The Puppet Master Read online

  The Puppet Master

  By

  Abigail Osborne

  Copyright © 2016 by Abigail Osborne

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  978-0-9956000-1-0

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For my Aunty Gillian

  Part One

  “To escape fear, you have to go through it, not around.”

  Richie Norton

  “Fear is the main source of superstition, and one of the main sources of cruelty. To conquer fear is the beginning of wisdom.”

  Bertrand Russell

  Chapter One

  Present Day – 2018

  Billie

  Billie stole down the street avoiding all eye contact and people. Once a week, on a Sunday, she braved the world to visit the bookstore not far from her flat. ‘Once Upon Time’ had thousands of books and a quaint little cafe, it was her haven.

  “Same as usual, love?” asked the elderly lady at the till.

  “Err… yes please,” whispered Billie, blushing bright red. She focused on her tray, the same hot chocolate and sandwich she had each time. She didn’t really like the sandwich but she felt silly just buying a drink.

  “That’s £5.50 then please, love.” Without looking the lady in the eye, Billie handed over the money she had already got out in preparation.

  “Thank you,” Billie said, and then scuttled off to the same table by the window that she always had. She liked this table because she could look out the window at the people hurrying down the street – no one stopped or took their time any more. But if she didn’t fancy that she could also people watch in the cafe. It was a small, intimate setting, a few tables and lots of quirky signs dotted around. Her favourite was ‘Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup’.

  Today, she watched the two women through the gaps in her long red hair, shielding her gaze. They were at the table next to her, chattering about the possible affair that one of their husbands may or may not be having. She enjoyed these little snippets of society. Some days she felt a pang of loneliness, no one would ever sit at this table with her. But mostly, it was a relief. It wasn’t safe. People were dangerous. She looked over at the lady who had served her. Her face was wrinkly with laughter lines, her smile was wide and welcoming. White hair bounced cheerfully on her head as she moved around. But Billie knew that appearances were deceiving. Nearly everyone wore a mask. No one was themselves any more. Too afraid to be judged. Everyone had to fit in with what was ‘normal’. Billie could just make out the lady’s name badge. ‘Martha’ could easily be hiding something. She could be stealing children and cooking them just like the witch in Hansel and Gretel.

  She shook her head and returned to her food. It was no good thinking like this. It would only trigger memories of the person who had had the best mask she’d ever seen. A mask so well constructed, no one could have sensed the evil behind it. She went back to eating her food, surreptitiously watching the people around her. She could live through their lives. People watching was much safer than making actual connections. At another table, a mother was helping her son with a jigsaw. She watched them and allowed herself to become absorbed in their lives. She wondered what the woman did. She was dressed haphazardly so it looked like she was a full-time mum. The boy looked happy and content. Billie hoped his mum was strong enough to keep him safe. That she wouldn’t abandon him when things got tough. That she wouldn’t put herself first.

  She was distracted from her thoughts by a man that had entered the cafe. She watched as he made the rookie mistake of ordering his food without checking to see if there was table free. For a moment, his black-clad body stiffened as he realised his mistake. But then, instead of putting his head down and scurrying away as she would have, his powerful and well-muscled body moved with effortless grace over to her table. Billie couldn’t look away as he stared down at her with warmth in his unusual pale green eyes, which were in perfect symmetry to his humorous, kindly mouth. His stance exuded a sense of restless energy. For the first time since she could remember, she wasn’t scared. He stood there, devilishly handsome and she was captivated.

  A lock of his wavy blond hair fell casually on his forehead as he spoke. “Can I sit here?” Billie knew words weren’t going to come, so she just nodded.

  He was so calm, as if sitting next to strangers was normal and not potentially dangerous. Whereas she couldn’t stop fidgeting, her eyes darted all around. Why was he sitting here? She could be an axe murderer for all he knew. Although, she supposed, she was a bit too female and frumpy for the average axe-wielder.

  He sat down and looked at her intently; his eyes were pale but unreadable. But then, like she had passed some test, a smile broke out across his face.

  “So, how are you?” he said. She didn’t reply straightaway, thrown by his familiar tone, as if they knew each other.

  “Er… Fine… Do I know you?” Blushing from head to toe, she rapidly wracked her brain, trying to remember if he worked with her. She made a point never to talk to anyone outside of work and just kept her head down. Literally.

  “Nope, never seen you before, just thought it would be rude not to talk,” he said. His smile widened, and his face changed, a light came into his eyes and her pounding heartbeat lowered a few decibels. She realised that she had been staring and quickly lowered her head.

  “Okay,” she murmured, to her hands. Her hands were shaking. To calm herself, she focused on them. She’d always had fat fingers, but her fingernails were nice. She’d managed to kick the habit of biting her nails.

