Puppet

by Pauline C. Harris

  I laugh halfheartedly, although none of it really seems funny. My laugh is slightly desperate.

  James holds out his arms and inclines his head. I hesitate for a split second, not exactly being a hugging type of person, but then I walk closer and let him pull me into his embrace. I can’t remember the last time I hugged someone. Probably as a little girl. It’s so weird being this close to a person when I’ve been used to always keeping my distance. But I tell myself to let go and allow James’s words to sink in, slowly calming my heart, ordering myself not to think about what will happen to me once I’m no longer Jed’s living marionette – his success.

  I smile, telling myself that I won’t be a living marionette that much longer. I won’t be an anomaly anymore; I’ll be real. Just Pen.

  9

  “It won’t hurt,” Jed tells me as he readies the thick, yellow fluid in his syringe, his movements surprisingly steady and concentrated. I cringe as I stare at it, thinking of the last time he injected me with something and all the things that came after it. I silently pray that he won’t mess up and that everything will work. I don’t want to become more of a threat than I already am.

  I screw my face up and turn away as Jed digs the needle into my arm, pulling it out after a few seconds. My arm already aches and I’m trying not to think about the fluid swarming through my system. He grabs a small, cotton cloth and wipes away the little dot of blood forming on my arm. I stare down at it; the stinging hasn’t subsided yet.

  “It should take a few days but...we’ll see what happens,” he tells me.

  It isn’t exactly an assurance, but I take it as my cue to go and leave the study. I kick the bottom stair on my way up to my room as if expecting some immediate difference; but it slightly scrapes the tile and my foot still feels fine.

  I lie down on my bed and stare out the window as dusk settles over the trees, cloaking everything in a navy-gray hue. I ignore the fear inside of me reminding me that I’m not the living marionette that Jed had dreamed of – I’m not important anymore; needed.

  I roll over and grab James’s computer that I had borrowed earlier in the day, clicking on my file and hesitating only a second before deleting the marionette videos one by one.

  . . .

  As the days go by I don’t notice a difference. Every morning I get up and try some stupid trick to see if anything is going away and to my knowledge, nothing is happening. I can still crush rocks and shuffle those ridiculous cards way too fast. I’m starting to worry that Jed’s failed. That maybe I’ll end up being taken away after all. They ordered him to compensate and if this can’t be reversed I can’t think of an alternative solution.

  I wish I could be invisible again. It was so much easier.

  By the end of the week I’m anxious beyond belief, although James assures me it’s for no good reason. I try to remind myself that Jed’s science experiments take time, but as the clock ticks by and everything remains the same, the urgent sense of panic threatens to sneak back in.

  I don’t tell Jed about my worries. I feel as though I’ve already let him down enough; I don’t want to display doubt about his new theory. He tries to hide it, but I know he’s easily offended.

  “Any improvement?” James asks tentatively at dinner one evening while we all sit around the dining table in the kitchen.

  I shake my head. “Not yet.” I smile halfheartedly at Jed and he shrugs because like James and I, he has no idea how it’s going to turn out. I wish he did. I wish I wasn’t a test subject, but then I remind myself that I deserve it; I signed up for all of this, after all.

  I grab a glass of water and swallow down the pills Jed gives me to counteract the side effects of the marionette drug. They’re coming farther and farther apart and I wonder if I’ll eventually get to stop taking them altogether. I pick at my soup while rubbing my forehead where a headache has been burning all day, spreading to my temples. I wonder if it’s from worry.

  “You okay?” James asks.

  I nod slowly. “I’m...” fine. I stop for a moment and swallow. “I’m...” I trail off as a burning sensation claws at the inside of my throat, like nails sliding down my neck. My breathing speeds up and I drop my spoon on the table with a clank. Alarm trickles through me, slow but steady.

  “Pen?” James asks.

  I look at him. “I...I don’t know...”

  I notice Jed out of the corner of my eye, watching me intently, his dinner forgotten. His hands are planted firmly on the table as he leans towards me, his eyes wide. James notices him as well and gives him an odd look.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Tell me you like fish,” Jed states.

  There’s a pause while I stare at him in confusion and blink a few times. “What?” I ask again, utterly perplexed.

  “Tell me you like fish,” he repeats.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Tell me!”

  “I don’t like it, Jed, you know that. I don’t get it...” I’m shaking my head and James looks equally puzzled.

  Jed grips the table harder and leans forward. “I know you don’t like it, just say it!” His voice is oddly desperate and it scares me.

  I watch him for a few seconds and then exchange a glance with James. We both know Jed’s just a little bit crazy but sometimes he tends to go overboard. I shrug. “Okay...I like...” I gasp slightly as the word catches in my throat, being dragged away and replaced with the same burning, scratching sensation. I frown, bringing a hand to my neck, suddenly worried. “I like...” I cough and then swallow, panic seizing me. It’s almost like I can’t breathe. “I like...”

  That’s when I notice Jed’s expression and the room around me seems to go still. I frown as his eyes light up in a triumphant gleam; the same expression he had when he hurled the book at me only a few weeks ago, gloating to James that his crazy idea had worked. My mouth goes dry as the room almost wavers.

