Puppet (16 page)

The now limited power.

I gasp as I stand against the wall, staring down at the legs that have just betrayed me.  The ones I thought were mine; only mine.  I yank my arms away from the wall and clasp my hands together against me, as if trying to hold all my power in. 

It’s my body.  It’s mine.  But Edelin now controls it.   

And that’s when I remember and realize how powerful I – no, this
body
– can be.  My legs are shaking as I turn around to stare into Administrator Edelin’s triumphant face.  My mouth opens but no words come out.  My mind balks as I try to find something, anything to utter, but I come up with nothing.  There’s nothing to say, nothing to explain or ask. 

My body.  I was afraid of it when it was my own.  I was afraid of what it could do.  And now it’s no longer mine.  It’s theirs.  It’s just a shell, except I don’t control it anymore.  I’m only trapped within it.  A soul inside of a killing machine.     

Edelin’s smile grows wider as he takes in my expression and distress.  “Penelope Trump,” he murmurs.  “The living marionette.”  He pauses to give Duquesne a gloating glance. 

I turn away from him, staring down at my shaking hands; the hands that won’t do what I ask anymore, but what Edelin does.  The hands that could save people, hurt people, murder people. 

“My puppet.”   

23

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“B
rain cell stimulation,” I hear Duquesne mutter quietly to Edelin, gesturing his hands in the same way Jed does, but the rest of his words are obscured by the sudden roaring within my eardrums and the world begins to wiggle as I think about what’s just been done to me. 

I see Edelin across the room, talking nonchalantly with Duquesne as if this is just another day, another girl, another experiment.  Another life taken and twisted; contorted and perverted. 

I feel despair as I hear Duquesne begin to prognosticate my condition to Edelin, and then just as quickly, anger.  Fury simmers inside of me, entwining itself within my heart and soul, turning everything black and burned as I think of all the things taken so easily from me.

I push myself away from the wall and glare with burning hatred at Administrator Edelin’s back as I march towards him, gripping him by the shoulders and spinning him around to face me.  His expression registers shock and then fear as I grip the collar of his shirt, propelling him upward just like the marionette at the carnival, his eyes bulging and his face turning red.

I want to scream at him, but my fury doesn’t match any words I can find, so I only stare him in his watery, gray eyes as I shove him towards the wall.  But before I can think, even move, my hand suddenly unclasps and Edelin sinks to the floor in a puddle of gasps and shudders. 

I stare at my hand in disbelief.  Suddenly I feel my necklace pressed against my skin, cold and smooth, as if deliberately reminding me of right and wrong; reminding me of what’s supposed to define me.   

I turn slowly around to see Duquesne with the rectangular box clutched in his hands while he stares at me with an expression somewhere between pity and terror.  Edelin scrambles up from the ground, cursing me while he backs toward the door, Duquesne following him quietly.  Two guards take their place, pointing their guns at me and directing me back to my cell.  My door is slammed behind me and I’m left in the silence of my room, seeming more of a prison than ever before. 

A tiny tear slides out of the corner of my eye as I think about Edelin and what I would’ve done to him if it hadn’t been for Duquesne; the same thing the administrators might ask me to do to one of their criminals.  The things I was scared I might try.  The reason I never wanted to be more than what I was. 

Suddenly I notice that my arms are shaking, not from anger like before, but from fear, frustration and shock.  A strangled cry escapes from my throat as more tears leak from my eyes and I reach for the metal bed stand.  With a choked scream I fling it across the room, watching as it breaks into tiny pieces, a large part of it left stuck in the wall, looking like a blade cutting through plastic, or the remnants of an explosion.

I back up to the wall behind me and sink to my knees, burying my head in my hands as tears slide down my face.  I think of all the things Edelin will ask me to do now and I beg God to help me fight him, to help me fight myself, to help me hold onto the last piece of me that might have anything good left inside of it – because I’m beginning to wonder if anything was ever there at all. 

I pull myself into a ball against the wall and sit, shuddering, until the tears slowly fade and the dread worms its way in and out of my soul. 

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A
dministrator Edelin comes the next day and my legs shake with anxiety as he leads me down the hallway.  Two guards are glued to his sides while he watches me suspiciously; the marks from yesterday still burn red on his neck. 

