P. Stormcrow

Finn was right. The dolls in this case were creepy as fuck, though there was no way Damien would admit that in front of her. But standing next to Olivia, staring at the plastic baby with its benign smile and the dots of blood splattered across one cheek was giving him more chills than he had ever experienced.

And no matter how many warded latex gloves he wore, he still didn’t want to touch the thing.

“So!” Olivia motioned him closer, excitement dancing in her eyes even as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

Her fearlessness did not surprise him. After all, hadn’t he felt the same enthusiasm when the case first cross his desk? But now, seeing the newest victim had sobered him up.

“There’s definitely some hocus pocus going on.” She grinned, but when he gave her a blank stare, still trying to wrestle with his growing horror, she shook her head and held the kaleidoscope out to him.

He had to force himself to take the tool and hold it up to his eye. Steeling his nerves, he turned his enhanced sight to the toy on the examination tray and sucked in a breath. Ashen threads wounded in a tangled mess around the still figure, some chopped off. But the cuts were too frayed like they were…

He checked the doll for any signs of teeth.

“This one was with the newest vic?” he asked.

“Yeah. Poor guy.”

“And what was the cause of death?” Damien studied the strings closer and wondered what color they would shimmer with had whatever spell someone had wove around it remained active.

“Hm. Let’s see.” Beside him, Olivia ruffled through sheets of paper and hissed in sympathy. “Blunt force to the back of the head. They think he fell and smacked on the edge of the kitchen counter.”

“Signs of struggle?” Damien looked up and away from the plastic toy with a frown tugging the corners of his mouth downwards.

Olivia threw an uneasy glance at the doll and motioned him to follow her out of the lab. It wasn’t until she closed the door behind her that she let out a whoosh of air and dropped her shoulders.

“Whatever is wrapped around that thing is inert, right?” He stared over her shoulder, past the glass, unease creeping up his spine.

“As far as I can tell.” Olivia shrugged, then lowered her voice. “But better safe than sorry, you know? The autopsy report confirmed there was a lot of struggling. They found tiny scratches and bite marks all across his arms and face.”

Damn. This was even more gruesome than he expected. The mystery called to him, but the unblinking expression of the doll haunted him more. “So what, it attacked him?”

“Could be. Attacked. He slipped. Fell and hit his head on the edge of the counter.” Olivia dropped to a whisper. “Get this though. They also sent over Bob’s personal items and I found a ward on the medical bracelet he wore at the time but the spell on it is nothing like the one on that doll.”

“Shit,” he breathed out and rubbed his face. “What are we looking at then?” Wait. This wasn’t the only murder. It was why Criminal had thought this a serial killer. “What about the other toys from the past? Did they send them over too?”

“Oh yeah, your complete collection of childhood classics.” Olivia scrunched her nose. “There’re no traces of anything on the older ones anymore. The more recent…” She chewed her lower lip. “Only a few threads left. Like they had decayed. But yeah, there’s a good chance that it’s from the same source if not at least similar.”

And he wasn’t sure there was a way to trace back to where the things had been bought either since they were common toys. Fuck. 

“Okay. Let’s assume they cause the murders for a second here. What are your theories? Some kind of malignant spirit hopping from toy to toy? Cursed object?” Frustration laced Damien’s voice.

She shook her head. “That would imply they came into contact at some point or that there’s something in common with the victims. Curses don’t just jump from one thing to another at random.”

“Okay, so we need to figure out the theme.” Easy enough, right? He tried not to groan and found himself missing his partner’s presence. Reed could spot a pattern a mile away, which was why he wanted her with him on the case in the first place. 

“Or it’s back to the serial killer theory.” Olivia cringed and shuddered.

No. There’s got to be a relationship somewhere if they map the items to the victims and the manner of death. “Let’s go look at the collection one more time.”

***

“Ms. Jennings, thank you for coming in.” Finn eased into the chair with a thin folder in hand, placing it on the table while Newman settled beside her, a silent and stoic figure.

