Page 92 of Miserable Marionette

He clears his throat, backing up because I’m right and he’s got fuck all to counter that with, so he lashes out like any frustrated child would. Unfortunately for him, his words strike home. “Where’s your girl, Bell? She must be scared.”

I swallow, staring at him, letting his words sink into the buzzing until the empty fullness of the pins and needles spread through every inch of me.

“It’s a shame someone so innocent, so sweet, is wrapped up in all this. Makes someone desperate. Desperate people, well… I heard Braylon talking. She was a mess when he pulled her inside that office. She has a history, you know, of suicide attempts.”

Rage bubbles up in my gut, choking. That tidal wave of anger lapping over my head, pulling and jerking me deeper. Desperation has never been a good look for me.

“We’ll take a break,” he offers, gathering his binder.

“You’d harass a traumatized, innocent woman for what?”

“I’d do anything to get answers for the families you’ve destroyed.”

“Perhaps Renee Jordan will forgive you after all. For getting her daughter killed.”

The man shudders. “They deserve justice, Bell. There’s got to be something remotely human in you deep down that wants to give them that. Something in you that knows I’m keeping Audrey safe too, safe from you.”

Only I can keep Audrey safe. My hands fist under the table. Nodding as he turns away, heading for the door and swinging it open harder than he needs to. “We shall see.”

My eyes meet Brady’s in the hall.

He looks away.

“See what?” Altman asks with a heavy sigh.

I smile. “If you can get to her before I do.”

He laughs, gesturing to the room as if to point out that I’m locked in here before shaking his head as he heads out. “We’ll talk after you’ve stewed for a while. I’ve got cases to close. Families to call.”

I don’t wait as long as I should before I knock on the door, calling out to my dutiful and nervous guard. It takes a few tries before he answers, teetering it open, just a crack. My eyes canvas the busy room, finding most everyone’s focus on the doors outside the station, the eager detective indeed giving his press conference. “Could I get a cup of water, or coffee? I’m not picky.”

He hesitates, glancing over at the crowded room to his side. “Uhm yeah, give me a second.”

I nod gratefully. Looking friendly as I back up, loosening my shoulders before placing myself in my seat.

The air in the room is stiff when I drag it through my lungs. When he enters, I’m ready, feet planted firmly on the floor, eyes shut. Open unassuming. He hesitates again at the door before I hear him shuffle in. The moment the cup, a ceramic coffee mug, and the sound of it land on the table, I lurch up. His mouth gapes in a silent yell as I use his own momentum against him, jerking him to me by his outstretched hand. It’s nothing too difficult after that. He’s strong, stronger than me, trained for this, but he’s nervous.

And I’m determined, agonized, buzzing.

The hornets are here, and I choked nineteen years ago when I met a little girl named Audrey. I haven’t managed a lungful since.

The moment I get his back to my chest, his hands fumbling for his service weapon as I squeeze my arm around his neck, not to cut off the airway, but to apply pressure to the spine. Growing up, my father thought giving me private access to the bodies would help me vent some of my anger, and it did. It was exhilarating for a time. What it also did was teach me far more than medical school. It taught me all the interesting ways a human body could break. I struggle to stifle my own grunt of exertion as I heave backward, overextending my back until a muffled pop sounds in the room and the heavy man goes limp in my arms.

My thoughts are empty of all things except blonde hair and sad hazel eyes as I quietly open the door and slip down the hall, the sun long gone from the sky.

42

No Matter What

Gideon, Present Day, 1994

I’d like to say I kept calm as I rushed home through the woods the long way to the house. That this new… untested thing clogging my throat had stayed in place. That pure panic and adrenaline hadn’t made me sloppy. In truth, terror, ripe and agonizing, gripped me fully. The December night sending my breaths up around my mouth in ragged puffs of white.

I would make it.

I promised her.

I won't break her heart again, the thought awful and confusing. My knees and thighs are protesting as I pound them into the untried frozen dirt in the woods. It’s ten minutes from the police station to Bell Funeral Home, but the path is unfamiliar in the dark. Will you be there, puppet? Will you be at our home?