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For Erik it all started with Magda.
One day he was just a normal, blunt-faced police detective with a reputation for being a hard-ass, and the next he was ‘that guy’, the weirdo with the corner office who the others gossiped about while they loitered around the water cooler.
Although, to be fair, the change wasn’t as abrupt as all that.
But it had all started with Magda.
Magda had been a beautiful young woman who had unfortunately got mixed up with the wrong man. She’d suffered abuse at his hands for years before finally reaching the end of her tether. She had somehow managed to procure a slow-acting poison which she’d used to generously lace her husband’s alcohol, and had then sat down opposite him and watched with cold satisfaction as the man slowly drank himself to death. The police found her there later, sitting in the same seat with a look of great relief and contentment on her face. She had called the police herself shortly after her husband had breathed his last.
Erik was the presiding detective on that case. He had felt sorry for Magda, but there was little that he could do. Despite the man’s years of abuse, Magda had never filed a report against her husband, had never gone to the police about him. Nor had anyone else noticed anything suspicious. The bastard may have been a drunkard but he was not stupid. He knew precisely what to hit and where to avoid in order to prevent outside comment. Add that to the fact that the murder was clearly premeditated, and it meant that Magda would be going away for quite some time.
By the time of the trial, Magda’s sense of satisfaction and serene countenance had disappeared and she finally seemed to understand the consequence of her actions. Her defence was almost half-hearted; she herself seemed resigned to her fate, and Erik watched the trial unfold with gritted teeth. Disappointed as he was in Magda’s lack of fighting spirit, he could not help but feel sorry for her, and he promised himself that, whatever happened, he would keep an eye on her.
In the end she got ten years in a minimum security prison. Erik had been in the courtroom when the verdict was announced and he had watched grimly as Magda had looked about her helplessly, fear and despair clearly visible on her face. She had been marched out of the courtroom in silence, the white skirt of her dress billowing out behind her, and the next time that Erik saw her, she was in an orange jumpsuit, eyes dim and hair lank.
He had visited her often, at the start. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do with his time off, and Magda had always seemed grateful for the company. He had slowly drawn her out of her shell and, although always somewhat intimidated by him, she had come to regard him as something of a friend. He in turn had grown vaguely fond of her, and so the visits that had started merely out of charity slowly grew to be something of a pleasure. It continued in this way for almost a year.
And then Magda disappeared.
Erik couldn’t believe it when he first heard the news. He had stared at the prison guard who had spoken to him, uncomprehending.
‘What do you mean she’s gone?’ he had snarled when he finally understood. ‘Where can she have gone?’
The guard shrugged.
‘Beats me,’ he said. ‘All I know is that two suits came in two days ago – some guy and some broad, real looker she was too – asking to see her and then the next day – bam. She walks out of here with those two suits, calm as you like, no longer a prisoner – not even wearing a pair of cuffs or nothing. No transfer papers, no explanations, no follow-up, nothing. And everything apparently clean and above-board, too.’ He shook his head. ‘Those suits must have had some pretty high clearance, I’m telling you. That, or the little lady was involved in some serious shit.’
Erik frowned. Magda hadn’t been involved in any serious shit – he would know. He was the arresting officer on her case, after all, and he knew Magda. There was nothing remarkable about her at all, really, apart from her looks and her circumstances. He simply couldn’t understand what anyone would want with her.
He had followed up on her, of course. He had requested the CCTV footage of her meeting with the two visitors but had been immediately stonewalled; apparently the two anonymous agents had requisitioned the tape right before their departure, bringing that lead to a dead-end. Erik had also looked up Magda in every database he had access to, using whatever search-engine that he could find, but with no success. It was as if she had disappeared off the face of the earth.
Erik tried everything he could. He listed Magda as a missing person; he got in touch with her old friends and neighbours; he even asked his contacts in various other government agencies to search their databases. He tried everything – but he still couldn’t find her.
Before he knew it, a year had passed and, while still keeping her in his mind, Erik had slowly resigned himself to never solving the mystery of Magda’s disappearance.
And then he saw her again.
He had been sitting in a bar, brooding over his latest case, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye, something that made him frown and turn around. And then he almost fell off his chair.
For there, in front of him, was Magda. And not Magda as he had seen her last, withdrawn and pale. This Magda was beautiful and vibrant, with sleek, shiny hair and a gaggle of admirers around her. Erik had stared at her in disbelief, his drink forgotten, and before he knew it he was walking across the bar, elbowing people out of the way and pulling up in front of her, planting himself right in front of her feet.
The man next to her – a short, dumpy little chap who could never have scored a chick like Magda in his wildest dreams – frowned at Erik’s approach, and not-so-subtly tightened his arm around her. Magda smiled at his action but whispered something reassuring into his ear before looking up at Erik.
There wasn’t the slightest flicker of recognition in her eyes.
‘Hello there,’ she purred, giving Erik a seductive smile that he could swear she had never used in all the time that he had known her. ‘And who are you?’
Erik stared at her for a moment, taken aback by her manner, before narrowing his eyes.