  “Jed...” I say slowly.

  He smiles. “It worked.”

  My heart stops beating. “What worked?” I nearly croak.

  Jed smiles again and gets up from the table. “I never thought it would work. Never. I thought it was hopeless, really.” He’s starting to ramble and my body’s beginning to shake.

  “Jed! What did you do?” I ask him again, my voice louder.

  “Manipulation of the cell. Oddly, the same type of procedure as the first,” he starts. It’s almost as if he’s talking to himself or some other scientist, in awe of the experiment yet trying to explain it.

  I stand up from the table, feeling my hands shaking. “I don’t care about the science of it; I want to know what’s wrong with me!” I see James reach out to me, trying to calm me down, but I irritably pull away from him.

  Jed looks at me briefly, still looking slightly surprised; although pleasantly so. “As I studied into this experiment, after awhile I knew I could never reverse the procedure. The administrators told me to compensate or they’d take you away, so I did the only thing I could think of to limit your abilities.”

  I stare at him for a moment, trying to register what he’s saying. “Meaning?” I prompt frantically.

  Jed shrugs and I can see a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. But it only lasts a second. “The administrators were extremely upset about you lying, it really was their main concern; your threat stemmed from the idea that you might not be trustworthy-”

  Just then, his words start to make sense and as they sink in, my suspicions begin to come to life, along with a horrible sense of entrapment. “Jed, no!” I say softly; horrified.

  He nods his head, sending me a pitying look, although he seems more pleased with the fact that it worked, than upset at my dismay.

  “I’m sorry, my dear Penelope,” he says. “But you can no longer lie.”

  10

  I stare at Jed in dumbfounded silence as the words try to sink in while my brain simultaneously rejects them. Jed stands there watching me with curious eyes, and I get the feeling he’d like to ask m
e to utter a dozen lies just to test his new scientific theory, but knows I’d just about explode.

  No longer lie, no longer lie...

  James is the first to break the rigid silence. “What?” he nearly yells, shaking his head in disbelief. “You took away Pen’s ability to lie?”

  Jed nods and I can feel my knees close to buckling as panic begins to fill me.

  “How could you do that?” James sounds almost as angry as I am, although I’m too shocked to really register all the emotions boiling around inside of me.

  “They ordered me to compensate,” Jed states. “I did this for Penelope, for her safety.”

  “My safety?” I shout. “This is like taking away my free will! That’s...” impossible! My heart seems to stop as I realize how truly possible it is; as it’s shoved into my face and down my throat. I gasp as the word clings inside of me like a parasite. “I thought it was impossible,” I amend.

  Jed waves his hand at me as if I’m a child overreacting at the refusal to some want. “Impossible is a ridiculous word, Penelope,” he says calmly. “It’s nothing like that. You’ll end up a better person, anyway. People will like you; trust you.”

  “I don’t care if people like or trust me; I want to be able to say what I want, when I want to!” I protest.

  Jed shakes his head. “You need to care about it. Your life depends on this. If you aren’t deemed safe enough to live in society, they’ll take you away. You might not understand it now, but I did this for you.”

  “Jed, you have to take it back, I don’t know how, but you just do,” I tell him as firmly as I can, but my voice is shrill.

  Jed begins to shake his head and before I can protest, he goes on. “Penelope, you don’t understand. This is for your safety, how many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “Lying is my choice, it shouldn’t be forced!” I’m just about to tell him he has no right, that he can’t do this, but my body informs that he can; he already has. I feel like screaming in panic. I’m desperate now, but with Jed it feels like I’m talking to a wall. He stares back at me with an infuriatingly calm expression; a calm that terrifies me because I know he’s not going to reverse this. “Please,” I say, but he only shakes his head, sending my heart clattering in my chest like the sound of a broken marionette. “Jed,” I say again, but he interrupts me.

  “I’m sorry, but I had to do it; for your own good.”

  “You have no right to mess with people’s lives this way,” James snaps suddenly, taking a step forward. His jaw is tight as he glares into Jed’s eyes. “I’ve said this before, Dad.” His tone is almost hurt.

  Jed’s expression falters momentarily and with one last glance at me, he stalks out of the room, away from me and my objections. I watch him go, my mouth hanging open in shock. All of a sudden I feel so helpless and vulnerable. Forced to tell the truth all of the time...

  Not that I like to lie, but some things are better off unsaid or unaddressed; whether you’d like to call it lying or not.

  I clench my fists together, not so much in anger, but in frustration and fear. Jed claims it will make me a better person, more likable, but I don’t agree with him. Being forced to tell the truth doesn’t make me any better than a criminal with a lie detector. Choice is what matters and my choice has been taken away.

  I can feel panic slowly pulsing through my veins like venom.

  James turns to look at me, his expression wary as if he doesn’t know what to say or what I’ll do. He stands there for a moment in silence, his dark blue eyes searching mine.

  I heave a frustrated groan. “I hate fish,” I admit angrily. “But if I want to say I like...” I groan and kick the table leg. “I want to be able to say it.”

