Gingerbread Man

by Maggie Shayne

  "Yes, I know, but I don't like the idea of her walking home alone. Not after that intruder she thought she saw at your cabin yesterday."

  Vince felt his brows draw together, and his gaze shifted to the dark, winding road in the distance. "She's walking?"

  "She left already. I couldn't talk her out of it—I swear that girl can be so stubborn."

  He nodded, tried not to look as exasperated as he felt. "I'll go after her," he said. "Don't worry, I'll see her safely home." He thought about adding, "and don't tell your brother-in-law," but decided against it

  Doris smiled, looking relieved. He might have suspected her of matchmaking, but there was something in her face. Something truly concerned. It was like a very dim reflection of Sara Prague's face, looking at him from across his desk, asking him to find her children. And just like before, he promised he would make it okay. The realization made his stomach twist painfully. Damn, when was he going to learn?

  "Thank you, Vince," Doris told him. "You're a good man. I can tell."

  ***

  HOLLY LEFT THE party earlier than she'd expected. She had never done that before in the five years she and her mother had lived here. It wasn't a part of the detailed plans she'd made for tonight. She'd had it all worked out. After all, annual events weren't as easily controlled as daily ones. You could get into a habit, a routine, of doing certain things in a certain order every day, until it became second nature. But events that only happened once a year took more time. More effort. She was supposed to have spent a half hour catching up with Uncle Marty and Aunt Jen. She was supposed to have taken a minute to talk with Doc Graycloud. And she had planned to spend some time with Bethany, too, to start planning that Halloween costume, so she could go in search of a pattern on her Sunday shopping trip with Mom.

  But, no. No, her well-laid plan was destroyed, her carefully calculated outline of the evening's activities, torn to bits. All because of Vince O'Mally.

  What interest could he possibly have in her past?

  She walked away from the lake, from the cars in the lot, from the cabins. She walked until the fire's glow no longer reached her. The road was dark. No streetlights, not here. And no stars tonight, either. It was as if the sky matched her mood. Dark.

  That cop was up to something. Something involving her, and her past, and that book. That damned book. That damned, damned, damned book. It had triggered something, when she'd heard the title of the missing book. It had set things into motion in her mind, things she'd locked away and managed to keep contained for a long, long time.

  A little girl's voice started singing in her mind. Run, run, run, fast as you can—

  "No," Holly whispered. But it came again. You can't catch me—

  She pressed her hands to her ears, closed her eyes. "No, no, dammit, no!" She wasn't going to think about it, she wasn't. It was in the past, and that was where it belonged. But then she was gone, sinking into an abyss of memory, and suddenly she was small, and carrying a backpack as she walked. The gravel was replaced by a sidewalk, the night sky by daylight. And a little girl with dimples and blue eyes and golden blonde hair in braids skipped along beside her, clutching a copy of her favorite book in her hands ... and she was singing ...

  "Run, run, run, fast as you can, you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man. "

  Ivy sang the words she'd memorized from her favorite story as they walked home from school together. Holly used to walk home alone, but now that Ivy was in kindergarten, she had to walk with her. She was supposed to hold her little sister's hand all the way, but she rarely did so until they got within sight of the house.

  "I can't believe you brought that book home, Ivy. It was supposed to be returned to the library before we came back from the lake!"

  "I wanted to keep it."

  Holly rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but it was on my library card. I only just got it this year. If you don't return your books on time, they don't let you take out any more."

  Ivy looked up at her sister, her huge eyes wide. "I didn't mean to get you in trouble, Holly."

  Holly softened. The kid looked near tears. "Never mind. I guess it'll be okay, so long as we take it back next time we go down to the lake."

  "Yeah!" Ivy smiled, her worry gone, and continued walking with her big sister, until Holly turned left instead of going straight at the end of the block.

  "Holly?"

  "It's okay, sweetie. I just want to take the long way home this time."

  "Why?"

  Holly looked around. "Because that new boy lives over this way, and I want to go past his house."

