Puppet Read online

  They’re running. And I’m running too. Although I doubt they know that I am just like the are.

  I stare at the window harder, wondering how so many emotions can be boiling around inside of me, mixing into something I can’t quite name, while I still feel dull and hollow. I wonder what a marionette would feel if they could. Would they feel emptiness?

  “I know,” I finally reply, the words spiraling through my head. Living Marionette. I think of them coming from Jed’s mouth as he points to me and something inside of me succumbs and murmurs, Let him.

  3

  I hurl the remnants of the old, yellowed pencil at the wall, sighing in frustration as it leaves a small dent. I’ve already broken three pencils today. On accident. I’ve been afraid to even pour myself a drink of water; the glass feels so light and fragile now; like paper-thin ice.

  I sit down on the bed, pulling my red blanket around my shoulders, feeling glaringly bright in the dim room. I feel like I’m growing into someone else’s body. Amabel’s body. Not my own. My legs and arms are suddenly too quick and I’m knocking things over, tripping, and banging my arms against doorways and dressers. I’d never been a clumsy child so this feeling of uneasiness with the one thing that’s supposed to be familiar, is unsettling. I want my body to do what I tell it to and although it seems to be trying to carry out my orders, it’s as if it can’t quite grasp the concept.

  I grab the cross that lies on a chain around my neck and hold it in the palm of my hand. Its once golden hue has faded to a rusty brown with time. It’s the only thing I have from my parents; the only thing that brings back blurred memories and shapes, although I can’t quite tell if they’re real or just flashes of conjured images I created as a child. The fact that this cross was my parents’ is probably the only reason I believed in God in the first place, although I wouldn’t say I’d ever felt especially close to Him. The cross reminds me of my parents; in a way, it was the only thing they ever gave me.

  I stare down at my hands again, still feeling oddly different. My mind darts back to the time Jed visited me at the orphanage. At the age of barely sixteen, I still had two more years to live out there before legal adulthood. And then five more years to pay off a crime that was apparently unforgivable. Anger burns within me as I think back to it. I can’t say why I did it. I don’t really know. I guess I was just tired of the daily routine – tired of being nobody and tired of being bored. It started with the necklace in the shop window – a string of sparkling beads. Not all that expensive. Not all that attractive, either. I knew I would never wear it but something inside of me urged me to take it. And from then on I never stopped. The adrenaline rush, the triumph, made it all worth it. It was something forbidden and something I could control. Something that was mine and so undeniably risky. I’ve never been one to really think things through. The orphanage was so angry when they found out how many things I’d stolen. Of course I was forced to give everything back and the orphanage was forced to pay for damages, as well as the things I no longer had. I obviously had nothing to give them of mine so the orphanage made a deal. They’d keep me out of prison and they wouldn’t force me to pay anyone back if I stayed on for five years after turning eighteen. Apparently, work at an orphanage wasn’t something people were lining up to do, so my job was to fill in their place.

  That is, if I wasn’t adopted first.

  I can still remember Jed’s words, asking me if I understood, if I was okay with everything, if I would mind, but I wanted nothing more than to be set free – to not face what I had done. I was ready to go and to do anything for it. The orphanage seemed glad to be rid of me as well. At first I wondered if they had told Jed about what I had done, but now I’m sure they didn’t. And I’m glad. The reason I agreed with Jed’s experiments was to leave it all behind. I’m done with it now – completely. There’s no need for him to know.

  My gaze slides from my hands, upward. There’s still a mark on my arm; dark and slightly bruised because apparently Jed isn’t very good at giving shots. I lean closer and notice that I can still see the small dot where the needle entered my skin. The remembrance of it makes me shudder.

  He never told me what was in the murky, yellow liquid he injected into my body; I probably wouldn’t have understood the terms anyway. All I knew was that it was supposed to make me capable of everything the marionettes could do. Or at least, that’s what Jed had hoped. I really didn’t think it would work. I thought I might be a little more alert, a little faster.

  It scares me to realize how much I didn’t know.

