Chapter 5.4
Still and calm, the four bed ward sat quiet. The constant chime from the monitor beside the next bed the only noise to fill the room as he gritted his teeth and twisted his head in the direction of his one and only neighbour, the green line of the heart monitor jumping with every blip before flattening out, albeit briefly, and awaiting the next hurdle. Would there be a repeat, or would that finally be the straw that broke the camel's back? The guy in the neighbouring bed hadn't said a word since being wheeled in the other day. Nor had he moved a muscle, the bandages bundled from head to toe making any recognition impossible as the two men simply lay motionless and uncommunicative. Did he look as bad as the guy next to him? Nobody had said. But then, he'd been unable to ask, now lifting his head, the pain suddenly flaring beneath the bandage and gauze as he tried to survey the mangled wreckage that had become his body. Much like the guy next to him, the bandages had began to weep. The blood and puss pooling beneath and coaxing it's way between the fibres, reaching the surface and spreading evenly, the various patches starting to give off an unhealthy odour as the two of them relied on the nursing team to constantly dress and clean the multiple wounds hidden beneath the medical appendages. He had tried to communicate with this stranger in the next bed, they all had. Back when there had indeed been enough men to occupy the four beds that was. The numbers had soon dwindled though. One disappearing overnight, the convulsions and muffled screams heard clearly between the fleeting moments of sleep. Then there had been the sudden and violent heart attack suffered by the next man. Now, following a revolving door policy that saw each empty bed continuously filled, each patient in the same condition, he had come to find the numbers reduced to just two. Each man to have graced this room was a colleague, he knew that much. The screams, the wounds, the morbid outlook as the clock ticked ominously on and each of the men gradually slipped away as the consequences of their actions, his actions, took their toll and choked the life from them all. But only after the repetitive trips to emergency rooms, operating theatres, burns units and plastic surgeons, the prognosis of all involved bringing the bleakness of the situation home. Of the twelve of them, there now remained only two. He could remember the aftermath of the catastrophe now, the explosion rattling his bones as the temperature soared and the building crumbled around them, the air sucked from every orifice of his body. Lungs filled with dust, skin and uniform becoming one as the flames engulfed the team. Now, as he slowly allowed his head to straighten up, he could see the two empty beds across the room. Freshly made, the bright white sheets as clean as could be. He imagined slipping beneath the sheets now, the fresh linen cold and comforting on his skin, the thick plump pillow beneath his head giving the most comfortable sleep possible. But as nice as the thought was, it served only to remind him of the state of his current bed, the stained yellow sheets hanging free across each corner. His body barely able to move as he lowered his gaze and looked across the shattered remains of his body. He still couldn't get used to it. The steel pins and screws running the length of each leg. The dried blood around the many operation sites now staining the bandages across his chest and waist. The metal frame beside his bed had so far become the only constant throughout this journey, the morphine solution within the bag suspended high up, the gentle 'drip, drip, drip' as the solution worked it's way along the tubes curling left and right, under and over the bed as the pain remained distant and dull. A tenderness enveloping his body, but the morphine doing just enough to keep the agony at bay. The corners of his vision remained blurred as he peered from behind the mask of bandages and watched the solution dripping over and over again, a therapeutic feeling as he felt his chest, recently tight and heavy, clear a tiny bit. Watching the medication enter his system, a haze hanging over him, he failed to acknowledge the jangle of the bell positioned above the door to the ward, only aware of his visitor's presence as he felt a weight suddenly ease itself onto the end of bed, the mattress shifting and causing a mild throb to travel the length of his shattered body as he slowly turned his head and silently lay his weary eyes on his guest. His vision swam. His ears ached. He could see the man now perched on his bed, removing the hat from his head as he gave a small smile and allowed the crippled person before him time to get his bearings. One thing that instantly stood out about his visitor was the uniform. The four star insignia running the length of each shoulder and the medals adorning the right breast of the jacket, the Superintendent of Police now beginning to speak and addressing him quietly and calmly. His voice a whisper. A long deflated sigh as his words carried the length of the bed.
"This is one hell of a pickle you've put us in Reg." He said, placing his hat on his lap and taking a deep breath, his eyes glued to it as he spoke. "Of all the people, you were the last I'd imagine to have been so reckless." Silence greeted his words. The fractured man lay motionless as his eyes focused on him, the dilated pupils beyond the gauze haunting as they simply looked on in a morphine induced haze.
Another sigh, the Superintendent unable to look at his injured colleague as he continued, his voice a quiver. "We've been notifying families, and next of kin, for the past few weeks now." A shake of the head. "They're nearly all gone Reg. Each and every one of them." Lifting his head he snarled as he spoke, a tear running down his cheek. "A full team of trained officers. Taken out by a tactic we've trained to combat time and time again." Another long, agonising sigh as he motioned with a slight nod of the head towards the comatose man in the next bed. "You and Morales here are the last two. The last ones standing, so to speak."
A grunt escaped the man's lips. His face igniting in agony as he attempted to mutter something. Anything.
"And what do you think I found out a few days ago? What news do you imagine I hear that makes this whole situation even worse?" The Superintendent shook his head gently and laughed under his breath, turning and staring at the patient. His friend and colleague he had come to know simply as 'Reg'. "That we had this girl in custody. That we could have prevented all this. But your men let her go."
Still silence from the bed. The invalid before him listening on intently as he continued following a brief pause. "It goes without saying there's going to be an investigation. It was inevitable Reg. I'll do what I can but…" A pause as he turned from his friend and cradled his hat tenderly. "This has come from the top. I didn't want to mention it before. Not with Veronica taking the kids. Leaving and all."
A strangled groan as the tears welled behind the bandages, the realisation immediately hitting both men.
