I nodded slowly. “Any officers keeping an eye on the town? I know there’s not that many to begin with, but…” I trailed. “We have a sufficient force patrolling town, but Mayor Hamonte dictates our priorities.”
That doesn’t sound corrupt at all.
“Right,” I muttered. I wasn’t convinced. “Because whatever’s been going on in the Gibraltar Institute takes top priority.”
Castillo gave me a sharp look. “I follow the mayor’s orders, Lenny. He believes this can be the Xmas Day Butcher. We find the escapee, we find your wife. Right? Now, what did you need from me? I need to go back on patrol soon.”
I brought out the dollhouse I had received, and she turned her focus towards it. Her fingers hovered over it, but she didn’t touch it. Her face remained neutral as she examined the piece with a keen eye. “This person is psychotic. Why the hell do they keep sending you such odd things?”
She glanced at me.
“Have you seen Joseph anywhere, by the way?” she asked.
I stiffened, my gut flaring. “No. Why? Is something wrong?”
Castillo hesitated, and I could see the frustration mounting on her creased forehead. “He didn’t show up for work this morning,” she said. “His truck’s in his driveway, but there’s no sign of him in his house, and someone ripped the place apart. I’m fearing the worst.”
I froze. “Oh my god. Joseph? No…could it be the Xmas Day Butcher? Why would they take Joseph? This is very alarming.”
Castillo’s expression darkened. “I don’t know. A neighbor said she saw a male figure going in and out of the place—figured it was Joseph, but it wasn’t. This is becoming a circus. This town is being terrorized by one person, and we have no idea who they are. I wish we had more resources; it’s not enough.”
I ran a hand through my hair, pretending that frustration was bubbling up inside me. “What are we going to do about this? They’re coming for us all.”
Castillo didn’t respond to that. Instead, she took a step back and surveyed the mess in my living room. The furniture looked like a tornado had ripped through it, and the remnants of some empty bottles were still scattered around the floor. The faint smell of alcohol and eggnog still lingered in the air.
Before she could make a comment, I filled the silence quickly. “It’s been rough without Angela. I…I’ve been a drunk mess lately. Can’t seem to get it together, you know? That’s why my house doesn’t look great. It’s just this Butcher…he’s been driving me absolutely insane.”
She looked at me for a long moment, sighing, her eyes softening just a fraction. “I understand. I know it’s not easy for you. These are the worst days of your life. Just don’t get lost in it, Lenny. You’re not alone in this. I’m trying my best to find this Xmas Day Butcher and your wife.”
Castillo turned back to the dollhouse—her fingers finally brushed against the delicate figure, but she didn’t pick it up. Instead, she nodded slowly to herself, her mind working as she processed the details.
“This…” she hesitated, her brow furrowing in thought. “This reminds me of a case I read about so many years ago, from a town called Axe’s River. There was a serial killer there who left dolls beside his victims. I don’t know if there’s any correlation, but it comes to mind.”
I raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Great name for a town. We’ve got Whisper’s Creek, Gravestone, Axe’s River, and Deadman’s Lake—all neighboring each other.”
Castillo, who’d been observing it, raised her head and looked at me. “This killer in Axe’s River had a very specific method,” she said. “He’d butcher his victims and leave a creepy doll beside each one at the scene of the crime—that was his signature, a calling card. The locals started calling him theDollhouse Killer.” She paused, shaking her head. “This killer was never caught, and it’s been years since he’s killed anyone. It’s possible that this is the same person. New town, new method. It’s all I can think of.” Castillo shifted her feet, her expression becoming more focused. “You think the Xmas Day Butcher might be the Dollhouse Killer under a new name?” I asked, shocked at the revelation of this mysterious killer in Axe’s River.
“I think it’s a possibility,” Castillo said.
“Who did he kill?”
Castillo glanced at me, pausing for a moment. “Medical professionals, outspoken journalists…people of that nature.”
That’s what Doctor Tuttle must’ve used him for…to kill his rivals.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. I wasn’t expecting that at all. “So…Colton Kilhouser,” I said, the words stuck in my throat, “is actually the Dollhouse Killer?”
Before Castillo could answer—the window exploded with a terrifying crash. Shards of glass flew across the room like shrapnel from a bomb, and something heavy landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
I could barely process what I was seeing at first. The severed, bloodied head of Doctor Tuttle was in the center of my living room, its vacant eyes staring up at me.
The head had on a Santa hat—an ominous note stuffed in its mouth.
“Not again,” I muttered under my breath.
Castillo’s eyes widened in disbelief, but she was already moving. “Stay here!” she ordered as she bolted outside, nearly smashing through the front door, not even waiting for me to respond.
I hesitated. My legs felt like they weighed fifty pounds, but I forced myself to move. My gaze shifted to the head, and I approached it carefully, almost afraid to touch it. The absurdity of it hit me all at once—Doctor Tuttle’s head, in my living room, wearing a goddamn Christmas hat.
