Daniel caught a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye and adjusted his focus. He found himself staring at the doll.

The figure turned its head, looked at him, grinned, the corners of its string mouth turning up.

Daniel grabbed for the doll, but again it, like everything in the room, was behind Plexiglas. His hand hit an invisible border and pain flared up his arm, across his shoulders. He wiggled his fingers weakly, felt searing flashes of agony that corresponded precisely to the movements, and realized that he’d broken or sprained at least three of his fingers.

Tony was already back at work on the hair, not noticing the new tilt of the figure’s head, the new expression on its face, and Daniel wanted to scream with rage.

What the hell was going on here? Tony couldn’t see him but that thing could? What was that all about?

Maybe he was a ghost.

“No!” he said aloud.

“I can help you.”

At the sound of the voice, Daniel jerked his head to the right.

Doneen was sitting on Tony’s desk chair. She was seated like a man, flat-footed, leg spread, and even in the dim orangish light he could see up her dirty ragged shift to the nearly hairless cleft between her thighs. He knew what she wanted—

You don’t really want me to leave

—and although he found himself, against his will and as sick as it was, tempted, he suppressed those thoughts and faced the girl. She was smiling at him, that same mocking derisive smile she’d had for him when he’d leaped out of the bathtub as a child, and anger helped hold the fear at bay. “Get out of here,” he ordered.

She stood, walked slowly toward him. Tony, oblivious to both of them, placed the last two spider legs on the strip of tape. “I can take this away from him,” she said softly. “He’ll never see me again or make another doll.”

“Get out of here,” Daniel repeated.

Doneen giggled. “He’ll never see Mr. Billings again. So that part of your nightmare’s taken care of.” She reached him, rubbed a hand between his legs.

Daniel pulled back.

“There’s only me to contend with now, and I can put your lives back to normal just like”—she snapped her fingers—“that.”

He grimaced distastefully. “What do you want?”

“What do you want?”

He shook his head. “I’m not playing this.”

“You do something for me, and I’ll do something for you.”

“What?”

“Lick me.” She bent over, pulled up her shift. “Lick me clean.”

“No,” he said.

She looked over her shoulder at him, smiled. “We never finished what we started.”

“And we never will.”