Gingerbread Man

by Maggie Shayne

  Finally, he made it to the gate.

  Closed. The fucking thing was closed, and apparently locked. Shit. Vince tipped his head back, aimed his fury beyond the gate, at the house's slab of a front door with its black iron knocker, and he let out a howl that belonged in one of Reggie D'Voe's death scenes. Swinging one of the cinderblocks he'd been using for feet, Vince kicked the gate so hard one of the gargoyle bats toppled and fell. Then he crouched, snagged the ugly little demon in one hand, and managed to hurl it at the house, all without dropping Holly. The impact made a satisfying thud, audible even in the chaos of the storm.

  A minute ticked past, then another. Finally, the front door opened. Yellow light filled the crevice, and shot out in a feeble effort to penetrate the gloom. "Who's there?" Reginald D'Voe called, using his most menacing silver screen villain tone.

  "I need help." Vince grunted the words. His foot was starting to register pain from the impact with the fence, and he was losing the feeling in his arms.

  The man vanished inside, the door banged shut. Vince fell to his knees, partly in abject disappointment, and partly because the cinderblock effect had moved up to include his lower legs, knees, and the better part of his thighs.

  But then the door opened again. That slit of yellow light, followed by a round white one. Flashlight, his mind told him. And behind it, a yellow rain slicker. And slicker and slicker, he thought, almost laughing aloud as the thing bobbed closer like some shiny, yellow, headlight-equipped ghost.

  One arm went numb, started to droop, and Holly with it. Gritting his teeth he lifted her again, grunting like a goddamn caveman with the effort it took. Yellow Slicker unlatched the gate, opened it. The flashlight beam took a shot at burning out Vince's retinas. He squinted back at it and said, "The monster fucking lives." Then he was gone.

  ***

  VOICES BLURTED WORDS in clipped fragments. As if someone were turning the radio dial back and forth, just passing the station each time.

  "—but why here?"

  "—sn't look to me... had much choice, Reg. Hell, look... em."

  "—tective ... up to somethi... he... suspects—"

  "Quiet!"

  That one came through loud and clear. It was a bark that silenced the other man midsentence. No one had turned the dial that time. Vince struggled to focus, to listen.

  "He's coming around." A hand, an old hand, callused and dry, but warm, touched his face. "Detective O'Mally? Can you hear me?"

  His eyes were open. Vince didn't remember opening them, but now he saw they were by the hazy blur of a human being, leaning over him. He licked his parched lips, parted them. "Yeah."

  The blur smiled. A flash of white where the teeth should be. "Good. Good. I'm Ernie Graycloud. Remember? We met at the bonfire?"

  He came a little clearer. Long silver and black hair, copper skin, lined with age. "You're the doctor," he muttered. "But medical or witch?"

  "A little bit of both. My license to practice is from the State of New York. Most of what I know about healing, I learned from the Iroquois. You got any other smart-ass questions you want answered while I'm here?"

  He swallowed hard, knowing he'd insulted the man, wondering where the hell his brain was sleeping. "Yeah. What have you done with my redhead?"

  "She's over here, Detective," a female voice called.

  Vince turned his head toward it, saw Amanda D'Voe in a white, floor-length satin robe, sitting beside a big white bed. In the bed, dwarfed by pillows and comforters pulled clear to her chin, Holly lay still and pale. "Is she okay?"

  "Exposure, a mild concussion," Ernie Graycloud explained. "We can't tell much more until she comes around."

  Vince sat up, winced, fell back down on the pillows. "She needs to be in a hospital."

  "She's not in immediate danger, Detective. There's nothing wrong with her that can't wait for this storm to pass."

  "The doctor's right," Amanda said softly, in that gentle way she had. "You'd be risking her life to try to travel in this. There are trees down, power lines, too, and the phones are all out. We were lucky Ernie came by tonight, or who knows what we would have done?"

  Vince frowned, processing her words, tucking them away in that mental file he kept for things that made no sense whatsoever and yet tripped his silent alarm. There was something there.

