Jewels and Panties (Book, Six): Puppet Master

by Brooke Kinsley

  "Phaedra?" his voice eventually reached my ear.

  "What took you so long to answer?"

  He made a peculiar noise like a cough mingled with a laugh.

  "Why? Did you miss me?"

  I touched the scar on my face again.

  I hate you, I thought. I hate you so fucking much why won't you just let me go and be done with all of this?

  "The file was delivered," I said. "I just wanted to let you know. The girl from the station came to the house just as we were packing."

  "Very well," he said.

  "You don't sound so thrilled."

  "Thrilled?" he laughed. "Oh, I'm thrilled alright because I don't need Bosworth’s file or any more of Berger’s pointless work. I have the real thing right here."

  "You have Bosworth?"

  He laughed again and hung up.

  The only other person who cared about the children... He was with Kennedy now and I didn't know what that meant. I felt the blood rush from my head down into my feet. I collapsed into a chair and clutched at the sides of the table until my knuckles turned white.

  When I was a child, this table was where we had countless family dinners. It was where birthdays were celebrated. Where cakes were brought out with sparklers on top and presents were unwrapped as my mother sang in her shrill out of tune voice.

  Now it was collapsing under the weight of my misery. It was brittle and broken and so weak I worried that my breath would send it crumpling to the ground. With nothing else to do, I let my thoughts take over my mind and buried my head in my hands.

  "Kennedy you piece of shit. I'll take you down eventually. You can't get away with it forever."

  With newfound anxious energy, I leaped up from my seat and hurried out into the hall. The door to the basement lay beneath the rug. I ripped it back with my knotted arthritic fingers and felt the brass ring. I pulled on it and the door gave way to reveal a staircase that plummeted down into the darkness.

  Hushed voices came from the shadows and the sound of bodies as they trembled in fear.

  “Shhhh….” I heard a voice whisper in with its babyish cadences. “The witch is coming.”

  The witch? That’s what they call me down there?

  I thought about my burned face and the way my bones protruded. The way my voice rasped and how my hair was always pulled up so tight the veins in my forehead pulsed.

  “Witch…” I said to myself. “Witches burn.”

  I lowered myself into the whole and took a tentative step down into the black space beneath the house. It smelt like sweat and filth.

  “I’m not a witch,” I told the children.

  I couldn’t see them but I could hear them scuttling in the darkness like insects.

  “Don’t be afraid,” I whispered although it was pointless.

  These poor mites had never been more afraid in their lives.

  “Please,” I begged. “Don’t be scared. I’m going to get you out of here. I’m going to get you home to your parents.”

  A gasp came from the corner.

  “You mean it? You’ll take me home to mommy?”

  “I’ll try,” I said. “I’ll try my very hardest. Now go to sleep. You’ll need to your rest because you’ll be going on a long journey.”

  I gulped down my doubt and headed back up the stairs. With no idea how I was going to save them, all I knew was that I would do it even if it killed me.

  Chapter Four

  Lincoln

  The red spiral. It had been tattooed on the inside of my father's wrist, faded but still visible over the iciness of his blue veins. It was the last thing I would see at night before he clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle my cries.

  "Red spiral..." I said to myself.

  Kennedy and O'Neil looked over at me.

  At last I was talking.

  After not saying a word for over two hours, their patience was wearing thin. But I didn't know what they wanted me to say. We were trapped in an impossible situation. If they killed me to hide their secret, their world would come crumbling down. No one kills a billionaire. Not without creating the mother of all shitstorms.

  "Well, what do you know? The canary's singing," said O'Neil.

  "Enough of your clichéd cop talk," replied Kennedy as he rolled his eyes.

  A rift was starting to form between them. Through the stress of holding me captive, cracks had begun to form between in their alliance. I was starting to think that the chief despised the judge but was powerless to act on his hatred.

  There were glances between them. Hateful looks looking out from under O'Neil's cap as he watched Kennedy strut in front of him in his Italian mohair suit.

  "I'm not talking to you," I said. "I was talking to myself."

  I leaned back against the wall and felt the rope burn my wrists again. My freedom from them had been short lived and the moment Kennedy's footsteps were heard outside the door before it creaked open, O'Neil kept his promise and trussed me up.

  "He's losing it," said the chief.

  I kept my eyes on the floor.

  Since being locked in this... place. Wherever that was. I'd had time to think, to remember. The red spiral. All the girls had washed up on the beach with it tattooed on their ankles. All of them thought to be part of a gang. If only people really knew what it was.

  To me, I wasn't even sure myself why I began tattooing the red ink across their corpses. At first, I thought I was exorcising a demon, the memory of my father. Then it became something else. In a way, I was sending them to their deaths in the same pit of hell he now resided. Maybe down there he'd recognize the symbol and they'd all join hands in their own fiery fiendish cult, burning in a special part of hell reserved for the worst that humanity had to offer.

  "The red spiral," I said again.

  I almost told them what it meant but I bit down on my lower lip to stop myself. I'd never tell Kennedy a thing.

