Chapter 2

The cool breeze drifted in through the open window of Nica's hospital room, filling her lungs with clean, pure air as she sat up and stretched her arms, yawning before running her fingers through her long, wavy, brunette hair. She blinked a few times, rubbing her eyes, taking in the familiar surroundings once more. She was feeling much better this last week and fingers crossed, today was hopefully the last morning she would be waking up here. She didn't mind it at the hospital, the staff were great and had taken every opportunity to make sure she was comfortable, which was something she'd recently found to be lacking in the last place. Sure Green Acre had its fair share of good staff, but she had always felt an element of disgust in peoples' minds whenever she was around them. Secretly talking about her, as soon as she was out of sight. Passing judgment without bothering to get to know her. Life was filled with people like that unfortunately, but Nica had learned over the course of her 26 years to deal with it and keep her head held high. She looked at the clock on the wall and noticed that she'd had a good twelve hours solid sleep, probably the longest in months. As she was sat looking at the clock, the door to her private room opened quietly as one of the nurses poked her head around the door, a friendly smile crossing her lips as she noticed Nica awake sat up.

"Morning you lazy girl." The nurse joked as she opened the door fully walking in backwards, the breakfast trolley squeaking as she pulled it through the doorway. Her petite figure and cropped black hair making her instantly recognisable.

"Morning Jess." Nica replied, having another stretch, her hair a mess, curls everywhere. The smell of freshly buttered toast and hot coffee making Nica's tongue dance with the prospect of something nice to eat. She liked Jess, not just because she brought her breakfast every morning. Nica guessed it was mainly because they were of a similar age and from the same part of Chicago, Jess moving to San Diego on a college scholarship the first chance she got. Something Nica had once dreamed of doing, only to be held back again by a domineering mother. Constantly telling Nica how she was afraid she wouldn't cope on her own. Looking back, Nica wondered whether her mother had actually been talking about herself. She found it ironic that she'd never thought Nica would survive college, travelling to Europe, a whole load of things most people got to try at some point in their life. But here she was, a survivor. Twice now she'd survived something that her mother could never have predicted, something worse than anybody could ever have imagined. Not just at the hands of Charles Lee Ray either, but Eric Grant, head night nurse of Green Acre Mental Facility. His body had apparently been found in a cubicle of the first floor toilets, strangled, stabbed, the life squeezed out of him. The official verdict was that the escaped patients from Maximum Security had come across him on their crazed spree as they desperately searched for freedom, him suffering the same fate as Grace, Lynn, Paul and James. But Nica had other ideas, something hadn't seemed right and she doubted very much that Eric Grant would still have been hanging round Green Acre after being sent home in disgrace hours earlier by Dr Abner. The complaint filed by Nica leading to his immediate suspension pending a full investigation. She was jerked from her daydream as Jess placed a mug of piping hot coffee on the breakfast tray at the side of Nica's hospital bed, swivelling it around so it hovered over Nica's legs.

"What you fancy for breakfast?" She asked, wiping her hands on a towel. "It's a little late in the day, most of the good stuff's gone. But there's plenty of fresh toast. Just made it two minutes ago."

