Page 70 of Miserable Marionette

I do my best to hide my smile as I dip my brush in the light blue, trading the fall leaves and adorable scarecrows tossing a football around with their blushing cheeks for equally as happy snowmen on the windows of the alterations shop. Technically, it’s my day off, but Gideon is busy with an out-of-town client, so rather than get backlogged with the window painting requests, I decided to get ahead of the game.

I’m starting up another wistful daydream about watching him fix up my dad's truck. His toned arms exposed for once, not wrapped and hidden in a stiff suit as he tinkered under the hood. My eyes dart to the behemoth of a truck sitting more reliably now in the parking lot before another car slips in beside it, my good mood evaporating immediately. Jess doesn’t bother with any pretense that she hasn’t been looking for me specifically as she all but slams the door, stalking right up to me, leaving me no choice but to look like the coward I am and hide or acknowledge her.

“Audrey!” she starts, her nipples straining against her white tube top, her faux fur coat hanging open and doing nothing to warm her. My own fingertips are red. When winter started this year, it seemed determined to make us pay for the long summer we’d been gifted.

“Hey, Jess. I ugh—"

She cuts me off, and this time irritation sparks in my chest. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, but—"

My knees groan in protest as I stand, laying my brush down on my palette. “You know, you’re right, Jessica. I really don’t. The shop is closed anyway, you know how the Johnsons feel about loitering.” Mrs. Johnson, in her sweet, old lady way, had politely banned the siblings after they’d shown up drunk during one of my shifts a few years ago. The ban has stood.

She ignores me entirely. “Has Altman interviewed you yet?”

“Altman? Why would he?” I hadn’t even realized he was still around.

She stiffens, but even that seems haggard. Her hair is greasy, and even from here I can smell body odor on her. “He should be by any day now. You need to call me after you guys talk so—"

“What? I’m not calling you, and he has no reason to come by,” I huff, placing my hands on my hips. “When was the last time you got any sleep? You look like—"

“Shit, yeah. In case you forgot, my brother, you know, your boyfriend was murdered,” she snaps.

The silence that hangs between us only lasts seconds, but it feels far longer.

“Jessica, I think you should leave.”

She steps forward suddenly, making me take a step back, upsetting my brush-rinsing cup. The muddy paint water inside spills onto the sidewalk. “No, fuck that, not until I know you aren’t going to lie for him.”

I scoff despite the quickening of my pulse. “Lie? I have nothing to lie about. Your brother overdosed in the woods because he was a miserable addict.”

“He was at your house!” she booms.

“Bullshit! You need to go now, Jess—"

“No!” she pleads and I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone go from enraged to exhausted so fast. “Listen, Altman believes me. He’s not even talking to Mom anymore. Just me. He’s been coming to the house and doing these interviews around town. There were fingerprints on the last one, Audrey. They found his fingerprints,” she implores like I’m missing something that’s so clear to her, and my heart gives a little pang at the tears welling in her reddened eyes.

“Whose fingerprints? Bryan’s?”

God… she flinched at his name. “No, the Marionettist, Audrey. They have his prints now, so Altman wants to have my brother exhumed, but Mom is being a stupid fucking bitch about it.”

I’m silent for a second, my mind trying to keep up with her rushed speech.

“What does the Marionettist have to do with your brother? That’s states away—"

“No, Altman doesn’t think so. You know Bryan didn’t fucking overdose, Audrey. You know that, you have to tell them the truth about Gideon. He worked on those girls, all of them, and he had every reason to want my brother gone.”

The sudden anger in my chest nearly knocks the breath from my lungs. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Listen to me, Audrey! You need to stay away from him!”

“Stop,” I warn, my hands shaking at my sides. My own dad's voice booms behind hers in my mind, that day I’d hit him and screamed. I’d sobbed and begged to see my best friend. The memory shakes loose something horrible, letting it unfurl deep in my chest.

Panic I can’t quite place, can’t find the origin or cause for, but it's deep, putrid.

“Ask yourself honestly, why is Altman still here, huh? It’s not for my piece of shit brother unless he thinks it’s connected to his case somehow. For fuck's sake, the dude is all over the news! He’s the lead investigator in a high-profile serial fucking killer case, Audrey, and he’s hanging around here! What is the only connection between the two things? Did Bell’s dick kill off all your brain cells?!”

She’s rambling now, but I barely hear her. The panic attack is making my pulse whoosh deep in my head. My breath is rising and falling roughly, my head light, but she keeps screaming. Her desperation filling mine.

“Shut up!” I scream so hard that my voice cracks. “Shut the fuck up!”