"You didn't know." The Superintendent closed his eyes and gave a shake of his head. "Sorry old friend." Standing and returning the hat to his head, his greying hair now covered as he straightened the rim and ironed out the creases of his immaculate uniform, the silver stars running the length of each shoulder glistening in the sterile fluorescent light of the hospital room. Stepping towards the door and placing a hand on the handle, he twisted and paused, turning back to his bed ridden friend and giving a sympathetic smile. "Goodbye Reg. I hope everything works out." Without saying another word he pulled the door open and stepped into the corridor, the door slowly closing behind him as the room once again fell silent. The tears in his eyes clouding his vision, it took a few seconds before he registered the change in ambient noise, the intermittent beat of the heart monitor by the next bed suddenly becoming a long, constant drone, the equally bandaged occupant of the neighbouring bed flatlining. Without warning the doors of the room burst open, a crash as the team of doctors raced across the threshold. The defibrillator taking pride of place in the middle of the team, they came to a stop beside the bed next door, the patient lifeless as they hurriedly ripped through the bandages and placed the defibrillators upon his chest the holler of 'CLEAR!' causing all but one to stand back as the electricity surged through the terminals placed upon the dead man's chest. Convulsing dramatically the man returned to his lifeless state, the high pitched squeal filling the room as the defibrillator charged for one more attempt, another shout as the team of nurses stood back. The charge released through his body, the man recently identified as Officer Morales convulsed again, the heart monitor still ringing out around the room as his body flopped to the bed once again, the long dramatic tone of the monitor amidst the crowd of people who now fell silent and still as a doctor looked at the clock and finally made the call. One by one, the team began to leave the room, the constant line of medics not saying a word as they returned to their stations outside, one solitary nurse approaching the next bed and addressing the one remaining man.
The sole survivor.
"It's just you now." She spoke softly, monitoring his eyes, the only visible part of his face, for any sign of a reaction. "We'll do our best…" A smile as she lifted his hand and stroked his open, bandaged palm. "…You can count on us sir."
February 13th 1999 (P.M)
Turning and groaning, Tiffany lifted her head from the thick, plump pillow and tried to open her eyes. The pain emanating from the centre of her head sent a ripple of nausea down her spine, the feeling spreading through her stomach and down the length of her legs as she slowly relaxed and lay upon the bed. Taking a deep breath, the odour of the room causing her to grimace, she tried to cast her mind back. Remember the last thing she could as her brain ached from within, the sketchy events of the past day or so playing out in her mind as she retraced her footsteps mentally. Her body squirming, she was so deep in thought she hadn't noticed the belts secured around her wrists and ankles. The leather strapped across her skin and restraining her every move, Tiffany's eyes suddenly snapped open in shock as she remembered the very last thing to transpire. The motel and the rain thundering from the heavens. The room, dirty and neglected. The wall, covered in photographs, news paper articles and various other clippings as the shadow quickly streaked across the wall and Tiffany felt a force upon the back of her head. The memory burning bright in her head, she tried to sit up, the restraints pinning her to the filthy, unlaundered bed sheets as she craned her neck left and right attempting to take in her immediate surroundings. She appeared to be in the very same motel room. The stale, flickering yellow light of the bedside table illuminating half the room at best, the far side thrown into darkness as the faint rumble and neon lightning of the ensuing storm filtered in through the window beyond the shadows. Attempting to move once again, she gritted her teeth and gave it all she had, her body still weak from the concussion as she grunted and groaned, twisting every way possible as the leather restraints began to chafe her skin. Pausing and drawing breath, Tiffany fell silent and still, the voice coming from nowhere and cutting through the air with aplomb.
"Humpty Dumpty, sat on a wall." The voice spoke calmly. Flat and monotonous as Tiffany tried to follow the sound, the silhouette appearing in the window as the figure rose from what Tiffany could only assume to be a chair and began to limp slowly across the room. Dragging the chair across the carpet, the stranger continued, one step at a time. "Humpty Dumpty had a great fall." The rotund silhouette grew larger with every step, the voice devoid of character as what Tiffany assumed to be a male loomed ever more. "All the King's horses, and all the King's men." Freezing upon the cusp of light, haunting the shadows as he continued, Tiffany's host stopped dead in his tracks and slumped into the chair, his chest now wheezing as he coughed violently and struggled for breath. With only the tip of his walking stick visible, protruding from the darkness and resting on the illuminated section of the worn carpet, he remained a mystery as he continued. "Couldn't put Humpty together again." Eyes focusing on the faint outline before her, she squinted into the darkness with confusion and prepared to ask the obvious question, the stranger beating her to it as he simply addressed her by name. "Hello Tiffany."
Feeling her heart, pumping in her chest, she asked the first question to come into her head. "Who the fuck are you?" A cackle erupting from the shadows, the steel tip of the walking stick lifted from the floor as the man leaned back and laughed.
"Such an obvious question." His voice roared, amusement streaking his words. "And here I was thinking that your unpredictability may be your one redeeming feature."
"Where the hell's Bailey?" She continued, apprehensive as she probed the stranger sitting hidden in the darkness.
The excitement died as the walking stick made a slow return to the carpet and the man allowed his laughter to dwindle, the flatness returning as quickly as it had disappeared. "He couldn't make it." He answered. "I got the feeling he wanted to be here, but he explicitly asked that his involvement remained confidential." Struggling visibly, Tiffany jerked from left to right, her head snapping to either side and her eyes falling upon the restraints as she grunted and strained under the pressure. "Please." The voice calmly spoke, now raspy and laboured, the barrel of a revolver suddenly appearing by the man's side. The muzzle, stemming from the shadows aimed in Tiffany's direction, the revolver sat steady and calm as she ceased her struggling and looked the gun up and down, the man finishing his sentence. "Don't try to move." Events taking a turn for the worse, Tiffany allowed her vision to flit around her immediate area. As far as the light from the underpowered lamp would allow at least. To her right, upon the surface of the desk by the bed, sat a scruffy looking bag and some kind of tray. Covered with a small rag, the tray appeared to contain a variety of mysterious appliances, the rag lifting and dipping in areas, the effect reminiscent of a mountain landscape as Tiffany attempted to guess what lay beneath the ill fitting cover. Naturally, her mind began to imagine the worse. The situation upon her hardly bestowing a feeling of optimism as she continued to survey her surroundings. Also laying upon the desk, the majority of its bulk hidden behind the aforementioned bag and tray, sat what looked like a book. The bright yellow cover out of place in an otherwise dull and drab environment. Gathering her thoughts, she turned back to her host and sat up as best she could, shuffling up the head board a matter of inches as she addressed the gun man sat just feet away.
"So you're working for Bailey?" She asked, the very idea preposterous she knew, but willing to try anything and everything to find out more.
"I'm afraid not." He answered with a smug chuckle, an eye watering cough exploding from his chest. "Bailey was merely a means to an end. The right amount of leverage and I was sure he'd give."
"Give?" Tiffany asked, her brow furrowing.
"Isn't it obvious?" He asked. "You've been double-crossed my dear."
A shake of the head from Tiffany. "No. He wouldn't dare."
