Shit. Now she knows. And the thing that makes me so fuckin' pissed?

It's my fault…

Mike was resting in bed. It was one in the afternoon, but he just did not feel like getting up. He was still reminiscing over everything. Over college, and Madeline. He was hearing her voice again. He remembered the first day he met her. He was sitting alone in the large eating grounds, scribbling in his notebook about a knight and his chivalrous personality. Madeline had joined him, without his consent. She had long, dark hair. He loved that hair. "What are you writing there, stranger?" she asked cheerily. The autumn leaves were everywhere. He thought she had looked perfect with the season. It was both their favorite, the fall. He couldn't quite remember what he had babbled out to her in response, but he knew it had sounded stupid, and she had laughed. But not cruelly. Not Madeline. She thought he was amazing. He thought she was an angel with happy eyes.

The phone ringing got his attention. He jumped from under the sheets to the phone. It was probably Maggie. She usually called for their investigating.

It was Karen Barclay.

"Mrs. Barclay?" he asked, unsure of exactly how their relationship was standing. They had somewhat bonded that one night, but Mike knew from too many personal experiences that women changed their minds like they changed clothes, or however that song went. "Oh, Mr. Norris… Mike, I mean… and you can still call me Karen, you know… I have something to tell you…" There was urgency in her voice. He almost asked her about Andy, but remembered what happened last time. "Karen, what's the matter?" he inquired as professionally as he could. "Ummm… do you remember what you told me that night? About my son's doll?" Mike felt himself blush. Yes, he remembered. He told her about his theory that the doll was real. "Yes, madam. You laughed at me." There was silence for a while. "Well," she said hesitantly. "I'm not laughing now. That little creep bit me."

It would almost have been Mike's turn to laugh, but this was too serious. "Karen, are you hurt too badly? Is the doll still there?" He heard the panic rising in her breathing. "That's the thing, Mike," she began to cry. " I shook him off. I couldn't find him after that. I had to find a way to tell Andy that Chuck went out for a while and he would just have to go to school today without him, and I'm glad that it's that way, but… where would Ray be now? He's already killed my husband; oh mercy, please don't tell me he's after my little boy too!" She was in slight hysterics, and Mike, the novelist, had no words to comfort her. So he did what he could. He stood there, in his boxers, and listened to her cry, just listened, and every once in a while, he told her that he would take care of it, Karen, it's going to be alright…

I couldn't help it; that woman picked me up. I didn't know what was happening, she was opening the back of my clothes. That, I'm afraid Missie, is not allowed. No one undresses me except me.

Not anymore.

I was in the elevator when they saw me. That girl Kyle's parents. "My," the woman had sniffed. She was looking at me disdainfully. "What an ugly doll."

More than you know, lady. More than you know.

Andy was sitting in class at four, past the school bell. He was glad that he had Ms. Kettlewell for detention, because she understood that it wasn't his fault. "I'm so sorry about Brett, Andy," she kept saying. "I wish there was some way I could prove him wrong." Andy smiled while writing for what felt like the hundredth time, I do not push or hit my friends. "It's okay, teacher," he said happily. "Now we can spend more time together!" Ms. Kettlewell laughed; if she had had any lingering doubts about Andy, they were gone now, gone long down the road. "Well, good. I'm glad you feel that way. What do you want to talk about?" Andy frowned. He had something he wanted to talk about alright. Something he didn't really get to talk about to his mother this morning.

Ms. Kettlewell was getting a little concerned with what she was hearing, and she was going to say something to Andy when the phone rang. "Excuse me, honey," she said, getting up from her seat. Andy nodded as he watched his teacher pick up the phone and leave the classroom. She had no heels; he liked that about her. All the other teachers seemed so high and far away, but she was like them. She cared about him, and he, Andy, knew it. He went back to writing his sentences over and over. A sound at the window caught his attention. Actually, it sounded like it came from under the window. He knew part of the rules was to stay in his seat, but he was sure Ms. Kettlewell wouldn't mind. Besides, he had to see what was there. He scooted his chair back and tip-toed over to the windowpane.

Just as he got there, the glass shattered inward. He ducked, but some shards still attached themselves into his skin. He flinched from the pain, but it was forgotten when he saw who emerged through the window, grunting and cursing to himself. "Chucky!" he cried happily, running to hug him.

