The Toy Taker

by Delaney, Luke

  As if coming out of a deep daydream he suddenly found himself standing outside the little girl’s bedroom, a moment of panic spreading in his chest as he tried to remember how he’d got there. He remembered being outside the parents’ room and now he was here, looking at the pale light from a child’s night-lamp seeping through the slightly ajar door. The moments of blackness were becoming increasingly frequent, and thoughts of what he might have done during them had grown increasingly troubling since he’d accidentally killed the boy. He looked at his trembling hands and listened to the sounds of the house, trying to detect any change in atmosphere, any sign that something terrible might have happened during the blackness, but he felt nothing.

  ‘The Lord is my shepherd,’ he whispered as he pushed the door open slowly, inch by inch, allowing the light from within to gradually intrude into the darkness of the hallway, casting a shadow behind him that crept across the floor and climbed the wall opposite – grey tendrils creeping through the gaps in the door opposite that led to the younger sister of the one he’d come to save – to give a better life to − until finally the door was all but fully open and he could see clearly inside, the pale light more than enough for eyes that had already adjusted to the dark. He stood frozen, unable to cross the threshold into her room. The scent of her rushed his senses, making him fill his lungs through his nose until he felt his chest would rupture. He could feel her warmth, but the beauty of her life made him stall – begin to lose faith. The doubts urged him to run from the house and keep running to somewhere far, far away where the voices couldn’t find him. But in his soul he knew there was no such place. The voices would always find him. They were a part of him.

  He crouched down and placed his bag carefully on the floor and unzipped it with only the faintest sound, both his hands sliding slowly inside before reappearing holding the small, inanimate thing that he knew would be so special to the girl that he would instantly have her trust. He held it as if it was a new-born life. She wanted it more than almost anything in the world and only he could make that happen. That knowledge gave him strength – the strength to stand, the special thing in one hand, the bag in the other, and to walk into the room, moving closer and closer to the tiny figure huddled under the duvet.

  The next thing he knew he was standing at her bedside, looming over her like a malevolent cloud, still clutching the special thing.

  ‘The Lord is my shepherd,’ he whispered softly as he crouched at the little girl’s bedside, placing the bag on the floor as he held the special thing towards her face – her beautiful porcelain face, pale blue in the night light, eyes still closed peacefully as she breathed softly through her slightly pursed lips. He could just make out the bottom of her two front teeth. ‘Let the children come to him and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.’ Her long eyelashes began to flicker, her lips parted further as she drew a waking breath. ‘Victoria – time to wake up, Victoria,’ he gently told her, brushing blonde curls from her face as he spoke, her innocent beauty tearing at his chest, the pressure inside his head becoming almost unbearable as he struggled to suppress the growing damn of tears he felt swelling behind his eyes. His strength and belief deserted him, and he momentarily closed his eyes, bracing himself to rise and flee from the room before the voices could come and persuade him otherwise. But when he opened them again he saw that her penetrating green eyes were now wide open, staring in disbelief, her pink lips spreading into a wide smile as she was suddenly completely awake.

  ‘Polly,’ she called out loudly enough to be heard beyond the bedroom, replacing his doubts with fear and panic. ‘Where have you been, you naughty dolly?’

  ‘Sssh,’ he tried to hush her, watching her eyes focus beyond the rag-doll and on to him for the first time. ‘We need to be very quiet now. We could get in trouble if we wake anyone else up.’

  ‘You found Polly,’ she told him excitedly with no fear or apprehension.

  ‘Yes, and I brought her back to you. But we need to be quiet now, or they may take Polly away again.’

  ‘Who? Who wants to take her away again?’

  ‘Bad people,’ he lied to her. ‘People who don’t understand things.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Just things,’ he answered, his fear subsiding.

  ‘But where has Polly been? Mummy and Daddy looked everywhere for her, but they couldn’t find her.’

  ‘Ahh, she’s been to a very special place. A place where only the best toys ever get to go, and where only the best boys and girls ever get to see.’

  ‘How do you know?’ she asked, her face the picture of childish confusion and intrigue.

  ‘Because I live there. I live there with all the special things and all the special boys and girls.’

  ‘Is it a magic place?’

  ‘The most magical,’ he told her, choking back his tears. ‘The most magical place you’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘No,’ answered sadly. ‘I should love to show you, but I think it’s best you stay here with your family.’

  ‘But I want to see it. I want you to show me.’

  ‘Really?’ he questioned, confused and disorientated by the child’s insistence.

  ‘Can I bring Polly?’ the little girl asked.

  ‘I think … I think Polly would rather stay here with all her friends.’

  ‘No,’ the little girl told him firmly. ‘Polly wants to go back to the magic world. She doesn’t like the other dolls here; they’re mean to her.’

  ‘Oh,’ he queried. ‘Why are they mean to her?’

  ‘Because she’s my favourite. They’re jealous. Dolls are like people: sometimes they just like being mean.’

  He looked at the door, trying to force himself away from her bedside without speaking with her any more, but she enchanted him. ‘Are … is someone being mean to you?’ he asked, afraid of what the answer may be. ‘Is someone … hurting you?’