I’m shoved by the barrels of the guns into the same cell room I had been in earlier with the other criminals.  I look around, trying to keep my arms at my side, wishing I could ready myself for whenever Edelin decides to press a button, reminding myself that it’s my body, not his. 

A man I recognize from earlier is pulled forward and Edelin turns to me, his lip curled in a snarl.  “Would you like to reconsider?” he asks me.

I’m silent.

“Breaking his arm,” Edelin clarifies and my stomach drops with dread and horror.  I can see the man beside Edelin shift uncomfortably and eye me with trepidation, wondering if I’ll really do it.  Our eyes meet and his implore mine.  I look away guiltily, panic surging through my veins.  What he doesn’t know is that it’s not my choice. 

With a frantic rush of adrenaline, I see Edelin look down at the small, rectangular box and type something in, my arm jerking in reply.  I hiss in a breath of air as my legs move toward the man and my right arm grasps his in a grip harder than I’ve ever used.

A small cry comes from his lips and he begins to claw at my fingers while I watch in horror as they slowly start to tighten.  Words, almost unintelligible, bubble from the man’s mouth, begging and pleading as he tries to pry my hand away. 

I make some sort of sound and turn toward Edelin, my expression begging him to stop, but he only watches with hungry eyes. 

I feel the man’s muscles suddenly relax as he loses control of his hand and then I hear his shriek as I feel the bone snap between my fingertips.  I scream as I feel my hand suddenly clasp together and the man’s arm jerks, almost involuntarily, away from me.  His bone breaks like splinters, jabbing his skin and turning the remnants of his arm to mush while I silently beg Edelin to be done, shocked and terrified tears dripping down my cheeks. 

Just then, I feel the control surge back to my hand and I pull away, gripping my fingers and arm as if it were mine that were broken and not the criminal’s.  The man stumbles away and sags against the wall, cradling his distorted arm that juts out in odd, disturbing angles. 

“It will be a lesson for others,” Edelin snaps harshly, turning toward me. 

I glare up into his gray eyes, searching for words powerful enough to express my emotion, but none come.  Edelin gestures toward the guards and they roughly shove their guns into my back and point me toward the door.  I’m taken to my room in silence and left there with nothing but my memories.

Images of the man’s face stream through my mind on constant replay; his eyes, his mouth, his hand, his wailing.  The way his bone felt like twigs beneath my fingers, the way it snapped and shattered, the feel of his muscles and skin. 

The sliced bedside table still digs into the wall on the other side of the room, just like the man’s bone against his skin.

I stare down at my hand as if it’s a completely different living entity from me.  Something that betrayed me.  Used me.  I lie down against the wall and try to hold back the tears as I think of what Edelin had me do and what he’ll have me do next.

Suddenly the image of James’s lips moving as he tried to speak to me comes to mind. 
Control you
.  Don’t let them control you.  That’s what he’d been saying.  A part of me wonders why he’d tell me that, but a tear leaks out of the corner of my eye and drips down my cheek as I realize how much they’ve controlled me already.  I want to tell James that I’m sorry.  That I couldn’t do what he asked.  That I’m nothing more than a pawn in a weird twisted game of chess.

I let myself cry for a few minutes before forcing myself to stop.   

24

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I
’ve taken to tearing apart the remnants of the metal bedside table and shoving them into the wall like pins alongside the large chunk already embedded.  They look like some sort of torture device or the explosion of a metal crate.  The pieces, small and large, jut out of the slightly circular wall on every side, making my room seem like a battleground or weapon locker.  The guards continue eyeing me warily from the other side of the door as if frightened I might turn around and fling one at the glass.

Which I just might. 

It’s while I’m tearing apart one of the table sides that I hear the door open and look up in surprise, my heart rate hammering and adrenaline forcing me to my feet.  The metal plate is dropped from my hand as I stare into the pale, angular face of Benevolence Devere. 