  Ivy's smile spread wider. "Ooh. You like him, don't you?" She added in a sing song voice, "Holly and Johnny, sittin' in a tree—"

  "Don't even." Holly scowled. "And if you tell a soul, I'll never get you another library book ever again. You hear?"

  Ivy giggled, and skipped ahead "I won't tell." Then she chanted, "Holly's got a boyfriend, Holly's got a boyfriend..."

  They walked down the street they didn't usually take. And then the van came around the corner....

  "No, no, no, no, no ..."

  "Holly!" Hands gripped her shoulders, shook her. "Holly!"

  A sob welled up and she bit her lip, fighting the nightmare of her past, telling herself to pull out of it, but the words burst free anyway. "Mom told us to come straight home!"

  "Holly, open your eyes and look at me. Right now." His tone was firm and level and strong. She opened her eyes. Vince O'Mally was kneeling on the gravel road in front of her, looking at her as if he thought she might be dying. She was sitting down on the side of the road with her hands pressed to her ears. Her face was wet. Really wet. So wet that tears were dripping off her chin onto her blouse.

  "What the hell happened to you? Was someone out here? Did he—?"

  She held up a hand to stop him. "I'm okay. I'm okay, now." Her hand decided to grip the front of his shirt. She'd been crying so hard her chest kept heaving with spasms, even though she'd forced the tears to stop. His arms came around her, and she didn't resist, although she remained stiff, holding herself together by sheer will. He'd seen her out of control—twice now—but only briefly. It was not pretty. He wouldn't see it again. No one would.

  He picked her up, carried her to his Jeep.

  She closed her eyes. "What's happening to me?" she murmured. "Why now?"

  He opened the door, set her on the seat, then hurried around to get in the other side. "I'd like to tell you it's all right, Holly, but I'm damned if I can do that until you tell me what the hell is the matter. Did someone—?"

  "No." She curled her legs beside her, and turned her face into the seat. "No one was out on that road but me. Me and my shadows."

  "Look ..." he said. She felt his eyes on her, sensed his hesitation. Then she felt his hand lower to her hair, very gently. She thought maybe it was shaking just a little. "Look," he said again, more softly this time, "if you tell me about it...then, maybe I can help." He said it as if the words were being pried out of him.

  "No one can help me, but me." She forced her voice level, refused to let it waver. It was broken by the occasional sob, but that couldn't be helped. "I thought I was past all this. Apparently, I have more work to do. And that's really all you need to know."

  Seconds ticked by. She felt him watching her, felt the Jeep moving after a while, took comfort in the darkness. She wished she could curl into it and never emerge. But she couldn't do that. She had beaten the past into submission once. She would simply have to do it again.

  And she would do it on her own.

  "I need to know a hell of a lot more than that," he said as he drove her to her house. "And I'm afraid I can't take no for an answer, Red."

  SEVEN

  HE DIDN'T KNOW what the hell to make of the woman. He'd hurried to his Jeep, grabbed the envelope off the front seat and tucked it underneath, and then driven out in search of her. He had damn near run her over.

  She'd been sitting there, right in the road, rocking back a
nd forth and sobbing the word "no" over and over, never taking a breath in between. Her hands were pressing so hard to her ears it looked as if she were trying to crush her head between them, and she was crying so hard her back shuddered.

  His first thought was that she'd been attacked. That some son of a bitch had mauled her, or raped her. But, no. That wasn't it

  He carried her into her house, cursing at the fact that the door had been left unlocked as he carried her through. She worked at a police station, for crying out loud. Oh, but wait, he thought, nothing bad ever happens in Dilmun. Yeah, it certainly looked that way.

  He carried her to her bedroom, or what he thought was her bedroom. There were only two in the house, so he figured he had a fifty-fifty shot at being right. They were directly across the hall from each other, both doors open, and he'd glanced quickly left then right. The first bedroom was neat. The other was immaculate. He chose door number two, and took her in there, yanked the covers back and laid her down in the bed.

  She curled onto her side, buried her face in the pillows, said nothing.

  Vince pulled the covers up over her. "You want some warm milk or tea or... anything?"