  ‘No,’ she answered almost flippantly, looking at Polly the whole time. ‘Not hurting me, but they are mean to me.’

  ‘Who?’ he asked urgently.

  ‘The children at my school. Mummy says they’re mean to me because they must be jealous of me, but she says I have to stay there because she’s too busy to look after me. She has to work very hard, so I have to go to the school.’

  God has given you a sign, his wife’s voice told him, spinning his mind into ever-deeper confusion. You must believe – the child wants you to take her, wants you to save her. It is God’s will. ‘No,’ he argued. ‘No more. Enough. I won’t take her.’ He closed his eyes tight trying to resist the voice – to silence his dead wife − until a tiny warm hand rested on his forearm and eased them open again.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’

  ‘No one,’ he lied. ‘I was just remembering something – someone I used to know.’

  ‘You look really sad,’ she told him. ‘I think you must be very lonely. If me and Polly come with you then you won’t be sad any more and neither will me or Polly.’

  The girl is a sign – a sign that what you are doing is right, is God’s will. He brushed the tears from his eyes and quietly coughed his throat clear. You must do as God wills you to do – you must.

  ‘Very well,’ he surrendered. ‘You can come with me – come with me to somewhere where we’ll never be treated badly. Somewhere no one will ever be mean to us again. You and I, and the other children will all go together – to where there are green pastures and quiet streams – where only the righteous and the innocent are allowed – to live in eternal peace together. Would you like that, Victoria?’

  ‘Can Polly come too?’

  ‘Yes. Polly too.’

  ‘And Mummy and Daddy, and Katherine?’

  ‘Well, maybe one day they’ll meet us there, but not just yet, I don’t think. Not just yet.’

  14

  He stood in the corner, unable to move – unable even to look away as the dark silhouette of the man grew
closer and closer to the boy sitting on the edge of the bed. He could hear the man’s whispers of encouragement, although he couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying. He had to watch helplessly as the faceless man sat next to the boy, his attempts to cry out, to warn the boy to run, trapped in his throat, as the shadow man started to gently stroke the boy’s hair. He knew what was about to happen and desperately tried to scream out loud as the hand suddenly gripped the boy tightly by the scruff of his neck and bent him painfully backwards, twisting him so he could now see his face – his own face, when he was a boy. The man’s features became clear too and he recognized his father, smiling, but snarling at the same time. Even in the dream Sean could smell the alcohol on his father’s breath as his face moved closer and closer to the boy that Sean used to be. But he still couldn’t move or even call out, despite knowing the horror of what was about to happen.

  With every ounce of strength he could summon he managed to force his eyes shut, but he couldn’t shut out his father’s threats and the boy’s painful, tearful pleas, sounds that stirred the deep rage that lurked in his very being, the rage that always sought to escape, the rage gave him strength – strength to open his eyes and scream No. But the man had already turned back into a faceless phantom and the boy was now sitting up in the bed, the sheets pulled up to his waist, his face impossible to recognize.

  He watched as the phantom offered his hand to the boy – a hand the boy accepted, slipping from the bed and walking slowly and silently towards the bedroom door. Don’t go with him, Sean begged the boy, but he didn’t seem to hear him. Please don’t go with him, he called out louder, but still the figures ignored him. Please, stay here with me. I can protect you. I promise you’ll be safe. Don’t go. The boy and the man suddenly stopped, the boy turning slowly towards him, making Sean gasp with relief and start to smile, until the boy’s face began to clear and become recognizable. It was the face of Samuel Hargrave, but not as he’d been when he was alive – it was his face from the mortuary – pale white skin and blue lips, eyes almost completely closed – the dead, unmoving face looking straight at him, ripping away all hope. I’m sorry, Sean told him. I’m sorry. The boy turned away and was led from the bedroom by the man.

  With a jolt Sean woke from the nightmare in the same position he’d fallen asleep, with his head resting on his folded arms across his desk. He straightened carefully, worried his compromised sleeping position would cause a muscle to pull or a joint to lock. Once he was sure nothing was about to rupture in his body, he stretched away as much stiffness as he could and stood gingerly, waiting for the dizziness to subside before deciding on his next move. It dawned on him that he probably smelled and looked as rough as he felt, so he grabbed a clean shirt he kept hanging on the back of his door and an emergency wash kit he kept in his drawer, then headed for the gym where he knew he’d find a shower.

  Sean’s tiredness kept him in a dream-like state as he walked the almost deserted corridors of the Yard, passing only the occasional bleary-eyed detective who’d also been trapped overnight by some investigation and looked as exhausted and haunted as he felt. After he’d showered and dressed, Sean headed into the streets outside in search of decent coffee and fresh air. This early in the morning he found both, even in Victoria, but the build up of traffic, cars, taxis and double-decker buses would soon turn the air foul.

  He sat in the window of Starbucks, staring at the road outside and trying to clear his mind while he waited for it to be a respectable enough hour to call Kate. As he wondered whether he could stomach anything to eat yet his phone began to chirp and vibrate. He snatched it up before any of the other early morning customers were disturbed, the caller ID telling him who it was.

