“Puppet would like to be introduced,” she announced and indicated the figure now standing beside her. “Puppet is the boss of Georgie and me, and is in charge of everything. We all belong to Puppet, and Puppet makes the rules.”
Puppet quickly wrote another few words on the board and held it up for Dorrie.
“Puppet wants to know if you know all the rules. Did someone tell you what they were?”
Lucy thought hard about what to say, because she was sure they were trying to trick her. Andrea and Beth had told her a few things, but Lucy now understood they shouldn’t have. “No, ma’am. No one told me anything.”
Dorrie looked at her in disbelief, and Puppet scribbled something more. Dorrie read the words and smiled. “Puppet says I get to tell you instead of Georgie!”
Georgie frowned and slapped his stick against his side while Dorrie began to sing a strange, oddly pitched song:
“First rule is no talking, without permission from one of us.
Bad things will happen to you then, and no one wants a fuss.
Rule two you shall remember: it’s easy so please try.
You’d be in for a big ol’ shock if we catch you in a lie.
Third rule is as simple, as you can surely tell:
scream and holler and please, do not ever yell.
The fourth rule is the last one, so listen to what I say,
Enjoy your stay with Puppet, before you go away.
We have some special things planned out just for you,
Or at least we will, I promise dear, they’ll happen very soon.
And when that special someone buys you,
It will open up your room.
When that someone buys you,
With their gold doubloons.”
When she finished with another bob and flick of her skirt, Puppet began to clap, the sound oddly muffled by the blue gloves. After a moment, Georgie reluctantly joined.
Puppet wrote another sentence and handed it off. Dorrie read the words and then shrugged and passed the board to her companion.
“Puppet wants to know if you understand the rules,” Georgie asked.
Lucy didn’t understand the last part, and some of the middle parts were confusing, but whispered, “Yes.”
“Good,” Georgie smiled. “Now that we have that out of the way, I’ll ask you again. Was it you, sweet little Lucy, who made the noise this morning? Just admit it, and it won’t be so bad this first time.”
She met the eyes of the man in front of her and glanced at Dorrie and Puppet. She wondered what would happen to Beth if they found out she’d been the one to whisper. Beth had been warning her, that much she knew, and Beth knew the rules. They’d probably punish her real bad. Georgie said it wouldn’t be bad for Lucy if she admitted it, since it was the first time. She snuck a quick look toward the girl who was watching her intently from behind her own bars and looked down at the floor, trying to decide what to do. Momma always said it was a good thing to spare other people pain and suffering, if possible. Finally, she looked back up at the man in front of her. “Yes,” she told him, trying to control the fear running through her. “It was me. I didn’t know.”
Georgie smiled down at her and nodded his head in agreement. “I know you didn’t, sweet little Lucy. I’m pleased as punch you told us the truth and can’t punish you for lyin’.” Then, he looked her right in the eye. “But still, rules is rules. You made noise and disturbed the peace, so I get to punish you for that.”
Lucy could feel the shaking starting in her knees and working its way up until it consumed her entire body. “But…but…I didn’t…didn’t know the…the rules.”
Dorrie giggled and replied, “Ignorance of the law is no excuse!”
“Place your hands on the bar, Lucy,“ Georgie commanded while Puppet watched from behind the small round glasses.
“No…no! I didn’t know the rules!”
“Put your hands on the bars!” Georgie shouted while Dorrie laughed with glee. “You’re not gonna like it if one of us has to come in there and make you.”
Lucy tried to calm herself, but couldn’t stop whimpering and crying. Her breath came in ragged gasps and her vision was blurring. She forced herself to walk the short distance to the bars, watching her feet shuffle inch by inch across the concrete. Finally, she reached the edge of the enclosure and placed her hands on the bars.
“That’s a good girl,” Georgie told her, although to her clouded and terrified mind, he sounded disappointed. “Now, hold tight. It’ll just take a minute. You can even close your eyes, if you want.”
Lucy tightened her grasp on the bars in front of her and wanted to do as he suggested and close her eyes, but she couldn’t. Some odd fascination took control of her, and she wasn’t able to look away from his hands.
Georgie lifted up his stick and turned the knobby thing on one end a few times.
“This is going to be so good,” Dorrie observed to Puppet, who nodded back solemnly, never looking away from Lucy.
Satisfied with his adjustments, Georgie lifted his wand and moved the prongs slowly to the bars. “Ready or not, Lucy, here it comes!” He touched the end of the illegally modified cattle prod to the bars and turned the knob again. It sparked against the metal of the cage and the current ran like lightning through the metal into Lucy’s hands.
She jerked in surprise and screamed. She couldn’t force any other sound through her lips as her jaw clenched and her teeth rattled. Her body shook and spasmed until he pulled the prod away.
“See, that wasn’t too bad,” Georgie remarked as he dialed back the juice.
Lucy didn’t hear his words. All she heard was the sound of Dorrie’s laughter as she slid to the floor. Right before the blackness took her, she was aware of something being forced into her mouth and felt it scrape against the inside of her cheek before it was removed. She remembered Puppet’s smile.