"That toast would be perfect, thanks." Nica smiled as she leaned forward and lifted the mug, wrapping both hands around and holding it under her nose as she took a deep breath. Suddenly she felt a twinge in her chest. Her heart still beating, but badly damaged after the attack from David. She was still trying to get her head around the events that unfolded after he'd arrived in San Diego. He'd seemed fine when he arrived, a little troubled, but that was to be expected after everything that had happened. It had been a week since Joel had visited, filling in the blanks and helping her piece together the memories that had evaded her on waking. The doctors had worked endlessly on her wounds and nearly wrote her off once or twice, but she rose from the ashes fighting, clinging to life. Severed veins, arteries, the knife ever so slightly glancing a part of her heart that she couldn't even remember the name of. The pain had become more bearable up until recently, but Nica found the more she did, the more she became tired, the harder her heart had to work, pumping more and more blood and struggling under the strain. As she sat there now, watching Jess plate up a couple slices of toast she couldn't help but think of the look on David's face. Empty, void of any expression at all. No love, no hate, nothing. But his eyes flickered with rage and his mouth opened, spewing words of hatred regarding her mother, and that's when she knew. She didn't know how, but she knew. Somehow Chucky had become part of David, his body manipulated into doing the evil bastard's bidding. Was David still in there somewhere? Was he dead? How did it happen? The only thing Nica could remember was the ambulance as it lay at the bottom of the embankment near the farm, the rain lashing down as the wheels spun, pointlessly spraying mud up the side of the vehicle. She tried to reach it, find David, but before she could do anything the storm picked up suddenly, clouds rumbling overhead, the lightning striking the ambulance and igniting it. David at first presumed lost in the inferno as the police arrived seconds later. According to the medics as she was taken to hospital, the doll had been more or less incinerated, turned to dust by the explosion. She didn't know how this had all happened, but she intended on finding out. After a two week coma, enforced on her by the medical team as she battled to pull through following David's crazed attack, then this following week of round the clock monitoring, she had improved significantly and was hoping todays meeting with Dr Hastelow would be good news. Three weeks since that day. Where had the time gone? Nica felt more angry that she'd been robbed of time she'd never get back.

"You want anything else hun?" Jess asked as she placed the plate of toast in front of Nica.

"No, thanks. I'll have enough here." Nica replied with a gentle smile.

"How you feeling?" Jess enquired holding her hand to her chest. "Still getting the pains?"

"Not too bad now," Nica lied. "Get the odd twinge, but nothing I can't handle. Fingers crossed today's the day I get out of here." She laughed.

"Well, we're gonna miss you if you do. Just take it easy, you've been through a hell of a lot this last three weeks. If Dr Hastelow wants you to stay here a little longer then it's for a reason, believe me. What time's your appointment?" Jess grabbed the breakfast trolley and started to wheel it back towards the door.

"One o'clock." Nica said as she took a bite of her toast.

"Well I hope you get the green light, don't forget to say goodbye if you do yeah?" Jess smiled as she left, pretty much the same way she entered, backwards and pulling a trolley full of drinks and toast.

The rest of the morning had passed uneventfully for Nica really. She'd taken it easy, like she was constantly reminded to do, the hardest she'd pushed herself being when one of the other nurses had brought her a newspaper from the reading area. After reading it back to front she'd decided to tackle the crossword and was now stuck on seventeen down. 'Tea set usually inherited.' It read. Six letters. After receiving her inheritance from her mother's estate, albeit belatedly, she had figured that this would be pretty easy. She sat, arms folded, pain rippling outwards from her chest as she bit the tip of the pen. Suddenly it dawned on her, the answer was in her head all along. 'Estate!' how could she not see that? It was a cryptic clue! Just as she put pen to paper her room door opened, Jess once again sticking her head in.

"Almost one o'clock hun." She beamed as she entered the room. "Need a little help getting in your chair?"

"No, thanks." Nica said as she set the paper down, grabbing the controls for the bed and lowering it to a level which enabled her to slide across and into her wheelchair. Throwing the covers from her legs she hunched herself up from the mattress and walked herself to the edge of the bed, grabbing the arms of her wheelchair and sliding herself into the seat, her legs flopping to the ground, dangling lifelessly until Nica leaned forward and lifted them into the supports.

"You want a push?" Jess asked.

"Yeah, if you wouldn't mind." Nica responded, a dull ache appearing across her chest.

"Of course not." Jess approached the back of Nica's chair and slowly started to push.

It didn't take long to reach Dr Hastelow's office, it was only a couple of floors up and the elevators in the hospital were incredibly reliable. As Nica was wheeled in, right on time, the black leather chair behind Dr Hastelow's huge solid oak desk spun to reveal the doctor himself sitting and looking over Nica's file. His perfectly manicured grey hair combed into a side parting, his youthful looks carefully hiding the fifty six years he'd clocked up. His eyes fell on Nica as his face lit up with joy.

