by Rachel Xu
“I don't know,” the puppeteer said in a regrettable tone as though he cared very deeply about Hannah's welfare. “I didn't have car keys on me,” he explained, “so I carried her into the forest and covered her with evergreen boughs and leaves—told her to lay very still while I went for help. As far as I could tell, the maniac hadn't followed us outside.” He paused as though to increase the suspense; Lily's attention was rapt.
“I considered running down the road to seek out a neighbor, but I didn't want to risk passing the mansion—in case the maniac had come out the front or side doors. . . . In the end, we opted to spend the night in the forest and just wait it out.”
“And that's when you came looking for Ian—this morning.”
“Yes.” A nod. And perhaps for effect—a painful cringe. He looked down at his chest and her eyes followed his.
She grimaced and gave him a look of compassion.
Somehow Mike knew this was the response the puppeteer was hoping for. He was winning her over through her nurturing spirit; using it as an Achilles heel.
“Hannah's still hidden in the forest,” he heard himself say, “but she's caught a chill and is delirious. I need to get back to her and make sure she's still safe—especially with those-those beasts out there.” He put on a frightened look and cast a furtive glance at the door.
“I'll inform Varkis,” she said reassuringly, “and he'll instruct the others to leave Hannah alone if they find her.”
“I can't stay here any longer,” Mike heard himself say, standing with a groan and leaning forward to take her little hand in his, pulling her to her feet. “I must check on Hannah and go find Ian. He's wasting his time searching for us in the mansion, and in the meantime, we're all in danger.” They went to the door. “I'll tell Varkis where to find her,” he said. “If you trust him, I trust him.”
“I'm coming with you to find Ian,” she said, hands on her hips and lips set in a firm line. “I feel like a sitting duck and I can't stand it any longer.”
No! Mike screamed inwardly, soundlessly. No! It's all lies—lies. Don't listen to this psycho!
Mike's hands reached out and took Lily by the shoulders, rubbing them with his thumbs in a gesture of affection. “You must stay here, where it's safe,” his voice said to her in a soothing, caring tone. “I don't want that maniac to have any chance at getting his hands on you. That canine creature out there can protect you far better than I can.”
She shook her head. “No, Mike. I don't want your death on my conscience. I'm coming with you whether you like it or not.”
He let go of her shoulders and moved closer, searching her eyes. “Is there nothing I can say to convince you to stay here?”
He's playing you—Mike shouted in vain. He's making you think it's your own idea. It's exactly what he wants you to do!
She stepped back and folded her arms over her chest. “I'm coming,” she said, “but I'm bringing Varkis with us for protection.”
“Out of the question.” He spoke too sharply and her eyes registered confusion. “Hannah hasn't seen any of the creatures,” he explained in a softer tone, redeeming himself. “In her current state, a fright like that could put her over the edge. What if she has a heart attack?”
Her eyes were downcast. She sighed. “You're right, of course.” She met his eyes again. “Varkis will never allow me to leave without him, but I have an idea.” She spoke in a whisper. “You act like you've gone mad with fear and run down the path back to the mansion. They'll leave you be. I'll catch up with you after I figure out a way to get past Varkis.”
He frowned. “There's too much that could go wrong.”
“Do you want to save Hannah or not?”
Mike's hand reached for the door handle and he took a deep breath. “Don't keep me waiting too long, okay?” He kissed her forehead. “Here goes nothing . . . ”
Lily followed Mike out of the tree with a gesture of helplessness as his Oscar-winning performance unfolded.
He ran forward, picked up a stick and waved it at Varkis, who was surveying the scene with aloof superiority and a vague look of amusement in his amber eyes.
“I want out of here,” he said, eyes wild as he waved the stick. “You're all a bunch of freaks . . . monsters . . . vermin. Look what you've done to me—” He pointed to his chest with a tremulous hand. “I'm leaving this mansion for good and don't any of you try to stop me.”
Lily put out her hands. “Mike—please. Calm down.” She met eyes with Varkis and frowned apologetically before turning back to Mike. “I told you—no one is going to hurt you again. You're safe now.”
“Lies! They ate Ian, didn't they?”
The dog-man's lips curled back over his teeth but he said nothing.