  But he was edging over anyway, his breath coming labored as he approached. I looked up and saw his stomach hanging over his belt.

  He wasn't exactly fat but he wasn't fit either. He had the body of a middle aged man who was too rich to refuse fancy dinners but also had the money to afford a personal trainer.

  Still, his slight paunch was being pinched into by his pants and as he lingered in front of me, his crotch remained disgustingly close to my face.

  "Get the fuck away from me, Kennedy."

  He laughed.

  It was a reflex action of his he only performed when he had nothing to say but was trying to maintain the upper hand. Laughing, to him, was a way of showing he was unshakeable, unable to be controlled. I guess we all have our quirks and defense mechanisms. In the moment, mine was staring down at the floor, analyzing each inch of the concrete until my brain began making up patterns.

  "I told you to get away."

  He sniffed and I looked up just in time to see him wipe his nose with his the back of his hand. From where I was sitting, there was a small smattering of blood just below his nostrils, fresh but on the cusp of drying.

  A cocaine addiction at his age...

  I thought he was smarter than that. Although it did explain his absences and constant need to venture outside ever hour. It also explained his anger, his arrogance, and his infamous raging sex drive.

  "Get away from you?" he repeated and bent down to talk to me like I was a naughty dog. "I'm not going anywhere and neither are you."

  I took a deep breath and let the air fall out of me.

  "How long can this go on? You can't hold me here. The hospital needs me. People need me. Thousands of people depend on me and my business. How long until I'm discovered, eh? You think the local police department can simply kidnap me?"

  "Huh..."

  Kennedy said no more.

  "I'll have you pay for what you've done to my girls. There's a place for murderous scum like you."

  "And there's a place for pedophile trash like you. You think anyone cares about what I did? I'm a hero. A fucking hero
!"

  He licked his lips and sniffed again. There was a manic look in his eyes. His pupils were dilated and his eyes were bloodshot. Purple circles were beginning to form beneath his eyes. I wondered how long he could last in this state of limbo without collapsing.

  "Where's Etta?" I asked. "Just tell me she's okay."

  "Oh... She's fine," said Kennedy. "She's been given the special treatment considering she's... useful."

  "Useful?"

  He coiled his fingers around one another and I noticed the nails were bitten down to stubs.

  "Useful," he confirmed.

  He bent down again. His eyes were dark and soulless despite being bright and blue. For a second, the world around me shifted. His features seemed to morph. I was no longer looking at him anymore. It was my father's face in front me. At long last I had lost my mind.

  "Don't be afraid," he said and planted his hand on my shoulder.

  That voice... it’s... it’s...

  "Get away from me!" I screamed and clenched my eyes closed.

  My voice shocked us both. When I opened my eyes, Kennedy was smiling and rubbing his hands together.

  "Where did you go?" he asked, gloating. "You disappeared for a moment."

  Dad's face was gone but the man in front of me was just as monstrous.

  "I'll kill you," I said. "If it's the last thing I ever do."

  Kennedy laughed again with a nervous shudder of his voice.

  "I'd like to see you try," he said and took a step back.

  As he walked into the shadows, I could see his hands were shaking.

  Chapter Five

  ETTA

  "Thanks for getting me outta there. Is he always like that?"

  My savior sipped his coffee and looked back over at the room.

  "First night working with him," he explained. "Probably the last too."

  We were sat on the edge of the curb looking over the parking lot. In the distance, we could just about make out Gary's silhouette in the window as he looked out from the curtain. He was looking for us. I worried that any second now he'd be rampaging out here to finish what he started but until then, I was grateful for the few minutes’ respite I had.

  "I'm Nathan by the way," he said. "I probably shouldn't have told you that."

  "Don't worry. I'm not going to tell anyone."

  "I could really get into a lot of trouble for this. I was supposed to keep you in there," he pointed over to the room. "But I suppose there were... exceptional circumstances."

  I raised the paper coffee cup to my lips and tasted the bitter blackness. It was by far the worst cup of coffee I'd ever had and it was the worst night of my life too.

  "Where have they taken Lincoln?"

  "I don't know."

  For most of the night, the shock was the only thing stopping the tears from falling. Now, it all seemed to hit me like a truck. I was exhausted by the stress and overcome by the situation.

  "Tell me. Will I ever see him again?"

  He looked over and pressed his lips together into a tight line.

  "Look, I don't know anything about what's going on," he explained. "I was just ordered to keep an eye on you."

  Burying my head in my hands, I felt too exhausted to cope anymore but was too wired with fear to let myself relax and sleep.

  "How long are you going to hold me here?"

  He pulled his scarf back up over his lips and shivered.

  "Even I don't know that."

  "What do you know?"

  All I could see were his eyes but I could tell his mind was working overtime.

  "Nothing," he replied. "Nothing at all."

  I didn't believe him but what could I do?

  "You got children?" I asked.

  "Sure! Two girls."