  James sits down next to me. His expression looks lost. “He has no right...” he mumbles barely loud enough for me to hear. I give him a look and he trails off. “I mean, honesty is great but...”

  “Not if it hurts someone,” I interupt. “I mean, what if you asked me if I liked your outfit and I really didn’t? I’d have to tell you the truth and you might be upset,” I say with an exasperated sigh.

  James shrugs and looks thoughtful for a minute. “Well, do you like my outfit?”

  I stare at him for a long moment, internally kicking myself and wishing I had used a different example. I groan. James stares right back and I get the feeling that he already knows the answer.

  Yellow is an awful color on him.

  He starts laughing, his grin spreading across his face as he shakes his head. I smile halfheartedly and hold my hands out in helplessness. “It’s just the yellow and your skin tone...” I trail off, feeling thoroughly disgusted with myself.

  “At least I’m not easily offended.”

  “Well Jed is sure gonna find out how terrible his cooking can be...” I say irritably. “And his taste in clothing. It’s his own fault.”

  James laughs again, his anger washing away.

  “None of this is funny,” I say halfheartedly, although a small grin is reluctantly forming on my face.

  “Sorry,” he replies.

  I prop my elbows on the table and lean against my hands, feeling the smile slowly fading away, although I’m not exactly angry again. I’m beginning to realize that this lying trick of Jed’s – it’s a success of his as well. And if I’m still his success, I won’t be sent back to the orphanage. Hope and happiness stirs within me despite the current situation. He still needs me. “This is ridiculous,” I say quietly. “I mean, who even knew this was possible?” I’m more frantic than angry; nervous, tense.

  A tiny grin melts into James’s features. “With Dad, anything’s possible.” He shrugs. “He might be crazy but he’s also crazy smart.”

  I snort. “Unfortunately. We wouldn’t be in this predicament if he wasn’t.”

  “And you also wouldn’t be here,” James adds, giving me a look.

  “Good point.”

  “And I’d actually miss you.”

  I pause for a moment, watching him. “Really? I’m not just annoying?”

  He laughs in surprise and shakes his head. “No, of course not.”

  “Well, that’s nice to hear,” I tell him. “But unfortunately, I might be getting a whole lot more annoying, thanks to Jed...”

  James shrugs and looks off in the direction of Jed’s study. “I’ll be ready for some brutal honesty.”

  11

  I’m still fuming the next day when Jed sends me out to get groceries. He claims it will help me cool off, but I think it’s just going to make me angrier. And when I leave we aren’t exactly on good terms.

  He still won’t let me take the car.

  Instead, I drive the irritatingly tall bike down the long dirt road to the grocery store, parking it against the wall, this time nearly falling on my face as I scramble off the seat.

  There’s a lady parked outside the store with some sort of homemade clothing stand and when she spots me, she heads my way. I groan internally, not wanting to be persuaded to buy something.

  “Good morning,” she singsongs.

  “Hi,” I reply.

  She steps in front of me and holds out a long orange scarf. “This color would look great on you.”

  I sigh, trying to sidestep her. I strongly dislike vendors, especially the persistent kind; usually the desperate type with too much time and too little money. I sometimes feel sorry for them, but it’s not like we have lots of extra money to spend on things we don’t need.

  I’m sorry, I’m about to say, but then stop in surprise as the burning returns to my throat. I groan. I guess I’m not sorry. I just want her to get out of the way.

  “Excuse me,” I tell her and try to enter the store, but she keeps on persisting.

  “Don’t you like it? It would go nice with your outfit, even.”

  I have a feeling she’s not even looking at my outfit, or my hair. I don’t wear orange, ever. It’s a terrible color on me and you don’t have to look hard to figure it out. I purposefully
don’t answer her question, miserably knowing the words that will come out of my mouth.

  The lady must take my silence as contemplation because she just keeps going on. “I have lots of other colors and styles. Do you like the color?”

  “No, I don’t,” I say and I’m surprised at how blunt my words sound.

  The woman’s expression falters, but only for a moment before she darts back to her vendor in search of a different color. I take it as my chance to go and hurriedly dart into the store.

  I meander down the aisles, looking for the things Jed asked me to get and taking my time, not in a hurry to go back home and deal with him again. But after awhile the flickering dim light starts to get on my nerves and I hurriedly grab the items and head up to the counter. It’s the same man as last time standing there and he eyes me closely again as he rings up the groceries. I stand in silence, watching my hands.

  “You are her,” he says eventually and my eyes dart up to meet his gaze. I’m more irritated than surprised. “That marionette girl.” His expression challenges mine. “Deny it.”

  I open my mouth to tell him that he’s hopelessly mistaken, but then I remember that I can’t as the itching sensation threatens to take over, and I close my mouth. I glare at the ground and turn away. I might not be able to deny it, but I won’t admit it either.

  He stands there for a moment, as if waiting for me to answer and when it becomes apparent that I’m not going to, he continues to ring up the items. I quickly hand him the money and exit the store, aware of his gaze following me until I vanish behind the doors.