Chapter 5

The tyres of the Boeing 757 screeched with glee as they finally scuffed the tarmac of the runway, Chicago's O'Hare International Airport besieged by the strongest winds Illinois had offered up in decades. The plane did the usual bumping and creaking as the tyres met the ground as all passengers on board felt the familiar feeling of relief as they realised they were finally home, safe and sound. All but one that was. As Nica Pirce sat in the very front row, she took a long, miserable look through one of the cabins many windows, the gloom outside perfectly fitting her mood as night descended upon her latest destination, quietly creeping, spreading darkness as far as the eye could see. The rain lashed the windows as the clouds of the storm engulfed the city and added a mysterious, murky look to proceedings. As the plane gently taxied across the remaining tarmac and approached the terminal, Nica awaited the flight assistant that had landed the rather easy job of helping her from the plane. There wasn't much help she needed really, the only bit was actually getting off the plane, the rest was a piece of cake. Nevertheless, she spotted the scissor lift awaiting her arrival as the plane slowly and gradually came to a complete standstill, the floating walkway then attached to the hull as the rest of the passengers were allowed to disembark and head to passport control. Eventually, the opposite door of the hull was yanked open and Nica pushed onto the waiting scissor lift, the wind whipping at her hair, stinging her eyes as the rain soaked her through. She'd had the foresight to pack a raincoat in her carry on bag, Chicago notorious for the wet, windy weather she was experiencing right now. Pretty soon, after boarding the shuttle bus that had been sent to ferry her to the terminal entrance, Nica found herself presenting her passport to yet another generic face, authority stamped across it as she was once again waved through, no hesitation. It was only as she reached baggage that she remembered her phone, still switched off and resting in her purse after the flight. As she waited with the chaperone the airport had provided, along with the rest of her fellow passengers, the baggage carousel started spinning. It seemed ages before anything resembling a suitcase appeared so, removing her phone from her purse, she turned it on and waited for it to pick up a signal. Within minutes her phone gave off a rather audible 'beep' as she was alerted to a message awaiting her attention. She was just about to view the message when the phone made another noise, startling her as she noticed a voicemail also awaiting her investigation. Deciding to check the text message first, Nica was left deflated at the words greeting her on screen.

"Hey Nica. Where R U?
Somebody looking 4 U!
Joel x"

She didn't know what she had gotten her hopes up for, but just finding a small, meaningless message like that from Joel had pissed her off slightly. As she backed up to the home screen of her cell phone, she noticed the voicemail, also unchecked. She took a quick glance to the baggage carousel and noticed there were a few cases starting to move along, hers being one of them.

"Shit." Nica looked at her phone, hurriedly placing it back in her purse as she pointed to her case. "That's the one. With the red ribbon." She turned, looking to the female chaperone. Taking a few steps forward, the woman grabbed Nica's case from the belt in one swift, experienced movement before dropping it besides Nica.

"Okay sweetie." The chaperone puffed as the weight of the bag became apparent. "You okay to push yourself while I fetch this thing?"

Nica nodded as she gave her a friendly smile.

"Yeah I'll be fine." She said, placing her hand on her chest, her pain beginning to grow again.

Within minutes, they reached the arrivals gate and found Nica's cab driver patiently stood in line, the tacky cardboard sign annoyingly misspelt, reading 'Pierce'. Nica had gotten used to this and found it usually didn't bother her, but she remembered giving the cab company the correct spelling over the phone back in Hackensack. She rolled herself over to the driver, and greeted him with a smile and a handshake. If anything, she'd learned how important these guys were going to be to her during her various stays, wherever they may be.

"That's me." She greeted the driver as he lowered the placard and shook her raised hand.

"Hey," He welcomed her. "Right on time too. Can't tell you how many planes get held up coming in here." He chuckled, his large stomach rippling with each bellow of laughter. His toothless grin was instantly noticeable, as were the stained yellow fingers as he loosened his grip on Nica's hand.

"Well," Nica replied. "This is the windy city right?" She gave a little giggle of her own.

"Hell yeah." The driver swooped down and grabbed Nica's case, picking it up as though filled with fresh air. "Can you keep up? Or do you need me to go slow honey?"