  The marionettes’ bodies are indestructible. They are capable of shuffling and dealing cards faster than the eye can perceive, of crushing rocks in the palms of their hands, of darting across rooms in the blink of an eye.

  And now I am too.

  It scares me more than it empowers me. I don’t feel stronger, not on the inside at least. I feel weak, like I don’t know how to control this new body I’ve been sucked into. I can understand why James turned down his father time after time. It’s not hard to see that when Jed needed a young, healthy experiment and James refused, that he sought out another one. Me. I doubt if James even agrees with what his father does.

  “Don’t you see, my dear Penelope?” Jed had said. “You have been blessed beyond comprehension. You are gifted now. You are...superhuman.” He had smiled in that delighted way of his.

  I’m not sure if I like the idea of being superhuman. Strong and fast, maybe. But being put on display because of some science experiment of Jed’s? It makes my hands clammy and my stomach flip.

  Not to mention that whatever drug he injected into my system has never been tested on anyone else but me. Jed gives me weekly pills to counteract the “side effects”. Just the fact that there are possible side effects terrifies me to no end.

  But whatever. He had taken me from the orphanage – from my past – and given me a home. He deserves this. I owe it to him. I can’t risk him sending me back. Or the look of disappointment on his face if he ever did.

  “All of Portum will know of you as my living marionette,” Jed says to me from time to time, a silly grin plastered on his face, as if expecting me to be ecstatic as well. I usually smile back at him, not wanting to shatter his moment of bliss, but all along, that very point is what I have been afraid of. I don’t want the whole empire of Portum aware of me and my so called ‘magical’ abilities. I don’t want to be famous. Not in that way. I’ve tried too long to be invisible. I can just see the little old ladies, or superstitious fanatics lining up at my door, calling me an abomination and accusing Jed of witchcraft.

  But I’ll do it. I’ll do it for Jed. It’s better than facing the orphanage and dealing with what I did. And besides, it’s one of the only things Jed’s been talking about recently. He might be crazy, but at least he has a dream. A dream that’s suddenly become a reality.

  Or magic, as James would call it.

  4

  “May I present to you,” Jed’s voice floats through the thick, red curtains to my ears, slightly muffled but still melodic and animated. I look down at my knee-length, soft, red dress, just a shade lighter than the obnoxiously bright drapes separating me and the audience. I tug the dress downward at my thighs, suddenly feeling as if it’s too short. What if I trip? Why didn’t I wear pants?

  “...years to perfect and finally find a volunteer...” Jed’s voice comes at me again. He’s addressing the audience of scientists who’ve come to observe his newest discovery. He assured me before that there would only be about one hundred at the most, but the thought of a hundred people staring me down while I stand elevated on a stage makes my stomach knot.

  For some reason, Jed’s voice suddenly seems farther away and harder to hear. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m just nervous. Scared. Terrified. The large curtains make me feel as if I’m at an opera or ballet, but being on the other side of them is odd, like I’m about to belt out an aria or dance across the floor once the thick fabric is pulled away.

>   I reach up to try to smooth down my light, reddish-brown hair, wishing it wasn’t so wavy and tangled. I wonder for a moment if it clashes with my dress, but then dismiss the thought, considering that Jed picked it out for me and asked me to wear it. Then again, Jed might as well be color blind, in view of his taste and overall crazy nature.

  “...the living marionette!” I hear Jed call and suddenly the curtains are violently yanked away, revealing a blinding light shining directly into my eyes. I blink a few times, seeing the darkened, distorted faces of the audience just past the glow, like hovering eyes in the dark. I see Jed at the corner of the stage spread his arms out, proving that I’m real and that he holds no kind of remote control.

  My mind skims over the hours of rehearsal Jed made me go through, the things I would do and how I would do them. Although now, in front of the crowd and blinding light, I wonder if I’ll remember any of it. My muscles are tense and my mind seems to scream.

  “Penelope?” Jed greets me. “Shall we start with the basic marionette trick?”

