Page 87 of Little Dolls

“Now walk over to the cage.”

Again, he did as directed.

“This has all worked out so perfectly, my dear one,” a new voice spoke. “Now she has a partner and we don’t even need to go looking for one.”

That seemed to spark something in Clara. “Tommy didn’t have a partner. When he carjacked me, he said he had to show me something. Was he going to bring me to you? Was I supposed to be his partner?”

Wanting to hear the answer to that, Jonathon turned slowly, not wanting to startle anyone into firing their weapons. The elderly couple before him were nothing exceptional to look at. Had he not known they were psychopathic killers, he wouldn’t have pegged them as such. They were the typical grandparent type, but he kept his guard up—they may look old and frail, but so far, they had done a pretty good job of holding their own.

“Yes, dear, he was supposed to bring you here so you could join us,” Job Lincoln replied. Clara looked crestfallen at the confirmation.

Moving around him to unlock the door, Jonathon didn’t have a good feeling about allowing himself to be locked away, even if Allina should turn up at any moment now. Fingering his gun, it appeared only Ruth Lincoln was armed, and he thought he could get off a shot at her before she could do anything about it.

He was going to risk it when something suddenly slammed into his head.

Stumbling, he fell to his knees, his vision cloudy. Clara’s screams echoed in his head. He clung to consciousness because he didn’t want to leave Clara alone and vulnerable.

Fighting to get back to his feet, he had just managed to get halfway up when the second blow had him dropping like a rock.

* * * * *

9:34 A.M.

Clara couldn’t stop screaming.

All the bottled-up fear and pain she’d been holding back came bubbling out as she looked at Jonathon lying unconscious on the basement floor.

“Don’t be afraid, dear,” Job’s voice cut through her terror. “He’s not dead. Not even hurt badly. Ruth just needs him unconscious while we open the door because neither of you understands yet.”

That didn’t stop her screaming.

Jonathon looked dead.

What if Ruth had hit him harder than she’d intended and had killed him?

As Ruth unlocked the door and dragged Jonathon through it, Clara knew she should do something—somehow take advantage of the situation. But all she could do was scream and sob.

“Stop,” Ruth shrieked, storming her and holding the gun to her forehead. “Stop. Just stop that squawking.”

She pressed her hands to her mouth to try to physically stifle her sobs, but the cold metal of the gun against her skin wasn't helping.

“Just leave her be, dear,” Job said. “She’s upset; she’ll calm down. We’ve had our morning walk, let’s go and have breakfast.”

“I hate shouting,” Ruth muttered, but left the cage, locking it behind her.

As soon as they were alone, Jonathon sprang to his feet. His face was white, the blood that dribbled down from a small cut on his forehead stood out in stark contrast. Her shock-addled brain thought fleetingly that he must be a ghost. Which was odd, she considered, since she didn’t even believe in ghosts.

“It’s okay, Clara, I'm okay,” she could just make out his voice through her screams. “I was just faking; I was never unconscious. The blows stunned me; that’s all.”

His arms were around her, and she was crushed against his chest. The pressure of his body against her raw burns made them sting, but she didn’t care. There wasn't a single other place she wanted to be right now than in Jonathon’s arms. Her whole body was trembling violently, the kind of shakes she knew she didn’t have a hope of controlling. She was losing it, she realized dismally.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby. Shh,” he soothed. His hand smoothed her hair just as he had the first day they'd met. His voice and his hands had calmed her that day, and they had the same effect on her now. Slowly her sobs quietened, her tremors stilled, and she sagged tiredly against him. “Come, sit down.” He led her to the table and eased her down into one of the chairs. “Let me take a proper look at you.”

As soon as he released her, her shakes returned. Jonathon grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her, then tilted her face so he could examine the bruise on her jaw from where Ruth had hit her earlier. The bruise was painful but nothing like the burns. Next, he lifted one of her arms, examining it, then her other arm, and her chest and stomach.

“Some of these look like they might be getting infected,” he told her, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Allina should be here soon; then we can get you out of here. You're still shaking. Let’s try and warm you up some. You're not properly dressed for the cold, and I think you're going into shock. Just hold on a little longer.”

He picked her up and sat with her on his lap. His hands carefully rubbed her arms, trying to warm her, as she rested heavily against his strong chest.Home. The word had never sounded so good. She wanted to see her sister, make sure Naomi was okay, then go home, climb into her bed, and sleep for about a month. Jonathon’s presence was so comforting that Clara could feel her eyes growing heavy. She had barely slept since she’d been kidnapped. She was just drifting off to sleep when she suddenly remembered something. Wiggling out of Jonathon’s grasp, she gasped out, “I have pins—from Katie’s hair—that’s how we got out of the attic.”

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