Nica watched as the mountain of a man slowly started waddling away from her, the crack of his backside showing above the waist line of his stained jeans, the white shirt gracing his upper body stained with various condiments. Nica couldn't quite figure out how stains like that would ever appear on the back of a shirt. But then gave a shudder as she instantly imagined the grunting Neanderthal achieving these random stains through various passionate acts. He'd walked about five yards before he turned to Nica, panting heavily. Very heavily for the distance he'd covered.

"I should be fine." Nica answered, disbelief ruminating through her mind.

Nica had decided to splash out as she returned home to Chicago, spending some of her belated inheritance from her mother's estate on a few nights at the luxurious Hotel Monaco. The room on the seventh floor promising to give her a beautiful, sweeping view of the Chicago River as it slowly flowed by. Sightseeing and enjoying the view nearing the top of her list now she had suddenly found herself with no leads to follow up during her visit. The cab driver hadn't been one for conversation so far, hardly speaking a word since slamming his door shut and grunting as he threw Nica's wheelchair in the trunk. It was at this point that she remembered her phone, the voicemail. Nobody had left her a voicemail in a long time, people more often than not choosing to either text or just simply call back later. She quickly snatched her purse from the seat beside her and unzipped it, frantically searching for the glow of her phone, finally finding it beneath a bag of Skittles as the bag moved, candy spilling out and filling her purse.

"Son of a bitch!" Nica moaned as she grabbed her phone and removed it from the leather purse.

As she finally brought up her notifications, she saw the voicemail sat there, still waiting, and finally clicked on it before lifting the cell to her ear, her eyes closed in hope, pure desperate hope that this would be something to aid her investigation.

"You have one new message." The automated voice stated. "First message sent today, at 18:43."

Suddenly Nica's eyes flung themselves open, the familiar, low growl of her mystery caller from JFK International Airport leaping from the speaker of the cell and down her ears, igniting a feeling of ecstasy in her brain.

"Miss Pirce." He calmly spoke, his voice once again low and quiet. "I just want to apologise for my actions half an hour ago. I shouldn't have gotten so worked up. Look, I don't know what you're sticking your nose into this for, but my advice is still to leave it. Seriously. You don't know what the fuck went on back in '88. Nobody does. Not even me, and I was there."

He paused, Nica sensed he was taking another drag from a cigarette with the background noise, the deep breath followed by the long exhale immediately afterwards. He seemed very concerned about Nica getting involved in this, but why? She listened up again as the cop carried on talking.

"I know you've got your reasons, but believe me, this was some freaky shit. Nobody cares about it anymore. I don't know what you're doing this for, maybe a film, maybe a book, or some damned documentary, but it won't do any good digging up the past."

He paused again.

"However," He continued. "If you're really serious about this then I can get you what you want. But the price is $2,000. I'm not leaving a name or number, because frankly I don't want to be associated with whatever you're up to. So if you still want it, meet me tomorrow over at Miller's Pub. It's a bar over on South Wabash Avenue. Be there between noon and 1pm."

With that the line went dead, the automated voice chiming in again and giving Nica the option to repeat, delete or save the voicemail. Choosing to save the voicemail, Nica decided that the first thing she had better do the following day was to find a bank and make a serious withdrawal. It was usually about now that she'd approach the driver of the cab and ask to book him for tomorrows exploits, but she didn't feel like bothering with this one. Not only was he fairly unsociable, he was also sweating like a pig and spilling his burrito all over the dash board as he tried to manoeuvre his cab between two parked cars. She couldn't be bothered with sorting this now. After the day she'd had, the revelations she'd been faced with, Nica felt quite pleased, the phone call from her mystery helper giving her some light at the end of the tunnel. In no time at all, Nica arrived at her hotel and finally checked in, reaching her room quickly before slipping into something more comfortable and getting some well earned rest.

Tomorrow couldn't come quick enough.