"Nica..." He gushed. "Nica... How are you?" He asked as he sat forward, dropping the file on the desk.

"I'm really well." She answered returning the smile, her face illuminated.

"Good, good." He leaned back again. "How have you slept? You look incredibly rested."

"Yeah," She replied. "I slept really well, thank you."

"Good, that's good. Important too. When a person has been through a traumatic experience, like yours, we do advise to get as much rest as possible. Remember, it's not just the body, but the mind that needs to recover as well."

"Yeah, I seriously feel great. So much better than last week. I don't know what to say, you've all be great." She laughed a little as she spoke, the gratitude genuinely leaping from her tongue. He stared at her for a couple of seconds before leaning forward again and opening the file, browsing it carefully.

"How are you doing with the pains?" He asked without looking up. "Any medication to handle that?"

He was asking, but Nica knew full well he had the information right there in front of him. Nica decided the best course of action was to be as honest as possible and hopefully he'd trust her as she lied through her teeth later on.

"I've been having a little here and there, but nothing too much. Mainly just ibuprofen and paracetomol." She answered honestly

"I see." Dr Hastelow acknowledged, not looking up as he studied her notes. He remained quiet for a few seconds before pulling a sheet of paper out, the rest of the file remaining on the desk. He stood and slowly made his way round to the other side of the desk, pulling up a chair and taking a seat next to Nica.

"What's this?" Nica asked, examining the paper from behind. He turned the paper round and revealed a diagram of a human heart. The detail was incredible, the amount of veins, arteries, vessels, chambers surprised Nica, to the point it made her feel queasy knowing she had one inside her.

"This, well you know what this is... It's a heart." He answered her seriously. "It's not your heart granted, but to be honest Nica this is in a lot better condition than yours."

"How do you mean?" She looked concerned.

"Well your heart has always been a touchy subject as far as your disability goes. I've had the pleasure of viewing your notes, forwarded to me by your specialist back in Chicago, Dr Masur?" He asked.

She nodded.

"Well Dr Masur was good enough to email me your notes." Dr Hastelow carried on. "Your heart wasn't in the greatest condition before you ended up here with us, and... I'm afraid to say it's not good Nica. This right here..." He pulled a pen from the breast pocket of his smock and ran it along Nica's t-shirt, right where her stitches ran along her chest. "This is the problem. You were lucky enough in a sense that the knife missed your heart."

Nica nodded again, struggling to focus as she listened intently.

"But..." He continued. "It did pass very close, millimetres in fact. And although it didn't make contact with the heart itself, it did glance what we call the superior vena cava. The blade must have been pushed so far in that it slid between this and what we call the aorta. Luckily, no damage was done to the aorta, if it had then there's a very good chance you wouldn't be sat here with me right now." He paused for a second, his eyes flitting to Nica, then back to the diagram. He held the pen up to the paper and proceeded to give Nica the news. "Now the problem we have Nica is that the superior vena cava is one of the main arteries that delivers blood to the heart, straight into the right atrium. Now this isn't like most parts of the heart, it doesn't have a valve to regulate intake, it's a steady, constant flow of deoxygenated blood direct from the upper body. Now the problem we have Nica is that with your condition, it's the upper body that you continuously use. Now if it was the inferior vena cava that had been damaged, then I wouldn't have been as concerned." He paused and held his hands up. "Don't get me wrong, it would still be something we'd need to monitor, but with that handling the flow of blood from the 'bottom' half, then obviously with your condition, we wouldn't have to worry you doing too much and putting strain on the artery."

"What are you trying to say?" Nica asked, bewildered.

"What I'm trying to say Nica, is that with everything you do being upper body, every action increases the flow of blood through the superior vena cava. The knife didn't slice it open, but it did strike it and it does look to have weakened it in two areas. Now the more you do, the more strenuous the task, you're increasing the flow of blood and putting the artery under more and more pressure. I'm afraid that if you push too much, then it may rupture, and if that happens then I'm afraid there's nothing we can do." Dr Hastelow finished.

