Puppet (7 page)

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. 

––––––––

I
t’s the middle of the night and I’m standing in Jed’s garage, staring at his small little car.  It’s gray and shiny and just a little bit shorter than me.  I cock my head and stare at it some more, running over the possibilities in my mind.

I’ve always wanted to drive Jed’s car and no matter how hard I’d begged, he always said no.  But now that I was angry at him – and for a good reason – maybe he wouldn’t be as upset. 

If he ever found out.

My arms lie folded across my chest and I drum my fingers across my upper arm in contemplation.  Maybe he even feels a little bit guilty for what he’s done.  I mean, of all the nasty, terrible things you could do to a person, taking away their ability to lie is probably right at the top of the list.  I nod my head.  Jed would consider it as payment.  He takes away my lies, I drive his car. 

I still think he owes me a whole lot more but whatever. 

“Hello?” a voice asks from behind me and I jump, stifling a yelp, and swivel around.  I let out a breath of relief when I see that it’s James in the doorway of the garage and not Jed.  He’s in his pajamas.  They’re navy blue and the pants are just a little bit too short for his long legs, as if he’s had them for a few years. 

“What are you doing down here?” he asks, looking around.

I frown, angry that I’ve been caught, but then an idea occurs to me and my frown quickly dissolves.  I smile, running up to James, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down the steps to the car.

“Pen, what are you doing?”

“Not me.  You.”  I turn to him.  “
You’re
going to teach me to drive this thing.”

James’s expression quickly forms into one of doubt and he begins to shake his head.  “No...Dad wouldn’t like that.”  With a sinking feeling, I recognize his tone.  The voice he uses when he’s made up his mind.  But that doesn’t mean I’ll give up. 

“Come on,” I coax.  “He doesn’t have to know.  And besides, he kind of deserves it.”

James is still shaking his head.

“And you’ll be with me and you know how to drive and everything, so what could go wrong?”  I smile at him.  “Besides, you’re the one who said he was in the wrong,” I add pointedly. 

James doesn’t smile back; he just stares at me in contemplation. 

“Please?”  I open the door and sit down in the driver’s seat, pointing to the opposite door.

After a few excruciatingly long minutes, James rolls his eyes and sighs.  “Fine, but I’m backing it out of here.”  He pulls me from the seat and I run around to the other door.  Once he grabs the keys and pulls it out onto the dark street, we switch places. 

“Okay,” James says when I get into the driver’s seat.  “Obviously, there’s the brake and the gas.”  He points to each pedal.  “And this,” he points to a lever in between us, “shifts into drive or reverse or park.”

I nod.

“Now, press the break and pull the lever into drive.”

I do as James instructs and when I take my foot off the pedal, the car lurches forward.  I press the gas pedal and the car lurches a few more times before slowly starting to speed up.  James warns me to drive slow, leaning over and turning on the headlights.  He looks nervous. 

As we continue to drive down the road, I begin to get a feel for the car and James seems to slowly relax, although I continue to freak him out by speeding up from time to time.  I laugh as he glares at me after every instance. 

“So,” James eventually says.  “Penelope Trump.”

I cringe.  “Ew,” I tell him, wondering what he’s getting at. 

He laughs. 

“It’s not funny, it’s tragic,” I tell him.

“Well, what’s your middle name?”

I shrug.  “Don’t know.  I probably don’t even have one.”  I pause.  “What’s yours?”  James hesitates and makes a face.  “Is it really that bad?”

He nods.

“Well, I’m glad,” I say and James laughs in surprise.  “I mean, Penelope Trump is a
horrible
name, I’d hate it if your middle name was even decent.”  I look over at James but it doesn’t look like he’s ready to offer any information.  “So, what is it?” I prompt. 

He groans.

“You have to tell me.” 

He groans again.  “Peregrine.”

After a second of silence, I burst out laughing and James teasingly glares at me.  “Isn’t that a bird?” I ask in amusement.

He nods miserably.  “I told you Dad’s crazy.  At least it’s James Peregrine instead of Peregrine James.”  He shakes his head.  “I wish Mom would’ve stepped in and picked a more...normal name.”  He shrugs.  “Then again, Dad never did take her advice seriously.”  Something bitter enters his tone and I turn slightly to see his face, but it’s guarded. 

“James?” I say quietly.  “What happened to your mother?”  The words are whispered, worried, because I don’t know this side of James or what it might hold.  “I’ve never asked, but I’ve always wondered.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t look upset.  He just sits in the silence for a moment before going on.  “She died of cancer when I was seven...I know Dad loved her; he used to talk about her a lot, but he stopped after awhile.”  I’m quiet while James looks down at his hands, intertwined in his lap.  He shakes his head with a small humorless laugh.  “I never understood why she died.  I mean, I was seven – and Dad with his miracle science experiments...it’s almost like he
let
her die,” he suddenly announces with so much passion, I’m startled.  He glares down at his hands and slowly his expression morphs into something so sorrowful, I look away.  He shakes his head.  “No.  Not that I ever expected him to come up with a cure for cancer or anything...just something, I don’t know, better than a...marionette or whatever.”  He’s staring down at his lap again, his face shadowed.

We sit in the silence and suddenly James’s behaviors are starting to make sense to me – the looks he shoots Jed when he gets carried away with his experiments, his anger over Jed’s lying achievement.

“You wish he would do something noble,” I say.

He nods.  “Dad’s a genius, I’ve never doubted that.  He just seems to waste it on the wrong things.”  His declaration seems harsh but at the same time, I can understand it.