Out of options, I took a swing at him. The impact felt like hitting a slab of marble.
The big man lifted me by my shirt and slammed me into the wall. My head knocked painfully against the sheet rock.
Two of the Dementors glided down the hallway toward the bedrooms. The others seemed to float behind the big man. None were as large as the fellow who had me by the shirt.
I struggled against his grip. He was stronger, and my efforts only seemed to infuriate him. He slammed me against the wall again. My teeth clicked together. Blood flooded into my mouth.
Desperate, I kicked but only managed a glancing blow, hardly enough to stop him. The man lifted a beefy arm, his fist hanging in the air like the blackest, bleakest comet, ready to crater my face.
I prepared for the worst.
A figure flew out of the dining room. I recognized Toni's enraged scream as she swung something at my captor. I heard a satisfying thunk. The big man grunted, released me, but didn’t fall. Whatever she had hit him with, it hadn't been enough to incapacitate him.
The other Dementors flowed left and right, intending to either cut off our escape or surround us and attack.
We'll see about that, I thought grimly, and bull-rushed the big man—the one I assumed was the leader. I rammed my shoulder into what I'd hoped was his chin. He gave an angry hiss.
In full "mama bear" mode, Toni struck again. There was a meaty thwock, like a cantaloupe breaking open, and a Dementor collapsed. She kept swinging. The invaders fell back.
Heart galloping, I snapped my foot up, hoping to connect with the leader's crotch. Faster than I thought possible, he snatched my foot and lifted. Off balance, I couldn't protect myself. The big man must have known this. With punishing brutality, he drove a foot into my chest. I went down in a heap.
"BRAD!" Toni yelled as Dementors surrounded her. She tried keeping them at bay with her weapon, but their superior numbers outmatched her elemental ferocity. Someone hit her. Another grabbed her arm, preventing her from swinging. A third came up from behind and wound an arm around her throat. She gave a gurgled cry and stopped struggling.
I couldn't get up. I tried, but I couldn't. With air wheezing from between my lips, I hugged my arms to my chest and hoped to avoid further injury.
The big man loomed over me. From my vantage point, he looked ten feet tall and scary as hell.
"You got it?" he called out.
The Dementors who had glided down the hallway reemerged. One held up Thumbkin.
"It's missing the proximity lock."
I could feel the big man's eyes on me. I knew he was close to losing control. Fury oozed from him like scalded oil.
This is it, I thought. We're going to die.
"Where is it?" the big man asked, his voice a surprising tenor as supple as Roy Orbison's.
"Don't know what you're talking about? Where's what?"
"The proximity lock. Where is it?"
"What the fuck's a 'proximity lock'?"
A new sound intruded on the scene.
Sirens.
The big man gestured. Several invaders glided out the door. Two carried their downed comrade. The one holding Toni clubbed her to the floor and followed his brethren.
I was left alone with the big guy.
He took a step toward me. The toe of his boot rested against my chin.
"Dig any deeper," he said, "and we'll kill you and your cop friend."
The big man kicked me hard in the ribs and left.
Whimpering in pain, I curled into a ball and waited for the cops to arrive.
* * *
For the second time in a week, a paramedic was examining me. He held a stethoscope to my back.
"Breath sounds are pretty good bilaterally," the paramedic said. His name was Ray Kingston. His daughter was in Toni's third hour. "No sign of a pneumothorax. Still, you might have cracked a rib. Want a ride to the ER? It’s on the city’s dime."
I shook my head. I had other things to worry about than pain.
Toni sat across from me on the sofa, an icepack on the back of her neck. At her feet lay the frying pan she had used to bludgeon the attackers. She’d been medically cleared.
Outside, red and blue lights blazed with unsettling urgency. Officers were posted inside the house and out. CSU techies gathered evidence, took pictures, and dusted everything for fingerprints. A clear plastic bag contained the door's lock with about an inch of wood still attached, the edges charred by whatever had burned through it.