"I see." Nica was gobsmacked, shocked.

"For example," Dr Hastelow carried on. "I notice you needed a little help with your wheelchair. Is that something you've always had? It's just you strike me as a fairly independent person. One who likes to do as much for herself as possible?"

"I do." She nodded.

"So you've found yourself unable to physically get around since the incident?" He asked.

"Not really. It's just a little harder. More tiring, that's all. I feel stronger with each day." She lied.

"I see." Dr Hastelow said as he placed the pen back in his pocket. "How do you feel about being discharged?"

"Really?" Nica couldn't believe it. This was what she'd been hoping for.

"Only," He paused holding up his hand, index finger extended. "Only if you're confident you can manage. I'm more than happy to give you a bed for another few days and we'd be able to see how things go from there. To be honest, that's my ideal scenario."

"Seriously, I feel fine. A bit tired maybe, but that's to be expected right? Until my strength comes back?" She pleaded. Dr Hastelow stared her out for a few seconds before breaking the silence.

"How about, and this is just an idea. But how about we arrange a motorized wheelchair?" He asked. "Something to take the strain off your arms. For the time being. I could have one for you by the end of the day."

Nica thought about it for a second, immediately seeing problems with her future plans.

"Seriously, Dr Hastelow, I'll be fine. If I do find I'm getting tired, the pains are becoming more intense, I can always arrange to come back and give it a go then. Yeah?"

"Well," He replied as he stood and placed his hands on his hips. "If that's the way you want to do it then I guess we can take each day as it comes. Besides your heart and the wound, you're in pretty good shape. Everything looks to be healing well and in another couple of weeks, we may even be able to stop dressing the scar on your chest. How is that by the way?"

"My scar?" Nica responded as she placed her hand on her chest. There were times this last week that the stitches had made her chest feel tight as her heart began to pound, her ears feeling the thudding of her pulse as she performed simple tasks. A couple of times she'd been worried the stitches may burst.

"Yes Nica, the scar. Has it been giving you any trouble? Do the stitches feel comfortable?" He asked as he perched himself on the end of his desk, arms folded.

"It feels pretty good considering." She lied again. "A little uncomfortable, but that's natural after what happened right?"

"I suppose it is." Dr Hastelow laughed. He stood from the edge of the desk and extended his right hand to Nica, giving her a caring smile. "If you feel well enough to go home then who am I to stop you? Just promise to get in touch if anything happens. I'll make arrangements with my secretary to see you in a couple of weeks just to check you over again." Nica's hand shot out as she grinned from ear to ear, grabbing the good doctor's hand and shaking it gently.

"Thank you doctor. Thank you so much for all you've done. I guess I'll see you in two weeks." She replied happily.

As Nica waited in the lobby of the hospital, bag packed, she spotted a payphone over by the entrance. Grabbing her bag, she lifted it gingerly and placed it on her lap as she started to slowly and carefully wheel herself across the lobby and to the payphones. Opening her bag she removed her purse and rummaged around looking for a quarter, before lifting the receiver and slipping the money into the slot. The phone call wasn't one she had wanted to make, but she felt it necessary in light of recent events. After five minutes she'd spoken to the appropriate people and made herself an appointment for the following afternoon, 2pm. Just as she replaced the phone she glanced out of the lobby doors and saw her cab pulling into the collection point, right on time. She dropped her purse into her bag and zipped it up, placing her hands on the wheels of her chair, spinning on the spot and heading to the automatic doors of the hospital. As she approached the cab, the driver noticed her and opened his door, standing in one fluid movement and flashing her a welcoming smile.

"You must be Nica." He beamed as she came to a stop in front of him.

"Yeah, that's me." She answered.

"You okay with getting in and out?" He asked as he slid the rear door of the cab open.