  She said nothing. Just burrowed in more deeply, hiding her face.

  Sighing, he said, "Fine, have it your way." He backed away from the bed, but he didn't go far. Just pulled up a chair and sat down.

  She didn't turn. But she did speak. She said, "Go."

  "You're a mess right now. I'm not going anywhere."

  "Please."

  He got to his feet, went to the foot of her bed, and yanked the blankets up. Then he bent and pulled off her shoes. “Tell you what, Red. I'll go as far as the next room. I imagine you like a little privacy when you get like this. I know I do. So I'll go out there, and I'll close the door, and I'll give you your space. But I'm not going any farther. Deal?" She was holding it in. Waiting for him to leave and fighting with everything in her to keep it all back until he did. He peeled her socks off, and tucked the blankets back over her little pink feet. Then he left the room, stepped into the hallway, closed the door, and stood for a moment, just outside it.

  He heard the dam break. Heard the sobs, soft and squeaky. He didn't want to ache for this woman. But he ached all the same. And for some reason it was taking every bit of his willpower to stay out of that bedroom. There was this part of him deep down inside that was itching to go back in there, hug the woman close, and tell her he'd make everything all right for her.

  "It doesn't work that way, O'Mally," he told himself.

  This woman was different from the other needy women he'd tried to rescue. She didn't want his help, didn't want him anywhere near her, and seemed determined to keep the fact that anything was at all wrong in her little world entirely to herself. She was stubbornly independent, determined to be strong, even if she wasn't.

  He stiffened his spine and walked into the Newman family's kitchen. He made himself a pot of coffee. While it brewed, he slipped out to his car, and grabbed that fat envelope from underneath the seat. It had "Newman" scribbled across the front in his partner's familiar hand. Vince carried the file back inside, sat down at the kitchen table, and began reading it

  It was not a pretty story. It was long, and it was chilling.

  He hadn't finished it an hour later when Holly dragged herself out of her bedroom. She looked bad. Her hair stuck up all over, and her eyes were red-rimmed. She'd changed her clothes, put on a terry robe, and he didn't know what else underneath. She was sniffling and muttering to herself as she entered the kitchen, but she stopped short when she saw him.

  Blinking, she said, "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "I told you I wasn't going anywhere, Red. What, you didn't believe me?" As he spoke, he shoved the papers back into the envelope. But one sheet fell free, and fluttered to the floor, face up. It was a grainy photocopy of the missing child poster that had been plastered all over Syracuse after the abduction of little Ivy Newman— Holly's kid sister. The little girl depicted on it had been cute as hell. Chubby cheeks, and dimples. Holly stared down at it and went utterly still.

  "Where did you get that?"

  He picked it up, but her eyes remained riveted to the poster until he'd tucked it into the envelope, out of her sight. Then she came closer, yanked the envelope from his hand, and looked at the name scrawled across the front. Lifting her gaze to his, she looked angry and betrayed. "You had to go digging, didn't you?"

  "I'm sorry, Holly. Yes. I had to."

  "Why? My God, why?" She dropped the envelope onto the table as if it were dirty. "You have no idea how difficult it's been for my mother and me to put this behind us."

  "If you think you've put it behind you, you'd better go take a look in the mirror. This thing is eating you alive."

  She turned her back to him. "It wasn't. Not until you showed up."

  He sighed and got to his feet. Walking closer to her, he touched her shoulders. "I need your help, Holly."

  She sniffed. "You're not here on vacation," she accused.

  "No. I'm not. I'm here because of two kids who were abducted not long ago. Bobby and Kara Prague."

  Her body went still as a statue under his hands before she moved away and fixed her eyes on his face. "Killed?" Her voice had gone flat. Toneless. Lifeless.

  He did not want to answer that. But she probed his eyes with hers, and then she seemed to know. "So was my sister," she said in that same voice. "And what about the book? What does that have to do with any of this?"

  "I found it. In the same house where I found ... Bobby and Kara."

  "I see."

  "It came from the Dilmun Library. I thought there might be a connection. That's why I came out here."

  She shook her head slowly. "There's not."

