Gingerbread Man

nurse. Then she leaned over Doris again. "God, hon, you're white as a sheet."
    She shook her head. "Just tired. I... need to rest."
    "Well, we'll see to that. I've put Mrs. Stevens back in her own room for now. She'll be out till morning. Do you need anything to help you sleep?"
    What she needed, she thought, was a gun. Or a knife. Or a vat of deadly poison. Reginald D'Voe had taken her baby, and God only knew what he'd done to her before he'd finally killed her. He'd put Holly through hell, and he'd caused the cancer that had killed her husband. She had no doubt about that. Never had. The man had all but destroyed her family. He couldn't get away with that. He couldn't.
    He wouldn't.
    As the nurse pushed her toward her room past the nurse’s desk, she saw a large pair of shiny silver sheers on a tray. She bumped the tray with her foot, knocking some of the lighter items to the floor. When the nurse bent to pick them up, Doris grabbed the sheers and hid them in the folds of her hospital gown.

TWENTY
----

    "YOU DID IT!" the woman shrieked from the middle of the trashed kitchen. Every drawer was opened, every cupboard. Papers, photos, old notebooks were strewn over the table and counters. She'd been searching for something. Evidence of his guilt, he supposed. "You did, didn't you?
Didn't you?"
    "I don't know what you're talking about, honey. Why don't you calm down and stop looking at me like that?"
    His wife was wild-eyed. Her eyes were red and bulging and her hair a mess, as if she'd been repeatedly running tear-dampened hands through it. He'd never meant for her to find out. But he supposed, deep down, he'd always known she would. How could she not?
    The truck was in the back driveway, behind the house, its precious cargo bound and gagged and drugged and frightened. God, he loved it when they were frightened. It made it so much better. He'd only come home for a bite to eat, a change of clothes. Hadn't intended to stay long. Hadn't expected her to be home. God knew how little time he could take with his girls these days. It was getting shorter and shorter every time.
    "Our own daughters," his wife sobbed. "You did it to our own daughters."
    "Don't be ridiculous." He reached out for her but she backed away fast. Past the little round table, one hand dragging over it, knocking papers and old news clippings to the floor.
    "Our own daughters," she said again, shaking her head while new tears welled and rolled. "They tried to tell me what you were doing to them. And I didn't believe them. I chose you over our own daughters. That's why they ran away. That's why they left us. Because I wouldn't believe them."
    He tried to look stricken as he moved closer to her. One step, then another on the little square tiles. She was still backing up, but his steps covered more ground. "How can you even think something like that?" he asked softly.
    "And then, when little Ivy was taken—it hit me then, that maybe it was you. Maybe the girls had been telling the truth and I'd been blind—but then that other man confessed. I was so relieved. God, I was so relieved to know it wasn't you!"
    "He confessed because he was guilty," he said reasonably. "That proves it wasn't me. It was never me."
    She didn't just shake her head this time, she flung it from side to side so fiercely he thought she would wrench her neck. Not that it mattered. Not now. "No! No, he didn't confess because he was guilty. Doris told me he only confessed to cop a plea. He didn't kill Ivy. Someone else did.
You did!
And I could have saved her. I could have saved Ivy if only I hadn't wanted so badly to believe you!"
    "Oh, honey, come on. You're upset. This whole incident with little Bethany has you thinking crazy." He was close now. He reached out and caught her upper arm.
    She slapped him. Her hand whipped his face so hard he rocked backward, releasing her arm in the process. "Where is that little girl? What have you done to her? Tell me!"
    He didn't speak this time. Just stared at her and felt his cheek heating, reddening. She had never hit him. In all their years of marriage, she had never once hit him.
    Her voice came broken now, softer, her body shaking. "How could you do it? How could you kill a child? How?"
    He sighed deeply. Damn, he hadn't wanted it to come to this. He knew he shouldn't have made a move on the Stevens girl so soon. Not until he'd gotten that nosy cop the hell out of town, at least. But he'd planned this for so long. He'd never taken a child