Back in Los Angeles, Chucky was unaware of what had happened to Nica Pirce. A brief visit from Tiffany had revealed nothing but an empty house, the neighbour falling over himself to answer any questions regarding Nica and her location. But all he could do was offer to take Tiffany's number and pass it on. Turns out he was as clueless as anybody about where Nica had gone. Chucky wasn't particularly bothered about this, he had his own problems. First one being getting to the bottom of this whole David Jacobs thing. Why had he endured such a painful time in that body? He'd had the amulet with him, the transfer was successful, what the fuck had happened? Even now as he rested in this new, yet eerily familiar body, he felt lethargic, wiped out. But he could feel himself getting stronger. With every hour that had passed he could feel himself beginning to feel like he used to.

All he had to do now was rest. He figured another day or so and he'd be up to making his moves. Once he figured out what those moves were, and where he was headed.

But he'd figure it out in the end.

He always did.

The following day rolled around pretty quickly. After a good sleep and a more palatable breakfast, courtesy of the hotel's incredibly fast room service, Nica now found herself sitting at a table near the back of Miller's Pub. The place was beginning to fill up, various families, business men, office co-workers and normal every day people, out for a meal with friends piling in and ordering from the menu Nica had just been looking at. As nice as everything sounded, she couldn't eat a thing, her mind only able to focus on one thing, her mystery informant. He'd said to be here between noon and 1pm, but as the minutes ticked by Nica found herself questioning whether her man was going to actually turn up. As she made her way through her third glass of Pepsi, she was stunned when somebody suddenly approached and sat down across the table from her, a manila file under his right arm. The face that greeted her was filled out, not chubby, but filled out and covered in stubble, a moustache adorning his top lip, slightly greying in parts. As was the head of short hair, balding around the crown, Nica noticed, as he leaned forward and cast his eyes over the menu, the waitress racing over to take his drink order.

"I'll have..." He looked up and down the menu before snapping his head to the waitress. "Know what? I'll just have a white coffee." He placed the menu back in the rack and turned his attention to Nica, smiling smugly, the waitress disappearing between a sea of bodies with the man's order. Nica sensed an air of confidence from this man, not a bad thing, but enough to make her feel sick.

"I didn't think you were going to show up." She greeted him as she looked at the clock, 12:55pm.

"You must be joking." He offered his hand in a gesture of friendship. "Whoever's stupid enough to go poking round this shit deserves more than just a voice on the end of the phone."

"I see." Nica narrowed her eyes. He seemed deadly serious. "Would you extend this courtesy slightly and give me your name?"

He shook his head as his coffee arrived, the waitress delicately placing it beside him before moving off.

"No. Forget names, it's not important." He carried on shaking his head as he grabbed his coffee. "You have the money?"

Nica reached into her bag and produced a white envelope, throwing it down on the table in front of him, his hands moving incredibly quickly, swiping the envelope before anybody could see it. He held it just out of sight, under the table as he opened it up and gave the money a rough count.

"You have my file?" Nica asked.

The man pulled the manila file from the seat beside him and held it, dangling in front of her face. Nica reached for the file, the man suddenly yanking it back a touch and fixing her a concerned look.

"Take my advice Miss Pirce." His eyes widened. "Don't do it. There were things that happened back then that I'd rather forget."

He dropped the file into Nica's hands and she instantly pulled it open, starting to flick through the various pictures and paperwork. She looked confused, puzzled as she lifted her head and shot the cop a look.

"Where's the rest of it?" She asked. "This can't be it."

"What did you expect to find in there?" He asked as he leaned back, coffee cup held to his lips.

"It ends right after he died!" Nica replied sternly. "Where's the other stuff? The Barclays, the Good Guy doll, all that?"

"The police don't deal in myths and legends Miss Pirce." He calmly spoke. "Everything you've got there is what Charles Lee Ray did while he was 'alive'."

"But I don't understand." She spat. "If this is all there is then why are you telling me to leave it?"

"Because Miss Pirce." He leaned forward. "It's what this may lead to. This guy was capable of some pretty fucked up shit, if you'll pardon the language. You start sniffing around this whole thing then who knows what'll happen."

Nica knew what he was getting at. But she pressed him again.

"You say there were things that happened. Things you'd rather forget. That's the stuff I need to know." She pleaded.

