Chapter 3
Another night of broken sleep, bouncing from wall to wall, the madness creeping over him even more as he sat and watched his relatively new, yet surprisingly fragile body falling to pieces. Running a hand through his hair he felt something unusual, soft, fleshy and sickly. Pulling his hand away from his scalp, he was disgusted at the sight that greeted him. In his hand was a mass of tangled black hair and blood, his scalp breaking up, cracking and beginning to bleed under the slightest touch. As he sat looking at it, horrified, he rolled his tongue around his mouth and felt something that had become familiar throughout the night. Still casting his gaze upon the hand full of hair, skin and blood, he raised his opposite hand to his mouth and inserted his thumb and index finger , feeling around until finally he found it, removing his fingers to reveal yet another tooth. As he withdrew his hand from his mouth, the blood began to dribble from his lip and down his chin, developing into a steady stream before finally growing into a torrent of crimson. He finally noticed this and grabbed the bed sheets, plunging them into his mouth in a valiant last effort to soak up the escaping blood, now so thin that he could feel it racing through his system, the blood cells breaking up as though a mysterious virus was ravaging him from the inside. As he sat, he leaned back against the cold, bare stone walls of his cell and felt every contour, every jagged edge of the masonry digging into his back, pain exploding as the nerves up and down his body screamed in agony, more often than not, all at once. He didn't like to admit it, but he was scared. For the first time since he couldn't remember, he was scared shitless, not knowing what was happening. The last time he'd felt like this had been twenty six years previous, the night of November 9th 1988 as he had been pursued through the streets of downtown Chicago by the police, in particular that son of a bitch Mike Norris. So near, yet so far as he approached the van, Eddie sat inside waiting, metres from escape. He remembered diving across the hood of the car as the bullets whizzed past his head, inches between them as he felt the ripple the shells made, shattering the air as they tore past. Then suddenly, as he'd made a run for it, the bastard got lucky, a bullet catching him in the thigh and sending him crashing to the ground. He'd sat up and returned shots of his own when a police car had come screaming out of nowhere. Then just as he'd gotten to his feet, limping as fast as he could towards the van, Eddie did the first thing a lot of people do when they panic. He ran. Charles had to admit, he'd probably have done the same if he'd have been in Eddie's shoes, but the raging fact was that he wasn't. And from that moment on, Eddie had effectively signed his own death warrant as far as Charles was concerned. He begged him not to leave, literally begged as he chased after the van, exposed, in the open, just ready to be picked off by that fucker Norris. But there'd been nothing he could do, as Eddie floored it, the van took off, the police car wailing by, siren screaming, nearly taking Charles out in the process. There had been many times over the course of the last twenty five years or so that Charles figured they'd have been much better off if the cop car had swerved and 'accidentally' taken him out. But in failing to do so, they did him a favour, blissfully unaware of the havoc headed their way. But luckily enough Norris had decided to track him from behind a row of parked cars, giving him the opportunity to make a run for it, the nearest hiding place the doorway of a kids toy store. What was the name now? Play... Playland Toys. That was it. How could he forget. That wasn't just the place he'd died in, that was also the place he'd been born in. Cast from the jaws of death and delivered into the world kicking and screaming again. He remembered the powerless feeling he had felt as he had been stalked around the store, hiding in between the displays, looking, searching for a chance to train his sights on that fucking cop, all the while Mike Norris screaming at him to give it up, claiming it was 'over'. He'd fucking show him though, it wasn't over until he decided it was over. Seizing his chance he'd raised his pistol and fired, just missing Norris, never expecting the return fire to come as swiftly as it did, the shot catching him full in the chest, the right side of his body melting in pain and fear. That was when shit got real, as he started struggling, noticing that he was dying, his only option to do something drastic, something that he wasn't even sure would work. His rage came racing to the surface as he gave up his position voluntarily, screaming at Norris, bellowing out his threats, that he wasn't finished with him and Eddie Caputo. He'd get them... No matter what. That was when he'd realised he needed something, somebody, anybody, the fear relenting slightly as he fell into a display of Good Guy dolls, the tower of boxes falling over him as he fainted from the loss of blood. It was that moment he'd glanced at one of the dolls, grinning at him from a box. He didn't get it at first, almost did a double take in fact, but then it dawned on him. This was exactly what he needed. How fucked up that the very last thing he could use to save his life would be this little red headed doll? Removing the doll from the box he had started reciting the chant, hearing the thunder begin to clap overhead as the storm sprang from nowhere. As he reached the end of the chant he felt electricity race through his body and... Charles stopped reminiscing suddenly as something in his cell caught his eye. It was a rat. Not a big one but a rat none the less. It hadn't seen him either as it scurried across the floor and over towards the toilet. Stopping to sit up occasionally, the rat started running again, stopping at the base of the toilet, used paper thrown all over the floor, the smell unbearable, urine, faeces, blood, they all graced the various balls of waste paper scrunched up and hurled to the floor. As the rat sniffed around the base of the toilet bowl, Charles gingerly leant forward, pulling the dirty, blood stained bed sheets from his blood encrusted mouth and throwing them to the top end of the bed. Placing his hands palm down by his sides, he slowly, quietly pushed himself forward eventually reaching a squatting position, legs bent at the knees, hands gripping the bed frame, every muscle in his decaying body burning under the strain as he fought to keep himself balanced. His eyes never left his visitor as he concentrated, moving slightly to the left, getting the rat, now distracted with various balls of toilet paper, lined up with his body. Relaxing his legs a little he tightened his grip on the frame of the bed and let his body slowly swing back before firing every last ounce of strength into his calf muscles, throwing himself, launching his body into the air and towards the filthy concrete floor. He remained quiet as he soared, arms extended, through the air, hitting the rough, jagged floor with a thump before bringing his hands together, wrapping them around his disgusting trespasser, sliding slightly as his shoulder hit the toilet basin with a sickening crack, the pain sending a shockwave through his entire upper body. He clenched his teeth together as the agony became unbearable, clamping his eyes shut as he waited for the pain to subside. He opened his eyes and kept his hands together as he very slowly and laboriously struggled to his knees, all the while feeling the dirty, flea bitten vermin wriggling under his grip. Concentration etched across his face, he slowly opened the top of his hands, only to catch the rat as it tried in vain to escape, struggling as it made attempt after attempt to wriggle through his clutches.