"Believe me he had his concerns." The man continued, calmly. "He was quite worried about what you may do should you survive this meeting. Which I assured him wasn't going to happen."
"No, he needs his money." Tiffany reasoned, doubt clouding her mind. "I know how desperate he was for it."
Another roar of laughter from the shadows, the voice sore and chesty as it spoke. "Well that's the thing with people like Bailey." A brief pause as another fit of coughing broke out, the man recovering and clearing his throat. "They're always open to bigger and better offers."
"You offered him more." Tiffany sighed, a slight nod as she realised the predicament.
"No." The response bringing an inquisitive look from Tiffany as he continued. "I offered him the same. However I did offer to keep this little arrangement of yours, this little errand you've had him scurrying back and forth carrying out, from reaching his superiors."
"I still find it hard to believe." Tiffany mused, something not quite right. "You said it yourself. He knows full well what to expect by going against me."
"Hence his reluctance to be here now. To savour the moment, as it were. No if I know Bailey, and believe me I've known plenty of Baileys in my time, he's preparing for any eventuality. But rest assured he'll be the one to benefit from each and every one."
"You reckon huh?" Tiffany replied casually, her vision improving as time passed, the darkness of the room not quite as bleak as she peered across the illuminated floor and towards her captor, the brief outline now visible as he spoke.
"It's probably the smartest thing. From his point of view anyway. Although I did stress to him that he'd be better off calling an end to his little mission and leaving things be. You see Miss Valentine, your chances of surviving the night and being able to extract any kind of revenge on Officer Bailey are incredibly slim to say the least." A pause as the silence between the pair crackled with tension. "Because take it from me. No 'ifs', 'buts' or 'maybes', you will die tonight. It's inevitable."
"I don't…" She paused, trying to make sense of the situation as best she could. "I don't understand though. Why?"
Sitting forward suddenly, the light hitting the Fedora style hat sitting upon his head and casting a shadow across his heavily disfigured face, the man growled menacingly as his face warped in anger. "WHY?" He spat. "LOOK AT ME!" Taken aback by shock Tiffany did just that. The skin appeared to have been burned at some point. His eyes lifeless and full of sorrow, the skin surrounding them inflamed and scarred. His mouth barely moved as he spoke, his lips almost wiped from his face, the extensive surgery evident by the small nub that remained in place of his nose. Lowering her eyes, Tiffany noticed the hand now emerging from the darkness and gripping the ornate, gold handle of the walking stick, the remaining fingers curled around it as veins protruded from within. Whoever this guy was, he'd seen his fair share of cosmetic surgery, that was for sure. To imagine the condition he must have been in prior to the work was impossible, the monstrosity before her now panting as he suddenly found himself devoid of breath. The wheezing from his chest had gotten worse, the sound grating on Tiffany as he silently pulled an inhaler from his coat pocket and lifted it to his mouth, the pain evident as he jumped in pain, the rapid intake of the breathing aid causing a moments discomfort. Returning the inhaler to his pocket, he took a moment before inching forward in the chair and removing his hat, the burn marks and stitches making Tiffany feel more uneasy with every second. "Why do you think Tiffany?"
Feeling more than a little uncomfortable Tiffany looked upon her host speechless, the revelations leaving her stunned as she managed to find the words. "Who the hell are you?" She asked with intrigue. "How do you know-"
"Your name?" He interrupted, Tiffany not saying another word as she lay upon the bed, head craned towards the man. "Believe me, I know a lot more than that. About you." Lifting his spare hand and admiring the uneven, chewed fingernails, he continued quietly and calmly. "In fact you could say I've become quite an expert on you recently. We've become pretty close, even if you weren't aware of the fact."
A shake of the head from Tiffany. "I don't understand."
"Did you not like the pictures?" He asked before taking a bite from his fingernail, blood beginning to seep from the tip of his finger and slowly trickle towards his palm, lifting his head and staring straight at her. "I thought Derek Sullivan's murder scene would interest you. Indeed, I went to great lengths to obtain them. Called in a few favours from friends still on the force."
"You're the guy from the site!" Tiffany exclaimed, gobsmacked, the surprise written all over her face.
Nodding gently, his lips curled into a slight smile. "Of course. How else would I have been able to track you down? Keep an eye on you so to speak." The smile disappearing as quickly as it had appeared his face took on a haunting quality as he continued to talk, the pieces coming together slowly. "I tried other ways, believe me, but you kept yourself pretty quiet. My last throw of the dice was to join whichever 'communities' existed, ones that freaks like you would be drawn to, and simply look for the handful obsessed with the urban legend, the fabricated stories, of Charles Lee Ray." A pause. "Or as you knew him, 'Chucky'. As soon as we began communicating it became clear I'd found you. All that remained was to look for clues as to your location. Then what do you know? One day the answer to all my prayers lands right on my lap. You literally announce you're intentions to come here, this shit hole of a place. Do you see how easy it was?"
"I still don't understand why." Tiffany asked in a daze, the information, everything he said, it was true. But the big question, that she was afraid would be answered soon, remained. Why?
"'Why?' you ask." He laughed. "You know, I figured if anybody ought to understand a good old fashioned revenge motive then it would be you." Another pause. "Especially after your exploits in Chicago a couple of years ago."
"How do you-"
"How do I know all this?" He interrupted again. "As I've already said Miss Valentine, I know everything. I know about Charles Lee Ray. All about your precious Chucky. You see I'm not as naïve as Bailey. I know about your incarceration at Logan Correctional Facility for attempted murder. I know about your time in Mount Carroll. I even know about Sarah Pierce." A look of concern spread across Tiffany's face, the colour draining rapidly from her skin as the words sank in and she realised how much this stranger actually knew, another chill as he continued with his speech. "In fact it was your little vendetta against Sarah Pierce that led to me being in this predicament. This state. A monster. Deformed and warped in more ways than you could ever imagine." Another brief pause as he let his words sink in. "You look better blonde by the way. Much more like the trash you are."
"How do you know so much?" Tiffany asked, these revelations not making any sense. "You don't look familiar. At all."
"Oh we never met." He slowly shook his head, taking care as he kept the pain at bay. "But you did write to me once or twice. In fact I think you took quite a lot of enjoyment from leaving me the odd message."
Her mouth dropping in shock, Tiffany found herself amazed, the words rolling from her tongue as she lay astonished. "Senior?" She asked in shock. "Captain Senior?"