"You don't want that file?" He gestured to the open paperwork on the table in front of them.

"No... I mean yes." She answered. "But I need to know more. I need to know what happened after he died. Please, you have to help me."

The cop sat back again and stroked his stubble laden chin, before leaning forward and taking a look around, making sure nobody was listening.

"What exactly do 'you' think happened?" He asked.

"I don't know. I read..." She composed herself. "The Barclays, Andy and Karen. He went after them, in the doll. He came after them and it was Mike Norris that helped. Shot him, killed him, right after he'd attacked them all. Including his partner Jack Santos." She was beginning to struggle to get her words out.

"Now listen." He leaned even closer in, his voice turning into a silent snarl. "Forget about Mike Norris. As far as I'm concerned Mike Norris was a fucking idiot that threw away a damned good career as a cop. He should've known better than to get mixed up with that psycho Karen Barclay and her fucking kid!"

As he finished, the cop took a final drink of his coffee and stood to leave.

"Believe you me Miss Pirce. I was there, it wasn't pretty, you don't look in any condition to go through the shit that this whole thing would put you through. Just leave it!" He ordered as he turned to leave.

Suddenly, Nica had a moment of enlightenment. Everything fell into place as she watched him walk, making his way through the crowd, to the door of Miller's Pub. The pieces came hurtling together, connecting and allowing her to see the bigger picture all at once. How had she been so stupid? So blind? As her eyes followed him through the bar she watched him reach the door, his hand shooting out ready to leave. Without thinking Nica did the only thing she could think of to get his attention and raised her voice, hollering across the crowded bar.

"OFFICER SANTOS!" Nica cried.

He stopped, frozen still, his hand on the door handle. Then very slowly, he turned his head and looked back across the bar at her, the rest of his body following as he spun on the spot and walked back through the bar, rapidly approaching the table. As he reached her he threw himself back down in the seat and looked at her, his pissed off expression giving way to a wry smile.

"Well done." He whispered. "Maybe a little louder next time, I think there's somebody across the street that missed that!"

"Why didn't you just tell me?" She asked, puzzled.

"I can do without giving my name to people that pay me to smuggle them highly confidential police files Miss Pirce." His voice turned a little sterner again. He sat back, looking a little more relaxed now as he rubbed his temples with his hand. "I'm due to retire next summer, and believe me the last thing I want is to be caught up in the middle of this whole Charles Lee Ray, killer doll thing again."

"I'm not asking you to." Nica leaned forward, trying to impose a polite figure upon Jack. "I just want to know what happened. You were there in the beginning."

He looked at her and gave a resigned sigh as he started to talk.

"Look, the night Charles Lee Ray died, he apparently swore to kill Eddie Caputo." His face turned to one of distress. "Sure enough, just a couple days later, BOOM, Caputo goes up in a damned explosion at his hideout. Nothing funny there. Gas leak apparently. Only one witness, a kid and his fucking doll."

"A Good Guy?" Nica asked. Santos nodded. "I'm willing to bet good money this 'kid' was none other than Andy Barclay too." Santos nodded again.

"Emergency services brought him to us downtown. We asked why he was there, did he see anything? The usual stuff." Jack continued.

"Let me guess." Nica smiled, leaning back in her wheelchair. "Chucky did it?"

"Got it in one kiddo." He lifted his hands and pointed at her. "Now obviously, the sane and rational among us would believe the story of a gas leak before we'd believe some kid ranting about his doll being alive. That's why the psychologist we had wanted to take him downtown, keep an eye on him."

"Where was Karen Barclay?" Nica asked.

"Oh she came down the precinct. Practically begged her kid to tell the truth. Stop making up these stories." He paused, sensing a little confusion concerning his last sentence. "This wasn't the first time. See, his babysitter fell from the kitchen window the same night he got the doll. He'd made these accusations about 'Chucky' then too. We all thought it just the overactive imagination of a kid. You know how it is."

Nica nodded, listening intently.