  I nod and advance to the small table at the edge of the stage. The hairs on my arms stand on end and every muscle in my body is tense as I try to stare out at the faceless crowd; a sea of murmurs swathed in darkness. I try to steady my shaking hands as I reach for the deck of cards on the tabletop, positioning them between my fingers as Jed had taught me. I take one last look at the crowd and one last look at Jed, before shuffling the cards in my hands, dealing them onto the table before Jed can even nod; before the audience can even blink.

  I hear soft mumbles throughout the crowd, and their eyes seem to bore harder into my skull, as if burning holes through it. I turn to Jed.

  “Another,” he tells the crowd and then swivels quickly, hurling one stone and then another in my direction. I catch them within seconds of each other, turning to face the crowd and crumbling them to dust and pebbles on the tabletop.

  It’s odd because I don’t feel as if I’ve grown any stronger; it’s as if everything else has somehow become softer and weakened.

  The murmurs turn to talking; a blur of unintelligible sound. Jed beckons for me to come to him and I dart across the stage, faster than any normal human, and the talking becomes elevated.

  A man in the third row suddenly stands up and I squint against the light to try to make out his features. “Dr. Orville,” he says and Jed inclines his head, although slightly surprised. “I presume you wouldn’t mind if I inspected your marionette myself.” It isn’t really a question, more like a statement, but in a way he’s still asking for permission. I grimace at the use of the word marionette. Am I no longer human?

  “Of course,” Jed replies and beckons for him to come onstage.

  The man walks up, his eyes on me the whole time. I want to shrink away, to run away, but I know how hard Jed has worked for this, dreamed of this. But more importantly, I know how fragile my position is – how easily Jed could send me back. I can’t leave him.

  “I must make sure this isn’t some new elaborate robot,” the man says as he passes Jed. “I’m sure you understand.” His tone is feigned congeniality and his smile is fake. He walks over to me and I resist the urge to step away. He stands there in front of me for what seems like minutes, although I know it only spans a few seconds. I meet his gaze with a questioning stare, wondering what he intends to have me do. Answer questions? Somehow prove my humanity?

  But suddenly, before I have time to think up a suitable solution, the man reaches out and slaps me across the face. I let out a gasp of shock as the sting races across my skin; not unbearably painful, just enough to hurt. I turn back to him, my mouth hanging open, too surprised to register anything. I hear Jed say something loud and forceful and come our way, but I’m staring into the man’s deep gray eyes. Just then, anger washes over me and before I can even think, even realize what I’m doing, I’ve hit him back. Hard. Harder than I realize. His head turns violently to the side and he takes a step back, his hand to his jaw. At first, I feel powerful, invincible, but then I realize how little effort I put forth, and how he staggers backward and I’m suddenly afraid. Not of him. But of me. I stare down at my hand as if it’s apart from me – something else entirely. A weapon I never asked for but suddenly realize I can never get rid of.

  “Penelope!” Jed hisses, pulling me from my stupor.

  But then I hear laughter, bubbling laughter coming from the man in front of us; the scientist. He rubs his jaw line and turns back to me, his expression one of pain and amusement mixed together in an awkward, delighted grimace. I glare at him incredulously, truly wondering how hard the hit was.

  “A robot wouldn’t have looked as shocked as you just did,” he states calmly. “Or have hit me back.” His eyes glisten with laughter. “Your name’s Penelope?” he asks, still running his hand over his cheek. My fear is beginning to wash away at the sight of him – relatively unharmed.

  I nod, shocked even more now at the realization of his method. And slightly offended.

  “And where did you come from, Penelope? I trust this man didn’t take you against your will.”

  “An orphanage,” I reply. “I volunteered.”

  A smile creeps across the man’s face. “You’re quite the little prodigy now.” He turns to Jed. “It seems that she’s as real as can be. And so are her...skills.” He rubs his jaw for emphasis.

  Jed beams, his smile stretching farther across his face than I thought possible; his blue eyes lighting up with triumph. I can hear loud murmurs rumbling throughout the crowd, people staring intently up at us; at me. I can’t tell what’s in their eyes. Shock, excitement, fear?