"Ha ha..." He cackled hysterically, happiness seeping through the laughter before his face took on a more serious and deadly expression. Gripping the rat tightly in both hands, he carefully lifted it up to his face, staring at it in wonder, the life in his hands about to be extinguished in one savage act. "Got you. You little fucker!"
He looked to the door, then back to his bed. The chilling image of lost hair, congealed blood, rotten black finger nails and dirty, decayed teeth making a very unpleasant view. Had he really sunk to this? Is this how it would end? Turning back to the rat he looked it in the eye and brought it to his mouth, his lips parting, but facing resistance as his own dried blood stuck them together. On his knees, hands cupped in front of his face he suddenly snapped his head forward and, using his three remaining teeth, took a huge chunk out of the rats neck, the artery he caught severing immediately as blood was ejected with force, splashing across his face as he tore through the flesh, sucking the blood from the veins and ripping the meat into his mouth. The rat shrieked in terror, confusion and pain as it frantically struggled, harder still, to escape the clutches of its captor. Charles sat back, leaning against the now bloody bed frame, and began to chew the meat between his remaining teeth eventually giving up and using his sore and bloody gums to pulp the meat into something his throat could attempt to swallow. As he sat, suddenly feeling fulfilled, a mixture of bloods staining his face, the rat suddenly ceased fighting and gave up its life, the situation too much to bear. It was at this moment, as he took another huge bite, tearing the skin from the bones, that he heard the lock of his cell door start to open, the old iron mechanism lifting with a 'clunk'. As the door was being unlocked he heard the familiar voice of one of the Longcrofts security guards.
"Another visitor Jacobs." He hollered as the lock finally retreated fully, the door beginning to open. "Two in two days. Must be your cologne..." He didn't finish the sentence, the view of the cell leaving him speechless. The smell was enough to make him retch, but the scene before him was one of insanity and horror. Blood all over, hair matted together, teeth strewn across the floor and David Jacobs sat chewing on what looked like... A rat?!
"Jesus" The guard exclaimed at the sight. Turning to address his colleagues down the hall he issued a command, urgency rippled through his words. "Get me a damned straight jacket!"
Standing in line as she entered the visitors' hall, the woman opened her bag and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Her shoulder length blonde hair, incredibly short dress and high heels had made her the target of almost every guard in the room as she entered from the courtyard, and she was pleased with this. Her intention had been to capture the attention of one of the guards, maybe a couple, but the reaction she'd had upon arriving had been nothing short of perfect. As she stood waiting to reach the front of the queue she noticed people handing over packages, some gift wrapped, some not, as the guards confiscated them and allocated them a table number. Thinking fast she removed a cigarette from the packet and placed it between her lips. No sooner had she pulled the lighter from her purse, a hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her from the queue, losing her place. The young guard looked at her apologetically as he pointed to the 'No Smoking' sign on the far wall by the entrance.
"Sorry Miss." He shook his head. "Can't let you be smoking in here I'm afraid."
She looked at him and gave him a smile as she slowly removed the cigarette from her lips, the lipstick slightly staining the filter. As she spoke, the guard was alarmed at how different her voice sounded to the average female visitor to Longcroft. They were usually rough, full of colourful language, teeth missing. Not this one though. This one was gorgeous. Dressed in Versace, beautiful hair, premium looking jewellery, killer heels, stockings, the works. He tried his best, but he couldn't help giving her body a quick look over. Her legs went on forever, the hourglass figure finished off with the most exquisite chest he had ever seen. Then she spoke. He was half and half on the voice. In a way it annoyed him immediately, while all along it sparked with a sexual energy, high pitched and sleazy.