"Former Captain Senior." He acknowledged with the same wry smile as before, lifting his arm from the arm rest of the chair, gun gripped in his fist as he performed a small bow and lifted the walking stick with his other hand, the gold handle glinting in the light. "You like this?" He tilted the stick so as the handle caught Tiffany's attention. "I had it made from my old badge. I'd lost everything else so it seemed only fitting."
"I don't believe it." Tiffany gasped.
"Yes, the little surprise you left for me and the team over at Gorman's Bar did quite the number on us. As you can see."
"Holy shit." She was stunned. Almost beyond words. The enormity of the situation now dawning on her.
"That little surprise is the reason I sit before you in the state I'm in. The one remaining member of a team of no less than twelve innocent men." His voice became a growl, the volume starting to rise as he banged the stick on the ground, trying briefly to compose himself. "Then of course there was the inevitable investigation. The infamous 'Phone Book Killer' case, along with testimonies from certain officer's, people I considered more than colleagues, causing me to be stripped of my position. Kicked to the kerb. Dishonourably discharged no less. After that my personal life took a similar turn. My wife left me. My kids refused to look at me. I had nothing else to live for. Until I realised I was wrong. I did have something to live for. One last thing. A loose end that needed sorting before I could end things my way."
"Revenge." Tiffany answered bluntly still in a daze.
"Don't get me wrong, it took a lot of time. A lot of money too. Private Investigators came and went. Unable to turn over whichever stone you'd hidden beneath. But it was worth it in the long run. Because I swore to myself that I would eventually get my revenge." Relaxing back in the chair, the discomfort evident as his face contorted in an undignified grimace, his voice calmed somewhat. "And now that time is finally here."
"Listen, I'm sure we can work things out." Tiffany pleaded, her eyes falling upon the tray by the bed, the crude metallic design poking from beneath the stained rag, the contents a mystery as she continued to fear the worst.
"I almost died after that stunt you pulled you know." Senior spoke, his voice soft, his chest wheezing as he pulled forth his inhaler and took another deep, agonising breath. "Not once, or twice. But over and over. Each time becoming more painful. The way that building came down. The explosion. The heat. Time and time again I slipped away, hoping they'd just let it happen, put an end to the pain. But no, each time I'd be snatched from the jaws of death and left to go another round. The pain, the suffering. These are all things you're going to experience yourself Tiffany." No answer as Tiffany sat in silence. The situation overwhelming as she looked around the room and tried to find a means of escape, the restraints around her wrist not the best, but still doing their job as Senior continued. "I'm going to punish you the same way. I'm going to push you to the limit. To breaking point. Not once or twice, but over and over, as many times as I can."
"Listen-" She started, her captor ignoring her pleas as he carried on.
"Yes, I think I'll take my time with you." He slowly stood and smiled, lowering the revolver and placing it on the desk beside the bed, leaning over, his now unoccupied hand reaching out across the void and beginning to stroke Tiffany's bare leg, the fingers and stumps feeling every inch from her thigh to her ankle as he admired her body and felt her shudder beneath his touch. "And when you do eventually succumb to your wounds, injuries and afflictions?" A laugh beginning to build as he spoke. "Why we'll simply start again. Do it a second time."
"What?" Tiffany asked immediately, her attention triggered as confusion clouded Her head. "I don't unders-"
Without saying a word Senior turned to the desk and grabbed the bag laying on the surface of the desk and beneath the myriad of pictures and photographs, reaching in and grabbing something, the contents a complete mystery as, eventually, he pulled his hand free. "Are we ringing any bells yet?" He asked with the biggest smile he could muster. It took a few seconds, Tiffany's mind racing as she looked on at the doll now hanging limply by its leg from Senior's hand. The overalls were dusty, the dirt ground in to the denim, the pattern severely faded as the material showed signs of burning around the edges, the occasional scorch mark turning the fabric black in places as the remarkably undamaged, striped jumper lay beneath. The red sneakers on the doll's feet also displayed signs of fire damage, the plastic melted and charred, the doll's limbs also taking on a sooty complexion, the plastic warped here and there, as though at some point the doll had been exposed to extreme temperatures. Hanging upside down in Senior's grasp, the doll's face was split and cracked, a blunt force evident at some point as the unruly head of red hair stemmed from the melted scalp. Tiffany knew this doll, that was for sure, the memories racing to the surface as she recalled the time it had practically saved her life, Mrs Appleby caught unaware as the thunderstorm erupted around Mount Carroll, knife raised and ready to strike, Tiffany only spared as the doll randomly chimed out and caught the old girl unawares. Stepping forward and sitting the doll on the bed beside Tiffany Senior smiled as he stepped back and looked at the two of them, the doll's voice croaky and beaten as it tried to move its head, the motor sticking as it jerked side to side and spoke.
"Hi." The voice box sounded rough. "I'm… To-o-o-o-ommy. Wa-a-a-n-n-n-n-n-a… Pla-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ay?" Batteries dying, the voice droned on, the volume slowly diminishing as the pitch dropped dramatically and the doll stopped mid-blink.
"Where the hell did you get this?" She asked, Senior now leaning upon the handle of his stick as he answered calmly.
"This?" He asked, gesturing towards the Good Guy doll affectionately known as Tommy. "Originally this was sat in limbo with the Chicago Police Department following the murders of Philip and Joanne Simpson back in 1990. The foster parents of Andy Barclay no less. I believe you've heard of him. But until recently this was sat in an evidence depository outside my old jurisdiction. One of many exhibits found at the scene of a fire in Mount Carroll. One in which an elderly woman perished. Burned alive. Pretty much like me." The smile disappeared from his face as he leaned in and whispered. "I believe we know the little old lady in question, am I right?"
"Mrs Appleby." Tiffany said in a haze, Senior standing straight as he beat the air with a half formed fist.
"Mrs Fiona Appleby." He laughed. "Burned alive in her own house. A disconnected gas main, a naked flame and there we go. The verdict, naturally, was arson. The prime suspect being the young girl residing with Appleby as part of some inmate rehab program. The search went out, widening as far as the city, but you were never found were you?" Tiffany gave a slow shake of the head as Senior turned and slowly limped back toward the desk, reaching for the book positioned behind the tray. Lifting slowly with a weakened arm, turning back to Tiffany, he held aloft the thick, yellow book and allowed Tiffany to soak in the view, her eyes narrowing as her brow furrowed, the poor lighting of the room making the cover incredibly hard to read as she squinted into the cusp of light and struggled to focus, the title becoming clearer by the second.