"Anyhow. She takes the doll home all's well, until later that night. Then according to Mike, she shows up down the station, claiming the doll had been operating without batteries, or some shit like that. Even said it 'came alive' in her hands and bit her before running off." He took another pause before flicking up his index finger, catching the attention of a nearby waitress. "So off she goes into the night, Mike not believing a damned word, but he followed her. She went all over the place trying to find this peddler that sold her the doll. She finds him, he turns nasty, then who appears from the shadows? Mikey boy, her knight in shining armour." The waitress appeared with another coffee, taking the empty cup and setting the fresh one down beside Jack.

"So what happened next?" Nica pushed further, he was beginning to open up, his tongue was definitely looser than it had been fifteen minutes ago.

"Mike was spooked." He answered. "This 'peddler', turns out he got the doll from the toy store where Mike killed Charles Lee Ray. The same store that was hit by lightning, right after he threatened to kill him and Caputo. No matter what, apparently."

"Lightning?" Nica asked. Her mind raced back to the storm engulfing the countryside as David lay in the ambulance at the bottom of the embankment. Their escape from Green Acre seemingly complete, until the moment Chucky chased them. The lightning hitting the ambulance and igniting it in a ball of fire as Nica looked on from the road, crawling to them as the wind and rain lashed her face.

"Yeah, lightning. The store was nearly destroyed. Turns out, that's where the guy got the doll before he sold it to Karen Barclay. Anyway, Mike drops her at home, not believing a word of it, but spooked." Jack carried on.

"How spooked?" Nica enquired.

"Enough to fish that file from the archives." He pointed to the file Nica had beside her on the table. "After that, he 'claimed' Chucky attacked him in his car. Says he put a bullet in him, his shoulder I remember him saying, and he ran off. So Mike now going slowly mad, looks through the file and finds this associate of Ray's. John Bishop, also known as Dr Death. Not because he was an evil guy or nothing, but mainly due to his use of voodoo. Apparently this guy took Ray under his wing, taught him a few things. By the time Mike finds Karen, they go pay him a visit. What do they find?"

"Dead?" Nica interrupted, engrossed in Jack's version of events.

"As good as." Jack replied. "Anyway, apparently, he tells them that he's put himself into this damned doll, but he's turning human. He only had so long to get out of it before he was stuck in there."

"So what did this John Bishop say he had to do?" Nica asked.

"According to him, the only person he could successfully pass his soul onto and leave the doll, was the first person he let know about his real identity."

They both looked at each other and spoke in unison.

"Andy Barclay!"

Jack nodded.

"So I get a call to head on over to the Barclay place. By the time I get there everything's gone to shit. The doll's burnt to a cinder, Mike's been stabbed in the leg. Not a nice scene. But Mike tells me that the doll is indeed alive. Which, ya know, call me a skeptic, but at this point I'm thinking Mike's flipped. So I go into the hallway, there's a leg here, an arm there, the head just sitting there. So I pick the head up and Mike goes mad. Telling me not to touch it, that it's alive."

"And you didn't believe him?" Nica interrupted again.

"I did a second or two later. The fucking thing crawled into the air duct and shot through a grill next my damned head. Tried strangling me, until I threw it off. Next thing I know, it pulls itself upright and Karen Barclay fired a shot straight through its heart. Then that was it." Jack gestured, pulling his thumb across his neck.

"That's it?" Nica asked.

"Dead. Gone. Done for." Jack replied. "The only thing now was, who's gonna believe us?"

"I'm going to guess nobody." Nica leaned back, giving her head a shake, her hair flicking out as she did so.

"Damn straight. Remember this was in the days before DNA results and all this up-to-date shit. Now Mike wanted to do the honourable thing. He wanted to stand in court and tell everybody what happened. Tell the truth. But by this time, Karen Barclay had already been committed, her kid Andy, into the foster programme. I didn't see the point. Mike felt differently."

"So what did he do?" Nica asked again.

"He quit." Jack replied, thrusting his arms out to his side. "Left the force completely to help Karen when people wouldn't back him up. Me included I'm ashamed to say."

"Why didn't you back him up?" Nica leaned forward, her voice becoming angry. "Everything you witnessed and you couldn't stand there and tell the truth? Those people deserved more than that."