"I'm so sorry..." She apologised as she stared him dead in the eye and tilted her head, noticing his name badge. "...Luke." She laughed as she returned the cigarette to its pack and zipped up her purse, struggling as her other hand was preoccupied with something else. A present for her man.
"Yeah I just had to let you know..." He shook his head and laughed. "Do you have name? Miss?"
"Tiffany." She answered with a smile as she leaned in a little closer, whispering in his ear. "Or Miss..." She pulled back and gave him a seductive smile.
The guard smiled back, thinking his luck was in.
"Okay... Who are you here to see? Friend? Boyfriend?" He asked.
"Oh it's just a friend." She replied calmly. "Truth be told, I haven't seen much of him lately. Kind of an asshole really. But, some things are sent to test us. Been asked to pay him a visit, deliver this fucking thing." She held up a doll, ugly looking thing, red hair, freckles, stitching across the face. The kind of thing a psycho would play with.
"Right." He replied, taking the doll and rolling it around in his hands, giving it a once over. "I have to take it and screen it. Make sure there's no drugs, weapons, etcetera. If it comes out clean then I guess he can have it."
"Oh thank god." She gushed. "He freaks out without this thing. Used to talk to it all the time. It's like part of him, if you get my drift." She laughed, grabbing Luke by the wrist.
"Who is it you're here to see Tiffany?" Luke enquired.
"David Jacobs? I have a pass." She held up the visitor pass, hanging from her neck.
"Okay." He turned to the guard at the front of the queue and motioned for his notepad. As he examined the guest list he spoke again, issuing Tiffany with a ticket and beckoning her to follow him. "We've got you down here, table 4. He's not been too well recently, so just prepare yourself for a bit of a different person to the last time you saw him."
"You can say that again." Tiffany muttered under her breath as she took a seat at table 4.
"I'm sorry?" Luke asked.
"Nothing sweetface." She replied as she sat, crossing her legs and giving Luke yet another smile.
"You need anything or if he starts getting animated. Just give me a shout." He advised as he turned to the gate, David Jacobs been led through by two guards in a straight jacket.
"I don't think that'll be a problem." She said as her eyes fell on him.
As they led him to the table, a few people turned and looked, the sight of a straight jacket not as common these days. The guards walked him to the table and pulled his chair out, finally letting him flop, exhausted into the seat and leaving him alone with his visitor. As she let her eyes take in this new face, eroded, worn, wrinkled and old she couldn't believe it. She was speechless. What had he done to himself? She looked around, making sure to check if anybody was eavesdropping, before leaning in and whispering to him.
"Chucky?!" She spat. "What the fuck?"
His eyes were glassed over, she didn't know if it was medication or he was seriously ill, but something was drastically wrong with him.
"Can you hear me?" She hissed again.
His eyes rolled down to look at her as his face stayed staring upwards into the corner of the room.
"It's me!" She said a little louder, her face taking on a repulsed look as she lifted her hand to her nose, the smell was pure evil. "What's happening to you?"
He finally replied, but it was pretty inaudible. It wasn't just quiet, but it was muffled too, mumbled.
"What?" She shot him a panicked look.
"Hey, how you doing honey?" He slurred, a little louder this time.
"Better than you!" She looked confused at him. "What's happened to you?"
"I dunno..." his voice trailed off. "I think..." He coughed, a little blood appearing on his lips. "I think... I'm dying?"
"But that's impossible!" She was dumbstruck. "Can that happen?"
"Looks like it..." he trailed off again.
Tiffany sat back and folded her arms, thinking. Looked like she'd come at just the right time.
"You may just be the luckiest bastard I know!" She laughed. "You know that?"
The look that spread across his face was priceless.
"Lucky?" He slurred again. "Lucky?" His voice got a little louder this time.
"You know how much I've had to do to find you?" She continued. "I visited that crash site. I found the heart of Damballa hanging from a tree, and I knew, I just knew you'd finally done it."
Chucky looked at her blankly.
"Thought you might have come looking for me though. I have to admit, I was a little upset when I didn't hear anything from you. It took me weeks to find you. You know how many cops I've had to bribe trying to find you between this place and Chicago? Half of them took the money and ran too. Tell you it's so hard to bribe an honest cop these days."
"Sorry. I had things to..." She cut him off immediately.
"Oh I know. You had your precious vengeance to reap on that damned disabled girl. That's how I found you." She paused, taking a breath. "Last week you were in the paper, raging about being Charles Lee Ray, sent to the nut house. So I put two and two together and figured I'd let you stew for a week or so before I came in here and offered you a way out."
Chucky looked at her inquisitively.
"Your only way out..." She finished. "I've brought you something. Something familiar. Told them it would help you out no end."
His eyes lit up, part of him burning alive inside as her words graced his ears, like music to a child.
"You mean you've brought..." She cut in again, knowing full well she held the cards.
