Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

The heads of the delicate, shiny tools poking from their pockets stared back at him, his head-torch making them sparkle like jewels as he scanned the contents before selecting one that looked like a long, thin, metal toothpick. He dropped gently on to his knees and bent towards the bottom deadlock, the effort pushing the breath from his lungs so that it swirled around his head like a mist before disappearing. He inserted the tool into the lock, ever so gently manoeuvring it until it seemed to have been gripped by some unseen force inside. Satisfied, he returned the beam of light to the suede case and selected two further tools — the first with a small hook on one end and the other with a tiny diamond-shaped head. He placed the hook into the lock upside down, as if he was trying to prise open its jaws, while he slid the diamond-headed tool smoothly into the waiting keyhole, moving it forwards and backwards with almost no grip, the entire action making only a tiny scratching noise — inaudible to anyone outside or inside, unless they were incredibly close to the source of the sound, which he knew at this time of night they would not be.

After no more than thirty seconds he felt the lock open, the soft click lost in the wind. He felt no sense of euphoria, no excitement or anticipation, just satisfaction. Reclaiming his tools, he stood to reach the top deadlock, relieved to stretch the stiffness from his knees before repeating the procedure with the same effect. He took a minute or so to look about the street, watching the fallen leaves racing along the gutters, tumbling over each other before forming piles, trapped in corners, held captive by turbulence.

He took another moment to consider his actions. He had been told to come. He had been told to take the child away. His instructions had been clear. He must draw strength from the fact he was not alone, for who was he to question the cause for which he had been ordained? He must save the children. His doubts quickly faded into the night like his breath as he returned to his tool kit, exchanging the diamond-head and toothpick instruments for what looked like a miniature knife welded on to a long metal handle. He inserted the hooked tool into the central Yale lock, its opening little more than a jagged slit, impenetrable to all but the most skilled hand. But his were such hands and within seconds he again felt the lock click open. Now all that stood between him and the inside of the house was a turn of the handle.

Wasting no time, he quickly and carefully packed his tools and torch in the sports bag and eased the front door open, the warmth and smell from inside rushing out at him, overwhelming his senses, momentarily making it impossible to swim against the tide and push himself into the house. But push himself he did, slowly and painstakingly closing the door behind him, aware that this was the most dangerous time — the time when it was most likely that someone inside would sense the change in the atmosphere his entrance had caused.

His thick jacket made him feel instantly too warm as the house’s central heating wrapped around him. Soon he would feel the sweat running down his spine. But he didn’t have time to take it off, and besides he would soon need its protection again when he left the house with the chosen child.

He didn’t dwell on the comforting normality and order of the house — didn’t search through the downstairs rooms for things of value or trophies to fuel the fantasies he didn’t have. No: he was here for one purpose and one purpose only — to save the child with the vulgar name, given to her by vulgar parents who knew no better and deserved even less. How could they have been blessed with a child when he and his love had been deprived of such a gift from God?

He walked along the downstairs hallway, lit only with the faint glow coming from the kitchen, no doubt left on to guide any thirsty night-time wanderers and now guiding him to the foot of the staircase. A gloved hand rested on the bannister as he began to climb, slowly and without a sound, grateful for the thick, new carpet he once again felt underfoot, nevertheless careful to avoid the stairs that he knew would creak and betray his presence. He arrived at the first floor where the parents slept in the darkness of their room, but with the door open in case their two-year-old needed them in the middle of the night. The only illumination was the pale blue light from the floors above where the other children slept. He floated past the bedrooms and continued his ascent to the summit of the house where he knew the little girl slept. But first he had to pass the bedroom on the second floor occupied by her older sister. She would have learned enough of the world to be frightened of it and would not be as easily and quickly placated as her younger sibling. She might scream and raise the alarm.

With the utmost care he tiptoed past the older child’s bedroom and began the final climb towards the one he had come for — the one he’d been guided to take.

By now the sweat was running down his back and a light sheen coated his face, but he was oblivious to it as he stepped on to the landing of the top floor. There was only one room up here, converted from the old attic — a strange place for a young child to sleep when there were other bedrooms closer to her family she could have used. Another sign of her parents’ neglect and lack of love, he decided. Clearly his actions were justified.

Before entering the bedroom he placed his bag carefully on the floor and searched inside for the special thing he’d brought with him — the thing that would instantly buy her trust and her silent cooperation. He pulled it free from the bag, the sight of it in the dim light making him almost smile as he imagined the little girl’s face when she saw what he had brought for her.

Leaving his bag on the landing, he slowly pushed the door to her room open, the faint illumination emanating from her night-lamp enough for him to see her lying in her bed underneath a blue-and-white patchwork quilt, her face slightly obscured by her shoulder-length blonde hair. Her breathing was heavy enough to be audible as she stirred slightly, reacting to the presence in her room, but not waking fully as her toys and dolls looked on — dozens of silent witnesses with unseeing eyes, unable to testify to what was happening in the room with slanted ceilings and walls decorated with pictures of ponies.

He began to cross the room towards her, stepping as softly as he could until he reached her bedside, dropping to his knees and trying to speak, holding the precious thing close to his own face so it would be the first thing she saw when her eyes flickered open. But his voice deserted him, the words lost in his sudden confusion and fear. Taking children from their homes in the middle of the night — how could this be right? Soon enough, though, he remembered who had told him he must and why, fortifying his belief and giving him courage. He swallowed painfully and licked his lips before they parted.

‘Bailey …’ he whispered her name through trembling lips and waited. She stirred under her quilt, but still didn’t wake. ‘Bailey,’ he repeated, forcing himself to utter the name so distasteful it made him recoil from his own words. ‘It’s time to wake up now, Bailey.’

The little girl’s pupils moved under her still-closed eyelids, as if she was having a bad dream, until at last they began to slowly open, before closing again. As her mind processed the glimpse of information, her eyes suddenly opened wide in delighted surprise, her hands reaching out for the precious thing, the presence of the man almost unnoticed, so deep was her joy and excitement. He saw her chest fill with air as she prepared to call out the name, and quickly put his finger to his lips and released a long, quiet ‘Ssssssh.’ Finally Bailey registered that she and the precious thing were not alone her bedroom and her expression became more concerned. He smiled a friendly, warm smile, his eyes glinting with kindness. ‘It’s time to go now, Bailey,’ he whispered, ‘to a special, magical place where only the best children are allowed. Would you like to come?’