"Gas chromatograph might pick something up," a techie had said. "A trace of some chemical. We'll have to wait and see."
A detective strode through the door, a man named Dillon who I'd met through Frank. We shared a rather low opinion of him.
"Any word on the Swinicki's?" Toni asked him.
"Just got off the phone with Kerry." A thirty-year veteran, Detective Dave Dillon had the tired look of someone who could smell retirement lurking around the corner and couldn't wait to turn in his shield. "She and the kids are fine. We have a patrol car sitting out front. They should be safe."
I lifted myself out of the chair. The pain made me grimace. "What about Frank?"
"We're still looking for him."
"You don't know where he is?"
"We're searching right now," Dillon said. "Frank's one of us. We won't stop until we find him."
"Did he make his meeting with the D.A.? What time did he leave? Surely you know—"
Detective Dillon's expression hardened. "This is a police matter. I'm not obligated to share information with you."
"Cut me some slack, Dave. He's my friend."
"You want information, file a FOIA request, same as everyone else."
"Freedom of Information Act? That's your answer?"
"The best one you're getting."
I snorted in disgust. "You know something. You're a real asshole."
"Tell me," Detective Dillon said, his cheeks reddening. "Are you privileged in some way? Does knowing Frank make you a de facto cop? Wait, do you have one of these?" He flipped open a leather wallet and held it to my face. "Do you have a badge? Do you? No? I thought not." He held the badge up long enough to make sure I didn't miss the message and put it away. "I'm the detective, you're the civilian. Authority flows from me to you, not the other way around. Get used to it."
Toni came to stand next to me. "Brad's right. You are an asshole."
Dave Dillon smiled sweetly. He had the upper hand and knew it.
"This is getting us nowhere," I said, barely keeping my tone civil. "How about we focus on finding Frank instead? What can we do to help?"
"Let’s go over your story, while it's still fresh in your mind."
We suffered through his interrogation. I'd not shown such restraint in years.
"Any idea why they took the doll?" Detective Dillon asked. "Why not something valuable, like a television or a DVD player?"
"You're the detective," I said. "Responsibility for the investigation flows from me to you, not the other way around. Figure it out for yourself."
Dillon's eyes narrowed to hard, angry points. "If you know anything relevant to the investigation, you need to tell me. Is there something special about the doll, something that would prompt a reaction this extreme?" He gestured to the broken door. "Withholding information will only slow the investigation."
The words leapt to my lips: Okay, if the doll is anything like Frank's, it moves around as if it's possessed. And the damn thing's evil. Think that'll help narrow down your lists of suspects?
I didn't say it, of course. He wouldn't have believed me. Instead, I said, "No idea. It's just a cheap doll."
Dillon held my gaze. I could tell he didn't believe me. Even Toni looked at me askance. I didn't care. Something dangerous was unfolding. Our home had been invaded, our persons assaulted, our property stolen. Frank was missing. My patient had been shocked by a metal egg with no visible power source. I was having strange dreams about outer space, dead planets, and falling stars.
No, no way was I going to share anything with Dillon the Dickhead. Let him go pound sand with a conventional investigation.
I stared silently back at him, my face expressionless.
Dillon shook his head and sighed. "Play it that way if you want, but if I find you're withholding evidence, you'll be looking at jail time. And if Frank's dead, I'll nail you as an accessory after the fact."
Heat rose to my face. "Frank's not dead," I said, my voice loud enough to carry throughout the room.
Movement around us ground to a halt. The patrolmen, the shift sergeant, the CSU techies, even the paramedics were watching the confrontation. I stood ready to refute any challenge to Frank being alive.
Dillon's eyes cut to the men standing nearby, and his jaw clenched. He knew he'd made a mistake. He spoke of the death of a fellow officer before it had been proved. Cops were a superstitious bunch, and that kind of talk could put you on the outs with them, sometimes for the rest of your career.
