The night had the perfect atmosphere for the runaway criminal. Dark clouds, a hint of lightning, and just enough rain to keep the pesky detective behind. The investigator was not equipped with the street skills the young teen had. The curvy corners and alleyways were a perfect getaway for Charles Lee Ray, also known by many as The Lakeshore Strangler. Tonight, however, even with these advantages, the infamous murderer was having quite a struggle to evade his pursuer.

Michael W. Norris, former novelist, current detective, had a motivation. To capture and confront this killer had become his life goal. Obsessive? Perhaps, but the ghost of a happy future caused his determination. The ghost choked out her final words to him over and over again as he splashed through the muck of the Chicago streets. "Michael, Charles Lee Ray… he's…"

The boy also had his own inclinations. He would not, absolutely not, ever become encased behind bars again. He had been once, and the experiences he had encountered inside were ones he would rather not have again; in fact, he had trained his mind to believe that they had never happened. But every once in a while, such as now, they would come alive again, tugging at the corner of his mind, whispering in taunting little voices how the cuffs of steel were waiting for him...

The violent throaty coughs caught him off guard. True, he had been falling ill for weeks by now, but he had not expected such a harsh ambush at this moment. Uttering obscene phrases under his breath, he held his stomach supportively as he continued his hasty escape. Turning his head from left to right desperately, he sighed with relief as he found a toy store with glass windows.

The sound of the shattering windows was satisfying to the runaway. He picked out as many shards as he could from his skin and clothes as his mind frantically raced to conjure up a scheme to rid himself of his relentless pursuer. A pile of Barbies and Hot Wheels fell to the floor as he dumped the boxes off the shelves, giving him time to think.

Detective Mike leaped through the broken window- though not as stealthily as he had hoped. (Detective business was never his strong point.) He stood quickly to regain his composure as he scanned his surroundings. A stroke of lightning revealed the trashed aisle of toys. "Aha," he breathed triumphantly. "I've got you now, Charles Lee Ray…" He pulled out his flashlight and stepped forward cautiously. "C'mon, you can't hide forever, Mr. Ray. Come out, come out wherever you are…"

The voice of the detective seemed faded to Charles. His head was pounding, and the store was beginning to spin. Fighting back coughs within his chest, he stumbled into the shelf in front of him and took hold of one of the items. When he took a good look at it, he couldn't decide whether his fever had the best of him, or if what he was seeing was possible. But no matter. He had no time to waste. Familiar words and rhymes slipped into his memory. Smiling, he slid the doll out of its box and held its arms and chanted softly to himself…

Take meus animus quod servo es near,
Vos mos tutela is ex suus vereor,
Ut Ego chant illa lacuna vobis,
Instruo pro negotium vos es implored efficio…

The boy closed his eyes and slumped to the floor, his tormented body and soul at last in a temporary peace.

Mike rounded the corner of the last aisle and tripped over a doll's body. Holding in a groan of pain, he pulled out his gun for defenses. Charles Lee Ray could be anywhere. It was best to keep guard. But right beside the smiling toy was the crumpled body of the criminal. The detective gasped. "He can't be…" he felt for his pulse, and found nothing. "..dead?"

He wasted no time. Dialing on his phone, the detective had police- and doctors- there in minutes. Caution tape and Warning signs were everywhere. No one could seem to understand what had happened. The capture of the infamous and well-wanted killer should have been victorious; instead, it felt empty and unfinished.

Empty and unfinished could also describe the feelings of the mother and son in their apartment that night. They had received a phone call earlier that the father of the family had died, presumably murdered by a clever assassin. They held each other closely, and the rain and thunder did their best to comfort the two.

The incident did seem to have some positive effect, however. A passing thrift store manager snuck past the caution tape well after everyone had gone and filled a cart for him to take back to his shop. Trucks, cradles, yo-yos, and a seemingly life-like doll were soon an added addition to his crowded shelves.

If the thrift store manager had paid any attention, he would have noticed the steady heartbeat that seemed to come from the doll, whose eyes glinted under the moonlight that shone through the small shop's window…