Nica couldn't believe the hospital had ordered her a cab with disabled access. It was more like a minivan, she thought as the driver bent forward and unfolded a ramp from the rear door to the kerb. The interior was huge compared to standard cabs, Nica couldn't believe it. This was something she could get used to as she steadily wheeled herself up the incline and into the rear of the cab.

"All clear miss?" The driver joked as he folded the ramp back up and slid the door shut.

As he jumped in the front seat and flicked the button for the ignition, Nica leaned forward.

"What's your name?" She asked as he slipped the cab into gear. He looked up into the rear view mirror and his eyes locked onto Nica's, his smile widening as he chewed on his gum. His jet black afro made his Caribbean descendents all the more obvious as he answered, Nica noticing a hint of West Indian texture to his accent.

"Nigel, miss." He replied.

"Well Nigel," Nica asked. "Can you give me a ride tomorrow? About half past one?"

"Sure." He answered as the cab started to move off. "Where we need to be at that time tomorrow Nica?"

Nica fixed him a stare, ice cold and determined.

"Longcroft Asylum!" She answered, her hairs standing as one and her spine turning to ice.

Blinking, trembling, the shattered body of David Jacobs sat up on the cold, hard bed of the dank, urine soaked cell it had come to regard as home. Yet again, the light flickered through the window high up in the wall, blinding to the eyes as it burned through his retinas. What day was it? Had he even been to sleep? He lifted his hand out from under the covers of the bed, turning it over, glaring at it as if he'd never seen it before. He tried hard to stop the shaking, but it was no good. He was ill and he knew it. He'd been to see the asylum doctor, the antibiotics having no effect whatsoever, the doctor now at a loss to diagnose anything other than a common flu. But it wasn't flu. He'd had flu. True it had been nearly twenty six years ago since he last felt an illness, never mind one as debilitating as this, and he knew it wasn't flu. His finger nail had dropped off as he slept, the bare, raw skin underneath exposed and filthy from the unwashed bedding. He pulled his sleeve up and examined his arm. Bruises had appeared up his wrist and forearm, winding their way up to his shoulder, yellow, blue and black, the ugliness startling him as the body he inhabited started to fall to pieces. He still had no idea what was happening to him, this was a first, no doubt about it. His mind had been racing ever since being brought up here, the theatre of screams known as Longcroft Asylum closing in around him, trying in earnest to break his mind, fracture his very soul. But he had hung in so far, he wasn't going to let it beat him. The body may be lacking but, his mind had started to grow sharp again, an opportunity would reveal itself and he'd need his wits about him to take full advantage. He knew that strength wasn't on his side, the guards at this place were miniature mountains of flesh and blood, not ones to hesitate when a swift beating was deemed to be the answer. He'd heard the cries, the screams from down the hall as they echoed along the bare stone walls of the asylum, filtering through every door, every window and delivering the message that nothing was tolerated here. Act out? Beating. Back chat? Beating. Don't do as you're told? Another beating. The pattern emerged very early on that there was a set of rules to adhere to, and although he liked to think of himself as untouchable, he now knew that this was far from the case. This new body, everything he'd dreamed of for the last twenty six years, not living up to the expectations. For years he'd been able to sink into the background, practically invincible, biding his time, waiting for that one killer moment then BOOM out he'd pop. Before some poor fucker knew what hit them, he'd come and go, only to repeat the same process time and again. He lay back, lowering his hand and pulling the covers over the top half of his body as he shivered frantically. Maybe this David guy had medication he should have been taking. There must be something, some reason why he was suffering so much. Leaning forward, he lifted his hand to his mouth, clenched into a fist and coughed harshly, the air rattling through his lungs, wheezing as the last bit of carbon monoxide was wrung from his broken body. Something was unusual though, as he sat back and opened his fist he was alarmed at the view gracing him. Blood was sprayed liberally over the palm of his hand, bits of mucus and even a couple of teeth sat coated in the scarlet, viscous liquid. Lifting his other hand, he extended a finger and ran it around the inside of his mouth, feeling at his teeth. Sure enough he was missing two teeth, one upper, one lower, both from the left hand side. The pain was agonizing as it shot through the nerves and into his cheek, making his ears ache and his head pound. As he coughed again he turned and laid face down on the pillow by his side, coughing over and over, all the while feeling the sticky mixture soak into the pillow, spreading across the surface. He finally finished coughing and lifted his head, the last of his strength gathered together in one monumental effort as he had a look at the pillow. Another couple of teeth, blobs of red gristle, mucus and a thick puddle of fresh blood greeted him again. Rolling onto his back he lay there, trying to get his bearings before flopping over the edge and falling face first to the floor with a crunch. He slowly pulled himself to his feet and started to stagger over to the toilet, his eyes never leaving their target as he threw one foot in front of the other, over and over again. He got about half way, underwear halfway down, before his legs gave up the ghost and buckled under his now minimal weight. As he lay there, halfway between life and death, he heard the door to his cell click, the large heavy lock rotating as the key turned. Then a voice.