The doll pushed him away. "Get off me, kid," he said, a bit roughly even for Chucky. Andy stepped back, surprised and a little hurt. "But Chucky, I was waiting for you! I didn't know where you went. Where did you go?" The doll scowled at him. "Nowhere that's your business," he said rudely. Andy shook his head, and tears were brimming his eyes. "But… why are you this way all of a sudden, Chucky? I thought we were friends." Chucky looked at him dead in the eyes. "There's something I have to tell you, kid," he said. His blue eyes looked like ice, they were so dead and cold.

Ms. Kettlewell walked back in just then. She dropped her folder when she saw the doll standing straight up. "Shit," Chucky muttered. He turned back to Andy. "It's you, kid, it's you," he said to him. "I was so good at this until I ran into you. You make me nervous. I can never think straight when I'm around you. And frankly, I don't like that. I like things normal." He looked back at Ms. Kettlewell, who was starting to laugh now and babble mindlessly, "No, no way… well now we know who pushed Brett down, huh Andy? I knew your weren't crazy, Andy, I knew it…" He scowled. "And she, she needs to die. She can't get out of here alive now that she knows." Ms. Kettlewell didn't hesitate; she rushed to Andy's side. "Go ahead," she said, somehow having regained her senses. "Come do something. Let's see what you've got." Her nearly insane behavior had instantly changed to anger and defense. The ultimate teacher.

Chucky laughed. "I don't have to do anything," he chuckled. His finger pointed upwards. The teacher and her student looked up and saw elaborate strings and objects they hadn't noticed before. "When… what did you…?" Ms. Kettlewell began. Chucky growled at her only curious expression. She seemed to have no fear. "Don't worry, teacher, Andy will survive, but you? You will not. And guess who will be left to blame for your murder, with no one to try to say otherwise?" Now her face fell. "No," she said softly. "You wouldn't." She held Andy close. "Not to him." Andy stood, frozen and unblinking. "Chucky…" he said. The doll couldn't tell what his emotions were, the boy was just so… still. In shock, he supposed.

"Oh yea," he said as he reached for an end of a rope that was tied to Andy's desk. "What I was going to tell you? I'm a serial killer. People know me as Charles Lee Ray. And you know something else, kid?" he said, stepping close to Andy, who only looked at him with wide, vacant eyes. Those warm, brown eyes. He pushed his scowl deeper to push any of those thoughts away. He came up to his ear so he could whisper. "I killed your father." Now there was a reaction. Andy gasped. "That's right, kid. Momma lied to you. Just like I did. I ain't your friend, and I never will be." He took out some small kid's scissors from his pocket. "Who knew child's things could be so…" he snipped the rope. "…dangerous?"

Chaos followed. Andy screamed, Ms. Kettlewell hung, and blood found a way to spray all over the room. The doll looked up at her hanging body. "I hope that ass detective Norris finds you," he said. "This oughta be a good memory jerker." He tied a bell to her foot. "Here comes the bride," he began softly. Then he laughed again, a maniacal howl. He jumped back to the window. "See ya around, kid," he said to the horrified Andy. "Or maybe not. I don't usually see anyone again." He laughed once more as he hopped out the window.

Andy turned back to his teacher. "Ms. Kettlewell!" he screamed again. He started to cry. He ran to the door, but it was an old, rusty thing, and he couldn't open with his hands that had been splattered with blood. "Somebody, help me!" he cried at the door. "My teacher is hurting! Someone open the door!" He was banging at the wood hard; his fists hurt and burned like fire. "Open the door! Open it! Please!" He cried harder, but when still no one came, he slid against it and held his knees against him. "Why would you do that?" he shouted angrily at the window. "Why why why?" Then he curled up into a ball on the floor, sobs racking his body.

***

This, I'm afraid, is good-bye, Andy. I'm almost sorry it has to be this way. But not quite. Finally, at last, I get to be the one who is doing the hurting and betraying. It feels too good to stop.

***

Kyle knew something was wrong when she came back from school. "Mrs. Jo?" she called to her foster mother. "I'm home!" Usually she would hear the sound of the young woman cooking in the small kitchen, or sewing in the bedroom, but today, she heard neither. "Ms. Jo?" she said again, quieter this time. She told herself that she was being silly, that she was overreacting. But when she got closer to the master bedroom and heard the sound of the sewing machine and not Mrs. Simpson's humming, her heart dropped. She could feel the pounding in her stomach. "Mother?" she asked cautiously as she opened the door. She stepped into the room. What she saw made her gasp in terror, and it took all that she had to not scream. She ran to the phone to call for the police. The sewing machine continued to whir.

It continued to sew Mrs. Simpson.