  I thought about the girl we'd seen led out from the basement of the Waters House and wondered what he'd do if he knew what was really going on with his own chief? With the judge and all the other scumbags in town who operated under a mask of respectability.

  "You got any pictures?"

  He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. There was a photo slotted in the front. Two girls with big, curly hair and big eyes looked out at me.

  "They're beautiful," I said.

  "They take after their mother," he replied although I could see they had his eyes, his soul, his gentle demeanor.

  "You weren't really cut out for this job, were you?"

  "What makes you say that?" he bristled.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."

  We resumed drinking our coffee in silence looking up at the stars. It wouldn't be long until I knew I was going to be taken back to the motel room with its cheap furniture and mildew riddled bathroom.

  For all I knew, I could be taken back there and killed. For all I knew, Lincoln was already dead. Maybe being out here was the last taste of freedom I'd ever have. The thought burned a hole in me. I couldn't let that be the case.

  Beside me, Nathan was still brewing, still thinking about what I just said.

  "Seriously, what makes you think I'm not cut out for being a cop?"

  "You're too nice," I said. "And you obviously don't like violence."

  "I don't."

  He crushed his cup in his hands and tossed it into the gutter where it soaked up the muddy rainwater.

  "So why do it?"

  He thought for a second and pulled his scarf up even higher so that all that was now visible were his eyelashes that fanned out across his almost girlish eyes.

  "My dad was a cop and my uncle too."

  "Let me guess. You were just supposed to follow them into the force."

  "Pretty much."

  "But you always wanted to do something artistic."

  He jumped and turned to me, his eyes flashing with a streak of fear.

  "What are you? A psychic?"

  "I can just see that you're a soft sensitive guy," I laughed. “Believe me. I’m not psychic.”

  He thrust his hands into his armpits and leaned forward, trying to shield himself from the wind.

  "Always wanted to play the guitar," he said. "But everyone told me being a musician wasn't a real job."

  He was softening up to me, dropping his guard and melting in my hands like butter. A few more kind words and he'd be all mine.

  "I get it," I said. "When I was a kid I wanted to be an artist but my parents told me there was no money in art."

  He nodded and furrowed his brows.

  "Tell that to Picasso," he said.

  "Precisely."

  We both laughed. I looked down at his hand and saw he wasn't wearing a wedding ring but the tan line of a phantom band still lingered.

  "Married?" I asked.

  "Divorced."

  "That must be tough..."

  "It is."

  "You still get to see your girls?"

  "Only on the weekend."

  "That must really hurt."

  "It does..."

  He was still talking but I was looking at everything but his face. To my right, a few inches out of reach, lay a brick. Maybe even do it too well.

  "So, who's your favorite guitarist?" I asked as I leaned away from him.

  His eyes glossed over as he began to reel off names.

  "Oh, like Hendrix obviously but then there's Richie Blackmore because he really had this other worldly thing going on an-"

  I hit him square in the side of the face.

  He fell backward onto the sidewalk as blood spurted out his head.

  "Fuck!"

  I glanced around to make sure no one had seen me. There wasn’t a single person in sight. I was free.

  But for the second time in two days, I'd knocked a man unconscious.

  As I watched the blood pump from his head, I bent over and heaved up my coffee onto the curb.

  Then I took off running.

  Chapter Six

  Phaedra

  "Kirsty wake up."

  "Er..."

  She rolled over and op
ened her eyes wide when she saw me leaning over her.

  "What's going on?"

  "You were right! I was wrong. We can rescue them."

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

  "Are you... Are you crying?"

  I hadn't realized I still was but as I touched my fingers to my face, they came away wet and salty.

  "Don't worry about me. Listen, you were right. We can do it. I'm not sure how but we can do it."

  From deep within the house, little voices were creeping up the stairs, reminding us of the pain we needed to release.

  "You mean it," she said. "Because if you really mean it..."

  "I really mean it."

  Pulling her hands into mine, I pushed them to my chest so she could feel my heartbeat.

  "I've never been surer about anything in my life."

  "But...What made you change your mind?"

  She wanted to believe me but there was a suspicious haze over her eyes. She thought I was up to something.

  I thought about what they called me under the house.

  Witch...

  "I don't want to be a witch anymore," I said. "I can't live with being the bad guy."

  "Neither can I," she said, "So what do we do?"

  Images of what Kennedy would do to me if I betrayed him flittered through my mind. He would kill me if he could but I didn't care. I was too old to care whether I lived or died. All that mattered was doing the right thing. I had to save the future of the children. What happened to me was of no consequence.

  "I'm not sure... Oh, my God. I'm really not sure."

  Standing up and walking over to the window, I looked out at the moonlight that was glowing across the tops of the wheat. The wind washed through the field like waves, an ocean of leaves stretching out into the distance. I wanted to open the window and dive down into my death, forget that my life ever happened.

  "The first thing is to get those kids outta here," said Kirsty as she pulled on a sweater and flicked on the light.

  She was ready to spring into action but I was frozen with uncertainty.

  "But then what? Where would they go? Where could we take them where no questions would be asked?"