When she woke later that day, it took her a while to get her bearings. Her whole body tingled and the hair on her neck and arms was raised. She brushed a hand across the top of her head and realized her hair had been cut very close to the scalp. Looking down, she realized the school uniform she’d been wearing for days was gone, replaced with a thin gray smock. On the small table next to her was a paper napkin decorated with bright pink bunnies and sitting right on top was an apple, a banana, and a half of sandwich. She could smell the peanut butter from her place on the bed, and her mouth watered. The cup with her name on it was filled with purple juice.
She sat up and edged forward until her feet hung off the cot. With still-trembling hands, Lucy reached for the cup and took a small sip. Suddenly overcome with thirst, she drank half the cup before placing it back on the table then carefully unpeeled the banana and took a bite. Once she finished it, she considered the remaining food. The apple made it halfway to her mouth before she yawned and replaced it on the napkin. Drugged and tired, she eased down onto the cot and fell into a deep, but troubled sleep, filled with dreams of flashing lights and the sound of Dorrie’s laughter. In her dream, Georgie smiled through the bars.
“That’s a good girl,” he whispered. “Sweet, sweet Lucy.”
***
Toby settled back in his usual chair in Dr. Edmondson’s office, and fidgeted around a bit, trying to get comfortable. The chair was pretty snazzy with few automatic adjustments he enjoyed playing with now and then, but today, he settled for the default settings. His psychologist took a seat across from him and turned a few pages in her notebook, until she found where she’d left off at the end of their last session.
Dr. Amanda Edmondson didn’t really fit the picture he’d built up in his mind of what a shrink should look like. She was small, with a pleasantly plump body, and had short, mostly white hair simply styled to prevent a lot of fuss. She looked more like one of Grams’ friends than a respected, licensed professional. Her blue pantsuit reinforced the image, as did the pair of silver reading glasses perched on the end of her somewhat pointed nose. He guessed tha
t, although she looked the part of a harmless grandma, she probably wasn’t anywhere near his grandmother’s age, and was in fact, probably just eight or ten years older than Melba.
Toby was well-aware she possessed a razor-sharp mind and a quick wit. She’d proven time and time again she had no hesitation about asking the really tough—painfully tough, sometimes—questions necessary for Toby to answer as he worked through the events of last fall. She was empathetic, of course, but didn’t let him wiggle out of doing any of what she called “the real work.”
He perked up in his chair when he noticed she’d found her spot in the notebook and uncapped her fountain pen. He liked the fact she took notes with an old-fashioned writing implement. It fit right in with his preconceived notions.
“So, Toby, how have you been since I saw you last?”
“I think I’ve been doing okay. Things have been busy, but that’s only to be expected, I guess. There’s a lot to get done to have the office ready, and my schoolwork is starting to pile up. I’ve been spending almost all my extra time trying to get ahead with my reading, in case things take off quicker than Melba and I expect.”
“Are you still taking your self-defense classes?”
“Yeah, but it’s more of a mixed martial arts class. It’s pretty cool, although I don’t think I’ll ever remember some of the moves our instructor’s trying to drill into my skull. I got a pretty good reminder and a busted lip when I forgot to protect my head.”
“Were you hurt?”
“Not really. Slight bump on the old noggin and a puffy bottom lip for a few days. I think Melba got a kick out of the way it made me talk. I caught her trying not to bust out laughing a time or two. Anyway, Jon Chiang says it happened because I don’t always focus.”
“Jon teaches the class, right?”
“Yes. He’s Madame Zhou’s nephew.”
Dr. Edmondson was well-versed in who Zhou Li was, as she’d factored quite prominently in some of their past discussion. Without having actually met her, she found herself approving of the lady’s style. “Right. Has he suggested ways you might improve your focus?”
“Actually, he has. In addition to our regular sparring session, Melba and I are attending a meditation class most mornings. After the busted lip incident, Jon decided we should spend an equal amount of time working on the internal, instead of just focusing on the external. And get this—Madame Zhou’s teaching the class.”
“Really? I thought she was quite elderly.”
“Well, I guess she is, but she hasn’t slowed down much. Melba told me she was eighty-seven, but she has more energy than I do must of the time.”
Toby cast her a speculative look, wondering if she’d make any comment which might reveal her own age, but was predictably disappointed. “Anyway, the meditation class is going fine, and we’re learning all kinds of techniques. At first, I thought it was kind of hokey, but now, I’m enjoying it.”
“Do you feel it’s helping your ability to focus?”
“It’s probably too early to tell, but I figure it can’t hurt.”
“It certainly can’t. Give it time and you might be surprised. Meditation, if practiced regularly, has many benefits. I’ll be interested to see what you think in another few months. Now, you said you’ve been busy getting the office ready. What have you done?”
Toby walked her through all of the changes he’d made to the space and talked about why he’d made some of the choices he had. He wasn’t surprised at her response.
“It appears you gave it a pretty thorough overhaul. Any thoughts about why you put so much effort into making the changes?”