  He turned back to the doctor. "Thanks. I didn't mean to insult you before. I feel like I've been on a three-day drunk." His vision cleared more and he realized he was lying on what appeared to be a chaise lounge covered in furry leopard print. Or maybe he was the one with the head injury.

  "You have a bruised rib or two, by my best guess," Graycloud said, neither accepting nor rejecting Vince's pseudo-apology. "We'll need X-rays to confirm that nothing's broken. Besides that and a mild case of exposure, you seem okay."

  "Yes, and now that we have your diagnosis out of the way..." Reginald D'Voe rose to his feet as gracefully and deliberately as if someone had yelled "action!" He wore exactly what Vince would have expected him to wear. A kimono-style silk smoking jacket, red with a gold dragon pattern writhing all over it, and slippers that matched it exactly. His walking stick, gleaming hardwood under layers of shellac with a brass something on top, was clutched in his hand, and he leaned heavily on it, and thumped it on the floor with every other step. Vince noticed one leg stayed stiff, the foot almost dragging along the floor as he walked. Stroke, he thought. No sign of it in his face, though.

  He stopped when he stood over Vince on the chaise. "What are you doing here?" D'Voe asked. One brow crooked higher than the other when he said it, and Vince couldn't help but think there should have been an orchestra somewhere playing three powerful chords to punctuate the line.

  He wondered if Reginald D'Voe could be a killer. A child killer. He looked at the man's eyes. If you asked a kid what a stranger looked like, as in "don't talk to strangers," Vince figured they'd describe this guy to a T.

  "Holly and I were out on the lake—"

  "In this weather? Are you mad!”

  He almost smiled. Damn, but it was such a Reginald D'Voe thing to say. "No. We were out..." he glanced at his watch, but the crystal was misted over and beaded with moisture. Even if it was working, which he doubted, he couldn't see its face. "I don't know. Hours before the rain started. It was clear when we left, and we had every intention of heading in before the storm hit. But the light on the dock went out, and it got foggy and dark. We tried to head to the nearest shore, but by the time we got our bearings the wind had kicked up, and the boat was being tossed around pretty badly. It smashed into some rocks or something and capsized. We made it to shore, and started walking."

  "Where were you when this happened?" Doc Graycloud asked, clearly alarmed.

  Vince shook his head. "We weren't sure ourselves, at first. But when the lightning flashed, Holly figured we were on the shore opposite town. I don't know what the hell it's called. Nothing but woods." He let his head rest back on the pillows just for a moment, before the cop in him made him lift it again. "What time is it?" he asked.

  "A little after three A.M. It was midnight when Uncle Reg found you outside the gate," Amanda said, leaving Holly's bedside now to come across the room. "I have tea brewing downstairs. I'll bring you a cup."

  Vince didn't argue. He watched her go, then he eyed the other two. "That light must have gone out around eight p.m. Where were the two of you around that time?"

  They looked at each other, then at him. D'Voe put on his most intimidating glare. "Are you asking us to provide you with an alibi? After we pulled you out of the storm, took you in—?"

  Vince held up one hand, noticing that his fingers were throbbing as if they'd been pounded repeatedly with a hammer. "I only want to know if you saw anyone messing around out near the docks by the cabins. If you were in town, Dr. Graycloud, passing by the docks around that time or you, Mr. D'Voe. This house has a pretty good elevation. You must have a clear view of the docks from here."

  Reginald lifted one eyebrow h
igher than the other. Trademark. He glanced at Graycloud, then back at Vince. "I was here. So was Amanda. We spent most of the evening making preparations for the Halloween party. We were far too involved in that to notice someone on a dock on the other side of the lake. As for the doctor, he didn't arrive here until around eleven thirty, just after the storm hit."

  Frowning, Vince glanced at the doctor. He nodded in full agreement. "Eleven thirty-five, or close to that, if you want to get precise. Before that I was home, watching television. I did drive past the cabins on my way here, but it was after eleven. I didn't see anyone then, for what it's worth." He glanced at Reggie, then back at Vince. "You saying you think someone put the light out on purpose?"

  Vince shrugged. "Probably not."

  "Then why did you ask?' Reggie asked.

