Mrs Appleby's and the bloodbath she unleashed upon Chicago just over two years ago. It wouldn't be long now. She just had to be patient. And when it was time? Damien would see who Chucky really was.
Binoculars lifted to his heavily disfigured face, Tiffany's secret admirer now sat upon a hill, high above the valley and looked out over the land surrounding Spring Vale Trailer Park. His birds eye view had given him a fantastic opportunity to watch the events unfold as he arrived just in time to watch Valentine and her acquaintance disappear into the long, steel trailer. Engine of the Ford still running as it sat perched at the very end of the dirt track, the man now stood observing the serene atmosphere down below. The lack of activity seemed strange for some reason as he allowed his mind to wander slightly, keeping occupied as the various amounts of medication now worked their way around his system, not taking the pain fully away, but at least taking the sting out of it for the time being. Now, as he lowered his camera, he gave himself time to truly appreciate the countryside stretching on before him. Hills rolling up and away either side of the valley, the luscious, thick green foliage making for a wonderful and calming view as the man inhaled deeply, his lungs shot to heaven as he fought the urge to cough. No good as his chest ignited in pain and he doubled over, arms raised across his torso as his limbs now flared in an unrelenting agony. A moment later and his chest began to clear, finally allowing him to stand just in time as a commotion kicked off somewhere in among the trailers down below. His whole weight resting on the walking stick by his side, the man lifted the binoculars to his eyes once again and cast his attention in the direction of Valentine's trailer, the tattooed, thin, almost malnourished, figure falling from the interior and landing on the gravel with a sickening smack. Looking up, he could see the aforementioned Miss Valentine, part of her anyway, gesticulating viciously in the doorway of the trailer. Arm lifted, she pointed menacingly at her accomplice, her voice carrying, although the conversation lost somewhat, as the man tried to listen. It was no use though, the trees below acting as a barrier, Valentine slamming the door closed as the dark haired figure climbed to his feet and approached. Still observing through the binoculars, the man leaned on his stick and watched as Valentine ignored the constant hammering upon her trailer door, the unidentified male now standing and beginning to walk away as he cast an optimistic glance back over his shoulder before kicking out and catching a loose stone upon the gravel. The shriek of a cat pierced the air as the binoculars followed Valentine's accomplice, lifting his arms in a surprised gesture and shushing the cat, the loose stone obviously the cause of the feline's shocked reaction as another voice rang out from a neighbouring trailer. Once more the words were lost as the voice filtered through the woodland, but the tone carried more than an air of hostility, the source untraceable as the binoculars panned across the roofs of trailer after trailer, eventually returning to the unknown male who had now began running from the scene. Long strands of thick dark hair flying out behind him as his gaunt, pale figure bolted through the trailer park and towards the exit, a slight chuckle building as the man sitting high above felt a smile painfully cross his scarred and burnt lips. Lowering the camera and turning slowly on the spot, the disabled figure gave a slight shake of his head as he slowly, and painfully, began the short, laborious walk back to the beaten up old Ford, limping heavily as the exhaust continued to release a cloud of visible fumes as the engine erratically ticked over.
"I expected so much more Valentine." He said with a sigh of amusement, pulling open the driver's door and beginning to gingerly climb inside.
"So much more."