Frank would still be alive if Dillon hadn't opened his fuckin' yap!
Life as a cop, even in a backwater burg like Rock Mills, exposed you to dangerous situations. Being on the outs with the people protecting your back didn't help your life expectancy.
I now had the upper hand. Dillon knew it, which posed its own dangers. I'd seen men lose their shit over lesser provocations.
The seconds stretched until I thought time would break.
Someone coughed—one of the officers outside, I think—which was enough to break the silence that had fallen over the house.
Dillon made a show of examining his notepad. "Any idea what a 'proximity lock' is?"
"Not a clue," I said, genuinely puzzled. "Proximity makes me think of nearness, something close by."
Toni nodded. "Lock could mean to secure, or fasten."
"Fixing something in place," Dillon said. "Locking it down. Keeping it nearby." He walked, clicking his pen, seemingly lost in thought. His path led him down the hallway. Toni and I followed. "Is the proximity lock the doll itself, or something inside it?"
The metal latticework egg—it had to be the mysterious proximity lock.
Whoever had come for the doll was expecting to find the egg.
When did I last see it? Sometime today, I was sure, but where? I wanted to smack myself in the head.
Then I had it: Frank's office. I'd brought it to show him, and he'd slipped it into his pocket when we left.
Frank had the egg.
I stopped walking.
Frank had the egg!
Toni touched my shoulder. "What's wrong?"
My thoughts raced. The invaders had come looking for the egg. They knew about Frank's involvement. Knowing I didn't have it, they would go looking for him.
Would they kill him to obtain it?
I broke out in a cold sweat. I needed to find Frank, and I had a good idea where to start.
"Brad," Toni said. "Talk to me."
My head snapped up.
"We need to leave," I told her. "Right now."
Chapter Twelve
I drove slowly through Emersville.
Coming here had been a brash idea. Frank would have called it lunacy and berated me on the dangers of following such a crazy hunch. But Frank was missing, and this town was the only lead I had.
Toni sat next to me, gazing out at a street mostly devoid of cars. On the way over, I explained how Doug Belle had been shocked by Thumbkin. I related my encounter with Frank's doll, and how it had tried to attack me. I didn't leave out a single detail. If she wanted to ride shotgun, she needed to understand the dangers.
She had balked at my words, questioning my assumptions, countering my arguments. Finally, she accepted what I’d told her. There were no more doubts, no more hesitations.
That was Toni: once you convinced her, she backed you fully.
I parked in front of Lost Desires. A sign had been tacked to the door.
CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
"You think she died?" Toni said. I assumed she was referring to the owner, Annabelle St. Crux.
"Either that, or she's very ill." I wasn't sure which was better. Like funeral clothes kept in a box on the top shelf of a closet, a dignified death often wore better than an undignified life.
Toni popped open the car door. I joined her on the sidewalk.
"Lost Desires is the distribution point,” I said. “The place where the planning ends and the mischief begins. If we could get our hands on another doll. Wait here while I check something."
I made sure nobody was within eyeshot, then jogged up the steps and tested the door.
Locked, not that I expected different.
There were four panes of glass set into the upper half of the door. It wouldn't take much to break one, unlock the door, and slip inside.
Unless the store had a security system, in which case we'd find ourselves in a jail cell, and the search for Frank would end.
The thought of cops triggered something in my brain. I stepped back from the store. "Maybe we should go to the police. We were beaten, our property stolen. A man is missing. Crimes were committed, possibly by people living in Emersville. Chief Couttis might be able to help. He's here to serve and protect. Besides, we could use an ally."
Toni bit her lower lip. “I don't think the cops are a good idea."
"Why not?"
"Either they know about what's happening, or they don't. If they know, talking to them will only tip off the people we're looking for. They'll know we're interested in Frank and the dolls. If they don't, how are you going to keep them from locking you up in a hospital room with padded walls?"
I took a moment to digest what she had said and could see she was right. No cops. At least, not yet.