'Voodoo For Dummies'
"This was also found at the scene." Senior said solemnly, allowing the book to drop to his side. "In a case, a few hundred yards from the scene, immaculate condition too. There were others, very macabre and bizarre, but it was this one that caught my eye when I started digging."
"Meaning?" Tiffany asked, lifting her eyes from the book and glaring at Senior.
"This Appleby girl." Senior sneered. "She seemed to be pretty convinced in all this shit. More so than say, you?"
"Appleby was a fucking lunatic." Tiffany growled in response, engaging Senior as she attempted to manipulate the situation, her wrists twisting as she felt the restraints slightly slackening. "She had this grand vision of living forever. I was a puppet to her. A means to an end. I'm glad the old bitch got evaporated in that house and if I had the chance, I'd do it again!"
"Such anger." Senior said as he approached the bed, throwing the book back upon the desk. "But I must admit, this whole thing got me thinking."
"Really."
"Maybe there 'is' something to all this." He continued. "The more research I do, the more and more I find myself starting to believe. Becoming convinced that, this whole thing, could be possible. I found my skepticism being slowly subdued the more I discovered. Before I knew it I was taking this whole thing as gospel and I was astounded." He paused, his eyes wild as he ranted. "Is this how you were? Disbelief, slowly fading as you abandoned all logic and rational thinking?"
"Not quite." Tiffany mumbled, her mind racing as the events and revelations unfolded one after another.
"Well I for one can't wait to put this to the test." Senior leaned over and grabbed Tommy from the bed, struggling as he groaned, the discomfort evident on his face as he gradually straightened up and placed Tommy back on the desk. "But not just yet." He slowly shook his head as he glared at Tiffany, starting to remove his coat, gingerly slipping the sleeves down the length of his arms, exposing the stained and unwashed shirt beneath. "First I need you to suffer. Like me. Like my team."
"Oh please." Tiffany laughed, still slowly twisting her wrists. "What do you plan to do? Bore me to death?"
"I want you to feel what we did!" Senior growled, moving quickly, through the pain barrier as he stepped up beside the bed and placed his face just inches from Tiffany's, his breath on her face as he spat his venomous tone. "You'll find out what it feels like to have your bones crushed by an enormous weight! To inhale so much dust you almost drown! To have your skin boiled alive and incinerated beyond recognition! To have your bones ground into pieces! To lose a limb!" Taking deep breaths, Senior paused and gathered himself, straightening up and allowing his temper to subside as he suddenly whipped the cover from the tray, the blowtorch and assorted surgical instruments glimmering in the crude light. "And then, when I decide to put you out of your misery, and it will be misery, we'll go again." Laying a hand on the singed and beaten Good Guy now sitting on the desk, he gave a smile. "Our mutual friend here will give you a second lease of life. A chance for us to have round two, so to speak."
"You're crazy!" Tiffany gasped, her eyes flitting between the surgical instruments, dirty and rusted, and the doll sat close by, feeling her straps loosen significantly as she slowly twisted her wrists, keeping him talking and diverting attention from her slight movements. "You wouldn't have the first idea."
"Oh I wouldn't be so sure." Senior opened the book to a marked page and ran a disfigured hand across the page. "Damballa right?" He asked with the biggest grin he could muster, a manic look upon his face. "It's all in here. Believe me. But first, we have the small matter of your excruciating, and drawn out, death to tackle." Grabbing a scalpel from the tray beside the bed, he lifted it clumsily between what remained of his fingers, the narrow instrument barely gripped as it wobbled from side to side, Tiffany bracing herself as she slowly pulled her wrist free of the restraint, the rusted blade closing in as Senior slowly lifted it to her face. Hearing the low cackle from his lips, Tiffany waited still, picking her moment with precision as the blade inched nearer and nearer. The light reflecting from the handle of the scalpel, Tiffany's eyes moved from the blade to Senior's face, his scorched skin the stuff of nightmares, his yellow teeth crooked and sparse as she felt the moment upon her and calmly uttered a single sentence, hoping it would be enough to disorient her attacker, if only for a second.
"You're knots weren't good enough!" She said, Senior's face dropping as the words hit home, the blade of the scalpel hesitating as he paused ever so briefly. Before he could understand, before he could do anything, he felt the impact on the side of his face, Tiffany's recently released hand curled into a fist and arcing through the air, landing with a sickening crunch as Senior fell to the floor in a daze. Turning her attention to the restraint tightened around her other hand, she quickly took advantage and slackened the belt, a quick rub of her wrists as she felt the relief. Suddenly, a roar of anger bellowed from beside the bed, Senior's dazed body rising and lunging with the scalpel once again. Throwing her body back into the headboard of the bed, Tiffany felt the wind knocked from her lungs as Senior's generous frame landed across her stomach. Seeing the scalpel fall free, Tiffany grabbed the handle and lifted it high above her head, the blade now piercing the air as it cut towards Senior's ribs, the cries of agony coming louder and louder with every plunge of the blade. Blood beginning to spill across her dress, Tiffany threw the scalpel across the room and sat forward, digging both hands beneath the hulking frame now laying motionless across her belly. Unable to grip anything sturdy, she tried as hard as she could to lift but found it no good, the dead weight simply too much as she battled to lift. Taking a deep breath and shuffling her hands further beneath Senior's body she prepared for one last attempt and grunted as she gave one last lift, completely caught out as Senior, timing his strike efficiently, swung out an arm, his fist missing Tiffany's face by mere millimeters, the breeze felt across her face as she reacted instantly. Before Senior could stop himself, his momentum such, he rolled almost a half circle and dropped from the bed, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor, Tiffany now reaching to her ankles and releasing the belts, completely free as she recoiled in horror, Senior now leaping from the floor, his false leg snapping from his stump as he exerted all his strength and grabbed Tiffany by the throat. The weight of the monstrous figure now straddling her evenly across the filthy bed sheets, Tiffany gagged and choked, the strength of his grasp making up for the lack of grip as his hands came together around the soft flesh of her neck. His eyes had glossed over, his teeth snarling as his lips spread into a sneer and the skin split, the blood trickling from either side of his mouth and dripping rapidly from his chin as he released a low pitched growl, a crazed look etched into every wrinkle of what remained of his face. The force around her throat tight, her windpipe compacting under the pressure, Tiffany gasped and coughed, her arms flailing as she felt for something, anything, to nullify the threat. One arm grasping at the sheets of the bed, the other exploding with pain as her wrist made contact with the corner of the desk, she suddenly felt her hands upon the tray full of surgical equipment, the crude contraptions cold and vulgar beneath her touch. Without thinking, she curled her fingers around whatever she could and swung hard and fast, Senior squealing in pain and relinquishing his grip as he recoiled in shock. Still straddling Tiffany, one leg either side of her waist, he lifted a hand to his face and felt the syringe now protruding from his eye. The slightest touch brought forth another cry, the seering agony exploding and reducing the giant of a man to a blubbering mess as he fell to the floor with a thud. Gasping for air, recovering as quickly as she could, Tiffany sat upright and perused the desk, observing the bone saw, clamps, blowtorch and syringes still sitting in the tray, her attention suddenly drawn to the revolver carelessly left in the open. Feeling her neck with one hand, grabbing the revolver with the other, Tiffany swung her legs over the corner of the bed, her bare feet feeling the disgusting carpet as she stooped and grabbed her heels, the revolver now trained on Senior as he struggled to sit up. The syringe, jutting from his eyeball, sent a shudder racing the length of Tiffany's spine as she merely stood and waited for him to sit. To realise the tables had now well and truly turned. The false leg lay redundant by the bed, the fitting snapped at the joint as Tiffany kicked the broken appendage across the carpet and Senior stopped squirming, grabbing the leg and manipulating his body into a seated position, the empty trouser leg now empty from the knee down as it lay draped flat and barren across the floor. Blood now covered the majority of his face, his shirt, already filthy, also gaining a good soaking as his injuries finally seemed to subdue him, his plan now in tatters and he knew it.