"But who the fuck would believe me?" He sprang forward himself, bewilderment in his words. "As far as I was concerned, it was over. What was the point in throwing away everything I'd worked on, my entire career over that one freak episode?"

Nica turned away, disgusted at Jack's tone.

"What about the night he died?" She asked, returning her gaze to him as he slowly leaned back again.

"Who?" Jack asked.

"Charles Lee Ray!" Nica spat. "Who do you think?"

"I know who you mean Miss Pirce." He replied with a slight grin. "But do you mean the man, or the doll?"

"The man." Nica replied. "What can you remember about that night?"

Jack stroked his chin again as he thought back.

"You know, I have to admit, my memory isn't too good about that night. That was all just a night like any other really." He replied.

"How do you mean? You finally caught the Lakeshore Strangler. Surely that was a pretty big night." Nica shot back.

"We used to catch or kill dangerous criminals every week. That one was just like any other really. Obviously, we only found out afterwards how different it had been so the night itself wasn't focused on that much."

"So you don't remember anything?" Nica asked again.

"What does the file say?" Jack pointed to it as he reached for his coffee, taking another swig.

Nica lifted the file and opened it, flicking to the back. Her eyes whizzing left to right as she read. She looked up and started to rattle off the last entry.

"Suspect wanted in connection with kidnapping. Pirce, Sarah. November 1988." She whispered.

"Now that does ring a bell." Jack spoke, nodding his head. "If I remember right, he had some woman in his shit hole apartment. I seem to recollect she called the cops. A black and white pulled up, he spotted them and stabbed her before fleeing the scene. Left a right mess." Jack lowered his eyes as he tried to concentrate, remember as much as possible.

"Anything else?" Nica enquired.

"That was about the time we got the call." Jack answered. "He was spotted heading towards Wabash, not far from here. This woman he'd stabbed, told us who he was, what he'd done to her husband, what he'd done to others, how he was the famed Lakeshore Strangler. In fact, now I remember it, that night was pretty fucked up. That woman, the one he knifed before making a run for it, was heavily pregnant. But that's where Mike and I came in. I went after Caputo in his van, Mike chased Ray into the store where he eventually died... For the first time I mean."

"And the woman he stabbed. Did you ever find out what happened to her?" Nica asked innocently.

"I seem to recall she was okay. The baby was born, but there were complications, the knife had severed something. The baby was born paralysed from the waist down."

As he finished his sentence his eyes flickered. His eyes narrowed as he looked Nica up and down, noticing the wheelchair, everything starting to come together.

"What was the woman's name again?" He asked.

"Pirce." Nica answered her eyes turning to stone as Jack lifted his hands to his mouth in shock. "Sarah, Pirce!"

"Oh Jesus!" He whispered. "You mean?!"

Nica nodded.

"You were?" He was overcome with emotion. "Is this why you're doing this?" He asked as his eyes filled welled up.

"I only found out about this recently." She explained.

"When?" Jack asked.

"About six months ago when that little bastard murdered my entire family." Nica angrily responded.

Jack was speechless. His eyes widened with shock.

"You don't mean?" He whispered.

"Yes." Nica nodded once more. "Twenty five years later he came to finish the job. Starting with my mother." She started welling up too, her voice beginning to break.

"The doll?" Jack seemed restless all of a sudden. "He's still in there?"

Nica nodded again, her eyes taking in the transformation of Officer Jack Santos from a man of composure to gibbering wreck in less than two minutes.

"Oh yes." She answered. "He's claimed quite a few victims since you last saw him."

"Jesus, no!" Jack exhaled as he spoke, a hardly audible whisper as the colour drained from his face, the fear etched into every wrinkle.

"You could have done more. Made a difference, instead of hiding behind a badge and brushing the whole thing under the carpet. Do you have any idea how many people have died over the last quarter of a century? You could have done more!" Nica pressed him, venom in her words.

"Like what?" Jack shot back. "I mean, can you imagine? Taking to a stand in court of law and telling them that the person behind a series of murders was a fucking doll? Can you even begin to imagine what would be like?"

Nica fixed him a cold, dead stare as she peered, not just into his eyes, but also his very soul.

"Yes." She slowly, angrily, replied. "Because I've done it myself!"