"That depends Chucky. Is it over?" She asked point blank.
"Is what over?" He asked back.
"Your revenge thing with the Pirce family. Is it done?"
"No." He lowered his head.
"Okay..." She also looked down, disappointed. "When will it be?"
"It's just her. I swear. After that... I'm all yours." He tried to crack a smile, but his lips were causing him so much pain it was physically impossible.
"Fair enough." She replied, standing to leave, the chair screeching out behind her long legs as she rose from the chair.
"They'll not let me have it you know." He leaned back. "What you brought. They'll not. You'll have to bribe one of them!"
"I'm through paying for your mistakes." She turned, throwing the strap of her purse over her shoulder. "But let me see what I can do. If you do make it out of here, I'll be waiting. There's a dirt track, about a mile south of here, through the forest, across the stream."
With that she turned to leave, walking back through the visitors hall and towards the exit where Luke was waiting. As she approached he looked up and noticed her headed his way.
"Leaving so soon?" He asked with a smile, his youthful enthusiasm getting in the way, his lust taking over as he spoke to this vision of a woman.
"Afraid so." She smiled. She leaned in closer to him, her lips almost touching his ear. "I have a favour to ask honey." She purred.
"Sure, whatever you need Tiffany... I mean Miss" he replied.
"My friend's a little concerned he won't get his present I left him."
They both turned to the table full of packages and gifts from various other visitors. There in the middle sat the ugly, red headed doll, blue overalls, the lot. As they both turned back to each other, Tiffany spoke again.
"It'd be a shame if he didn't get it. I've come all the way from Chicago with that thing so it'd mean a lot to me that he got it, you know what I mean?" She leaned backwards, perching herself on the end of the table behind her, crossing her legs and running a finger down her cleavage. Luke's eyes followed, fascinated by what he saw.
"Oh I see what you mean." He replied. "How about you leave me your phone number and I'll let you know that it's been delivered?" He asked.
Tiffany seductively winked at him, her arm shooting out, motel room key in her hand, room number 317 of the Holiday Village Motel.
"Tell you what. You do this for me, and we'll celebrate in style. Say tonight? Eight o'clock?" She smiled, her beautiful red lips and sexy, high pitched voice hypnotising her young admirer as she spoke.
"Sounds like a plan." Luke's tone turned serious. "He'll get the doll. I guarantee it."
"Thanks sweet face." She stood straight up, turning on her heels and walking out the door and into the courtyard. She glanced back over her shoulder and flashed him a smile, blowing him a kiss. "See you tonight."
Luke watched as she disappeared through the door.
His luck was definitely in.
Bad luck that was.
As the cab sped through the narrow lanes of traffic, Nica took a deep breath and leaned back. It was getting late when she'd landed at JFK Airport and she desperately needed a good night's sleep before the morning. The cab carefully navigating its way between the parked cars and various road works, she closed her eyes and relaxed, allowing her mind to wander. She found herself reminiscing about the old days, when she was little. She figured her first memory was probably from when she was about five years old. She could remember it now, clear as day, sitting in her wheelchair at the kitchen table as her mom poured her some oatmeal for breakfast, Barb only just having left for school. The table seemed huge to Nica, and she always remembered a bowl of fresh fruit adorning the surface of the table. Always arranged the exact same way, never to be eaten, only for decoration purposes. When the fruit eventually started to turn rotten, her mother would simply have some more delivered along with the weekly shopping, throwing the old fruit out, casting it aside without a second thought.
"Mommy," She would ask innocently as her mother emptied the fruit into the trash. "Why do you throw the fruit out?"
Her mother would usually roll her eyes as Nica began to ask questions, but this time she'd stopped what she was doing and turned her attention to her angel of a daughter.
"Because it's rotten Nica." She would answer. "People can't eat rotten fruit. It doesn't look good either, then the smell... You can forget about that." She would smile as she tied the garbage bag.
"Then why do we buy it?" She asked again, her poor little body cutting a cute and naive figure in her wheelchair. Her mother picked the bag up and gave her a 'What is this? Twenty questions?' look as she stood, one hand on her waist, the other holding the bag full of rotten fruit at arms length.
"We buy it because it looks nice honey." She again answered, her free hand flicking her blonde hair away from her face. "Don't you think it looks nice?"
"Yes." She replied, thinking, concentrating. "But isn't it just a waste? Couldn't we give that to people that need it?" Her mother began to get a little agitated, taking a break from her obsessive cleaning routine flustering her slightly.
"Nica, now why would you say that? Give it to who?" She asked. Nica squinted her eyes and looked upwards, concentrating harder.
"Poor people? That we see on the streets downtown?" She answered her mother, the gap between her two bottom, front teeth showing the tip of her tongue as she spoke, cuteness in abundance.
"Oh Nica..." Her mother stood looking with a tear in her eye, the kindness of her daughter melting her heart the more she spoke. "You just remind me of your father."
"Daddy?" Nica looked puzzled. "Why mommy?"
