Page 79 of Miserable Marionette

“Gideon, what the fuck?” I curse, my struggling taking on a panicked edge, fear bracketing my chest.

“I really wish you hadn’t come home so early, puppet.” He sighs as I jerk in his hold. When his hand snaps to my mouth covering my nose I kick back, meeting his shin with my heel. It's barely enough as I wiggle free, several strands of my hair getting jerked out by the root against his apron as I bolt for the porch steps.

My scream bursts against the hills as his hand knots in the back of my dress, jerking me roughly to his chest. His answering squeeze is brutal, making each panicked breath punchy and rough. “Gideon, stop!” I cry out.

“It’s okay. I’m going to fix this. Okay?” he promises, his own voice laced with urgency as I kick, but he’s strong, his arm bracing under my chin. My hands flying up to claw at it desperately as he drags me into the lobby. The side table knocks into the wall as I fight, the vase his mom bought at an estate sale years ago wobbling until it crashes to the floor. “Shhhh. Sweet girl, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

I try to scream, but my head is going light. Only vaguely aware of Jessica’s mournful wailing from somewhere deeper in the building.

She was right.

Oh my god, she was right.

He lets us fall, knocking his back against the stairs with a grunt as he wraps his legs around mine. Sweat beads on my forehead as I struggle, my movements slowing like I’m working through gelatin. The scent of pepper and eucalyptus swallows me whole as he soothes me, dotting soft kisses on my head as I suffocate. “Don’t be mad at me, okay?” he whispers. “I’m only doing this for us. Shhh, puppet, don’t struggle, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, I swear.” His voice cracks as I roll my head up, his own face flushed, glasses knocked off-kilter, his eyes feverish, panicked, and wild. I try to plead with mine, to beg. A strangled sound escapes my throat as he pants. “Don’t look at me like that,” he pleads back. “Please, please don’t be scared of me.”

It’s the last thing I hear before my vision blurs and the room goes dark.

36

I Do

Audrey, Nine Years Old, 1977

My hands tremble around the light blue napkin wrapped tightly around the dandelion bouquet, excitement making me bounce on the balls of my feet. Any second now.

Gideon sighs from behind me. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Tap me on my shoulder so I turn around, then you remove my veil—” Which is just another napkin, white this time though, of course. "And tell me your vows and then go, I, Gideon Bell, vow to blah blah blah Audrey Fisher.”

“Vows like what?”

“Vows like promises you want to make to me as my husband.”

Gideon's fingers are soft as they tap my shoulder blade, his cheeks oddly flushed as I turn around, staring up at him. He doesn’t move for a while, just… looks at me. I usually wouldn’t interrupt, but it’s our big day and everyone is watching. I give a coy giggle to the crowd, which consists of Krissy and all of my stuffed animals Gideon was nice enough to pack out here. When I lean forward, he stops breathing. “Take off my veil now and say your vows.”

His movements are jerky at first as he reaches up, snatching the napkin off the top of my head, almost knocking loose the dandelion taped to the front of his T-shirt. “I, Gideon Bell, vow to take care of Audrey Fisher for the rest of her life and…” He hesitates for the first time I think ever, looking a little unsure, so I give him an encouraging smile. That does the trick, his jaw clenching and unclenching before speaking again. “And kill anyone who tries to hurt her.”

I rear back a little. “Oh.”

“Was that not good?”

I offer him an even bigger smile. “It was perfect! Okay, my turn! I, Audrey Fisher, vow to make Gideon Bell smile every day and always be his best friend in the whole entire world forever and always, no matter what!”

His lips quirk a bit at that. “What do we do now?”

“Say I do!”

My cheeks heat as he reaches his hands out, palms up, waiting for me to place mine in his. Gideon's hands are warm and flutterflies start tickling my tummy. Suddenly it’s hard to look at him, so I stare at our hands instead as he replies with a quiet, I do.

My I do is even quieter than his, barely above a whisper.

I’m about to turn toward the crowd and declare us married when he leans in, pressing his lips to my forehead in a quick kiss. I swear I let out a little squeak before wiping it off. “Gross!”

He rolls his eyes and walks me down the aisle toward our friends.

Audrey, Present Day, 1994

My head is pounding in tune with my pulse. My thoughts are as sluggish as my limbs. When I creak my eyes open, it's too bright and harsh artificial lighting. A ragged hiss leaves my throat as I try to lift my left arm to rub at my eyes; it doesn’t budge, the pain making me cringe. I groan as a warm hand finds my face, soothing away some of the chill from the room. It comes to me slowly, how cold I am, but the chill seems to do well for jostling my brain awake. My aching, tender neck flaring to life as if to fill in the missing details. I lurch upward, my head spinning wildly, only to be met with another painful, harsh tug on my left arm. I cry out as that warm hand finds me again, Gideon's hand. “Easy, puppet,” he consoles me.