Bringing All the Bad, стр. 11

The Fantasist and the Three Princesses

Mel dropped her very brief report onto the Captain’s desk and leaned back heavily in her chair. “So, you can see we’re not going to get much out of her. The warrant might be our only shot at identification.”

After hearing about Mel’s lunch with Baby, in particular her assertion that she’d been taken over a century ago, Captain Mann felt tired all over again. Still, it wasn’t the first time something of the sort had happened. It wasn’t even the only time it had happened with this bunch. Mel didn’t know that yet, though. It was up to him to enlighten her.

“Before you call in the white-coats, you should look at this.” He tapped a few keys on his computer, then held his hand near the output tray of his printer. The noises it made were almost alarming.

“That thing sounds like it’s dying,” Mel commented.

“It’s been dying for three years,” he grumbled, then grabbed the papers and handed them over the desk to her.

“What’s this?” she asked. The printouts were emails and an attached report with way too many closely spaced words for her to read at that moment.

“Reports on the initial interviews with three of the youngest girls. Well, the first few interviews maybe. Anyway, all three of them have weird stories.”

Mel raised her eyebrows and asked, “Like being over a hundred years old?”

She thought he’d say no, but what he did was raise his eyebrows and say, “It’s not that far off.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised. Glancing back down at the papers, she wondered exactly how long it would take to read and if she could do it while the Captain watched her.

“I’ve got to make a call,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Take your time. I could give you the short and dirty, but reading it for yourself will make it clearer.”

With a nod, she shuffled back to the first page as Captain Mann picked up the phone. She did her best to concentrate and not eavesdrop on the call, which turned into three calls, but it was difficult. It was about money and that always perked up her ears.

He was trying to justify the overtime, as well as the additional costs for lab tests and expediting the DNA results. The fact that he was able to remain calm and not start slamming the phone around showed an impressive level of restraint. It was this, more than anything else, that made it clear to Mel she didn’t ever want his job. She wouldn’t be able to restrain herself like he did.

The summaries in her hands were bizarre enough that his phone conversations began to fade into the background. Each of the girls gave stories that were like a nightmare version of a fairy tale, a macabre and sick twist on the pink and glittery tales that enchanted little girls everywhere.

For one girl, it was the fairy tale of the princess who would sleep until the right prince kissed her. According to her, Papa had read her a version of the story every night for a long time. In that version, more than kissing happened and there were a lot of different princes who came to the sleeping princess. She didn’t wake up until it was the right prince.

He’d explained that she was now a princess too, but she couldn’t sleep all the time. Instead, she would be kissed by a lot of princes, and someday, it would be the right prince.

For another, it was a princess hiding in the forest with her dwarves. Only, they weren’t really dwarves and there were many dwarves that came and went. Each one kissed the princess while she waited in hiding. For the third, it was another disgusting twist on a different fairy tale. This was how he got them to accept what happened to them.

The sour taste of rising bile stung the back of Mel’s throat as she read. She didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping the edges of the papers until she heard a tear. A hand came between her and the pages. The Captain’s hand spread over the surface so she couldn’t read anymore. She hadn’t even heard him end his calls and get up.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, then tugged the papers gently from her hand.

Mel’s fists clenched. “It’s not okay.”

The Captain eased his bulk onto the edge of the desk, dropped the papers onto the cluttered top, then folded his hands in front of him, seemingly content to wait for her to compose herself. Mel didn’t know how she could do that, no matter how long he waited. How does a person accept that information and then be normal ever again? She wanted to punch something.

Sucking in a deep breath, she looked at the ceiling and tried to find some sense of calm. The plastic cover of the light fixture was spotted with dead insects. She’d never noticed that before.

“Are you going to be alright to listen, Mel?”

She wasn’t sure. She looked at him and shrugged.

Briefly narrowing his eyes, as if to gauge the level of her control, he gave a quick nod, apparently satisfied. “Here’s the thing. This Papa person is an epic shit stain. He’s pretty much the worst piece of shit in the world. I get it. I agree with that. He also completely fucked himself over.”

That got her attention. “How?”

“Consistency is how.” He got up, moved back around the desk and picked up another piece of paper, this one covered in marker lines of various colors along a timeline. He handed it to her and said, “This is what I did last night. It’s the general series of events for each of the girls that have given anything resembling a coherent story. The older girls