"No." He whimpered, lip trembling as Tiffany stepped forward and raised the revolver in the direction of his head. "It can't end like this!"
"Then how come it is?" Tiffany replied, squeezing her finger around the trigger of the revolver and feeling the jolt. The noise was enough to wake the dead, the explosion of the bullet reverberating across the walls of the run down motel and making Tiffany's ears instantly ring as Senior's forehead opened up, the bullet careering through the centre of his forehead and emerging from the exit wound in the back of his skull, the sickening splatter of blood, brain and bone across the wall and carpet as Senior instantly fell lifeless on his side, allowing Tiffany to breathe easily once more. Try as she might, she could still feel the force on her neck. Her throat still felt as though it was under assault, the long lungfuls of air burning with every breath as Tiffany dropped the revolver and sank to the floor beside the bed, her head spinning as she took a quick glance around and tried to gather her thoughts. Compose herself. The Tommy doll, broken and battered beyond repair returning her gaze as smiled it's fractured grin. Senior now lay slumped across the carpet, the circle of blood flowing from the bullet hole in his head, the pool of crimson expanding evenly with every second. She had to clear this mess up, as quickly as possible. Not just the room, but the whole motel. Everything had to disappear. Once she'd seen to that then there remained only one loose end. Of the few positives to come from tonight, learning of Bailey's deception, his involvement in Senior's grand scheme, was one of them. Because no matter how Bailey planned to play things from here, doll or no doll, as far as Tiffany was concerned this was war. Little did Bailey know, but he'd just signed his own death warrant. The second positive was a little more conventional however, Tiffany getting to her feet and approaching the shattered Good Guy known as Tommy, her face relaxing into a wide smile as she grabbed the doll and turned back to the desk beside the bed, pulling the book from the table and allowing her eyes to roam the page Senior had bookmarked. The text igniting a barrage of feelings. Exhilaration, relief and anticipation all fizzing within her body as her hairs stood on end and she felt a tingle of excitement as she started to read.
'Voodoo For Dummies
Chapter Four
Page 77'
The intricate round symbol staring back at her from the page she felt a surge of optimism, the words sitting neatly beneath. A verse of some kind. The first lines filling Tiffany with unparalleled excitement as she smiled mischievously.
'Ade Due Damballa,
Give me the power I beg of you.'
Across the city, miles from the crumbling ruins of the Hammond Motel and Tiffany Valentine, the very same storm approached the limits of the city of Lockport, the clouds passing at speed as the thunder rumbled overhead. Coming on suddenly, as if sprung from the heavens without a second thought, the rain hammered relentlessly against the windows of Lockport Police Station, the sturdy red brick building sitting in complete darkness as the flag fluttered sporadically in the increasingly windy conditions, the oncoming gale merely gathering momentum as it began it's assault on the city. Moonlight flooded the streets, the parking lot of the police station now in the midst of a torrential downpour and disappearing quickly as the rain bounced from the concrete, a surge of wind kicking up a spray of water, the handful of cars sitting lifeless, in complete silence, as the evening air turned cold and bitter. The front of the building overlooking the street below, a solitary window sat ever so slightly illuminated in the miserable February evening, the monitor of one of the Police Department's many computers emitting an intense bright light as Officer Bob Bailey sat bleary eyed and tired at the keyboard. The darkness of the room and the brightness of the monitor contrasting, Bailey lifted his coffee from the desk and took a swig, the now cold and bitter drink bringing a grimace to his face as he examined the disposable cup, scrunching the styrofoam with one quick clench of his fist before dumping it in the trash can sitting beside the desk. The day had been long, the night ahead with the potential to go the same way as he sat back in his seat and clasped his hands together behind his head. Outside he could hear the wind, whipping at the walls, the rain smacking against the windows as the moonlight shone through the blinds and cast a series of horizontal shadows across the office floor. As far as he knew, the entire second floor now sat empty, the admin and human resources teams knocking off at a more respectful hour, only the night staff remaining as Bailey arrived and changed, the night shift ahead not exciting him one bit. He had been sat at the computer terminal now for a good half hour, almost set to log in, hesitating after inputting his ID code and password, his finger freezing above the 'Enter' key as he suddenly realised the possible consequences of his actions. The way things looked set to shape up, how could he be sure these actions wouldn't be logged? Checked at some point in the near future by a member of the department's I.T. team, the game given away as Bailey's details pointed the inevitable investigation his way. No, he needed to check a few things, but not in a way that left him vulnerable. Hence the last thirty minutes. Time wasted in the end, trying every combination he could imagine, but all to no avail. None of the login details he knew were linked to any obvious passwords. Colleagues much too careful to use names of spouses, kids or pets. Not even dates of births. Now, as he feared would eventually happen, he seemed to have hit a wall. The way ahead cruelly blocked, the information he sought only a few clicks and key presses away, but not worth the risk, Bailey's mind now going round in circles as he tried to think of another way to go about his business. Before he could muster another plan a lone door at the opposite end of the long, desolate office suddenly burst open, the two men appearing from the darkness beyond the threshold amidst a heated exchange as their voices rang out across the room. Oblivious to Bailey's presence the conversation continued, the two men now recognisable as they stopped dead in their tracks.