She’s not a particularly tall woman, but she towers in the doorway, seeming to possess more strength and power than she actually does.  She’s younger than I had always envisioned her; she can’t be much older than twenty-five.  I remember when her parents died – some sort of car accident – leaving her Head of Portum at such a young age.  She wears a pink and white dress, not a fancy one, just simple; like the ones I might wear at home.  Her hair is light blonde and although she seems white and airy, it’s a cold kind of lightness; like ice.  A guard stalks in behind her but she turns sharply towards him with a hard stare.

“Head Devere, she’s dangerous,” the guard states.

She murmurs something do quietly that I can’t make it out.  But by the guard’s reaction, she might as well have shouted it.

“But Head...” his voice trails off as Head Devere raises her chin to glare her icy blue eyes at him.  After a worried glance in my direction and then at the metal shards lining the walls, the guard slips from the room, closing the door slowly behind him as if he expects her to change her mind. 

Benevolence Devere stands by the doorway, her eyes studying me as if I’m some rare species of bird.  Her head angles sideways and her face shows no expression.  She almost resembles a porcelain doll with her white, ashen face and darkly painted cheekbones. 

“I heard about you,” she says after awhile, her voice stronger and prettier than I had expected, echoing weirdly throughout the room.  “Administrator Edelin talks about you.”  She pauses, eyeing the metal splinters in the wall with a slight frown.  “I thought I’d better come meet you,” she finishes.

I stand in silence, her words refusing to make certain sense in my mind while I gawk at her.  She pauses, waiting for a reply.  “I’m Penelope Trump,” I end up saying just for the sake of noise. 

“I know your name.”  She’s still watching me with her light blue eyes; lighter than any blue I’ve ever seen, almost clear.  Light colored makeup paints her face, although it’s caked on so heavily it seems dark and severe.  Her face is pallid and her eyelids are masked in white, her lips painted a pale, pale pink.  “So you’re a living marionette.”  It’s not a question; it’s a statement.  “Administrator Edelin says you’ll be useful,” she goes on, but her tone suggests she might not agree.  “Where are you from, Penelope?” she asks and for some reason, my name spoken from her lips doesn’t bother me as much as it would from Edelin’s. 

I try to swallow with my dry mouth and answer her question.  “I lived with Dr. Jed Orville,” I reply quietly.

“Your father.”

I shake my head.  “No.  He took me from an orphanage.” 

Her eyebrows rise slightly and I can’t help but wonder why she doesn’t know my back story through and through like Edelin does.  I thought she’s the reason I was brought here in the first place. 

“An orphan,” she says.  “Sad.”  At first I think she’s mocking me, indifferently waving away my past like a fly, but then I catch sight of her eyes veiled with something that looks like sorrow, although hidden within the foggy blue.

She begins to walk slowly towards me, and startled, I freeze to the spot.  She stops only feet from me and stares down at the mangled bedside table.  Then she directs her unsettling blue eyes into mine.  “Can you really snap a man’s arm in half?” she asks quietly, although her softness is still and demanding. 

I nod numbly.

Her eyes linger on mine longer than I can call comfortable before they dart back to the shards of metal in the wall, eyeing them suspiciously.  She leans down to pick up a small piece I had recently torn away.  I watch her turn it over a few times in her hand, softly rubbing the sharp edges. 

I stare at the small distance between us and her comfortable posture, the way she moves like she has no fear, the way she commandeers a situation with ease, without worry.  “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” I suddenly ask, the words coming out in whisper-like sounds. 

Her eyes flit to mine and I still see no hint of anxiety hidden there.  She’s silent for a moment and I frown slightly, her long pauses beginning to unnerve me.  I can tell she’s thinking behind the silence, or possibly just trying to make me uncomfortable.  “Because you won’t hurt me,” she answers confidently, her voice soft yet commanding.  “I’m Head of Portum and the most powerful living soul in this nation,” she goes on, stating every word with unwavering ownership.  “Not only would you be breaking a thousand laws by hurting or killing me, but you’d be killing yourself as well.”  She pauses again, her eyes searching mine as if waiting for a reaction or a scent of humanity from within me.  “And besides,” she goes on, her tone changing slightly.  “You’re not the killing type.” 

We stand in silence for a moment as she watches me and I watch her back.  Just then do I notice how fragile and small she looks; a frail girl hidden beneath a powerful woman.