‘You know very well who I am,’ he growled. ‘And you know what I’m going to ask you, too.’
A pucker appeared on Magda’s smooth forehead, and she looked at him with wide, curious eyes.
‘I’m afraid I don’t have the slightest clue who you are,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘Have we met before?’
Erik’s temper was beginning to fray.
‘Don’t play games with me, Magda,’ he said tightly. ‘Where were you all this time? I’ve been searching for over a year.’
The woman’s expression suddenly cleared at that.
‘Ah,’ she said with a smirk. ‘There’s your trouble. You have the wrong girl. My name is Janet.’
Erik had stared at her. He had shaken his head and argued and had refused to believe her even when she had pulled out identification marking her as Janet Forrester, not even when she had reeled off a number of intimate facts about herself without stumbling or giving any hint that she was making things up on the spot.
‘Look,’ she had said, exasperated when Erik still didn’t believe her. ‘My name is Janet not Magda. I’m married, for Christ’s sake – I’ve been married for years. Tell him, darling.’ She turned to the short, dumpy man next to her who had a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face. ‘Tell him how we got married right after high school, how we’ve known each other forever, that there’s no chance of me being this Magda person.’
The man squirmed before nodding quickly.
‘Yeah,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Yeah, what she said.’
Erik narrowed his eyes at that. He wasn’t in the least bit swayed. He knew Magda. This was her. Yes, her look and her manner was different – even her speech pattern was slightly changed, but this was her. He knew it. He had checked it the moment that he had drawn near – there, on the side of her neck, was the small birthmark that he had noticed from the first time he had met her. There, on her left arm, was a long shiny scar, the remnant of one of her dead husband’s alcohol-fuelled attacks. No, he was right about this, he was sure of it, and no flimsy story about being high-school sweethearts was going to sway him from his gut instinct that there was something horribly, horribly wrong here. Even if Magda didn’t seem to know it.
Their confrontation had been attracting quite a bit of attention, however, so Erik thought it prudent to withdraw – at least a little, so that no one would confront him or attempt to throw him out of the bar. He had apologised to Magda, pretending to finally believe her, before retreating over to a corner booth where he stayed and watched Magda all night, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible. He stayed in the same spot for over two hours, carefully monitoring his alcohol intake and trying to take surreptitious photos of the woman who claimed not to be Magda.
At precisely midnight, two men entered the bar and Erik immediately sensed something off about them that made him slowly get to his feet. He weaved his way over towards where Magda was sat, pretending to want another drink and timing his arrival nearby to coincide with that of the two men. One of the men stopped a little distance away while the other approached Magda, a kindly look on his face. Erik clenched his fist and leaned forward as close as he dared in order to catch what was said.
‘Hello Janet,’ the man said in a kindly voice. ‘It’s time to leave.’
Magda cocked her head in surprise, smiling nevertheless.
‘It is?’ she asked curiously. She glanced over at her supposed husband, who avoided her gaze, glancing down miserably at his feet.
‘Yes,’ the man nodded. ‘It’s time for your treatment.’
‘Oh, my treatment!’ Magda exclaimed and immediately got to her feet. ‘What didn’t you say so?’ She smiled. ‘I like my treatments.’ She turned to her fake-husband with a smile. ‘Don’t worry, sweetie,’ she cooed. ‘This will just take a second.’
The man didn’t so much as protest. He merely nodded at the man escorting Magda away, before sighing and wandering over to the bar where he proceeded to order himself a very large glass of scotch.
Erik, in the meantime, had managed to hear everything. And he didn’t like it one bit. Everything he saw pointed towards Magda being involved in some sort of elaborate, high-class prostitution ring, and the idea sickened him. Not to mention that all this talk about ‘treatments’ made him very apprehensive.
He quickly followed Magda and her companions outside, trying to act as calm and casual as he could. At least, he tried to do so until he saw Magda get into a plain black van with the two men, and then he could take it no longer. He ran after them, pulling out his detective’s badge with one hand, and his gun with the other.
‘Freeze!’ he had snarled, holding the gun out in front of him as he ran towards the van.
The vehicle didn’t even pause. Erik had barely enough time to get out of the way before the van was zooming past him, its dark-tinted windows preventing him from seeing anything inside.
He swore viciously as it sped away. Luckily, he’d managed to get a clear view of the van’s licence plates and he grimly resolved that the first thing that he would do upon returning to the office was to look up the licence plate and chase down the owners.
For now, though, he had another avenue to chase.
After swiping his hair back and taking a minute to calm himself, he slowly made his way back to the same bar that he had been sitting at all evening. He walked in coolly, his eyes immediately fixed on the corner of the bar where Magda’s – no, Janet’s – supposed husband was busy drinking himself into a stupor.
Erik took a moment to gather himself and to fix on a suitable manner for interrogation before moving forward. He came to a rest at the man’s side and quickly ordered a scotch from the bartender. The man beside him looked over upon registering his presence, only to scowl.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said grumpily, going back to his drink.