"Because," She wiped away a tear, the bright yellow cleaning gloves running along her cheeks as she did so. "That's just the kind of thing he would say." Nica looked at her mother, another question bubbling to the surface of her innocent and fragile mind.
"Where is daddy?" Nica's question filled with confusion. "Why hasn't he ever been to see me?"
"Oh Nica," Her mother sunk to her knees, dropping the garbage bag and grabbing Nica's wrists as she sat in her chair. She looked into Nica's eyes, as they both began to weep slightly. "He can't be here baby, he just can't. He had to go away, but it wasn't what he wanted. He'd much rather be here with you. With me, with Barb, all of us together. But he just can't."
"Why?" Nica again asked, the enormity of the situation much bigger than a child could grasp.
"He just can't honey. He just can't." Her mother replied as she leaned in and gave her a cuddle.
As the years passed, and as Nica had gotten older, the answer had changed quite a few times, but Nica remembered as she had approached her tenth birthday, the question was raised once again. They were sitting having dinner one night, her mother, Barb, and Nica herself, when the question was asked. Only this time, it was Barb that broke the news.
"He drowned!" Barb snapped across the dining room table, her mouth half full of the lasagne they'd had that night.
"Barb!" Their mother had spun her head, disgusted at the way Barb had nonchalantly blurted the news out. As she finished grabbing some vegetables from the middle of the table, she turned to Nica, the look of horror on her face for them both to see.
"What's drowned?" Nica asked. She had an idea, but not being the strongest fan of swimming, it was only a rough sketch on her mind. Their mother rested her elbows on the table and lifted a napkin to her mouth, struggling to find a friendly approach to the subject.
"He drowned Nica. He fell in some water and, couldn't get out. That's what drowning is." She answered, hoping this was the end to the conversation. It wasn't.
"Could daddy not swim?" Nica asked again.
"Well, yes." Her mother responded as she ate. "He was a very good swimmer."
"Then why didn't he just swim?" Nica enquired, her eyes flitting between her mother and her sister.
"Well..." Their mother began, but was suddenly interrupted by Barb.
"He hit his head on some rocks!" Barb said, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "He was unconscious."
"Okay Barb, that's enough." Sarah snapped. She turned to Nica and quietly spoke. "Yes honey, he hit his head. That's why he couldn't swim. I know I've never told you this before, but I just didn't think you were old enough. It was just a little over ten years ago now, fall of 1988" She seemed lost in her thoughts before pulling herself together and once again addressing her daughter. "I'm sorry Nica."
Nica gave her mother a loving smile, one that never ceased to amaze her. So beautiful, the way her hair hung down her back, the dark brown curls completely the opposite to Barb's straightened, jet black locks.
"May I be excused?" Nica asked as she started to slowly wheel herself backwards.
"Yes of course." Their mother replied, noticing Nica had more or less cleaned her plate.
"Me too?" Barb asked as she started to stand.
"What the hell," Sarah threw her hands in the air. "Let's all be excused. Come on, let's go see if there's a movie on." She stood from the table as she followed the kids into the living room, Barb racing past Nica, catching her head slightly with her shoulder.
"Hey!" Nica shouted after her, lifting her hand and rubbing the side of her head. She turned to their mother, following closely. "She only did that so she got the best seat on the couch!" Barb's voice emanated from the living room.
"It's not like you need it!" She shouted.
"Barb!" Sarah shouted, angrily. "Let's have less of the attitude young lady. Be nicer to your sister!"
Nica wheeled herself up to the side of the couch as her mother approached the television set, flicking the switch, turning it on before taking a seat next to Barb on the. As the television crackled into life, the evening news blared out from the screen, the light from the television casting the three girls shadows across the wall behind them, the only light in the room. Sarah fiddled between the cushions looking for the remote to change channels but was having no luck. The voice of the news anchor carried across the room as he read the top story.
"Good evening and welcome to W.E.B.H news on Channel 8." He started. "Our top story tonight. The bodies of a newly married couple were discovered early this morning at the 'Honeymoon Sweets' motel, just a short walk from Niagara Falls. Discovered by a maid early this morning, the couple look to be the latest victims of the Jesse & Jade case, as the whole scenario becomes even more dramatic, the finger prints of notorious serial killer Charles Lee Ray appearing at the scene."
Their mother looked up suddenly, disbelief in her eyes, terror etched across her face. The remote control forgotten about as she immediately stood and raced to the television set, the news anchor continuing, only slightly audible over the noise Sarah made as she raced across the room.
"...been confirmed that Ray's grave at Forest Hills Cemetery, New Jersey 'will' be exhumed amid increasing speculation..." The television died suddenly as their mother spun on the spot.
"Okay girls." She clapped her hands together, trying to remain calm. "Up to bed, come on."
They both sat, looking at her, confused. Something had upset her.
"COME ON!" She yelled, making them jump in their skins.