  "I'm a cop, Mr. D'Voe. It's in my nature to be suspicious."

  D'Voe didn't look convinced.

  "So, why did you decide to come over here, in the middle of the night in a storm like this, Doc?" he asked Ernie Graycloud.

  The man sent Reginald a look. One of those, What do you want me to tell him? looks that Vince had seen a thousand times before. The look Reg returned was another familiar one. How the hell should I know? Neither man answered the question.

  But a soft voice from the doorway, said, "I can tell you why. He came over because of me."

  Three heads turned to watch Amanda come into the room, carrying a silver tea service with cups enough for all of them, and a heaping tray of pastries beside the steaming pot. It looked way too heavy for her, but Graycloud relieved her of it in short order, and set it on a nearby stand.

  "Get off your leg, Uncle Reggie. I can see it's aching," she scolded gently. Taking the older man's arm as if she were his mother, or his nurse, she urged him into the nearest chair. Then she took a blanket from the back of that chair, unfolded it, and draped it over his lap. She moved to the service, began pouring tea, and putting pastries onto tiny silver plates. "I have had a terrible fear of storms for as long as I can remember," she said. She carried a cup of tea, sweetened and creamy, and a plate of pastries to her uncle. Then she went back, and fixed a cup for Vince. "Dr. Graycloud knows I can still become quite upset. He always calls to check in on me when it storms outside." She said this with a gentle smile toward the doctor, even as she set a cup of tea and a selection of goodies on the bedside stand. Bending over Vince, her pale brown hair falling into his face, she urged him to sit up, plumped his pillows high, then leaned him back again. She put the tea and the plate in his lap, and returned to her tray. "When he called to check on me tonight, the phones were out. The storm got worse. He worries too much, so naturally he came over here to check on me."

  "At which point," Reginald put in, "we convinced him to spend the night, rather than return home in such weather."

  "Exactly." Amanda delivered the doctor's tea and sweets to him. He was still pacing, but she sent a meaningful glance at the chair, and he immediately took it. The two men obeyed the soft spoken young woman like trained bears.

  Vince was starting to see that she wasn't the meek and dependent little thing he'd at first seen. In fact, she seemed to be the caregiver in this odd little family.

  Finally, she took a cup of tea for herself, crossed the room to where Holly lay in the bed, and took her seat beside it. It was, he thought, her way of ending the conversation.

  Well, he wasn't finished. "Why are you so afraid of storms?" he asked her.

  And it was her turn to shoot that what-do-I-say-now look at her cohorts. But it was brief, a flicker, no more. She blinked it away fast, sipped her tea, and finally met Vince's eyes. "Who knows where these things get started? I honestly don't remember."

  She was good. Better than the doctor or the actor would ever be. Vince sighed, defeated. His instincts were failing him. He couldn't tell if he were in a room full of liars, or saints. There was something they weren't saying. Just what it was, he couldn't tell. Hell. He drank his damned tea.

  The doctor rose. "We should let the detective get some sleep. O'Mally, you'll call me when Holly wakes? I'll be right down the hall."

  Vince nodded, set his empty cup down on its saucer. "Thanks, Doc. And thank you, Mr. D'Voe, and you, Amanda, for your hospitality."

  "You're welcome," Amanda replied. She was tucking the covers around Holly before leaving.

  D'Voe waited for her at the door. "I wouldn't have left a stray dog out in a storm like that," he said. Then they left, the three of them. And they all knew something Vince didn't, he was convinced of that. He had no idea, though, whether their secrets had anything to do with his case.

  He turned on the chaise—which had been piled high with pillows and blankets just for him—and studied Holly. Her bed was ten feet away, and that seemed too far. He wanted to be closer. Suppose he fell asleep, and then she woke or had some kind of medical crisis in the middle of the night? Suppose the killer—who may or may not have sabotaged the dock light, indirectly causing their accident, and may or may not have been following them through the woods tonight—came back for another try? His gun was gone, lost in the lake. He'd realized that about halfway through their hike. The one he'd taken from Holly was locked in his Jeep.

