The Cold Room

Twenty-Six

Gavin didn’t usually stray into Williamson County. Though he lived on its northwestern edge, he rarely had cause to cross the county line. But today he had no choice. The printer in his office was out of its special ink, and there was only one place in town that carried what he needed. The store was in Franklin, twenty minutes south of Nashville. It was a private enterprise, run by a quiet man who didn’t feel the need to talk very much, either. Gavin liked working with him-it was a simple “I need this, it will be ready Friday” kind of relationship.

His, well, friend would be much too strong a term, wasn’t even in the shop, but had left the package on the counter with Gavin’s name printed in block letters. Gavin left one hundred and ninety dollars in cash in a drawer under the counter. It would be safe. This was a good neighborhood.

Leaving the house had been especially hard today. He should be in mourning for his dearly departed doll. He just wanted to be home, to smell the fragrant air surrounding her resting place, to look at the pictures he took. Maybe even talk with Morte. Morte always understood Gavin’s upset after a doll was finished. But Morte wasn’t speaking to him.

He could reach out to Necro, but that wouldn’t be much help. Necro was still role-playing. Paying women to have sleepy sex with him. Of course, he thought Gavin was doing the same. Morte was the only one who knew that Gavin’s dolls were truly his for the taking.

He got back into the Prius, took the circle through downtown Franklin, turned left at the McDonald’s, then crossed back onto 96 West. The sun was low in the sky, bright in his eyes. He flipped down his visor and put on sunglasses. The suburbs of Franklin quickly gave way to verdant farmland, dotted with gated drives, large houses and an abundance of cows.

He thought of his doll, and cried a little. He hated to see them go. It took so much out of him. He’d stopped collecting for quite a while, because the loss was too much to bear. He’d never been caught, but that was probably pure luck. To keep safe, he used the Internet to satisfy his desires for a long time. Then he’d met Morte and Necro. Morte pushed him right back over the edge, and the urges overwhelmed him again. Morte gave him new power, new desires. Permission. Encouragement. He wanted to show Morte he was just as good as him. What was he going to do without him? He had to find a way back into Morte’s good graces.

The massive concrete double-arched bridge that carried the Natchez Trace Parkway over Highway 96 appeared in front of him. He marveled at its size, the beauty of the lines, the grace of the curves echoing the breasts of a woman. He was nearly to the bridge when he saw a car on the side of the road. A car, and a woman.

His pulse quickened, he reflexively slowed his Prius. She was waving at him. Gesturing. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. She was stunning: tiny waist, delicate features, her hair long and braided. He stopped behind her car, heart in his throat. She walked to him, thin hips swinging. Her skin was the color of mocha cream. Dear God, was this a sign? He was frozen.

She tapped on his window. When he met her eye, he knew.

He pushed the power button, the window slid down with a whisper.

“Thank God you stopped. I’ve been out here for twenty minutes and haven’t seen a soul!” She smiled at him, friendly, open. He didn’t quite know what to say. She took care of that for him.

“Can you give me a lift? My car’s out of gas and the battery is dead on my cell phone. My dad keeps telling me not to forget to charge it, but I did. Hey, cool Prius!”

The girl walked around to the other side of the car. Gavin just watched, knowing his eyes were wide and he must look like an idiot. He quickly redid his features into a semblance of friendliness, and unlocked the passenger-side door.

The girl yanked open the door, slid in and tossed her backpack on the floor in front of her. “So, like, what kind of music do you have in here?”

She reached for his iPod. Gavin held himself back. He didn’t like people touching his things, but this was a gift. This was a sign. This was his chance. He swallowed, and managed to grind out the words.

“All sorts. Where do you need to go?”

The girl cocked her head to the side like a spaniel. “Bellevue. I was on my way to the Y I’m a lifeguard up there, and I am totally late for my shift. They’ll probably fire me. Hey, don’t I know you? I’ve seen you there before, right?”

Oh, dear God. How to answer? Should he admit it? What if…He nearly laughed out loud with glee. He could tell her anything. He could lie. He could tell her a multitude of lies and she’d never know the difference. She would never know.

He put the car in gear. “The Y. Sure. Yeah. I think I recognize you, too,” he said. He’d never seen the girl in his life. Yet here she was, practically gift-wrapped. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Was this a test? Or the most beautiful of opportunities?

The girl was nannering on about his playlist on the iPod. Why didn’t he have anything cool and hip? Didn’t he have some Ashanti, or maybe some old-school Run DMC?