  ‘Sally,’ he answered.

  ‘Guv’nor,’ she acknowledged. ‘You close by?’

  ‘Close enough: Starbucks, over the road. Trouble?’

  ‘ACC Addis is in your office with a face like a volcano. Won’t say what he wants, just that he’s waiting for you.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he just call me?’

  ‘I don’t know. Says he’d rather wait to see you in person.’

  ‘Fuck,’ he told her. ‘All right. Get down to SO10 on the fifth floor – tell them I sent you and you need to borrow a phone. They’ll look after you and they’ll keep it quiet too. Start making phone calls and try and find out what the fuck’s happened. Forewarned is forearmed. Don’t let him see you leave. Call me when you find something.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m already on my way back,’ he answered, ‘but call me the minute you have news.’

  He took his time gathering his things and thoughts, strolling from the café and across the now treacherous road, along the street and through the revolving security doors at the Yard, flashing his warrant card as he passed the security scanners. A few minutes later he entered the main office and walked as casually as he could to where Addis stood like a heron waiting to strike at a fish. Sean tried to act as surprised as he could to find him in his office.

  ‘Morning, sir,’ he greeted him, pausing to empty his pockets and hang up his coat before sitting behind his desk, further firing the fury in the Assistant Commissioner’s eyes. ‘Is there something I can help you with?’

  ‘I saw DS Jones leaving the room a few minutes ago,’ Addis began. ‘I assume she’s gone to do your bidding?’

  Sean shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you do,’ Addis told him, tapping the file he held across his chest with his thumb. ‘But let me save her the bother. This … this, Inspector, is why I’m here.’ He tossed the pink file marked Confidential on to Sean’s desk.

  Sean tentatively opened it, holding his breath. The first thing he saw was a MISPER report with the photograph of a smiling little girl attached to it with a paperclip.

  ‘Fuck,’ Sean barely whispered, but Addis heard him clearly enough.

  ‘Fuck indeed, Inspector. More precisely, what the fuck is happening with this investigation? Another child taken – Victoria Varndell, five years old, snatched from her home in Mornington Crescent …’

  Sean ignored the vitriolic tone, tuning out Addis’s presence as he speed-read the file. He didn’t know the area, but was pretty sure it was reasonably close to the other sites.

  ‘… Four children taken – one killed, for Christ’s sake – and the media all over it, all over us …’

  Taken in the middle of the night – no sign of forced entry and nobody heard anything, except for the mother, who now thinks she may have heard whispering voices, but she thought she’d just been dreaming.

  ‘… made any progress at all? Do we have anything for those media bastards, or are you still flying blind, blundering …’

  The family, seemingly wealthy, live in a converted mews. Father a merchant banker, mother a fashion designer with her own label.

  ‘… brought you here to solve high-profile cases quickly, not to make us look like incompetent, bungling idiots. I was told, wrongly as it turns out, that you were one of the best in the business. That you could make the connections …’

  There was another child in the house at the time – the missing girl’s three-year-old sister, Katherine, who doesn’t appear to have been touched.

  ‘… state of you, and your office: a bloody mess, like this investigation. And look at the state of your team: they look like shit. They’re a disgrace. You’re a …’

  The house was alarmed, but the alarm wasn’t activated at night for fear of the children setting it off if they went wandering.

  ‘… sorry, Inspector Corrigan, but I’m going to have to remove you from the investigation, effective immediately. The people of London want to see the police taking action. Replacing you with someone more suited to this investigation will hopefully at the very least buy us time.’

  Sean finally looked up from the file, not having heard a word Addis had said. Something told him he needed to get to the scene as fast as he could – that the answers
were there. He needed to see it while he was still in a semi-exhausted, dreamlike state – while his mind was too tired to be cluttered with the irrelevant vines that clung to all major investigations, and too tired to be even slightly affected by Addis’s sermon.

  ‘It’ll be done quietly,’ Addis continued, ‘you have my word on that. As soon as it can be arranged you’ll be moved back to a borough that’ll suit where you live. You should be grateful for the chance to work some sensible hours and see a bit more of your family.’

  Sean stood and began to pull his coat on, still doing his best to ignore Addis, although he’d heard his last words.

  ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ Addis demanded.

  ‘Out,’ Sean replied without emotion.

  ‘Out? Out where?’

  ‘To clear my head,’ Sean lied. ‘If I’m not needed here any more, I might as well be somewhere else. You’ll have my Handover Report by the end of the day.’

  ‘Fine,’ Addis stuttered as Sean brushed past him on his way out of the office. ‘And I’ll need you to clear your desk and vacate by tonight. Take some gardening leave until I find you a new posting.’

  Sean stopped directly in front of him and fixed him with his cold, pale blue eyes. ‘Before I go, tell me one thing – were you ever a cop – a real cop?’

  There was a slight pause before Addis answered, his eyes narrowing menacingly. ‘Once,’ he answered. ‘A long time ago. Can’t say I liked it very much.’