Amanda Stevens - The Dollmaker

Rising, Claire walked quietly to the door and drew it open. Lightning flashed in the window behind her and a clap of thunder caused her to jump as she slipped into the corridor. She walked down the hall to the spare bedroom and opened the door a crack.

Her mother lay on her back, one arm flung over her face, and Claire could hear her soft snores. Closing the door, she turned and crept toward the stairs, holding the gun in her right hand, barrel pointed upward, as she pressed herself against the wall. Her heart hammered in her chest as she waited at the top of the stairs for an adrenaline rush that would give her enough courage to go downstairs and explore.

It never came. Claire counted to ten, then reached for the banister and slowly descended, certain with every step that someone would jump out of the darkness and grab her.

By the time she reached the bottom, her hand shook so hard she could barely grip the weapon. She couldn’t allow fear to make her careless. If she didn’t get her nerves under control, the gun would be more of a danger to her than to an intruder. He could easily overpower her, take the weapon away from her and use it on her and her mother.

As quietly as she could, Claire began to search the house. The living room was clear, as was the kitchen, dining room and hall closet. That left the small, glassed-in space off the living room that Claire had recently turned into a sunroom. The French doors were closed, but Claire could see into the room through the panels of leaded glass.

As she pulled back one of the doors, a wet draft blew in from an open window. The breeze caught the curtain and dragged it across a nearby table, drawing Claire’s gaze to a shattered vase on the tile floor.

“Claire?”

The light came on in the room behind her and she whirled. “Mama? I thought you were asleep!”

“I was, but the storm woke me up.” Lucille padded across the room. “Why are you prowling around in the dark with a gun?” She sounded more curious than upset.

“It’s nothing. I heard something and came down to investigate. I think the wind must have knocked over a vase.” Claire felt a bit foolish as she dropped the gun to her side. “You were in here smoking earlier. Did you leave the window open?”

Lucille rubbed her arm as she stared at the shattered vase. “I guess I must have. Damn, if I’m not getting forgetful in my old age…”

“No harm done. I’ll clean up the glass in the morning.”

Claire went over to close the window, and stood listening to the rain run off the roof and gutters, and splash against the front porch as she stared into the soggy darkness. A car was parked down the street, and as lightning flared, she saw a man behind the wheel. She couldn’t see his face clearly, but for a moment it seemed that he was sitting there watching her house.

“Claire, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Mama.”

She closed the window and locked it, then turned to follow her mother out of the room.

A moment later, she was back, staring at the table by the window. A picture of Ruby was missing.

The Dollmaker hugged the picture frame to his chest as he listened to the rain drum against the roof of his car. The windows had fogged in the humidity and the interior became as dark as a closet. A familiar fear crept over him and he quickly rolled down the glass, letting the cool rain splash away his panic as he watched the house.

The lights were off, and he wondered if she’d gone back to bed. He was tempted to get out of the car and go find out, but she’d be alert now and he didn’t want to create a situation that might force his hand. It was too soon for her to see him.

In a flash of lightning, he peered lovingly at the photograph. He shouldn’t have taken it. She would miss it sooner or later, but it was so much like the one he’d lost, he hadn’t been able to resist. And when he’d found the open window and crawled through, that photograph was the first thing he saw.

As if it was meant to be.

Even so, he never should have come back here. Not so soon. Someone was bound to remember a strange vehicle in the neighborhood. But that one glimpse of her as she’d stood silhouetted in the window made the risk worthwhile. For a moment, he could have sworn their gazes locked in the rainy darkness, and his heart had raced with excitement. He wondered if she felt it, too. That timeless bond that had drawn him back here almost against his will.

Ever since he’d seen her peering through the window in the collectibles shop earlier that day, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. When he first heard her knock on the door, he’d tried to ignore her, hoping that she would go away and leave him to search for the photograph he’d left behind. But instead she nearly caught him when she came through the back way. He hadn’t expected that. He’d barely had time to hide in the shadows before she stepped through the door.

At first he couldn’t understand why fate had brought her to the shop at such an inopportune moment. But as he watched her move about the crowded space, peering into one display case after another, his apprehension faded and he became mesmerized by her gentle grace.

And then she’d turned in such a way that a shaft of light from the window fell across her face. He saw her eyes clearly for the first time, and the shock had been so great, he’d taken a step toward her without thinking. The beaded curtain stirred between them and he knew that she could sense his presence.

Somehow he’d managed to get out of the shop without being seen, and he’d waited for her in the courtyard. When she walked over to pick up the orchid, she was so near he could have reached through the rungs of the iron fence to touch her. His heart had beaten hard and swift against his chest as his eyes filled with tears, because by then he’d understood.

He told himself to go home, go to work, do whatever he had to do to get his mind off her. But instead he’d followed her home, and as he pulled to the curb a few blocks down from her driveway, he’d experienced an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. Because he knew her house. Her street. He’d been there before.

But the other time he’d come for the child.

He ran his thumb across the glass that covered the photograph, stroking the delicate features that were as familiar to him as his own. He could still see that afternoon unfold as if it were yesterday. That sweet, lovely child racing toward him on a shiny new bicycle. A cloud of golden curls streaming behind her. And those turquoise eyes…

Eyes the exact shade of Maddy’s…

And his mother’s…

His heart had raced with excitement that day, too, as he got out of the car and called the child’s name.

She brought the bicycle to a halt as her eyes squinted in the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the trees. “How do you know my name?”

“I’m a friend of your grandmother’s.”

“You know Maw-Maw?”

“Her name is Lucille, right? She sent you a present. Would you like to see it?”

The child’s face was very expressive, and he could see her natural curiosity warring with her common sense and the warnings she’d surely received all her short life.

He smiled. The child could hardly contain herself. She had a natural exuberance and a mischievous glint in her eyes that he found utterly captivating. He was so enchanted that he could have watched her for hours. But that would have to come later.

She bent to scratch a mosquito bite at the back of her knee. “My birthday was yesterday. Maw-Maw already gave me a present.”

“I bet she made you that pretty dress you’re wearing, didn’t she?”

Her eyes turned suspicious. “How did you know?”

“Because I know lots of interesting things about you, Ruby. Don’t you want to see your other present?”