“I like classical,” he replied.

“That’s dumb,” she said, pouting. He nearly burst out laughing, then realized he hadn’t laughed in a very, very long time. It must be fate. This girl, his present, his doll, had made him smile.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Kendra. Kendra Kelley. What’s yours?”

He’d already made the decision by then, though he wouldn’t realize it until much, much later. “Gavin Adler.”

“Gavin. Cool name. Oh, hey, you just missed the turn. You need to go back that way.”

He ignored her. Within two miles, he could have her home. He finally took a second and listened to the nagging little voice in the back of his mind. That wouldn’t be smart. Not smart at all. You haven’t prepared. You know nothing about her. She might be missed. Don’t do it.

The anger at Morte’s harsh treatment burned in his skin. He didn’t do it on purpose. He’d had no idea Tommaso was Morte. That Tommaso was like him. It was purely a fluke that he’d uncovered the connection. He heard Morte, Tommaso’s voice in his head, the lines scrolling on an invisible computer screen.

Don’t even think about it, Gavin. She’s delectable, and would be a perfect doll, but you haven’t prepared. No preparation, no doll. Those are the rules. You know the rules.

But what if I succeed? What if she isn’t missed? I’ve missed the opportunity of a lifetime.

Don’t do it.

But I’m lonely.

Gavin thought about the dollhouse, lying quietly in the dark, empty. Waiting. Abandoned. So lonely. He was so good at his vocation. He could make her disappear. He could have a new doll. She’d practically asked for it. Stupid, stupid girl.

“Ga-vin,” Kendra singsonged. “You’re going the wrong wa-ay.” She smiled at him, her lips full, teeth straight, those braids clicking, and he thought he would burst. She would make such an exquisite doll! He could already see the bones of her collarbone sticking out; she was a tiny thing. It would be quick.

“This way is faster. It’s a shortcut,” he said. He sped up, taking the curves on Highway 100 at speed. Half a mile now, a quarter, Kendra next to him, chattering about something. He tuned her out. He tuned out his conscience. He tuned out Morte’s scrolling language, his anger. He would show him. He didn’t need Morte’s instructions. He started alone. He could stay alone from now on. Morte was the only reason he’d gotten flashy lately, gotten into the performance art. He was acting out the paintings, taking things a step further than Morte. Their competition was the driving force, and Gavin was winning. He was still the better artist-had more fully realized his settings. He’d acted his out, for God’s sake. Morte only imitated. Gavin was a conductor, Morte was first violin.

The Conductor. Oh, how he liked that.

His driveway was just ahead. He slowed, then turned. The drive was gravel; he needed to go carefully. He’d always meant to pave it, but never got around to it.

“I really think you’re going the wrong way,” Kendra said, with the tiniest tremor in her voice, guileless, clear chocolate eyes turned on him in doubt.

He pulled in front of the rambler and stopped. She glanced at him, at the house, and the first signs of panic started to cross her face.

“Didn’t your daddy tell you not to get into cars with strange men?” Gavin asked, and this time, he did smile. Kendra’s eyes flared white. She grabbed the handle of the door. Gavin was faster. With the refrain banging in his mind-don’t do it don’t do it don’t do it-he clobbered her over the head with the heavy printer cartridge. It slowed her down enough that he was able to take another shot. That one knocked her out. She slumped against the door, blood trickling down her face.

Gavin was breathing hard. See! he told his invisible voice triumphantly. I am the Conductor!

This was glorious! He needed to move. He launched himself out the driver’s-side door, rushed around the side of the car, slipping and going down on one knee at his right rear bumper. He righted himself, then opened the passenger door. Kendra fell out into his arms.

She was light; he carried her to the front door. He unlocked the door, then realized that maybe he should have gone in through the garage. He usually brought the dolls in under cover of darkness; it was still evening and the sunset outlined him against the door frame.

He glanced around, the girl becoming heavy in his arms. No, this was fine. No one around for miles.

He locked the door behind him, went directly to the basement door. The cat meowed loudly, unsettled at seeing his master rushing around without paying the slightest bit of attention to him.

Down in the basement, he opened the case. He stripped the prize, wiped her face clean of blood, then maneuvered her body into the box. Her arms and legs flopped unceremoniously. His erection strained painfully against his zipper.

“In you go,” he panted, out of breath. She fit perfectly. He closed the lid, locked the latches, and grabbed his chair. He sat heavily, staring. Unbelieving.

He had a brand-new doll.

And she had come to him.