"We'll go it alone for now,” I said. “But if we find any sign of Frank, or evidence that people here are responsible for his disappearance, we call the police. I don't care if they're Rock Mills PD or Emersville. Going in half-assed and undergunned will only get us killed."
"Agreed."
"Where do we start?"
Toni smiled. "Buy you a cup of coffee, sailor?"
* * *
Black and Brewed did a brisk business, even after the rest of Emersville had rolled up the sidewalks for the night.
The interior was decorated in cold chrome and glass and plain, white paint. No posters on the walls. No long counters where patrons could plug in their laptops and Facebook with the world. No sugar-coated pop music dripping from speakers in the ceiling. Nothing like the half a zillion Starbucks across the nation. In fact, it resembled more an ice cream parlor than a coffee shop.
Toni and I stepped up to the counter, where a jittery young man wearing a Maroon 5 shirt asked us what we would like.
I peered at the menu tacked to the wall behind him. Nothing fancy. Just coffees, teas, a handful of espressos, a few lattes, and one or two children's drinks.
"Small black coffee?" I said. "Toni?"
"The same, please."
The kid drew off two cups. We sat at a table near the back. Conversations flowed around us like a babbling stream. I checked my watch.
"Almost eight-thirty. I'm surprised the place is this full."
Toni looked around and shrugged. "Hipsters have invaded the 'burbs. We should all be afraid."
"None of the faces look familiar."
"Why should they? We've only met three people. Annabelle St. Crux, the police chief, and his son."
I thought of Dementors gliding through my house. It had been too dark to see their faces, though two would show signs of injury: the big guy I hit and the one Toni took down with the frying pan. The latter likely needed hospital care. The leader, on the other hand—I hoped to catch him here.
"What now?" Toni asked. "We can't pull up Frank's picture on your cell and ask if they've seen him."
"I don't know. I've never done this before."
"We need a place to start. That's all. A place to start." Toni's grimaced. "I only wish I knew where."
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I pulled out my phone and checked for messages. "No word from anyone on Frank."
"Send him a text. See if he answers."
I did. He didn't.
"Let's think for a minute," said Toni, coffee mug in her hands. "If Frank's here, in Emersville, where would he be? Where could you safely hide a cop?"
I considered her question. "Someplace secret, like a basement or warehouse. It'd have to be secure, where no one could wander in and find him."
"Jail cell?"
"Doubtful. Cops record the activity in them. Helps protect against claims of abuse or neglect. I'm sure the surveillance is time-stamped, too, making a cover up more complicated. Whoever did this will want to keep it simple."
"Okay, no place with a camera, which rules out most stores." Toni pointed above the service counter to the dark glass-domed security camera affixed to the ceiling. "They've gone up everywhere."
I stared at the camera. "Maybe we're looking for a house rather than a—"
Four people entered the coffee shop. Two men and two women. Three of them were unremarkable.
The fourth was big. Really big, with a skull-shaped earring in his left lobe and the left side of his face scraped raw.
I shot to my feet.
Like a herd of water buffalo scenting a lion, they stopped as one. The big guy's face twisted in recognition or revulsion. He turned and shoved the others out the door.
"Come on." I grabbed Toni's arm and pulled her up. "It's him."
Toni hadn't seen our attacker—her back had been to the door—but she didn't argue. Running after me, she said, "Who are you talking about?"
I didn't answer. My focus remained locked on the guy with the earring. I didn't want to lose him.
We were half way to the door when an elderly couple rose, the man lifting a coat so his wife could slip her arms into it. Both looked terribly frail and moved as slow as an old silent movie played at half speed.
Worst of all, they blocked the quickest route from the shop.
Cursing, I stutter-stepped left, hoping to circle around them, but another table of patrons stood. Young hipsters (one wore a black knit cap filled to capacity with his crinkly hair), they made a show of leaving a tip and gathering their possessions.
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