"Come on lady!" The cab driver spun in his seat, his thick Brooklyn accent waking her from her dreams. She blinked her eyes, struggling to remember where she was, then it suddenly hit home as her brain started to wake up.
"Sorry," She apologised as she sat forward, stretching her arms and yawning. "Must've fallen asleep. Think that flight took it out of me."
"Yeah, no worries." The driver waved his hand as he killed the engine and opened his door, standing and making his away to the rear of the cab. Nica gathered her purse and cell phone, making sure not to leave anything else behind before opening the rear passenger door of the cab. Sure enough, there was her wheelchair, carefully placed by the cab driver, his old weathered face lighting up as she managed to shuffle herself from the back of his cab and into her seat. She lifted her ankles into the supports as the driver fetched her suitcase from the trunk, the weight surprising him a little.
"Jesus!" He blurted out, his face red as he dropped the case beside her. "What you got in here?" He asked.
"Just the bare necessities really." Nica answered with a little laughter.
"Well here we are Miss." He stood, straightening his back, placing his hands on the bottom of his spine. "This the right place?"
Nica took a look at the neon sign, blinking in the darkness of the still, New York night. 'Alder Court Motel' the sign read.
"This is it," Nica replied, pulling a wad of notes from her purse. "There's an extra $10 if you wait a few minutes and bring the case to room?" She half asked, half ordered with a grin. The old man waved his hand as he leaned back against the cab.
"Yeah, sure thing." He sounded exhausted. "You're my last job tonight, so why not. I ain't going nowhere."
Nica turned and headed into reception, taking a few minutes to sign in and sort out the payment for the room. Before long she appeared outside again and the cab driver followed her to her room.
"Guessing it's at least gonna be a ground floor room yeah?" He asked.
"Indeed it is." Nica turned and smiled as she appreciated the joke. Not a lot of people felt comfortable making the odd joke about her condition, but when she met somebody that did, she enjoyed it. It was nice to see not everything about being a paraplegic was all doom and gloom.
"How much they charge for a room like this?" He asked as she opened the door, the clean and surprisingly spacious interior looking more than welcoming.
"Not much. $39 I think." She answered.
"Per night?" He asked again. She nodded. "So how much is that then?" He enquired.
"$39." Nica replied. The cab driver thought for a second as he dropped the suitcase on the bed.
"You're here for one night?" He seemed confused. Nica nodded again. "Then why such a heavy case?"
"I'm flying on to Chicago tomorrow." She responded. "People to see, things to do. That reminds me, would you be able to pick me up tomorrow?"
The cab driver nodded at her as she handed over the payment for the fare.
"Sure. Where is it you're headed? Just the airport?" He counted the money before slipping it into his breast pocket.
"Yeah, I just need to stop off somewhere on the way for half an hour. Is that okay?" She asked.
"So long as the meter's running, I'm yours." He smiled. "What time should I pick you up?"
Nica thought for a few seconds.
"I don't know. I have to call to Forest Hills Cemetery, then be back to JFK Airport for about 5pm. What time would you recommend?"
Now it was the driver's turn to think. After a few seconds he came back to her with a time and finally left, arranging to pick Nica up about noon.
'Best get ready for tomorrow then.' Nica thought to herself as she opened her suitcase and unpacked some nightwear.
'Probably going to be another long day.'
As night began to fall, Charles sat in his cell, weeping uncontrollably as the pain screamed across his body, the straight jacket still gracing his chest and back. He rocked back and forth as his head began to hurt, blood starting to drip from his eyes as his mouth began to ache, his jaw throbbing. The dim lights of his cell flickered on as always at this time of night, and burned his eyes, more so then ever. He wished he knew what was happening to him, why he was feeling like this. It was supposed to be a better life for him in this body, the beginning of a brand new Chucky. He'd had youth, looks, strength on his side. But now, everything had carefully been stripped from him as time passed, leaving him sapped of strength, his mind turning to mush as the madness engulfed him night after night, lack of sleep as the nightmares constantly wrapped themselves around the fractured moments of sleep he had managed to find here and there. As he sat rocking backwards and forwards, he spat another tooth out, the blood once again flowing in a steady stream, when suddenly there was a knock at the door. He looked up, wondering if this wasn't yet another trick his mind had been playing on him. But sure enough, the lock rotated in its housing and the door opened slightly. One of the guards leaning in, poking his head around the door, noticing him sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Hey." He hissed at Charles. "I got something for ya." Charles looked up at the guard. Sure enough the guard produced his gift from Tiffany. Holding it at arms length and dropping it to the floor.
"It's about fucking time!" Charles responded groggily.
"I was asked to bring this down here by your friend. The blonde. If anybody finds that thing, you didn't get it from me!" Wide eyed, the guard shot him a serious look.
"You were never here!" Charles again replied. "Don't worry. Did she pay you to do this?"
"Not yet," The guard hung the motel room key out in his other hand, the key dangling from the key ring, catching the light of the cell and slightly blinding Charles. "I'm going now to get my payment." The guard laughed.
"You are?" Charles asked.
