“She’s missing. They think taken by a serial killer. People in the chat rooms online are calling him the doll maker. He keeps his victims alive for at least a month, dresses them up like dolls.” He looks over the images on the board.
An icy cold shiver dances up my spine at the thought of this girl being kept somewhere, terrified, waiting to die. I slip my hand into his. “What can I do to help?”
A smile, half sad, half elated, broadens his features. “Really? You don’t have to be a part of this,” he implores, raising our joined hands to his chest.
“I’m part of you. Whatever we do, we do together. Let’s help this girl.” I jerk my head in silent confirmation.
Wrapping me in his embrace, his lips dance over mine, causing a fever to rise within me. “I love you.” His lips continue to devour before pulling away when we’re both breathless, his vivid green eyes boring into mine. “Together.” He nods.
Slipping from his embrace, I go to his board and rub away the title Doll Maker. This isn’t about the killer. I don’t want to feed into the hype and fame of them. It’s about the victims, finding them, giving them a voice and retribution. I write the fitting words above her face: Lost Girl. Just like with my lost boy, we will find her.The End…