"Jacobs!" The voice hollered. "Visitor!"

As the cab had approached the incredibly high walls of Longcroft, the first thing Nica noticed was the intimidating appearance of the facility. Green Acre was like Disneyland compared to this place. Although situated within the middle of the countryside surrounding the city and engulfed in forest, this was a completely different beast to what she had known. Back at Green Acre she'd had a modern facility, welcoming to the eye. Here, this was like something from a history book. It was more like a castle. She had to calm herself, remembering that she was only visiting, that she could come away at any time, but the feeling of impending dread would never fully subside. Today had already been a weird one as she woke that morning, the house seeming strange after standing empty for over three weeks. Joel had been round and straightened up the living room, mopped up, run around with a duster, but she still couldn't imagine that place ever feeling like home. Not now, after what had happened. Her nightmares following her, in more ways than one, all the way from Chicago. She had sat trying to summon the courage for what she was about to do, all morning she had sat thinking of what to say. But then she asked herself other questions. What would 'he' say? How would 'he' react? At one point it had crossed her mind that this may not be the best idea she'd ever had, but she plucked up the strength to see it through, and as Nigel had pulled up outside, giving her a wave and flash of a smile, she had left the house, promising herself she wouldn't look back. The journey here had been a quiet one, Nica lost in her own thoughts, snapping out of her stupor to occasionally answer the odd question thrown to her by her charismatic driver. Telling her about how his family had moved to California from New Orleans when he was just a baby, asking her about her upbringing, her parents, anything really, the average chatty cab driver. Eventually the conversation dried up and Nica once again sank into an endless sea of despair. Was she doing the right thing? Fuck it. She was going in there because that's the last thing 'he' would expect. And she was going to get some answers whether he wanted to give them to her or not. Suddenly the cab came to a stop at the entrance, the double doors looking incredibly out of place in amongst the huge stone walls of Longcroft. After waiting a few minutes for Nigel to do his door and ramp routine, Nica made her way into the facility and to reception, asking Nigel to keep the meter running and wait for her. Something he seemed happy to do. As she approached the desk, the old man hunched over turned and spotted her.

"Hello Miss." He greeted her. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," She answered. "I'm here to see somebody. A patient. I called yesterday about a visitor pass."

"I see. " He replied handing her a clipboard, the paper clipped to it baring various names. "Just sign yourself in Miss and I'll sort you out your pass no problem."

Nica examined the paper and eventually found what she was looking for. 'Jacobs, David – 2pm'. Nica signed her name and handed the clipboard back to the guard. He took it from her gently and leaned forward, placing a visitor pass over her head and letting it fall, hanging around her neck like an Olympic medal.

"You want to go down the hall and take the third left Miss. You'll find the other visitors in there. Might want to hurry up though, they'll be taking you all across soon."

"Thank you." Nica smiled as she spun on the spot and made her way down the hall.