"And I'm telling you I don't care!" The generous figure of Chief Kincaid turned and lifted his hand, index finger extended in the direction of his acquaintance, the pale face of Officer Norton distorting in concern as he relented and let his superior speak.
"But where am I supposed to find them?" Norton asked with a shake of the head. "They leave your place then what? I'm not psychic Chief!"
"Norton," Kincaid snarled stepping nearer, his thick, dark hair slicked back, not a strand out of place. "Understand me when I say, I do not give a fuck which way they go. You got me? You just find them alright?"
"Yes sir." Norton responded, head dropping in resignation.
"In fact I don't care if you have to stakeout every back road between here and Niagara Falls sport. As far as I'm concerned it's a pretty simple plan." Kincaid's voice calmed as he lowered his hand, digging his thumbs into the belt positioned tightly around his waist. "This 'date' of hers picks her up. They leave. You pull them over, and we catch all three of them red handed."
"Yes sir."
"If Jade thinks she's pulling the wool over my eyes that easily then she can think again. I don't want her setting foot in a car with that delinquent. She lives under my roof, she obeys my rules. As soon as she turns eighteen she can screw her life up in whichever way she sees fit, but this is the way she wants to play it." A pause as he took a moment to compose himself, a deep breath before addressing Norton one final time. "I don't ask much Norton, do I?"
"No chief." Norton gave a sullen shake of the head.
"You just do as your told, and I'll make it worth your while."
"Sir." Norton nodded, the two of them suddenly drawn to the sound of Bailey clearing his throat and turning on the spot. The light from the monitor had so far gone unnoticed as the two entered the room, unaware of their colleague simply sitting innocently at the computer as their exchange raged on in ignorance.
A quick glance exchanged between the three as a rumble thunder echoed in the distance, Kincaid returning his attention to Norton and running his hand across his hair, his open palm smoothing any strays as he calmed. "That'll be all for now Officer Norton." His farewell bringing another slight nod from Norton, Kincaid spun on the spot and dug his thumbs into his belt once again, strolling past Bailey and towards the open elevator, flashing a quick greeting as he passed. "Burning the candle at both ends Bailey? That's the kind of commitment I expect from my officers."
"Sir." Bailey's response automatically leaping from his tongue, Norton watching on silently as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the office. Before he could say another word the elevator doors slid closed and Kincaid disappeared, his smug face the last thing visible as Norton finally began to move, walking at pace towards Bailey and the vibrant screen that sat before him. Before Bailey knew it, Norton was upon him, removing his hat and leering over his shoulder, his voice sickly as he observed the screen.
"Burning the candle at both ends Bailey?" He asked with more than a hint of sarcasm, throwing his arms around his colleague's shoulders and taking in the image on screen. "The hell you accessing the evidence database for?"
"Just…" A slight pause as Bailey's mind raced. "Something I'm working on." He answered. "Nothing much. But you know how it is."
"A little extra-curricular activity huh?" Norton asked with a stifled laugh. "Looks like somebody's doing some brown nosing."
"Really?" Bailey asked, spinning in his seat and pushing his colleague away, Norton surprised as Bailey stood up straight. "What errand you running for Kincaid this week?" Bailey stood, arms hanging by his side. The drama of the moment may have seemed uncalled for, but not to Bailey. He knew exactly what he was doing. "Babysitting that kid of his again?"
"His niece." Norton answered, dusting himself down. "And believe you me Bailey, I'd be spending a lot more time watching her if I could get away with it."
"And you think that feeling would be mutual?" Bailey laughed as he returned to his seat and turned to face the screen. "She's a kid. One that's way out of your league too by the way."
"It's only a matter of time." Norton placed his palms upon the surface of Bailey's desk and leaned in, the smile spread from ear to ear. "Soon as she realises that no good fella of hers is nothing but trailer-trash, I reckon I'm in."
"Don't be ridiculous." Bailey pretended to observe the screen and lay back in his chair, hands clasped across his chest as he smiled at the very thought.
"Women love a uniform Bailey." Norton continued with a grin and a chuckle. "It's just a matter of time before she decides to take a ride on the Needle Nose Express."
"The day that Jade Kincaid gives you so much as a second glance, is the day that hell freezes over." Bailey answered, Norton straightening up and returning his hat to his head, Bailey's words obviously touching a nerve.
"Well until that day, let's just say me and Jade are gonna be seeing a lot of each other." A smile once again fell upon Norton's face. "And her old man's even paying me for the privilege."
Without saying another word, Norton turned and marched towards the elevator, Bailey remaining silent as the doors slid open and Norton stepped inside, another flash of lightning as the doors closed and Norton descended to the ground floor, Bailey now completely alone as he lifted his hand with a wry smile and admired Norton's I.D. card. The little shove a moment ago may have seemed excessive to Norton, but to Bailey it served a purpose. The only way he could quickly grab Norton's card and access the evidence database undetected as he turned his fingers to the keyboard and typed in Norton's I.D. number. Watching as the cursor hopped quickly between the ID and the password text boxes, Bailey paused for a moment before entering his first guess at Norton's password. A stab in the dark as the row of stars appeared with each key press, the characters obscured from vision as Bailey typed.