"Then tell me Miss Pirce." He asked flatly. "How did that work out for you?"

Nica turned, her eyes unable to look at his face, she could feel anger beginning to boil over into a rage. He spoke again, his tone turning from argumentative to one of concern.

"You say there's been more?" He asked, worry across his face. "How many?"

"I couldn't possibly say." Nica replied. "You're the cop Jack, and the internet is wonderful thing!"

"I never knew he'd come back." Jack shook his head, his eyes meeting Nica's. "Honestly."

"Oh yeah." She paused. "He came back. Then he came back again, and again, and again... And do you know something Jack?" She asked as she leaned forward her voice turning to a whisper. Jack leaned forward so he could hear her, looking into her face, his expression one of a broken man.

"He never forgets!"

Looking up from his watch, Nica Pirce's stalker took another bite from his apple, making sure he had eaten every last bit before casually throwing it in the trash can besides him as he waited across the road from Miller's Pub. The multilevel streets had always been something that impressed him when it came to his home, and as he stood looking upwards towards the overhead train system, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. He'd been stood here now for a good hour, maybe even longer, as he awaited the exit of Nica Pirce, all along wondering what exactly she could be doing in a bar in this part of town. She obviously had money, otherwise, how else could she afford to stay at the Hotel Monaco? His only assumption was that she intended to meet somebody. But who? Various people had come and gone over the course of the last sixty minutes, so he was none the wiser by simply standing outside. He had considered going over to the window. Having a look inside, maybe even venturing in and taking a seat near to her. But he didn't want to push his luck. A lot had gone into this and he wasn't prepared to ruin everything by becoming over keen as they entered the home straight of this long, twisting and incredibly perilous journey. No, certain fates had aligned and brought him this far, and all on the word of one man. A man that had shared his heartbreak with them, his desperation to restore things to how they should be before the interference that had sent events spiralling out of control.

It was at that second that he noticed the door of the pub open and Nica Pirce emerge into the cloudy, drizzle laden, overcast atmosphere that was a typical Chicago November. As she was helped into her cab, the Caribbean stalker hopped into his car, firing the engine into life before slowly signalling and pulling out. He was curious to see where Nica would go now.

But one thing was for sure.

He would be following.

And he had a feeling they would be meeting sooner, rather than later.

Thousands of miles away, on the western coast, Chucky sat alone in the living room of the vast house. Freshly rested, he had given some thought to his recent predicament and the very brief time he had spent inside the body of David Jacobs. Finally, after giving it some serious thought, he was certain he had hit the nail on the head. Able to explain what had gone so wrong over so the past month or so. After explaining his theory to Tiffany, she had risen from her seat, a confused look across her face.

"But what about me?" She had asked. "Why didn't I suffer anything like that?"

"I don't know." Chucky had to admit. "Don't forget, I've been doing this a 'long' time. Maybe you were still quite fresh."

She gave him another look, one of mild hesitation.

"You're sure about this?" She asked again. "This is the only way? There's nothing else?"

"From what I can figure out yes. It's the only option and would explain everything." He replied.

"Okay. Leave it with me." She shot back as she grabbed her purse, pulling her cell phone out in one fluid motion before spinning on the spot and making for the living room door.

"Where you going?" He enquired.

She turned, giving him a nervous smile.

"Just to make a phone call." She responded.

With that she shut the door behind her as she entered the hallway of the house. Everything fell quiet for a while before he suddenly heard her voice, that high pitched voice that crackled with sexual energy. He didn't know who she was speaking with, with but he could just hear her, listening carefully to make out the conversation. Her part at least.

"Hello?" She calmly spoke down the cell phone. "It's me sweetface."

Chucky could always tell when she was about to ask somebody to do her a favour. Her tone turned playful and relaxed, giving her a refreshingly friendly demeanour. As he strained his ears to pick up as much of the conversation as possible he heard her speak again. Starting and stopping in fits and starts, her pauses obviously to give the other voice chance to get a word in. This was never easy with Tiffany.

"Listen. I need another favour." The pause seemed to last forever, but in truth it lasted a mere few seconds as the other voice protested.