‘Indeed,’ Erik agreed. He received his drink and immediately took a small sip from it. ‘So,’ he said casually. ‘How do you know Magda?’
The man stiffened at the question before slowly relaxing.
‘Told you,’ he said, still not meeting Erik’s eyes. ‘I don’t know no Magda. That woman – she’s my wife. Janet.’
Erik allowed a slow, dangerous smile to slide on to his face, one that didn’t meet his eyes. The man beside him glanced up almost despite himself and immediately gulped and gazed back down.
‘There’s a problem with that,’ Erik said in a silky-smooth voice. ‘And the problem is that I simply don’t believe you. You and I both know that that woman’s name is not Janet, and we certainly know that she has not been married to you since high school, don’t we?’
The man swallowed again and didn’t say anything.
‘Tell me,’ Erik drawled. ‘Were you really so desperate that you resorted to hiring out a prostitute to make you feel better?’
The man jerked up at that.
‘She is not a prostitute!’ he hissed, his eyes narrowing in anger.
Erik quickly suppressed his sense of satisfaction at getting a rise out of his target.
‘Really?’ he said instead, looking almost bored. ‘Because it certainly seemed that way to me. And that man who picked her up – was that her pimp? He certainly seemed like the type, yes?’
The man bit his lip angrily and, instead of answering, took another long gulp of his drink. He was well on the way to being completely plastered, something that Erik was going to take as much advantage of as he could.
‘Not to mention that fact that Magda is a missing person …’ Erik continued, looking at the glass in his hand speculatively. ‘As well as a former convict who mysteriously disappeared one day, leaving no trace behind her. I think this calls for a serious investigation, don’t you?’
The man was sweating now and he couldn’t hide his nervousness. He glanced at Erik and licked his lips.
‘Look,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I know nothing about all that, I swear. I just met the girl and-’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Erik snapped, finally having had enough of this. He turned the full force of his glare on the man, who cowered in the face of it. ‘In fact, I don’t believe a single word that you have said to me all evening. And just so you know,’ he paused and his eyes narrowed into angry slits, ‘I am getting very impatient with you.’
The man swallowed and he cast a desperate look around.
‘I can’t!’ he whined. ‘They’ll be angry! I don’t know what they will – They’re powerful, you know? They don’t like anybody messing with their business!’
‘Who?’ Erik demanded coldly. His mind was moving fast, flicking through the names of the gangs and local mafia that dealt with prostitution.
The man gave Erik a fearful look, licking his lips desperately. When Erik didn’t so much as blink at his obvious distress, however, he slumped down, surrendering.
‘The Dollhouse,’ he whispered, and Erik’s blood went cold. ‘Janet – your Magda – she belongs to the Dollhouse.’
*
And that was how Erik had gone from being a feared and respected – even if frequently avoided – detective, to being an odd, ridiculed and still frequently avoided one. Not that he minded the latter of course, and the titters of his colleagues meant little to him, except where they stung his pride where he allowed himself to mull over it.
Because everyone knew about the Dollhouse. They knew about it in the same way that they knew about the tooth fairy, or the Loch Ness monster. It was a fairytale, albeit a disturbing one; one that was whispered in the back corners of bars and floated through the underground, as opposed to being told in the bedrooms of little children.
The Dollhouse, where the minds of pretty young men and women were extracted and replaced with the minds and memories and skills of others; where feelings and personalities were changed and altered like outfits on a Barbie doll. The mere concept of it made Erik shudder. The thought that it might be real … his blood went cold whenever he so much as thought about it.
And so he began to pour all of his time and energy into finding the Dollhouse, trying to dig up as much information on it as he could. He may as well have been trying to locate Camelot, as far as his colleagues were concerned. He had just as much luck with it, as well: everywhere he turned, he was met with a dead-end. Even the licence plate that he had run had turned up blank. There seemed to be no information anywhere. Worse still, it seemed that word of his search had passed on and he found himself being relegated to the most mundane and mind-numbing cases in the whole department, as if someone high up was trying to punish him for his interest in the Dollhouse. He had only the fact that he was a detective to thank for the fact that he didn’t end up doing traffic duty.
But as time went on, he found his confidence beginning to wane. It was hard to be focused and driven when there was nothing to focus on. One by one all his leads seemed to vanish, until he was left with nothing.
Erik came very, very close to giving up, then. In fact, he had quite resolved to throw in the towel and end this nonsense, tired of the thankless task he had set for himself. He simply couldn’t see anything else that he could do that he hadn’t already done. It was time to move on, and to close the case on Magda once and for all, never mind how much he hated giving up on anything.
And then one day he received a plain brown envelope that had appeared along with the rest of the post in his hallway despite having nothing but his name printed on it in big, block letters.
Inside the envelope was just one thing: a large, clear picture of a handsome man with bright blue eyes, floppy brown hair and almost indecently red lips, with a bright, beaming smile on his face.
Erik had stared at the photograph, nonplussed, before slowly turning the picture around.
On the back were just two words.
Find him.