Page 85 of Little Dolls

Trusting that Jonathon would be coming for her, Clara simply stood once Ruth had cut off all the tape. There was no point in getting herself shot and risk dying, either from blood loss or infection, when hopefully she’d be found anytime now. Ruth then took possession of the gun and gestured for her to head down into the basement. The space down here was large. Half of it was made into a room blocked from the rest of the attic by a wall of metal poles. Inside the room was a bed, a table and chairs, a sofa, a bookcase, a toilet, and a sink.

“Inside,” Ruth nudged her with the gun.

Fighting her instincts to run, to fight back, to do something, Clara instead walked into the cage. Ruth closed and locked the door behind her.

“You will end up doing what we want, Clara. I won't accept another outcome. Because if you don’t, Job will die, and I won't live without him. So, youwilllearn how to transform us into dolls.”

Then Ruth was gone, and Clara was left alone, praying that Jonathon would find her and she wasn't going to die in here.

* * * * *

8:59 A.M.

In the interest of saving time, he and Allina had split the twelve cottages on the Hyatt Estate and Jonathon had already checked out all six of his. Each of the properties were isolated enough that screams for help wouldn’t carry from one cottage to the next. The whole estate was thirty-five acres, approximately one house every three acres, plenty of space for guests to feel like they were all alone in the beautiful forest where they could enjoy the peace and quiet.

Four of the cottages he’d checked had been empty; none showed any signs that an elderly couple and three kidnap victims had recently inhabited them. Given that Job and Ruth Lincoln had created a child-sized dollhouse in the attic, and that the children had escaped only a couple of hours ago, there was no way that the attic could have been cleared out and the walls repainted already. If the Doll Killers had been hiding out in any of those cottages, then there would have been signs of it. Of the two that had been occupied, one was by a young couple on their honeymoon, the other by a young family with two toddlers. Neither fit the descriptions of the Doll Killers, and both had allowed him to check out the cottages, which had turned up no hints of recent prisoners.

Despair was quickly raining down upon him.

Allina hadn’t called to say that she’d found anything, and he hadn’t found anything, but Clara had to be here somewhere. Katie had said that they had run past a sign that said holiday cottages and the Hyatt Estate was the only place close enough that the children could have come from. Clara was here somewhere; he knew it—he just didn’t know where.

Perhaps there were other buildings here. There were stables, but that would have been too public, and the kids had said that they were kept on the third floor. The stables might have had a loft, but that was it; they wouldn’t have had multiple stories. Since the place was known for its gardens, there might be greenhouses or something, but again they would be single story, and the children hadn’t mentioned plants or flowers. They said they'd been in a house.

What other buildings could be here?

Then it hit him.

The house. The main house. The Reebs, who had taken over the Hyatt Estate about a year ago, lived on site.

That had to be it.

It was the only house left.

He consulted the map that he’d downloaded on the drive here. The main house was only a half-mile from where he was right now. Yanking out his phone, he turned the car engine back on and started to drive. “Ali, I think they're at the main house,” he said without preamble as soon as his partner answered her phone.

“I’m right up the other end of the property, wait for me.”

“I can't. Clara is in danger every second she spends with those people. Hurry.” Hanging up and throwing the phone onto the passenger seat, he turned down a long driveway that led to the main house. As he drove, he saw the sign that Katie had mentioned. Convinced he was in the right place, he left his car where it was, got out his gun, and went the rest of the distance on foot, hoping not to alert Job and Ruth Lincoln of his presence. He didn’t want them to panic and do something to Clara.

Reaching the front door, he put a hand on the brass handle and turned, praying that it wouldn’t be locked. It wasn't, and he eased the door open and stepped inside. The house was elegantly and simply decorated. The walls were all painted white giving the house a bright and airy feel. The floorboards looked old, probably original from when the farmhouse was built about two hundred years ago. The décor was modern, lots of white and glass, and a few paintings dotted the walls along with a couple of framed photographs.

Working his way down the central hallway, he cleared the lounge room on the left, the dining room on the right, and the huge kitchen at the back. Back in the hall, he headed slowly up the stairs to the second floor. Up here, there were three bedrooms and a bathroom. More white walls and floorboards, the bedrooms contained only beds and nightstands, with mirrored built-in wardrobes and floaty white curtains at the windows. A lone wheelchair sat in the largest of the bedrooms, further convincing him that he was in the right place. All four rooms were unoccupied, so he headed for the final staircase. As the children had told him, it had been converted into a ramp by laying several long, smooth pieces of wood over the steps.

Expecting to find the door at the top locked, as he assumed that Clara was still being held inside, he was surprised when instead it swung open at his touch.

The room was empty.

Well not empty, but Clara wasn't in it.

It was set up just like she had told them, just as he had pictured it in his mind—a child-sized dollhouse. It was creepy.

A chair sat off to one side, torn bits of duct tape on the floor around it.

Clara had been here, but where was she now?

Had they fled with her when they realized the children were gone?

If they had, how would he ever find them?

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