“Yeah, of course.” Tania looked from side to side, shifting in her seat.

Finn didn’t bother opening the file, but folded her hands over it instead as she leaned forward. “I understand you have been cleaning for the Flemmings for…”

“Three years.” Tania bit her lower lip and swallowed hard.

If it was an act, it was a damn good one. She didn’t succumb to theatrics, but she teetered on the edge of tears. Her eyes were red and puffy even as her lips trembled as she spoke. “Can I ask what this is about?”

Innocent until proven guilty. Finn could operate on the premise that the woman sitting in front of her was coming from a place of ill intent, but she opted for empathy instead. “We are trying to build a more complete picture of Bob Flemming to help us with our investigation.” Start easy. “Over the years, have you noticed anything that may be a source of conflict?”

Tania shook her head before Finn even finished speaking. “Not really. Sometimes he would complain about a neighbor’s dog pooping on his lawn, but that’s about it. He was a sweet old man.” She choked on the last words such that they came out with a squeak in the end.

“How about the house?”

Finn had expected confusion at her question, but Tania froze and paled instead. Bingo. Something was there. Finn didn’t elaborate, but allowed the silence to drag on. 

“What… what do you mean?” Tania squirmed then let out a nervous chuckle accompanied with a shrug. “It’s not like a house can hold a grudge.”

She must have intended for it to come off as a flippant comment, but to Finn, the entire act appeared more stiff and forced. And wasn’t it interesting the particular way she had interpreted the question? Finn caught Newman’s eye, then glanced at the corner where she knew the mounted cameras captured the interviews.

He gave her a slight nod, rose, and left the room. Good. Message received.

She wished Jackson was here with his charming smile and comforting voice, but he wasn’t, so she was going to just have to emulate him as best she could. “Tania, I promise you, this is a safe space.” She waited a few more seconds until the little red blinking light went off. “No matter how crazy it sounds, I need you to tell me. Off record.”

Tania stilled, studying her and Finn forced herself to say no more, allowing her all the time in the world to decide without pushing harder. Either she was going to trust her or she would not.

At last, the other woman sucked in a big breath and pushed the air out of her lungs before she hunched forward. “That house. It used to feel… good. Well-loved. Even after Marcia passed away, there was still a sort of… bittersweetness.” Tania spoke slowly, groping for the right words.

Finn wondered if Tania was an empath. It wouldn’t surprise her if she was, because like attracted like and according to Jackson, there was old magic in that place. Finn reached for an analogy and a small memory brought a tough of a wistful smile to her lips. “Like lingering baking smells?” A faint recollection of her mom.

“Yes!” Encouraged, Tania nodded with enthusiasm, then slowed. “But recently, things started feeling… different.” She swallowed hard and shivered.

“Different how?” Finn also leaned in, recognizing that her patience had paid off at last.

“Like… it had turned sinister. I know this sounds crazy but the last few times I went to clean, it’s felt as though something was following me, watching me.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “To be honest, I used to love cleaning that old place, getting everything gleaming and shining, but every time now, I just want to get out of there as fast as I could.”

That would explain the dust. But if they worked on the assumption that the dolls were call signs left by a murderer, what Tania said would make no sense. Unless the killer had been in that place for over long before the actual murder. That didn’t fit the pattern of the last murders, though.

So it was time to revisit even that hypothesis. She stifled a groan. “Was there anything you can put your finger on that changed? Did Mr. Flemming behave differently in any way?”

Tania shook her head, but stopped herself. “About a month ago, he was acting more absent minded than usual. When I asked him, he said something about a nightmare and poor sleep. After that, he appeared more and more exhausted every week but kept insisting he was fine.”

They have a timeline! That had got to be a clue. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”

“Really?” Tania perked up for the first time since the interview.

“Yes.” She dug into her pocket and pushed a business card toward her. “If anything else comes to mind, no matter how weird it seems, call me any time, okay?”

Tania studied her once more and nodded with a determined firmness. “Yeah. Okay.”