Eventually she found the waiting room, filled with other people visiting various friends/families. She heard one mention that she'd never met the person she was visiting, but had been writing to him for years as part of some pen pal scheme. Nica found the thought disturbing in a way, but decided who was she to judge? If these people knew the reason she was here they may have cause to doubt her sanity too. Within a few minutes the door on the far side of the waiting room opened and a guard appeared, beckoning people through as he explained he was to escort them across the courtyard and to the visitor hall. This seemed very different to Green Acre. Very different. As they reached the far corner of the courtyard, the guard pulled a set of keys and unlocked the double doors to the visitor hall. Tables were set up in rows, eight across by eight down, all in all sixty-four tables. The guard took any sharp objects and even the odd gift that some people appeared to bring before issuing them each with a ticket and moving them on, all the while a handful of his colleague patrolled the balconies high up in the corners of the room, no doubt keeping an eagle eye on proceedings. As Nica reached the front of the queue the guard asked who she was to see and gave her a ticket, which read 'Table 34'. As Nica wheeled herself onwards and into the mass of tables, she tried to find some order to the system the guards used. Sure enough she found table 34. Right where it belonged, in between table 15 and table 28, the guards obviously developing their own system of seating. Now all she had to do was sit and wait. Once everybody had been seated, the guards repeated various warnings. The first being that nobody was to, under any circumstances, be found passing any contraband items to the person they were visiting. They also issued a one strike warning with regards to violence. Anybody found to act in a violent manner would be escorted from the premises and prosecuted. Once everybody acknowledged the rules the guards unlocked the door and began letting patients file in one at a time. Nica sat and waited for a good ten minutes before she saw him, and she was speechless. As he was wheeled from behind the bars and up to the table, Nica almost felt a twinge of pity for him as she feasted her eyes on the dishevelled half dead man sat across from her, wheelchair and all. She had not expected this. She had expected him to be full of life, arguing, raging, finally seeing Nica and darting for her before guards could hold him back. She wasn't sure now whether to feel happy or disappointed. As she gathered her thoughts she took a deep breath and began to speak.

"Well..." She said calmly. "Isn't this a turn up for the books?"

He didn't move. Just sat in his wheelchair and stared over Nica's shoulder, into space as drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth, the blue overalls they had dressed him in a couple sizes too big, dwarfing his frail body.

"What's the matter Charles?" She asked.

Something...

His eyes instantly shot to her, his breathing became a little deeper. Nica continued.

"I don't know what you did you sick son of a bitch but I'm going to find out." She spat at him silently, desperately trying not to alert the guards. "What happened to David? Where is he? What the fuck did you do to him?" She demanded.

His eyes unmoving, a smile slowly started to form across his lips and he began to laugh, only a little laugh. Quiet, eerie, disturbing and haunting.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Nica tried to shoot him down, but it didn't have the desired effect. Then he spoke. A whisper, floating along through the air and gradually landing on Nica's ears, sickening her to the very core.

"He's gone." Charles said. "You'll never see him again." He paused, taking another breath. "Only the devil knows what's in store for him!"

"How did you do it?" Nica begged as quietly as she could, but it was no use. His smile became even bigger as he winked at her. The kind of wink that said 'that's for me to know and you to find out.'

"I came here expecting a slightly more challenging encounter." Nica sat back in her wheelchair and spoke calmly. "What do I find? You're even more useless than me. Look at you! I doubt you'll last the week in here." Suddenly his eyes narrowed as he took in what she said.

"Really?" His voice groaned.

Nica nodded her head.

"You look half dead already. Guess this is karma coming round and biting you on the ass."

"Well." He groaned again, sitting up as best he could. "At least I'll feel it when it bites. Unlike you."

"I've seen enough. You're pathetic. I don't know why I bothered. I should just go home and wait for them to call me with the news that you're dead." She laughed. "You really think that you can call shots in here? No. You can't. How does it feel now the tables are turned? Now you're the one in here with nobody to believe you, while I'm on the outside, free to go wherever I want, whenever I want." She lifter her hand into the air alerting the guard. As he approached he spoke.

