Chapter 1: The Doll on the Top Shelf
I emptied every dollar I had onto the toy-store counter.
Bills. Coins. Crumpled cash from my jacket pocket. The last fifty dollars I had been saving for gas.
The young cashier stared at the pile, then at the rows of dolls stacked behind her.
“You want all of them?”” she asked.
I nodded.
“Every doll you have.””
She looked at the money again.
“Sir, that's a lot of dolls.””
“I know.””
Behind me, a woman in a designer coat laughed under her breath.
“Unbelievable,” she whispered to her husband.
“That biker probably thinks he's buying his way into heaven.””
I heard her.
I simply didn't care.
My name is Daniel Carter. I'm forty years old, six-foot-three, covered in tattoos, and I ride a motorcycle that makes enough noise to turn heads three streets away.
People usually decide what kind of man I am before I open my mouth.
They see the leather vest, the gray in my beard, the scars across my knuckles.
They don't see the faded photograph in my wallet.
They don't see the little girl in that photograph.
My sister, Lily.
She was eight years old when she disappeared.
I was seventeen.
Our mother had taken us to a crowded summer festival. There were food trucks, carnival games, music, and a carousel with golden horses that Lily couldn't stop talking about.
I'd promised to keep an eye on her while Mom went to buy lemonade.
For three minutes, I looked away.
Three minutes.
When I turned around, Lily was gone.
At first, I thought she was playing hide-and-seek.
Then I found her yellow ribbon near the parking lot.
The police searched for weeks. Volunteers covered the surrounding neighborhoods. Our mother spent years making phone calls, following rumors, and visiting police stations.
Nothing.
Lily vanished.
And I spent the next twenty-one years carrying the same photograph.
I never stopped looking.
Not when I joined a motorcycle club. Not when I moved across three states. Not when I lost my job, my apartment, or nearly everything else.
Every Christmas, I visited Saint Mary's Children's Home.
I brought food, blankets, and whatever toys I could afford.
This year, the girls had asked for dolls.
I'd promised them I'd bring some.
I just hadn't expected to find so many.
The cashier began counting.
“Okay,” she said, tapping numbers into the register.
“You've got enough for seventeen dolls.””
I looked at the display.
There were at least thirty.
“How much for all of them?””
She checked the screen.
“Another ninety-three dollars.””
I exhaled.
My motorcycle needed a new battery. My electricity bill was overdue. I had exactly enough money left to get through the week.
I pushed the bills toward her.
“Then give me what this covers.””
“Sir, I can put some back for you.””
“No. Let the girls have what we can afford.””
The woman in the designer coat stepped closer.
“Maybe you should learn to manage your money before pretending to be Santa Claus.””
Her husband tugged at her sleeve.
“Victoria, leave it.””
But she wasn't finished.
“I'm just saying. Some people make these public gestures because they want attention.””
I turned toward her.
“Ma'am, I don't know you, and you don't know me. So let's save each other some time.””
She crossed her arms.
“Excuse me?””
“I wasn't asking for your opinion.””
The cashier lowered her eyes, trying not to smile.
Then a voice came from the back of the store.
“Wait.””
A woman stepped out of the stockroom.
She wore a simple blue uniform. Her dark curls were tied behind her head, and a faint scar crossed her left eyebrow.
She looked about twenty-nine.
Her eyes moved from the money on the counter to my face.
Then they stopped.
She went completely still.
“Daniel?””
My stomach tightened.
I didn't know her.
At least, I didn't think I did.
“Have we met?””
She didn't answer.
Instead, she stared at the old photograph sticking out of my wallet.
I instinctively covered it with my hand.
“What's wrong?””
The woman took one careful step forward.
“Can I see that picture?””
“Why?””
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
Victoria sighed loudly.
“Oh, for heaven's sake. Is this some kind of performance?””
Nobody answered her.
The woman in blue reached beneath her collar and pulled out a small silver pendant.
A motorcycle.
Tiny. Scratched. Almost black with age.
My knees nearly buckled.
I knew that pendant.
I'd bought it from a vending machine outside a diner with money I'd earned washing dishes.
I'd given it to my little sister the week before she disappeared.
Lily had laughed so hard when I put it around her neck that she'd nearly dropped it.
“Now I match my big brother,” she'd said.
I stared at the woman.
“Where did you get that?””
She clutched the pendant.
“I've had it for as long as I can remember.””
“That's impossible.””
“A woman who raised me told me never to take it off.””
My fingers began trembling.
“What woman?””
Her eyes filled with tears.
“My name is Elena.””
I pulled the photograph from my wallet.
It showed a skinny seventeen-year-old boy wearing a battered leather jacket beside a little girl with two braids and a yellow ribbon.
Elena looked at it.
Then she touched the little girl's face.
“I remember that jacket,” she whispered.
I couldn't breathe.
“Lily?””
Her shoulders began shaking.
“My brother called me Lily.””
The entire store fell silent.
Even Victoria stopped talking.
I stepped closer, afraid that if I moved too quickly, the woman would disappear.
“Tell me something,” I whispered.
“Something only Lily would know.””
Elena closed her eyes.
For a moment, she looked like she was fighting through a locked door in her own memory.
Then she whispered:
“You told me that if I ever got lost, I should look for the boy with the broken red shoelace.””
My eyes burned.
I'd broken that shoelace the morning of the festival.
I had tied it with a piece of fishing line because we couldn't afford new shoes.
I reached for her hand.
“Lily?””
She nodded.
And then she collapsed against my chest.
I held my little sister for the first time in twenty-one years.
But just as I wrapped my arms around her, Elena whispered something that made my blood run cold.
“Daniel, there's something you need to know.””
I pulled back.
“What?””
She looked toward the store's glass entrance.
A black luxury SUV had just pulled into the parking lot.
Elena's face went white.
May you like
“She's here,” she whispered.
“The woman who told me you were dead.””