She called Mrs. Barclay afterwards. The young blonde woman came to the girl's apartment and held her as she cried. "I'm so sorry, dear," she murmured softly. "I'm so sorry. Don't worry, I understand." She was waiting for Detective Norris to come. He would fix things, she supposed. Better than she could, anyways. She took the phone from Kyle's clenched hand and began to dial Maggie's number. She ought to know. Maggie would know what to do. She always did. As she dialed, she pulled Kyle up with her. "Let's go sit on the couch, okay?" she suggested. Kyle sniffed and nodded, but continued sobbing from shock. She waited as patiently as she could for the sound of Maggie's voice. "Karen?" Calmly the blonde explained what had happened. There was silence on the other end for a very long time. "It was that doll, wasn't it?" Maggie said with a muffled voice. "How... how did you know that?" Karen asked. "Karen, I'm so sorry... I should've told you... this is all my fault..." Maggie began, and her friend listened to every word.

***

I will sit where he can see me. This is going so well. No one will know who else to blame. There is some good in being a doll, after all. And I get to see that jack-ass Norris' face. This is going to priceless…

Things were a blur for Andy after that. He heard screaming from adults. He heard the sirens outside the school. He wondered if his friends would find out. They probably would. Everyone would probably know, because it would be on the news. But nobody would know who did it. He, Andy, would have to take the blame. Because nothing else would make sense. The police were arguing with that Norris man as they walked in the classroom. "There is no possible way a toy could do this," the officer was saying. "And there is no way a child could, either!" Mike was protesting. He saw the boy looking at him, frozen. He knew Andy was in shock. He was in shock himself. It was watching Madeline all over again, except now, someone innocent was being blamed. Karen Barclay's son. He knelt down and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be fine, Andy," he said as comfortingly as he could, although honestly he had no idea what was going to happen to the boy. He had no evidence, and so conveniently, Ray had disappeared.

So he thought. The officer was nice enough to Andy, talking to him and trying to sort out the truth as they walked outside the school. Mike followed behind them, defeated. At the best, they would only find Andy mentally disturbed and send him to a psych ward. At at the worst… he didn't even want to think about it. He lifted his eyes to see Mrs. Barclay with Kyle and Maggie running towards them. "No, not my baby!" Karen was screaming to the police. She reached her son with outstretched arms and held him tight. "Ma'am, we need you to calm down. Miss, there's nothing we can do. Don't worry, we'll figure this out." The officer's words did not do anything near calm Karen down. In fact, they made her more frantic. "It was that doll, I swear!" she said, trying to pull Andy away from the deputy who had taken hold of him. "That stupid doll! It was not my son, not my Andy!" she was crying. "You can't take away my baby! Not him too!"

It was when Mike followed the boy's calm eyes that he saw him. The doll. It-he- was sitting there, with that doll-like smile on its face. Was it just him, or did that doll seem to be smiling larger than usual? And was it looking at him? It seemed so; it seemed as if the doll was taunting him, saying, "You can never catch me." Andy whispered something to the deputy, who nodded and let him go. Mike watched as Andy slowly made his way toward it. He leaned over and whispered something to it. Then he walked back to the deputy, his shoulders slumped and his eyes downcast. Now there were tears there. The shock had worn off, and reality had set in. The deputy helped him into the back of the vehicle. Karen was screaming about the doll still. He was hearing whispers about how he and Karen were tipping dangerously into insanity, and probably dragging the boy in it as well.

He looked back and saw that the doll was gone.

***

God damn it! Why, Andy? How did you manage to ruin it for me somehow still? You could have hit me, punched me, told me you hated me, and I could've moved on. But no. You didn't even touch me. You just looked at me with those eyes, those damn eyes, and told me the worst four words I could have ever heard.

Don't you have any idea what I've done? I've broken a promise to you, two times over. If you only knew about when I first met you.

You were so much younger then. Maybe two. I can't remember how old I was. I don't even know how old I am now. I remember that I was trying to hide from the crowd, the people of the city because they gawked at me. Somehow, though, you found me. You in that ridiculous doctor costume you still have. Somehow, you knew I was sick, in more ways than one. I remember the way your small hands clumsily held the stethoscope to my heart. You made the heartbeat sounds yourself. I think I was crying, because you told me in that little child's voice, "It's gonna be okay, misser! I make you all better?"

I promised you that day that if I ever met you again, I would repay you for being that one kind soul. And this is how I repaid you. Not only by killing you father, but by betraying you. I swear, if I had known that was your dad, I would've let him live, I swear it!

And yet you said what you did.

"I still love you."