"Well I pay you enough don't I?" She snapped back, the reply obviously not one she cared for. "Listen, all you've done so far is tell me where that god damned crash site was!"

Another pause. Chucky trying to piece together the conversation from the fragments he was only just able to decipher.

"It's not huge," She protested, returning to the calmer, sugar coated tone. "Some evidence you mentioned."

Chucky had to admit he was intrigued now. Why didn't he know what was going on?

"Well I don't care about the risk. It's either that or I phone the precinct and tell them what you've been doing for me..." She said, intensity growing in her voice. The pause again, a few seconds, whoever was on the other end of the phone was obviously a cop.

"Well I'm glad you've seen it from my point of view." She relaxed a little now, her voice subsiding into a more tantalising whisper. "Listen, stop panicking. I don't need anything physical. Do I remember you mentioning some letters? In the Pirce girl's room, back up at that Green Acre place. You said there was an address?"

During the empty gap, Chucky tried to figure out where Tiff was going with this. He had to be honest, he hadn't a clue. What was all this about letters? He couldn't remember seeing any letters in that room. Of course, he'd been busy dealing with that crippled bitch, the agony rising, searing through his thigh as she pinned him to her desk with his own fucking knife. Suddenly Tiffany spoke again, her voice filtering through the crack in the living room door.

"Perfect." She spoke softly. "You get me that address and phone me back by the end of the night."

The door of the living room slowly swung open as Tiffany took a step inside, a long, sexy leg revealed as the split of her skirt opened up as she stood, mid-stride, her heels hitting the hardwood floor with a click. With her phone held to her ear, she looked lost inside a world of her own, slowly and almost hypnotically speaking as she ushered her goodbyes to her police officer friend.

"Oh and Officer Mayer?" She spoke, softly, a ghost, her voice seeping down the phone, carrying a chill with it. "If you fuck me about? You'll wish you'd never been born. I'll make Green Acre look like a fucking pre-school!"

She pulled the phone from her ear and ended the call. Turning to look at Chucky as he sat there. He'd asked her why she'd let this Officer Mayer live if she'd already bribed him once before. For her to do that was very unusual. Her reply?

"I let the odd one slip through sweetface. After all, cops are just like puppies. The more sticks you throw, the louder they bark!"

With that, Chucky had enquired about the phone call. What information could she probably have regarding his current situation? As it turned out she had just what he needed. This was the only option available, and although Tiffany was dead against it at first, she had soon come round to his way of thinking. As he sat on his own in the living room, he now thought long and hard about his upcoming trip. After another days rest he would be back on form and ready for anything.

He couldn't wait.

Later that night, Jack Santos sat at the desk in his living room, the glow of the laptop the only light, his face illuminated by the white glow of the screen. He rubbed his eyes as he had done many times this last couple of hours as he trawled through the internet, alarmed at how much he had missed this last twenty five years. Taking in the various reports, articles, pictures and stories, he sat and thought before finally coming to a decision. After doing his research and downing half a bottle of bourbon he reached for the phone, his apartments landline, that sat beside him. Pulling out a piece of paper, he squinted as he focused and started dialling Nica Pirce's cell number, the news not expected to go down well, but he'd made his mind up. Before she could find him, try and change his mind, he'd be long gone. As he dialled the last number he waited for the ringing to start, but instead all he reached was the automated voicemail service of Nica's phone.

"The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please leave a message after the beep, or alternatively hang up, and try again at a later time." The automated female voice echoed down the line.

Thinking on the spot, Nica probably in bed, asleep, Jack decided to leave a voicemail for her to wake up to the following morning. His only hope, that she understood his situation and accepted his reasons for doing what he was about to. Closing his eyes, he found his voice, slightly slurred after the consumption of alcohol, beginning to talk.

"Nica... It's Jack." He paused. "I just wanted to apologise. For everything. I can't go through that again... Please forgive me."

With that, Jack Santos ended the call and stood from his seat in front of the laptop, taking one last look at the screen before carrying out his macabre act.

The last thing he saw an article, photograph and all, published by the Highgate Herald.

The headline?

'Family Dead: Pirce Girl Blames Doll!'