Page 77 of Miserable Marionette

“Fucking corpse,” I curse, giving up on keeping her arms contained as she flails around like a drunken fish. My palms meet her chest, giving a hard shove. Her scream cuts off as her head hits the tree. “You don’t get to say her goddamn name,” I warn her as I grip her face in my palm, her eyes dazed but still wide with fear. It doesn’t excite me this time; there’s only the sheer percussion of the buzz rattling the fleshy walls of my brain as I shove her head into the tree again. This time, she falls. Her blood and hair matted into the bark. I’m panting, my thoughts all fizzling out behind the buzzing. There’s nothing, not one I can pick apart from the other as I stare at her crumpled body, not dead, judging by the rise and fall of her chest.

Time slips and I’m still standing there, staring, when the sound from inside the house brings me back to the moment. Followed by a loud curse from Audrey. Knowing my girl, she’s probably dropped something. If I’m hearing her from here, her shower is done, and she’s in the kitchen; all she’d need to do is go up to the window. We can’t have that.

Jessica’s head rolls back as I lift her under her arms, dragging her further off behind the house out of sight. There’s no gentle lowering or care shown when I drop her back to the forest floor, and not a sound escapes her for her troubles. I leave her there, straightening my clothes and glasses as I make my way back to the front of the house, my steps faltering. Across the street, the silhouette of my mother jogs from the woods, jostling a tiny girl in her arms. I get lost for another moment with the buzzing and the memories when the front door swings open.

I turn and pause at the sight of her, coming as close as I ever have or ever will to divination. The thin straps of the light dress hold up the small bodice connected to the straight line of the rest of it, flaring out ever so slightly but not so much that it hugs her curves. The gauzy material on top is embroidered with little bunches of light-colored flowers. Her long blonde hair, still wet at the tips, is pinned up in ringlets, and two strands hang in her delicate face.

Audrey blushes, her bare feet stepping back into the warmth of the house. “Do you like it?”

“You’re stunning,” I answer simply.

It’s only then that she takes stock of my position off to the side of her porch. “What are you doing over there?”

I shrug. “Looking around. Rats are getting into stuff again in the back shed.”

She seems to take this at face value, but her face still falls. “You aren’t dressed, Gideon.”

Like a magnet, I go to her, pressing her further into the warmth of our home. “I got a call earlier.” I force the words out, hating that I can’t be with her tonight, that I’ll disappoint her.

Her sweet face falls further, and it tugs at something deep in my chest. “Why didn’t you say anything when we talked?”

“I was hoping I could get to a point where I could still make it. I didn’t want to disappoint you,” I offer, placing my hand on the warmth of her cheek, still flushed.

“You’re sweet, Gideon Bell.”

“Only you seem to think so.”

I would die for you.

Kill for you.

Be whatever you wanted me to be, wherever you wanted me to be.

I would do anything for you. I hope you know that, however this ends. It was all for you.

She leans forward, wrapping her arms around my neck and pressing the sweetest kiss to my lips. “Anyone I know?”

“No, you have nothing to worry about. Behave tonight, okay? Miss me horrifically.”

She smirks, brushing her nose against mine playfully. “Of course.”

35

Silly Puppet

Audrey Present Day 1994

Six p.m. is looming on the horizon, and as beautiful and fun as the wedding is, Gideon isn’t here. I only cried twice during the ceremony, which is a new record for me at weddings. Everything is perfect, down to the soft flurries falling outside. Ally Kessler got everything she wanted. The music is thumping in the warm elk's lodge, the reception in full swing, and I’m surrounded by familiar smiling faces. Seeing Jimmy’s slim frame and beaming freckled grin has made me oddly… wistful.

A handful of months ago I would be out there grinding and swaying with the best of them, but for now? My mind is back in the quiet lobby of a funeral home with a brooding man working downstairs. His attention to detail remaining undisturbed while I ready his paperwork. Dusting pews like his mother before me. What comes next? Would I be the next one to laboriously pick out a dress? Would Gideon even believe in marriage? In a real one, not the play ones from when we were kids.

Would anyone show up? Be happy to see me promise forever with the odd boy from the funeral home just outside of town? My wine remains mostly untouched in my glass as I watch everyone dance when a cool, weathered hand finds my arm.

I smile over at Mrs. Johnson. “The shop is going to feel boring now.”

She laughs. “With my age? There’s nothing wrong with boring.”

I chuckle with her, finding her husband in the crowd talking to a group of older men. Still unsure if he had said anything to her about what happened at the shop. If he has, nobody has let on. I’m grateful for that.