The Dollmaker (29 page)

Terror twisted like a rope in Charlotte’s chest. “Where’s Claire?”

He was still smiling as he walked toward her.

Charlotte turned and lunged across the foyer, but the door had locked behind her. Frantically, she tried to find the release, then whirled, searching for another way out. She was too late. He’d had plenty of time to come up behind her, but he didn’t attack. He just stood there still smiling.

Up close, his face was thin and delicate, and seemed frozen in place, like a piece of clay. His body beneath the khaki trousers and light blue shirt was gaunt, and he had high cheekbones, a wide forehead, eyes the color of turquoise. Like Ruby’s.

And like Claire’s.

Charlotte forced herself to breathe slowly, deeply. She had to keep her panic under control. Her life depended on it, and so might Claire’s. “You took her, didn’t you? You’re the one who kidnapped Ruby.”

His smile was taunting, and chilled Charlotte’s blood, even as her rage exploded. Something snapped inside her and she flew at him, pounding his face and chest with her fists.

“Where’s Claire? What have you done to her, you sick bastard?”

She kept hitting him, and he stumbled back against the wall. He didn’t struggle, didn’t fight back, didn’t do anything except stand there absorbing her punches.

A warning went off in Charlotte’s brain a split second before she felt a hard pressure in her abdomen, a searing pain, as if her insides were being ripped out with a hot poker. She staggered back, glanced down and saw a red stain seeping through the silk of her suit.

She still didn’t know what had happened until she looked up and saw the dripping blade in the Dollmaker’s hand.

T
he table was set with Maddy’s favorite tea set, and the Dollmaker smiled as he sat cross-legged on the floor, admiring all the pretty packages. Now that he had everything cleaned up, he could relax for a while and enjoy the party.

His gaze went around the table. Maddy was at the end, of course, because the party was in her honor. Like Maddy, the other children were attired in their prettiest party dresses, their smooth, painted faces aglow in the light from the candles on the cake. Everything was perfect. Just like the photograph. Just like his memories.

The only difference this time was the flowers. Instead of camellias, he’d placed one of his orchids in the pretty glass bowl he’d purchased at the gallery from
her.
He didn’t like saying her name, even to himself. He didn’t like thinking about her other life. She was his now. She was everything he needed to make his perfect little world safe and happy and complete.

The child sat quietly at the end of the table. She didn’t say a word, but her solemn little eyes watched his every move. She didn’t ask to go home anymore. They all stopped asking at some point, and that’s when the eyes became empty, the face a blank canvas. That’s when he knew it was time.

Actually, it was past time. He should have had the sixth doll completed by now, but his loneliness had caused him to delay the process longer than he normally would have. He’d put himself needlessly at risk, but it didn’t matter now. Everything would soon be perfect once again.

Rising, he went over to the mirror and smiled at the reflection. Fingers gently stroked the long, golden curls, a hand brushed across the smooth, pink-tinted cheeks. The turquoise eyes twinkled as the mouth curved into a delighted smile. Maddy’s smile.

“There you are,” a childish voice whispered. “I told you I would find you, didn’t I?”

Turning, he walked over to his worktable and smiled at the woman who gazed up at him. Her eyes widened and she tried to speak, but nothing came out of her mouth.

“Don’t be afraid.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “It’s me, Mama. Don’t you recognize me?”

The Dollmaker coated tiny strips of paper with plaster of paris, and one by one, placed them on her face, pressing and kneading with his fingertips so that when the plaster hardened, the mold would be a perfect replica of her bone structure.

A surreal sense of horror gripped Claire as she stared up at the long, golden curls, the painted cheeks on a smooth, pale face. Fear crawled through her veins. She’d been afraid as she lay alone earlier, but now she realized a terror that seemed to have no bounds.

She tried to move her arms and legs, but couldn’t muster the strength to even flutter her eyelids.

He worked quickly, almost frantically, pressing layer upon layer against her face. He covered her eyes so that she was in total darkness, and then her nose and mouth. As the plaster began to harden, Claire had to struggle for breath. In another few moments, she would suffocate, slip slowly into a cold, terrifying blackness.

“Mama?”

“I’m so scared, Ruby. And I’m so sorry you had to feel this. I would give anything if I could have saved you.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, baby. More than anything in the world…”

“Claire!”