"Hell yeah. An ass like that doesn't come along every day. I'm gonna go to work on that bitch!" The guard laughed. He stopped laughing and gave Charles a sympathetic look. "Want me to give her something for you?" He laughed again. As he opened his eyes he stopped laughing, the expression on the face of the man he knew as David Jacobs had turned to stone. Then suddenly, as the silence hung for a split second, Charles began to laugh, deeper, louder, the echoes of laughter tinged with madness as he roared with laughter before allowing it to die into a chuckle. The guard felt a little freaked out at this and decided to slam the cell door shut as quickly as he could, making his move and getting out of the holding cells before anybody else realised he was there. As he reached the car park, he tossed the key to the motel room into the air before catching it, reaching his car and whistling along. All was good with life. For now anyway.
Back in the cell, Charles looked at the doll laying there on the floor, unmoving. Then with what remaining strength he did have, Charles stood, uneasily at first, but eventually gaining his balance and taking a couple of steps towards the doll. He wasn't fond of the fact she'd put fucking stitches on the thing, why the fuck did she do that? Didn't exactly make it easier for him to blend in did it? Stupid bitch. But still, he supposed it was better than what he had now. The body he was in, surely dying an incredibly slow death, pain, madness and body parts to prove it. All at once, he remembered something. The jacket. He couldn't move his arms. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Feeling defeated he took two unsteady steps back and collapsed to a sitting position on his bed again. Looking at the doll, so near, yet so far as his mind raced trying to think of a way. The guards would never let him take the jacket off, no matter what he tried, the events of this morning had seen to that. So what else could he do? If he left it any longer then surely this body would be no use, maybe dead within the next twenty four hours. Frustration raced to the surface as Charles examined the predicament he found himself confronted with, rising one last time to his feet, running now on pure rage. As he steadied himself he faced the wall at the far end of the cell and had an idea. It would hurt, but only for a few minutes. Digging deep he took a couple of small steps as he gathered a bit of momentum, before turning his steps into a run, the fear mixing with the anger and propelling him along, gaining speed as he went before connecting with the wall with a sickening crack, his shoulder flaring in agony. He stood again and raced back across the cell, once again smashing into the wall, the same shoulder taking the brunt of the force and cracking, snapping. Then as Charles stood, he closed his eyes and thought of what was at stake as he swung his now broken shoulder backwards then forwards into the wall. It was coming, it was happening, maybe one more time. He swung back even further this time, suddenly swinging the shoulder into the solid stone of the cell wall, the arm yanked from the shoulder as the entire unit dislocated allowing him slight room, movement now possible. He screamed as the pain seared through his arm, moving the arm as best he could finally managing to slip the shoulder of the jacket over his now battered and blood stained arm. As the jacket became loose, he was able to free his arm and reach round, thrusting his shoulder forward again and half snapping it back into position. Reaching round the back, he undid the restraints and eventually slipped the jacket off, falling to his knees as he cried in pain. The doll lay less than six feet from him, smile plastered across its crude, rubber face. Looking to the door, hoping the guards hadn't heard his cries, he crawled over the filthy floor of his cell, reaching the doll quickly. He took a second to compose himself, his mind racing in its overwhelmed state, lifting his shattered left arm and placing his hand on the dolls. As he pressed his thumb into the dolls forehead he begin to slowly speak.
"Ade due damballa. Give me the power I beg of you." He began as he suddenly felt a draught fly through the room.
"Secoise entienne mais pois de morte." A clap of thunder roared overhead, guards up and down the corridor noticing the lights beginning to flicker as one.
"Morteisma lieu de vocuier de mieu vochette." He started to get louder, a feeling of euphoria racing through him.
"Endonline pour de boisette damballa!" The room flashed as a bolt of lightning graced the skies, thunder getting louder all the time.
"Secoise entienne mais pois de morte." The guards looked at one another as they heard the screaming coming from Charles's cell, beginning to move towards the door, light flashing underneath.
"Endelieu pour de boisette damballa!" He screamed, his lungs almost bursting as he felt it. Life leaping, sucked into the never, blackness, while all along bright and burning.
"Endelieu pour de boisette damballa!" He carried on. Guards outside, hammering on the door of his cell.
"Jacobs. Keep it down!" One of them yelled.
"Endelieu pour de boisette damballa!" Laughing as he neared the end, his body beginning to feel like a thing of the past, the new one feeling like a fresh, blank canvas.
"I mean it Jacobs. Don't make me come in there you fucking freak!" The guard began to become irritated as the lightning flashed, the thunder bellowed above.
"Endelieu pour de boisette damballa!" He finally finished, all at once becoming light headed, his vision deteriorating significantly, his hearing disappearing immediately as the tremendous feeling of pure energy burst over him and carried him along, adrenaline pumping as he finally felt the familiar feeling of life as he had known for the last quarter of a century, reborn again.