  “Are you texting someone for help? Is that why you keep looking down at your knees?” he said. She looked up instantly, her face redder than she had ever known it. “I’m going to have to work on my image. I thought I’d mastered looking sweet and innocent, but from your reaction, I’m more like an axe murderer.” Despite herself, she smiled. Her stomach was fluttering, it couldn’t keep up with the varying emotions she was experiencing.

  “I don’t have a mobile.”

  “How curious, are you also one of those loons that don’t have a television?” He visibly shuddered. “I’d rather sit on the floor if that’s the case. I don’t trust people that don’t watch TV; it’s unhealthy.”

  She chuckled quietly, still unable to look him in the eye. “I have a TV.”

  “Is it black and white?”

  “No, it’s a regular TV.”

  “Phew, that’s a relief, you had me worried then.”

  She laughed as he flopped back in his chair in exaggerated relief. It was strange. Although she was wary and uncomfortable with him, it wasn’t as bad as it usually was.

  She remembered her first week at her job. She was staring out of the window, grateful to have a window seat, when one of her male colleagues came over to her. “Hi, I’m Andy, you must be Billie?” His hand reached out to shake hers and she froze. She stared at his hand. It loomed over her and it began to magnify. She could see every hair on it. His hand was massive and all she could think of was how it could easily crush hers. Instead of shaking it, she got up and ran to the ladies bathroom. She got into a stall and was sick. From then on, no one spoke to her and she never spoke to anyo
ne, unless she absolutely had to. She heard muttered rumours about her but she didn’t listen properly. The only people she talked to regularly were customers on the phone, and that was only perfunctory conversations.

  With the shock of this man’s arrival at her table wearing off, she was surprised how little she felt intimidated by him. She didn’t even know his name. Alarm bells had begun to ring in her head as soon as he had started talking to her but his relaxed manner and humour had disarmed them. She couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed with someone, let alone spoken comfortably with them. Life had kicked Billie down and trampled over her until she realised that the only way she could exist safely in this world was to close herself off to the rest of humanity. People were dangerous. She had lived alone, with this mantra, for the five years since she had left university. She thought that she no longer felt loneliness, but this stranger was stirring feelings she didn’t know still existed.

  “Although we still need to discuss the phone thing… I’ve never met someone who doesn’t have a phone. How do people get in touch with you?”

  “I have no one that needs to get in touch with me.”

  “No one? I don’t believe that. What about your parents?”

  She sucked in a breath of pain, sharply reminded why she didn’t like to talk to anyone. People were nosey. They walked around quizzing people about their personal lives, believing that they had the right to ask whatever they want. Life was one big interview, and Billie hated it. Everyone should be able to give information when they are ready, not when someone else wants to hear it. But basic personal information seemed to be a requirement for social interactions, so she gave her standard lie.

  “I don’t have any, and before you ask, no siblings or other relations, just me.” She hoped that her sharp tone would make him realise that she did not want to talk about this anymore.

  “Aw. Do you want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head and then added, “No.”

  He was quiet for a moment, brow furrowed. Then his face brightened. “What about work? They have to be able to contact you. You must have a phone to talk with them.”

  “I have a neighbour in the flat next door; she has a phone that my work can call.”

  “You know you could just get a phone don’t you?”

  “I don’t want one.”

  “Why?”

  She floundered. How could she possible explain that such a simple question would take her entire life history to answer? This was the most she’d spoken with anyone for years. His light tone and handsome smile had her spellbound. She was even considering telling him. She’d never told anyone the whole story and until now, she hadn’t known she wanted to. She realised she hadn’t answered and began to panic. He must have seen it on her face though, because he changed the subject.

  “So, can I know your name, or would you prefer crazy beautiful anti-phone lady?” The word beautiful echoed in her head. She felt sick. He was just like the rest. She got up quickly, sloshing his coffee on the table.

  “I need to go, sorry.” With that, she ran towards the door and out of the cafe. Trying hard to beat down the memory of the last time that someone had called her beautiful.

  Adam

  Adam rushed into the bookshop at breakneck speed. He hadn’t finished his article for his fortnightly column ‘Bizarre things to do in the West Midlands’.

  The bookshop was his last hope of making his deadline. He hoped that he could find some inspiration for content as this week he just hadn’t felt like leaving his flat. His father had informed him that his uncle Eric had lost yet another job and couldn’t afford to continue living in his apartment. His uncle had recently moved to Bromsgrove from Windermere to be closer to Adam and his father, but he was struggling. Adam knew his father would not dream of helping his older brother out, so Adam was worried. He looked around the shop, shaking the negative thoughts from his head; he needed to get this story in. There was a vacancy coming up in the paper, and he was desperate to get into real hardcore journalism instead of being a columnist. He liked doing the column at first, because he got so many opportunities to do the things he was never allowed to do growing up. After his mother had died, his father lost his will to live. Adam’s life centred around navigating his father’s moods and taking care of him. This column made up for limited experiences he had had. But he was ready to take the next step. His column was a step on the ladder of an over saturated, cut-throat industry, but he had no intention of staying there.