'JadeKincaid'
Pressing the enter key, Bailey breathed a huge sigh of relief as the log in screen dissolved and the database opened up in the foreground, the expansive catalogue of information now entirely at his disposal as he sat and thought. Now he was in it was basically a case of where to start. With very little information, not to mention absolutely zero knowledge on the item he was being tasked to recover, this could prove to be tricky, Bailey now racking his memory for the key words he had been given right at the very start of this roller-coaster of a treasure hunt. Slowly beginning to type, picking up the pace as his fingers automatically roamed the keys, Bailey entered his first sentence in the search bar, the computer now searching Lockport Police Department's database for anything and everything bearing the words 'Kent Military School', the egg timer on screen rotating slowly as he sat patiently in the darkness. A crackle of thunder in the skies above, the room glowed in the bright outburst of lightning, Bailey jumping a mile as the shadows from the trees outside mingled with the horizontal blinds hanging in the windows, the markings playing tricks with him as he took a deep breath and turned his attention back to the screen. Expecting his search to return zero, he now sat pleasantly surprised as the solitary file, case number '22408' no less, hung on the screen. Kent Military School, Boonville, Missouri the location of the case in question, Bailey noticing the status of the case had recently changed from 'ongoing' to 'complete' as he grabbed the mouse resting on the desk and moved the cursor over the file, the arrow quickly morphing into a hand as he clicked and found the details of the case appear instantly. A quick read of the case notes and Bailey found himself none the wiser, the investigation talking of a series of murders at a military school out west, the bizarre events eventually climaxing at a carnival a few miles north. According to the notes the various pieces of evidence in question had been obtained from a Carnival during a brief stopover in Boonville, in particular a ride called 'Devil's Lair', Bailey imagining the ride to be a ghost train of some sorts. Recovered from the site, the evidence included a service revolver, a smaller firearm and a body of some sort, the injuries sustained rendering it unrecognisable. Although synthetic in appearance and texture, the recovered 'body' had apparently puzzled authorities to say the least. Going by what had been recorded, and based on extensive testing, pieces had been gathered from the base of 'Skull Mountain' and had indeed been synthetic, although an alarming amount of organic material had also been discovered upon closer inspection. Naturally the ride had shut down immediately, the forensics team of Boonville Police Department entering the scene and collecting whatever they deemed necessary, all the while collecting witness statements from three Kent cadets going by the name of Barclay, DeSilva and Tyler, even going as far as arresting the afore mentioned Barclay. According to the statements, the three cadets had been under the impression that a person, or 'being', of synthetic nature, had been giving chase with the intention of causing actual bodily harm, the 'being' only subdued after being thrown from the top of 'Skull Mountain' and landing in the industrial fan positioned by the base of the mountainous prop, the organic material discovered quickly thereafter. The report didn't go into great detail but, by the looks of things, whatever evidence Boonville Police Department had retrieved from the scene they originally assumed to be animal in nature, lab results eventually ruling that out as the outcome determined the organic matter to in fact be human. However, as Bailey read on, dumbstruck by what he could only describe as the most bizarre case file he had ever come across, the scale of the pieces retrieved seemed inconceivable to be of the average human height or genetic make up, suspicion shifting now to the involvement of a person of short stature, most likely a dwarf. A quick check had revealed nobody fitting any such description to have been reported missing within the designated radius or time frame of the event, the investigation now deviating from its original course and splitting in to two separate cases. The first, and most important, to discover the identity of the person responsible for a handful of murders at the school and the carnival. The second case, and by the looks of the report the more confusing, focusing on the origins of the organic material discovered deep within the 'Devil's Lair' ride. Research had revealed nothing on cadets DeSilva and Tyler. Barclay, however, seemed quite a different story. On closer inspection, his testimony, that something not quite human had pursued the trio into the fairground, seemed to set alarm bells ringing, a quick check of his file revealing the Kent/Fairgound case to be anything but an isolated event. Known to have previously fabricated stories, and evidence, all the signs pointed to this whole thing being an elaborate hoax. Nothing but smoke and mirrors. An overactive imagination, fueled by the disruptive upbringing of a child shipped from one home to another following the incarceration of his mother, committed to a mental institution after telling a story just as absurd as the one her son told now. The only thing troubling Bailey, as he sat and read the notes assembled by Lockport's Special Investigation Team, was this. If this was one giant hoax. Nothing more than cadet Barclay's wild allegations. Then why the hell did the forensics team recover a finger print belonging to a guy called Charles Lee Ray from the scene? Ray's name appeared, however nobody could explain why. According to the investigation, Charles Lee Ray died over ten years ago. Yet his prints were there, on the handle of the small fire arm recovered as part of the investigation. What the hell was going on? And the synthetic corpse containing human organs? How could nobody explain that? The big thing though, and what had troubled Bailey from the start, was this. Just what the hell was this evidence that Tiffany seemed so determined to possess? Lost in his own thoughts, miles away from the claps of thunder and the bolts of lightning gathering overhead, Bailey suddenly jumped out of his skin, his cell phone sharply interrupting the silence of the office as the vibration jolted Bailey from his thoughts. Digging his hand into the breast locket of his jacket, Bailey pulled his cell phone free and flipped down the front, the text message awaiting him as he watched the text scroll across the screen of the Ericsson handset and felt a chill ripple down his spine. The text was from Tiffany.
'Tick tock Bailey :)'
From what his nameless acquaintance had told him earlier that day, Tiffany Valentine should be dead by now. Unless, that was, he had failed. In which case, was Tiffany somebody that Bailey wanted to cross? At the end of the day though what choice did her have? He was in this, and in deep. All he could hope was that his name had been left out of whatever confrontation had occurred this evening, Bailey now grabbing the mouse and clicking the 'print' icon, the huge machine at the opposite end of the office whirring into life as page after page immediately began to slide from the opening below the paper tray. If he was going to do this, then the wisest thing to do would be to replace whatever was waiting in that evidence locker with something. Anything. The evidence notes would buy him time, a first glance making it appear the locker remained untouched, at least until somebody dug deeper and found exactly what Bailey had done. In the meantime though, he had a shift to start. He couldn't make the exchange tonight. Tomorrow. That was when it would happen.
Little did Bailey know exactly what lay in store.
Standing by the highway, the flames reflected in the magnificent paintwork of the Pontiac Catalina, Tiffany watched on as the Hammond Motel slowly burned to the ground, The evidence inside also disappearing amidst the blaze as the raging inferno licked its way across every square inch. The rain hadn't let up one bit, the cooling downpour covering Tiffany completely as she quickly found her skin and hair soaked to the bone, the warmth generated as the conflagration decimated the crumbling building before her. A euphoric smile etched across her face, she looked to the heavens and gave an infectious bellow of laughter, the ecstasy surging through her veins as she grasped the thick, yellow bound book in one hand, and allowed the charred remains of Tommy to dangle loosely in the other. She hadn't planned on seeing this doll again, but it had been a twist of fate that reunited the two, the lack of spare Good Guy parts causing much frustration as she neared her goal. Now, whatever she needed, she had.
And do did Chucky.