Luke Delaney - The Toy Taker

He looked out into the main office and saw the pictures of the three missing children stuck to one of the many whiteboards. What do you have in common? You don’t look the same. You’re not the same age and you’re not all the same gender. All your families are wealthy beyond most people’s imagination, but what does that mean — why’s that relevant? He rocked back in his chair while he reviewed everything he’d learned about the families — what he had been told and what he had seen for himself. All the families employed nannies or au pairs, even those where the mother wasn’t working. Nannies and au pairs to take the children to and from school, to look after them at weekends and during the holidays — to cook for them, dress them, bathe them, put them to bed? But what does any of this have to do with you? Did you know that the parents had entrusted their children’s upbringing to someone else? He bit hard enough on his bottom lip to make it bleed, but didn’t even notice. Of course you did. You knew it all — knew everything you needed to know about these families. Was that it — was that the flame that drew you? The fact the parents didn’t seem to care — didn’t seem to … to love them — not like you would. You always choose families that had more than one child because you wanted to leave them with at least one — one who now you’ve taught them a lesson you believe they’ll love in the way they should, in the way that’s acceptable to you …

Sean rolled his head and cracked the stiffness out of his neck, trying to organize his random thoughts, convinced he was right. But still something wasn’t making sense. He closed his eyes and pinched his temples between the fingertips of both hands, elbows resting on his desk. I know you’re a man — the Hargraves heard a man’s voice. But these thoughts you have, these … judgements, are more the thoughts and judgements of a woman … Again he paused for a few seconds. You’re not like Mark McKenzie and you’re not like Hannah Richmond, so what are you? Both? Something in between? You take the children because a woman tells you to? You snatch them and take them home to your loving wife to raise as your own? His eyes opened as he suddenly stood and almost knocked over his chair, the frustration enough to make him want to sweep everything from his desk. ‘No,’ he told himself. ‘No. That’s wrong. There’s no woman waiting for you to bring them to her. Your motivation is female, yet your actions are male. Taking the body to a cemetery, leaving it on the grave of a war hero and a cop were the actions of a man. Why can’t I see? Why can’t I understand you?’

The words of the priest began to snake around his mind, drowning out everything else: We look, but we can’t see. We look, but we can’t see .

He could feel them as soon as he entered the house — waiting upstairs for him to come while he stood feeling the warmth of the house chasing the chill from his muscles. He remembered the strange layout of the house, with its living room, kitchen and main bathroom all on the ground level where he was now. Two short flights of steep, narrow stairs led to the second floor and the bedroom of the little girl he’d come take. But now he was here, safely inside the silent, sleeping house, his legs refused to move. Doubts and fears swept through his mind, the harrowing memory of Samuel’s lifeless body lying across his desk robbing him of the will to continue, evaporating his strength.

The pain in his head returned in a rush as he dropped on to one knee. ‘God give me strength,’ he begged in a whisper. ‘The Lord is my shepherd. He will answer my prayers and offer me guidance.’ He squeezed his eyes shut and clamped his head between the palms of his hands, waiting for God to speak to him. But there was only darkness. ‘Iris,’ he pleaded to his dead wife. ‘The Lord has forsaken me. He has abandoned me. No , she answered, making his eyes flash open. He is with you now — he is always with you, and so am I, my love . ‘But he doesn’t speak to me. He doesn’t tell me what I should do,’ he whispered. He speaks through me. He tells me what to tell you . ‘But what if he’s wrong? What if he’s wrong about the parents? What if we’re taking children from parents who love them?’ His wife’s usually calm voice grew angry, like the time they’d had that argument, when they were told they’d never have children. When she’d blamed him and called him all those terrible names. Our God is a vengeful god , she warned him, and his word is not to be questioned by man, or they will feel his wrath . ‘I’m sorry,’ he implored her, on both knees now, his voice growing dangerously loud in the darkness. ‘I’m a weak man, and my faith grows weak inside me.’ You must take the girl. God wills it . ‘I can’t,’ he told her. ‘No more. I won’t do it any more.’ God wills it . ‘No more.’ God wills it . ‘Please. No more. Leave me alone. I won’t take the girl.’ Our God is a vengeful god . ‘No.’ They will feel his wrath . ‘Please.’ You must save her from the darkness , his wife’s tone softened. ‘What?’ Only you can save her from the darkness . ‘The darkness?’ Yes. Only you can save her. You must take her . ‘I’m saving her?’ Yes. Yes. Only you can save her. If you leave her here, the darkness will take her . ‘No. No. The darkness can’t have her. I won’t let the darkness take her.’ He felt the strength seeping back into his body and mind. Then save her. Go to her and save her .

He hauled himself back to his feet and wiped the tears from his face with his gloved hands, placing one foot on the first stair. God has made you strong again . ‘God give me strength.’ God will guide you . ‘The Lord is my shepherd.’ He will protect you . ‘He gives me new strength. He helps me to do what honours him most.’ His other foot moved to the next step and pushed him forward, upwards towards the sleeping girl, his wife’s voice fading as she repeated her last words over and over: Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these .

He climbed the first flight of stairs and reached the floor where he knew the parents’ bedroom was, drifting past it silently, staying to the right side where he knew the floorboards were less worn and made no noise. He tried to ignore the scents of the sleeping man and woman, blanking them out of his mind, convincing himself that at this moment in time they didn’t exist. He was afraid his fragile resolve might be affected if he started to feel sympathy towards them. Over and over he reminded himself that they’d had their chance, been given the gift he and his wife never had, and that they had chosen to hand the child to the care of strangers, passing her from one carer to the next: nannies, au pairs, child-minders, so they could pursue their careers and petty pastimes — to live their lives as if they’d never been blessed with children at all. No. They’d had their chance. She was a child of God and needed to be treated as one. He must stay strong — for her sake.

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.