  Having found a book containing just enough details that Adam could use to sound authentic, he impulsively decided to go to the cafe in the bookshop. Hunger was gnawing at his stomach. It was a bit expensive but the waitresses were hot, and they did a great BLT. He was too busy staring at the sizable assets on one of the waitresses across the room to realise that he’d not checked if there was anywhere for him to sit. Luckily, he spotted a small redhead sitting alone at a table for two. He was about to walk over when her familiar face stopped him in his tracks. He knew this girl. Hers was not a face he would ever forget. She was a liar and homewrecker.

  As he walked towards her, a plan seemed to be creating itself inside his mind without his permission. His story radar was blaring, and he knew he had the opportunity of a lifetime. This could be his ticket to a better career, but more importantly, he could get justice. As he got to her table, he could appreciate her quiet oval face, pale and rather delicate. As soon as she realised his intention to join her, a flush spread across her pale cheeks. She looked at him with wariness in her emerald eyes, framed by rich, glowing ruby red hair which was a contrast to her porcelain skin. She looked ethereal, fragile. He took in the black dress that defined her shapely curves and sat down when she nodded instead of telling him to get lost.

  He knew she was uncomfortable with his presence from the stilted answers she gave to his questions and the fact she barely looked at him. His editor, John, was always saying that Adam was going to make it some day because he had a way with people. He could sense enough about a person to know how to work them. With her, he sensed that she had perfected appropriate rebuffs so that she didn’t have to interact with anyone. So he made sure to wrong foot her. He had to admit he did not expect to find that behind her faint smile held a touch of sadness. He would not be swayed by this though. He knew that under the air of fragility and loneliness that she exuded, was a girl who could and already had destroyed lives. No, he would not squander this chance.

  He felt anger burning inside him as he thought about what she had done. But he needed to harness that anger, turn it into determination. Taking a deep breath, he turned his charm dial up to maximum, he would take advantage of this opportunity. He knew that this girl had wrecked lives, and he was going to get her story. He just had to get her to trust him enough to tell it. Which meant getting through the barriers she had expertly constructed around herself. He felt sick with every smile he flashed her. She had caused untold damage and yet here she was sitting in a cafe, with none of the repercussions her victims had to suffer.

  Chapter Two

  Diary Entry

  I watch her as she walks from the street into the estate full of corporate offices. I am parked in the car park. It is so full that people have begun to create spaces on the pavement. I made sure I woke early, just so I could get this spot. It gives me the best view of her. She is a creature of habit. I’d wager her foot lands in the exact same part of each paving slab every day she walks in. While I wait for her to turn up, I am entertained by the parking wars going on around me. I don’t mind waiting. I enjoy the anticipation. Today she is wearing the same black trousers that are far too big for her with a matching over-sized black top sticking out from her black raincoat. On a dark night, she would be invisible. Her head is down; I sometimes wonder if it is stuck like that, she never makes eye contact. I wonder if it is the weight of her shame that keeps her head down and her body hunched. I stare at her so intently it is a wonder she can’t feel the heat from
my gaze. I assess every part of her, she’s no open book, and so I gaze hard, trying to see any flicker of what she might be feeling. All I can tell is what everyone else can see if they bothered to study her. She is unhappy, trying to blend into the background of wherever she goes. She is timid and purposefully keeps everyone at arm’s length. I cannot contain the joy I feel with this knowledge. I feed off it. It rejuvenates me. Knowing that she is suffering after all the damage she has done. I will get justice.

  Each floor of the building is visible through the large glass windows that cover the one side. It seems to be a modern preference now, opening up buildings to the world. There is no privacy any more. I can just make out her moving form. The first time I came, I couldn’t believe my luck when I realised that I could see part of her cubical from the car park. I wait until I see her sit down, back facing the window and then I drive off. She’s made it so easy for me.

  Her flat is only a five-minute drive from here, and I leisurely pull up in front of it. As I unlock the door to her flat, I snicker at how someone so fearful would live somewhere with such pitiful security. One cup of tea, a well spun lie and a flash of a smile to the friendly old lady who lives in the flat next door and I was given a spare key. I walk into the studio apartment and sit in the solitary black armchair. I see a cat dart under the bed. I feel angry as I look around and see how cosy and tidy the flat is. She, who has ruined so many lives, has a warm and comfortable place to live. It isn’t right; she should be homeless and suffer for what she has done. She ruined everything. I breathe in deeply, forcing my righteous anger down. I will make her pay. She will feel the pain that she has caused. I get up from the chair and begin to explore, my mind filling with possible ways to make her suffer the most.