“Yeah. That was too easy, Dr. Ed.” Like almost everyone he came into contact with, she’d relented and agreed to his suggested modification of her name. It was either that or strangle him. Since the State Association disapproved of inflicting bodily injury, she’d reluctantly accepted it as the only viable alternative. “I made the changes so it would be easier for me to handle being back in the same space every day. I knew it was going to be hard, and part of me hoped Madame Zhou would change her mind and help us find another location. But I like living right across the street, and I’d miss all of the people on Capital Street if we moved. When she held to her guns, I decided the only way for it to really work was if I made it look and feel completely different when I walked through the door.”
“And does it feel different?”
“Pretty much. There are some things I just couldn’t change, because they’re architectural. With different paint and furniture, and rearranging what the rooms were used for, I made it as different as I could.” He walked through the space in his mind, allowing himself to notice any part of his mental tour that still made him uncomfortable. “I still don’t like the stairwell to the roof, but I just don’t go up there if I can help it. I’m okay with the rest of it, and like a few places a lot.” He shifted in his chair and then shrugged. “Surprisingly, I really like the office I share with Melba.”
“What did the office used to be, Toby?”
He shifted again and then met her eyes. “The back treatment room. Where Geri was killed and where Sutton Dameron and his whacked-out wife tried to kill me. The room where I first met Bill.”
She let him sit quietly for a minute or two before her next question. “How are you doing with the bad dreams, Toby?”
“Better,” he answered quietly. “I still have them, but not as often, and they don’t seem to be so intense. It’s like they’re further in the distance or something. Most of the time when I have them, I wake up shaken, but I can get back to sleep instead of wandering around my apartment. Weird, huh?”
“No, not at all. The thing is, they are further away now than they were, and I mean that both literally and figuratively. More time has passed, and you’ve done a lot of work to reconcile the things that happened to you. The fact you’re able to work in the office where so many bad things happened is a very positive step. You’ve worked through how to make it palatable in a very healthy manner.”
She paused for a moment, jotting down a note. “Are you seeing anyone now?” she asked in her calm, cool voice.
It took him a minute to answer. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.” When she didn’t respond, he forced himself not to squirm. “I mean, I guess not really.”
“I’m sure you’re aware that’s a very confusing answer. Usually, the appropriate answer is either yes, or no.”
“You’re telling me!” he retorted, feeling all of his confusion from the day before come bubbling back to the surface. “I just don’t know how to answer.”
She nodded her acceptance, and he hoped she’d just move on. No luck there.
“Obviously, something’s happened that has you muddled. What’s going on?”
Haltingly at first, and then with more confidence, he recounted the previous day’s exchange with Jon. “Now do you see why I’m so discombobulated?”
She tapped her pen on the page of the notebook a couple of times. “I can see why you might not be exactly sure of what he was asking, or what his intentions are, but I can’t say I know why you’re so discombobulated, as you characterize it. Only you can answer that. Why does it bother you so much?”
“I don’t know.”
She let him roll the answer around in his mind for a while. When he finally realized she was waiting on a more complete and truthful answer, he sighed. “I need to be sure. I like Jon—a lot. But, I didn’t really think he’d ever be interested in me that way. I thought he was straight. I mean, I flirted with him some, and maybe even tried to push his buttons once in a while just to get a reaction out of him, but all I got in return was his usual calm, unruffled exterior. I swear, that guy has the best poker face ever.”
“I know some people like that, and it’s sometimes hard to get a clear read on them. But let me ask you this: why do you need to be sure at this point? Surely, if he just wants to be friends, nothing’s harmed, and you might even have a nice time over dinner. Why is not know
ing a bad thing at this stage?”
He thought about the question and mulled it over in his mind. He finally settled on the answer that felt the most truthful and, as a result, came with the most pain. “I’m worried he’ll turn out to be like Geri or Bill. I’m worried he’s hiding something.”
“And?”
“And I’m scared to death I’ll get hurt again.” He sat in the silence that filled the room and allowed it to wash over him. “Is it wrong for me to be worried about all of that?” he eventually asked.
“Toby, that’s not for me to answer. That’s for you to answer. The only advice, or caution, if you prefer, is to check your feelings and motivations along the way and see if it feels right. Some people might say this is too soon for you to be getting involved with someone seriously, and I must tell you, I have some reservations. Having said that, you’ve made remarkable progress in coming to terms with everything you’ve been through. Let me ask you this: are you ready for another serious relationship?”
“I don’t know. I do know I need something, and casual sex with the random man of the weekend doesn’t really do it for me.”
She made a few more notes and then placed the notebook on the small table to the left of her chair. “So, the next obvious question is, what’s an acceptable middle ground?”
“You mean like fu—, I mean friends with benefits?”
“I have to say that sounds much more congenial than what I suspect you were about to say.” She laughed and waved her hand to settle him back down in his chair. “Don’t apologize. Believe me—I’ve heard the term before and, although I have a fondness for it myself under certain select situations, I like the connotation of the phrase that includes the word ‘friends’ much more.” She paused to allow for a thoughtful silence, then added, “All I suggest is this: If you have a great dinner, and maybe a drink or two, and he suggests you find some nice, secluded place to engage in some wild, messy monkey-sex, give yourself some time to think about it. You don’t need to rush into anything while caught up in the heat of the moment. It’s okay to ask him what his longer-term intentions are.”
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