Outside the door to his cell the guards noticed it had suddenly gone quiet. The lights behind them, up and down the corridor, had violently erupted, showering people in glass as they were plunged into darkness. Pulling out a torch, one of the guards fumbled for their keys, cries from the other cells as the other patients begged to know what was going on. Eventually the guard found the key for Charles's cell and quickly unlocked the heavy steel lock, swinging the door open to reveal the mutilated, twisted corpse of David Jacobs. Three of the guards raced into the room and took a look around, struggling to believe the conditions their patient had been living in. Finger nails, teeth, bits of scalp all lined the pillow at the top end of the bed. The sheets were covered in shit, the floor too in some places. One of the guards knelt beside the body and placed a finger under the chin, shaking his head as he looked up to his colleagues. No pulse.
"Jesus." One of them said as he shone his torch around the room, the beam of light jerking back to the filthy bed. "Poor guy."
"Yeah," The one on his knees agreed. "At least he didn't die alone." He grabbed the doll around its waist and held it up, giving it a quick once over.
"Fuck. I used to have one of those things." The third guard quietly spoke. "Scared the fuck out of me when they'd been in the news. Never been able to look at them since."
Suddenly the guard on his knees stood up, still holding the doll.
"Well," He spoke. "Suppose we better get this cleaned up and call the undertaker." As a joke he suddenly threw the doll to the third guard who instinctively caught it, dropping his torch in the process.
"Jesus Wayne!" He screamed as he caught the doll. "Didn't you hear what I said? I hate these things!"
"Oh stop being such a pussy and get rid of it Jarvis!" Wayne replied. "Gary can help me clear this sorry sack of shit up while you throw that thing out."
Jarvis looked to his two colleagues and shook his head as he handled the doll.
"Where you expect me to get rid of this?" He asked, confused.
The two men bent over, one either end of David's body, stopping to fix their gaze on Jarvis.
"I dunno," Gary said sarcastically. "How about the fucking garbage chute, dumbass?" They both laughed as Jarvis turned and left the room, taking the doll with him. As he reached the end of the corridor he entered the maintenance room and closed the door, crossing the room and opening the garbage chute which led to the back of the asylum, the dumpsters waiting underneath. Before Chucky could come round fully he was whizzing down the chute and into the darkness of the night and to the freedom of Longcrofts trash pile. Hitting the bottom with a thud, he quickly gathered his thoughts and lifted his hands to his face.
He was back.
The moon hung in the air, casting the most beautiful light over the surrounding forest as branches of trees stood out, extended like bony skeletal fingers. Racoons ran across the dirt track as the headlights of an oncoming vehicle startled them, making them bolt in different directions, the car hurtling towards them at speed. She didn't like being late, especially not for a special occasion such as this, and she was kicking herself for it. But she liked to take her time, and if something was worth doing, then it was worth doing right. Longcroft Asylum guard Luke Thomson had recently found this out. Entering her motel room, bottle of champagne at the ready, surprised at first as the emptiness of the room sunk in. Not seeing Tiffany hiding behind the door, he had been even more surprised as she stood forward and grabbed his head from behind, yanking it back as she used her other hand to run a flick knife across his throat, the blood cascading immediately down his uniform as he turned, shocked to look at her as he fell to his knees, dropping the champagne and trying in vain to stop the bleeding. Tiffany had then shut the motel room door and simply sat on the bed, watching him, enjoying the sight of the life ending before her very eyes. She had loved every minute, and finally felt like her old self. As she yanked the steering wheel of the Audi to the left and into the lay by, she applied the brake, the car skidding on the dirt as it eventually came to a standstill. No sign of him. She left the headlights burning as she opened the car door and stood, pulling a cigarette from her purse and lighting it using the lighter from the car. As she took a deep breath of the nicotine infused smoke, she walked around the car and looked down the embankment and to where the stream was gently flowing past. After about ten minutes and three more cigarettes, she eventually heard a noise as she looked down and saw the small, red headed body making its way out of the water and towards her. She smiled, a job well done, everything coming together, just as she suspected it would.
"It's about time." She laughed as she jumped up and down. He made his way up the grass embankment, taking his time to get over a fallen tree before reaching her and finally taking in her beauty all at once. Her long legs, the heaving chest, the beautiful face of a partner in more than crime.
"I still feel out of it." He said as he took a deep breath. "That body. There was something wrong with it. I've never felt like that before."
"So," She started. "Are we getting straight down to business?" He shook his head.
"No." He shook his head, a look of anger taking over him. "I can't. I need time to recover. At least a couple of days. But then, I'll know what to do."
She looked at him as she leant over and picked him up. Standing upright she looked at him in the glow of the moon and couldn't have thought of a more romantic setting.
"Do we know what to do next?" She asked. "Do you know what happened to that body? He was young, attractive. Maybe too attractive. Do you know what went wrong?" He again shook his head.
"No. But I'm going to find out."
With that, they both climbed into the car, Tiffany starting the engine and giving it some gas as she took off and left nothing but a cloud of dust and some very bewildered animals.