Dave tore at the mask on her face. The plaster had started to harden, but it was still pliable enough to remove with his fingers. His hands were shaking by the time he had it all stripped away, and his blood went cold when he saw her face. She was so pale. He couldn’t tell if she was still breathing….

And then her eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him in terror. Her throat moved convulsively, but she couldn’t speak.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m taking you out of here.”

She blinked rapidly, and Dave realized a split second too late that she was trying to warn him. He turned, saw the man behind him, and swung his arm up reflexively to deflect the weapon. The blade caught him across the forearm, and Dave staggered back, momentarily stunned by the pain.

He came at Dave again, but this time he was ready. His fist swung up and caught the man beneath his left eye. The bone popped like the crack of a rifle, and his head snapped as he went sprawling backward. The blade flew from his hand, and Dave kicked it out of the way as a crimson rage exploded within him.

He lunged forward, and the man’s face contorted with terror as he tried to scramble away. His eyes were watery with shock and pain, and he cradled his head as Dave reached down and grabbed him by the throat. He hauled him to his feet, and for one split second, let himself stare into the eyes of his daughter’s killer. And then his hand tightened slowly. The muscles in his arm quivered as he pressed against the windpipe, and he could feel blood dripping from the fingertips of his other hand.

The man slapped at him, tried to claw his grip loose from his throat, but still Dave held on. The blue eyes were wide with fear and confusion. He looked like a child being punished for something he didn’t understand. And in those quivering lips, deep inside those terrified eyes, Dave glimpsed a child who had been heartlessly shunned by his own father.

And even then Dave could have killed him without a drop of remorse. The temptation to exact his own justice was almost overwhelming. Then he saw a pale little face peering at him from the far corner of the room, and for a moment, Dave thought it was Ruby.

It couldn’t be, of course. Ruby would have been much older by now. His daughter was dead. Nothing he did here today would ever bring her back.

But as Dave stared at the child across the room, he saw the same innocence in her, and he did not want her to have this memory.

He released his grip on the man’s throat and shoved him away. The Dollmaker collapsed to the floor and curled himself into a fetal position, burying his face in his hands as he whimpered like a wounded kitten.

Claire had been dreaming about Ruby, and when she awakened, it took her a moment to realize where she was. Then it all came back to her. She was in the hospital, and Charlotte was just down the hall from her. Her sister had made it through surgery and was expected to make a full recovery.

Lucille was sitting in a chair by the bed, and when she saw that Claire was awake, she got up and came over to her side.

“How are you feeling?”

Claire lifted a hand and flexed her fingers. They were still weak, but the muscles were responsive. “Almost back to normal. I don’t need to be in the hospital, Mama.”

“You let the doctors decide that, honey.” Lucille brushed a strand of hair from her daughter’s face.

“How’s Charlotte?”

“I just came from her room a few minutes ago. She’s still out, but she seems to be resting comfortably. They’ve got her all doped up, so she’s not in any pain.”

“Why don’t you go back and sit with her, Mama? I really am fine.”

“I will in a minute.”

“Have you heard anything about the little girl?” Claire asked softly.

“Her family’s on their way from Alabama to pick her up. I can’t even begin to imagine what they must be feeling tonight.”

Claire was silent for a moment. “She must have been so scared.”

Tears flooded Lucille’s eyes as she lifted Claire’s hand to her cheek.

“I can’t help thinking about what she went through,” Claire said. “How she must have wanted to cry out for me, but couldn’t. She must have thought I would come and get her, but I never did. I couldn’t save her, Mama. My own daughter.”

“You couldn’t save Ruby, honey, but another little girl’s life has been spared. Be thankful that another mother doesn’t have to go through what you did. And Ruby’s safe now, Claire. She’s safe and warm and Maw-Maw is there to look after her. You can rest easy now, baby.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, Claire.”

After a while, she drifted off again, and when she woke up, the chair beside her bed was empty. Her mother had gone back to Charlotte’s room, and Claire lay there for a while, staring into the darkness. Then she turned her head and saw someone at the window.

“Dave?”

“I’m here, Claire.”

ISBN: 978-1-55254-915-5

THE DOLLMAKER

Copyright © 2007 by Marilyn Medlock Amann.

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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