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“Yes, you are,” he contradicted. “You went through something horrific as a child, and yet you didn’t let it define you. You built a life for yourself.”
Shrugging dismissively, she said, “Kids are resilient.”
He gave her a small frown, “Don’t downplay it. I'm sure rebuilding your life was no small feat, but you did it. You graduated high school, you got your MBA, you run a successful business. I'd say you had to be pretty tough to accomplish all of that.”
Clara felt uncomfortable that he knew so much more about her than she knew about him. She also felt uncomfortable with his obvious admiration. Just because she had been abducted as a child didn’t mean that she deserved any special treatment in any area of her life.
“Clara, no one, not even my partner, thinks that you are involved in this beyond being a victim of both the Doll Killers and Thomas Karl. Since you're not a suspect, your carjacking case is closed, and while your old case is active, I’m not in any way involved with it, so I don’t see any conflict of interest in what I'm about to ask you. Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”
The earnestness with which he asked almost made her regret her answer. “No.”
Surprise and disappointment flooded his face. “No?”
Nodding slowly, she repeated, “No.”
“Why? When we met, there was something there. Something between us. Attraction, a spark, whatever you want to call it; but I know you felt it, too.”
Unfortunately, she had. It still didn’t change the facts. Softening her tone, she said, “I'm sorry, but I can't go out with you.”
“Why? I know you're attracted to me. And I know it’s not because you think I thought you were a killer, because I know deep down you know I never doubted you. So, what’s the problem?”
“Tommy,” she answered softly. “You think he did this. You're determined to prove that he did. I know he wouldn’t, but you don’t believe me.”
For a long moment, he just stared at her as though trying to figure her out. Then his eyes shuttered, and he stood. “Okay. Fair enough.”
“You're okay with that?” Surprised, and all right, she admitted, a little disappointed that he’d given up on her so easily. Surely he could have fought for her at least a little bit.
“No, but I'm not going to force you to go out with me when you don’t want to. I wish you all the best, Clara.” Jonathon paused at the door. “And if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.”
With that, he was gone.
And Clara was left alone with her thoughts. Had she just made a mistake? Would the connection she’d felt with Jonathon fade? Should she go after him? Would she ever go after him? Or would she be a coward and walk away from the first man she’d ever met who she thought she even had a chance of falling in love with?
The only question that never entered her mind was what if she was wrong about Tommy? She was one hundred percent convicted of her friend’s innocence. And somehow she’d prove she was right.
* * * * *
4:29 P.M.
It had been a productive day.
Lindsey and Kent had moved on to a better life. Now they could live on forever in the form of dolls. Those children had been given the gift of immortality. What more could a person ask for?
Dolls.
They were so perfect. So amazing. Humanity captured in a perfect little entity that could never be destroyed, never be corrupted.
The nickname the press had chosen wasn't correct. Doll Killers. Who would ever kill a doll? Whocouldkill a doll? They were eternal.
What they were doing wasn't killing; it was creating. Transferring life from one being to another. These children were being given a beautiful gift. If only everyone could be so lucky. If only she could be so lucky.
The love affair with dolls had started early in childhood. Now her doll collection was vast, and it contained several very rare and expensive pieces. It had taken her many years to build it up, and each carefully chosen contribution made her collection even more exquisite. She loved them all, of course, but she also couldn’t deny that she had her favorites. There was something so intriguing about them; they were so lifelike and yet not. They were so beautiful—the smooth, clear skin, the sparkling eyes, the perfectly styled hair. No real life child could compare. She certainly couldn’t. All her life she had been told that. Told it so many times that she had come to believe it.
To her, the story of Pinocchio had always seemed like an odd one. What doll would ever give that up to become a mere mortal? Who gave up perfection to be plain and ordinary? As a child, she had spent hours playing with her dolls, wishing that she could become one. Each night she would wait anxiously at her bedroom window to catch sight of the first star so she could make her wish. She had loved that poem—still did. There were still many a night that she would sit at her window, watch for that first star, and recite the poem:Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. The words were so magical and held so much meaning. And in a way, her wish had finally come true.
She had found a way to help others do what she had never managed. She had helped them to achieve perfection. Now those pretty little children would never lose magnificence. Now it could last forever. They would never grow old; they would never be corrupted—either inside or out—and they would never suffer as she had suffered.
Plain and ordinary had been a big part of her life. But it wasn't now. Now her life was full of beauty and magic. Creating perfect little dolls that would live on for all eternity. And through her creations, she too would live on forever. A part of her became a part of them.