"Everything alright Miss?" He enquired.

"Yeah," Nica said. "We're done here. Thanks." She turned her attention back to him as he sat motionless. "I'm going to find out what the fuck you did, and then I'm going to find out how to fucking finish you once and for all. I'll succeed where Andy Barclay god damn failed!" She spun to leave but could just hear him trying to say something. "What did you say?" Nica turned back to him as he sat, staring blankly, his mouth moving over and over, repeating the same sentence.

"Slut mother." He repeated himself again, louder, laughing slightly.

Nica turned again and started wheeling herself towards the exit as she heard his voice getting louder, people distracted from their conversations as his voice started to grow in both volume and strength. She could hear him louder now than when she was sat in front of him.

"Slut mother!" He shouted before finding even more energy and bellowing it after her as she left. "LIKE YOUR FUCKING SLUT MOTHER YOU FUCKING BITCH!" He screamed, his voice rippling with hatred and anger as several guards appeared from nowhere and surrounded him. Nica wasn't sure what had happened, but she had a feeling she had just awoken something deep within him, something that would've been better to let lie.

Back home Nica had one objective. Pulling her laptop out from under the coffee table, she fired it up and instantly logged onto Google, taking time to have a sip of her coffee as she slipped her on her glasses and started searching. First search of the day?

'Chucky Doll Murders'

The search returned with a decent amount of sites. There were things she'd seen before everything went belly up back home, the night Barb and Ian died. Niagara Falls, Chicago, L.A, Kent Military Academy, the old Play Pals factory. As she read Nica found herself getting confused. Maybe she'd had too little sleep, maybe she just wasn't looking in the right places, but nowhere was able to tell her how the hell he'd managed to get into the doll in the first place. Some sites hazarded a guess at witchcraft, some put it down to a curse, some also said that the whole thing was made up, the urban legend proving to be exactly that. In the end Nica headed back to Google and typed in another search term.

'Charles Lee Ray'

Sites quickly came back, not as many, but some. The bastard even had a Wikipedia page. 'What kind of sick fucker would write this?' Nica found herself thinking out loud. As she read, she discovered that Charles Lee Ray had indeed been shot by Detective Mike Norris on the night of November 9th 1988, just like he had said to her months ago as he blamed her mother for his ending up the way he did. Nica read further and found that the place he died was now actually a Chinese restaurant, the toy shop closing down and going out of business less than a year after Charles Lee Ray's death. Nica assumed that this was the same toy shop that he had found the Good Guy doll in which to place himself. This was all well and good, but it provided nothing that Nica needed, ideally answers. So she looked further down the page and found something that may yield more information. Charles Lee Ray's body was buried in Hackensack, New Jersey. Without knowing why, something spoke to Nica, telling her this could be a good place to start looking as she began to unravel the mysteries behind the legend. Without taking her eyes from the screen, Nica grabbed the phone from the side of the laptop and began dialled 'Information'. As a voice appeared on the other end of the line Nica spoke.

"Hello?" She began. "Yes, San Diego International Airport please."

She drummed her fingers on the desk as she continued reading the website. Finally her call was connected.

"Hello, yes. I'm looking for a flight to Hackensack, New Jersey?" Nica asked.

"Yes ma'am." The gentleman on the other end answered as he looked up the details. "The next flight we have is tomorrow afternoon at 2:25pm, that lands at JFK International Airport, which isn't the nearest airport to Hackensack, but if you wait for Newark or LaGuardia then you're talking another couple hundred dollars, and the next flight to either of them isn't for another two days."

"Fair enough." Nica replied. "Book me on the flight for tomorrow afternoon."

After giving her credit card details, Nica hung up the phone and returned to the laptop, confident she had done the right thing. But no idea why.

'This is it then.' She thought to herself.

'Hackensack here I come! And after that... I'm finding Andy Barclay!'