  "There has to be. Look, I know you don't want to talk about this, but honestly, can it get any worse by trying? You're having panic attacks, flashbacks—Jesus, Red, keeping it to yourself sure as hell hasn't been a big success so far, has it?"

  She only stared at him, so he drew her to a chair, set her down, and poured her some coffee. “Talk to me," he said. "It can't possibly make you feel any worse."

  "It won't do any good. It's a coincidence, that's all."

  "What is?"

  "The book. That it's the same book my sister was carrying when—"

  "When what, Holly?" Reaching across the table he gripped her hands.

  "You already know. You read your precious file."

  He shook his head. “That file is full of dry facts. Dates and times. Cops are trained to be objective and uninvolved. I want to hear it the way you remember it."

  The remaining color seemed to drain from her face.

  "Come on. Come on. Tell me," he urged.

  She closed her eyes. "Don't ask me to do this."

  "You can help me save some little kid's life, Red. Now you know damn well you can't say no to that. So, can we skip ahead here and get on with it already?"

  She opened her eyes, glared at him. "You're cruel."

  'Talk to me."

  She drew a deep breath, fixed her gaze on her hands where they lay flat on the table. "We were walking home from school. I decided to take the long way home. I knew better. It was my fault"

  "That's bull."

  She held up a hand. "If you want to hear this, don't interrupt Vince. If I stop I may not be able to start again."

  "Sorry," he said. "Go on."

  She lifted her head, stared past him at some distant space, and gave him the story in short, clipped sentences with no elaboration. It was not what he wanted from her.

  "There was a van. It pulled over. A man jumped out and grabbed her. She screamed. I did, too. It happened very quickly. He just threw her in, and sped away. I ran after them, screaming for help. People gathered around." She shook her head slowly. "And that was all. It was a minute—less than a minute—and it changed everything."

  "Did you get a look at him?" He wanted more. He knew she had more inside her, but
maybe she couldn't let it out. Maybe she couldn't even access it.

  "He wore a mask."

  "But you could see his eyes, couldn't you?"

  "No."

  "How about the van? What color was it?"

  She pressed a hand to her stomach as if remembering made her queasy. "No, no more. I can't." Her breathing changed, starting to get shorter and faster. "Ivy must have been so scared. It kills me to think of how afraid she must have been, how terrified. She was so little. I hope he killed her fast. Right away. I have to hope that. I can't bear to think—"

  "Okay, that's enough, Holly," he said. And he said it firmly. He understood now—why she couldn't go too deep. This was what she found when she did. "It's over now. It's not happening now. She's at peace now." Holly met his eyes, and his conscience pricked him when he saw the tortured anguish in them. "Breathe deep and slow."

  She did. He took the coffee away from her and poured it down the sink. Then he rinsed the cup, refilled it with water, and set it down in front of her before taking his own seat again.

  "Okay?" He watched her face.

  She sipped the water and nodded. "Okay. But no more, Vince. Not about that day. I can't remember, and I don't want to go over it anymore."

  He sighed in resignation. "What about the book? Did your sister have the book with her when he took her?"

  Holly nodded again. "It was her favorite. We used to spend a few weeks of every summer down here, in one of Uncle Marty's cabins. He never charged us. We loved it here. Loved hanging around with our cousins, even though they were so much older."

  "Cousins? I haven't met them, have I?" Vince asked.

  "No. Both Kelly and Tara moved away right after Kelly dropped out of high school. Broke Aunt Jen's heart." She sighed. "I miss them. Those were some of our best times, back then, when they were home, and Ivy was still here. I don't think they minded so much having little tag-alongs in the summer. They used to put makeup on us, and fix our hair."

  Vince could see her remembering now. The way her gaze turned inward, the way her eyes seemed distant. "That last summer, I got my own library card. I took the book out of the library for Ivy. The Gingerbread Man. It was her favorite story. She used to sing that stupid song until I wanted to pinch her lips shut." She shook her head slowly. "She loved the book so much she managed to hide it in with her things when we went home, instead of returning it to the library with the other books. She thought she could keep it."