  Setting his jaw, he got up. The combined pain of his bruised ribs and throbbing feet nearly put him right back down again, but he held on to a small hardwood table. It didn't ease much. A little, as his body adjusted to being upright. He hobbled across the thick carpet to Holly's bed. Without hesitation, because he was all but dead on his feet, he peeled her covers back. Then he stared down at her.

  She was wearing a soft, white muslin nightgown. Shit, all she needed was a candelabra to carry around this place, and she could be an honorary member of the D'Voe family.

  He glanced down at himself, surprised to see maroon pajamas covering his skin. They felt like silk. He lifted his brows and said, "Hmm." Then he crawled into bed with Holly and pulled the covers over them both.

  ***

  REGINALD WAS TENSE, and he doubted he'd sleep a wink with that stranger under his roof. He didn't like strangers. Didn't trust them.

  He paced his bedroom, wrung his hands, and tried to think of what he ought to be doing. Surely there was something. Damn, things were so confusing lately. His mind sizzled like water dripped into hot oil. So many things dancing, jumping, and spitting all at once. Dangerous things. What the hell should he do? What?

  A soft tap on his bedroom door made him start, and then Amanda stepped softly inside. "I knew I'd find you all worked up."

  He tried to fool her with a false expression. One of calm, or at least something less manic. But it didn't work. It never had. Oh, his acting might have fooled millions over the decades, but it had never once fooled his darling Amanda.

  She crossed the room, white gown drifting. Angelic. She took his arm, led him to the bed, and pulled the covers over him. Then her cool, soft hands drifted over his forehead, slowly, repeatedly. "We came back here to face our demons. Didn't we?"

  He wanted to deny it. It might be her reason, but it had never been his. He had come back for her. For her alone. Because it was what she wanted, and because her doctors felt it was time. That it would be healthy for her.

  "I'm an adult now, Uncle Reg. I'm not that frightened little girl you remember. Not anymore. No one can take me away from you now."

  "I know. I know that." He did know it, on a practical, mental level. It was the rest of him that refused to believe. She was his, dammit. She'd been his for as long as he wanted to remember. He'd made her his. His little girl.

  "I want you to stop worrying." Her hand moved away, and her lips replaced it on his forehead. "I love you, Uncle Reggie. I'll always love you."

  That kiss, her breath warm on his skin—God, his heart twisted into a tight little knot in his chest. "You're everything to me," he whispered. "I don't want to lose you, Amanda."

  "You won't. I promise, you won't."

  But he would. He felt it right to his gut. If she eve
r remembered the things she had blocked out...

  Amanda perched herself on the side of his bed, resumed stroking his head, and began to sing softly to him.

  My redemption, he thought as she let her voice lull him, soothe his mixed-up mind. Other men washed their sins away by the blood of the lamb. Not him. His salvation was found in the touch of a child. This child. Without her, he was damned.

  ***

  HOLLY HURT, SHE hurt everywhere, and she thought it must be from the running. She was running nonstop, full speed, and she was holding someone's hand as she ran, pulling them along beside her.

  "Please Holly, please! I can't go on."

  She turned, and saw the little girl with the golden blonde hair, and the eyes so blue they matched the sky. Her words emerged in puffs that froze on the air and crackled and fell in glittering fragments to the ground. "It's s-so cold!"

  "Ivy?"

  The little girl smiled. And Holly wrapped her up tight in her arms. She wanted to say a million things, ask a thousand questions. But she could only manage to hold her baby sister close and say her name over and over again.

  Then there were footsteps in the woods, and she remembered. They were running. Her happy reunion turned sad as she realized Ivy hadn't survived the attack of the monster—it hadn't happened yet. They'd gone back in time. It was happening now. Oh, things were different. The woods, instead of the street. Holly, being all grown up. But she knew—ohgodsheknew—ohgod—what was going to happen.

  The footfalls crashed. The monster must have changed, too. Grown into a giant. Crush, crush, crush. He was coming closer. Holly picked up her sister and ran. That was something she hadn't been able to do before. Pick her up and run!

  The monster kept coming. The woods rose up thick and impenetrable ahead, and behind the monster closed in. They were trapped! "Over here, Red," someone called.