“So, you want us to go to your place and check out this mannequin puppet, crazy nun thing?” Quinn asked. He was somewhat surprised. Over the years, he’d seen plenty of people freaked out over “scary” creations. Some had real phobias about clowns. Some—dolls in general. With others, it was only puppets.
Quinn was surprised that Colby had called him for several reasons—first, Quinn had visited Colby at home a decade ago before Colby had lost his father and when Colby’s mom had been great and fun and beautiful and completely in her right mind. Their house--the one Colby and Kathy had grown up in--had been filled with incredible things—wild collectibles, reproduction death masks and all kinds of film creatures and other odds and ends of art and whatnot.
Kathy could not have been easily frightened.
And that Colby actually wanted the zombie-nun checked out seemed odd. Did he believe himself that the movie prop or figure was evil?
And was it?
“I want you to get rid of it for me,” Colby said. “Maybe get it back up on the market. People were bidding high for them. Unless….”
“Unless?” Danni asked.
“Unless there is something…bad about it. Then….” Colby spoke quickly, and then his voice trailed just as quickly, as if he were afraid that what he was about to say would sound crazy.
“Then?” Danni asked.
“Burn it. Burn the damned thing. Cut it to pieces. Do whatever you have to do,” Colby said. “You can—you can try to do that, right?”
He seemed to really wonder if the zombie-nun could be burned.
“We can do what you want,” Quinn told him. He hesitated. “We need to see your sister,” he told Colby.
Colby stiffened at that and ran his fingers through his short cut, coal black hair. “I’m trying to get her to forget what happened, to let it become a bad dream.”
“Colby,” Danni said, still gently touching his hand, “we’ll listen to her. Without suggesting that she’s crazy in any way, which, I doubt, anyone has done yet. It’s not a bad dream—she’s in the hospital. We need to understand what she thinks happened—from her. We won’t upset her. I promise.”
Quinn glanced at Danni. She had a way with people—one he was sometimes lacking.
“All right, all right,” Colby said. “But, please….”
“We won’t upset her, and if she’s agitated at all, we’ll leave,” she promised.
That settled it for Colby. “Well, come on up,” he said.
He was polite and anxious as they waited for the elevator. He asked Danni and Quinn how things were in New Orleans and thanked them again for coming so quickly. Quinn told him it wasn’t a problem; they had two co-workers who lived in an apartment above the main house at the shop—they were happy to take care of Wolf—Quinn’s big hybrid dog. The elevator came and once to their floor, they went down the hall. Tracy—Colby’s wife—had been sitting by the side of the bed and she stood quickly as they entered, smoothing her hair back and looking at her husband with relief. Quinn had never met his friend’s wife before—they hadn’t been married more than a year or so. Tracy was tiny, especially next to Colby’s six-foot-three frame and Quinn’s own six-four—even Danni’s five-nine. She was a pretty little woman with a delicate face that easily betrayed emotion and she looked as if she’d been cast in a horror movie herself—and didn’t know her lines.
Ironic, of course, Quinn thought, since Tracy Kennedy was an actress. She and Colby had met, Colby had told Quinn, when they’d filmed Treasure of the Elizabeta Maria, a decent kids’ movie filmed in the keys that had made use of Colby’s company for the dive scenes.
“Oh. People,” Tracy murmured, but Quinn’s attention was then on Kathy Kennedy.
Colby’s younger sister lay on the bed in pathetic condition; her head was bandaged, her leg was in an apparatus that held it up and straight and she was bruised and blue about the eyes and nose. She looked at Quinn, though, as they entered, and he believed that it was a glimmer of hope he saw in her eyes. She’d been a young teenager the last time he’d seen her—pretty, bright—eager and hardworking even then. She loved movies and scripts. She was quick—as they watched a movie that turned out to be pretty darned bad—to point out when the actors weren’t at fault. “What could they do with that horrible script?” she would say.
Tracy cleared her throat and moved out of the way murmuring, “Kathy has been drifting in and out…she’s awake now, I believe.” With her back to Kathy she mouthed to them, “On a morphine drip! Poor girl could say anything, I think!”
Quinn nodded politely as he shook her hand and introduced her to Danni. Then he moved around to smile at Kathy and take the seat next to her.
“Hey, kid, can you talk?”
Kathy nodded. “Quinn. Cool to see you. I had such a crush on you,” she told him.
He was surprised to actually flush. Kathy was looking at Danni. “Hey,” she said. “I hear you own a shop that takes…evil things.”
Danni nodded. “Yes. It was my dad’s. He was great. Now, it’s mine. Quinn and I…work on that kind of thing together. With help from our friends,” she added.