  “Congratulations, Dr. Orville,” the scientist says, his tone suggesting surprise and slight awe. “It looks as if you’ve just created a living marionette.”

  The voices from the audience rise and a few people stand up. The scientist’s proclamation seems to make it all the more real. Before, I could just have been a newer version of the robot marionettes, but now I’m a living human who can replace them.

  “How is this possible?” a woman in the front row asks Jed.

  “Manipulating the cells,” Jed replies and then goes off into his spiel about his various scientific methods. All I remember is the yellow fluid, the sting of the needle, the rush of something foreign and harsh.

  Another scientist ascends the stage, followed by two more. They all stare at me intently like I’m an animal at an auction and I try to stop my lip from curling in unease. One of them takes my arm and turns it over in his hands a few times. He presses his thumb hard against my wrist until I yank it away.

  “So you do feel.”

  “We already covered this,” I snap. I can still feel the fading sting on my cheek. I wonder if it’s red.

  The scientists move on to listen to Jed’s theories and practices and I take my opportunity to disappear behind the curtains. We didn’t exactly finish our performance, but the scientists seem satisfied enough. I pull aside the thick fabric, finally feeling safe as it falls back into place and still darkness surrounds me. I start as I hear footsteps approaching, only to find that it’s James. I slump my shoulders in relief.

  “That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever been through,” I tell him, trying to focus my eyes in the contrastingly dark lighting.

  James doesn’t greet me, but reaches out to hold my chin, turning my face slightly so he can see my cheek. His lips are pursed together in an unflattering grimace. He’s angry. Really angry. I can tell because he stops talking when he’s mad.

  “It didn’t even hurt,” I tell him.

  “It’s pink.”

  “Really?” I reach up to touch my cheek and he lowers his hand to his side. He’s silent as he glares through the small slit in the curtains, viewing Jed and the other scientists. “Seriously,” I assure him. “Besides, I hit him harder.”

  I see a small grin tug at the corners of James’s mouth and although I know he’s trying not to smile, it slowly sneaks across his face. “I know,” he says. “I
thought you had really hurt him for a minute.” His words echo my thoughts so exactly that I frown in sudden confusion. I wouldn’t have hurt him. I would never have meant to really harm someone. Suddenly I feel sick. And frustrated. I left the orphanage with Jed hoping for a new start – to do something good, better, and now all I’ve become is...dangerous.

  I follow his gaze to the small sliver in the drapes where Jed and some other scientists are having a heated discussion. I’m relieved he wasn’t hurt badly. It took me until the last moment to remember that I wasn’t just Pen anymore, that hitting him as hard as I could, could really hurt him. Kill him, maybe? I don’t want to think about it. My own body is starting to scare me.

  “You know, you probably shouldn’t have hit him,” James tells me. It isn’t accusing, or judgmental; just practical, considering the situation. We both know I’m not just a girl anymore; a human anymore. I stare down at my hands. I know, but I’m not ready to admit it.

  “I would’ve done it for you,” he adds, lightening the mood and I smile.

  “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I wouldn’t have had as much satisfaction,” I tell him with a grin. He smirks. I watch as he looks back in Jed’s direction, the smile fading from his face, replaced by a slight frown. His lips purse together and I’m wondering if it’s the scientist who hit me, or Jed he’s frowning at.

  I stare at Jed through the small opening in the curtain, watching his arms flail around as he demonstrates some elaborate point, his eyes lighting up and his face animated with excitement. I’m glad it went well. For Jed’s sake and for mine. I’m even glad that his dream came true.

  And now I wonder how far he’ll want to take it.

  5

  “Is it magic?” a timid voice asks from the audience, and I see an anxious-looking woman peering up at me through narrowed eyes. It’s our fifth demonstration; a different stage, a different group of people. Normal people, common people. It isn’t scientists who litter the crowd this time and it makes me nervous. The woman’s comment makes me nervous. Scientists are...logical. Most of the time. Or at least they’re supposed to be. At least they’re open to ideas, creative, contemplative.