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The Laughing Corpse :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 17 из 213All I had gained so far was a wider variety of nightmares.
Dolph walked ahead of me to the next chamber of horrors. didn't really want to find the rest of the body. I wanted to go home. He hesitated in front of the closed door until I stood beside him. There was a cardboard cutout of a rabbit on the door like for Easter. A needlework sign hung just below the bunny. Baby's Room.
"Dolph," my voice sounded very quiet. The noise from the living room was muted.
"Yes."
"Nothing, nothing." I took a deep breath and let it out. I could do this. I could do this. Oh, God, I didn't want to do this. I whispered a prayer under my breath as the door swung inward. There are moments in life when the only way to get through is with a little grace from on high. I was betting this was going to be one of them.
Sunlight streamed through a small window. The curtains were white with little duckies and bunnies stitched around the edges. Animal cutouts danced around the pale blue walls. There was no crib, only one of those beds with handrails halfway down. A big boy bed, wasn't that what they were called?
There wasn't as much blood in here. Thank you, dear God. Who says prayers never get answered? But in a square of bright August sunshine sat a stuffed teddy bear. The teddy bear was candy-coated with blood. One glassy eye stared round and surprised out of the spiky fake fur.
I knelt beside it. The carpet didn't squeeze, no blood soaked in. Why was the damn bear sitting here covered in congealing blood? There was no other blood in the entire room that I could see.
Did someone just set it here? I looked up and found myself staring at a small white chest of drawers with bunnies painted on it. When you have a motif, I guess you stick with it. On the white paint was one small, perfect handprint. I crawled towards it and held up my hand near it comparing size. My hands aren't big, small even for a woman's, but this handprint was tiny. Two, three, maybe four. Blue walls, probably a boy.
"How old was the child?"
"Picture in the living room has Benjamin Reynolds, age three, written on the back."
"Benjamin," I whispered it, and stared at the bloody handprint. "There's no body in this room. No one was killed here."
"No."
"Why did you want me to see it?" I looked up at him, still kneeling.
"Your opinion isn't worth anything if you don't see everything."
"That damn bear is going to haunt me."
"Me, too," he said.
I stood, resisting the urge to smooth my skirt down in back.
Dolph walked ahead of me to the next chamber of horrors. didn't really want to find the rest of the body. I wanted to go home. He hesitated in front of the closed door until I stood beside him. There was a cardboard cutout of a rabbit on the door like for Easter. A needlework sign hung just below the bunny. Baby's Room.
"Dolph," my voice sounded very quiet. The noise from the living room was muted.
"Yes."
"Nothing, nothing." I took a deep breath and let it out. I could do this. I could do this. Oh, God, I didn't want to do this. I whispered a prayer under my breath as the door swung inward. There are moments in life when the only way to get through is with a little grace from on high. I was betting this was going to be one of them.
Sunlight streamed through a small window. The curtains were white with little duckies and bunnies stitched around the edges. Animal cutouts danced around the pale blue walls. There was no crib, only one of those beds with handrails halfway down. A big boy bed, wasn't that what they were called?
There wasn't as much blood in here. Thank you, dear God. Who says prayers never get answered? But in a square of bright August sunshine sat a stuffed teddy bear. The teddy bear was candy-coated with blood. One glassy eye stared round and surprised out of the spiky fake fur.
I knelt beside it. The carpet didn't squeeze, no blood soaked in. Why was the damn bear sitting here covered in congealing blood? There was no other blood in the entire room that I could see.
Did someone just set it here? I looked up and found myself staring at a small white chest of drawers with bunnies painted on it. When you have a motif, I guess you stick with it. On the white paint was one small, perfect handprint. I crawled towards it and held up my hand near it comparing size. My hands aren't big, small even for a woman's, but this handprint was tiny. Two, three, maybe four. Blue walls, probably a boy.
"How old was the child?"
"Picture in the living room has Benjamin Reynolds, age three, written on the back."
"Benjamin," I whispered it, and stared at the bloody handprint. "There's no body in this room. No one was killed here."
"No."
"Why did you want me to see it?" I looked up at him, still kneeling.
"Your opinion isn't worth anything if you don't see everything."
"That damn bear is going to haunt me."
"Me, too," he said.
I stood, resisting the urge to smooth my skirt down in back.