“I told you,” Lily said in a tender voice, “Ian's at the mansion searching for you and Hannah.”
His eyes widened with feigned panic. “Shut up—you're in on it. I bet you helped cook him up—”
“You're losing it, Mike. You're talking crazy.” She approached him with tentative steps, hands raised in surrender.
“Stay away from me—” he screeched, throwing the stick at her and racing off down the trail toward the mansion, kicking up dirt and leaves in his frenzied wake.
Varkis let out a low growl. “Want me to go break his neck?” he said.
“Of course not.” She gave Varkis an exasperated look. “He's just terrified, and rightly so. Didn't you see the wound on his chest? He needs stitches.”
“I'll send someone to follow him,” he said, peering down the trail. “He might be a foolish coward, but Ian will expect us to keep him safe. Great job we've done so far, I might add.” A wink.
Lily looked upwards. The sky was overcast and the air damp with the anticipation of rain. She hugged her waist, considering how to make her escape from Varkis.
The dog-man whistled through his furry fingers and a crunching sounded nearby. Soon a gargoyle entered the clearing. Varkis gave instructions for the creature to pursue Mike from a distance and to help him out should danger befall him.
After the gargoyle had taken off, Varkis turned to look down on Lily. “Let's just hope the fool can find his way off the property without running into the assassin.”
She nodded. “Varkis, um, I hope you don't mind, but . . . I really need to use the washroom.” She avoided eye contact and cleared her throat, as though embarrassed.
“No problem,” he said. “You pick a spot in the forest and I'll turn my back.”
“I don't want company. Sorry.”
“Fine,” he said. “But don't let me out of your line of sight. You have two minutes and then I'm coming after you. If you hear so much as a the wind rustling in the leaves, you give me a shout.”
She agreed and slipped into the forest to the right of the trail. As soon as she was masked by the foliage, she took off at a run. Varkis would hear her do so; there was no time to lose. When she reached the greensward, Mike stepped out from behind the maiden statue and motioned for her to hurry. She closed the space between them at full speed and Mike took her hand in his, pulling her after him toward the mansion.
Mike despaired as the puppeteer led Lily closer and closer toward the cloaked man who was waiting for them behind a tree next to the wrought-iron gates at the front entrance to the estate; as had been previously planned.
Initially, Mike had felt abject loathing toward the puppeteer, struggling and fighting mentally against his captor in a futile attempt to force him out. But his rage had had no effect on the puppeteer—if anything, it seemed to spur him on, like fueling a fire. Now he was just too tired to kindle the loathing any longer; could feel only an overwhelming agony which stripped him of every last ounce of strength.
If any harm came to Lily through his own hands then it didn't matter if he should ever be set free. He wouldn't want to live anymore. If only he could disassociate somehow and not have to watch the wretchedness unfold; but he had no control over his eyelids and was forced to observe everything.
>
“I hope Hannah's all right,” Lily said breathlessly as she hurried to keep up step with him. “You're so kind to have stayed behind to look for help—instead of abandoning her.”
Stop saying nice things to me! If you only knew . . .
“You've comforted me so many times since I've arrived here,” she said as they skidded around the side of the estate, ducking beneath the dangling bronze pendant leaves of the willows. “I'm so glad I got to see you once more.”
It was more than he could bear; especially when the puppeteer smiled down at her and she met his eyes with a girl-like trust. Lily was like an angel to him—beautiful and radiant and innocent. He would never willingly hurt her.
A fierce, aching love for her welled up in his heart and he would've wept if he could.
That's when it happened.
He felt his heart thud in his chest: his first physical sensation since the puppeteer had taken over.
Mike flinched and nearly lost his footing. He slowed to a stop and let go of Lily's hand.
“What is it?” she asked, glancing behind and before them with a look of fear. “Did you hear something?” Feathery willow leaves surrounded them, shielding them from the view of any of the lancet windows; and obscuring their profiles from the road as well. Lily's face was cast in shadow and another wave of love for her surged in his heart—painfully.
The puppeteer lifted a tremulous hand to his throat, heartbeat pounding in his chest like a jackhammer now. Why could he feel it now?
Was the puppeteer so corrupt that an altruistic emotion might act as a poison to him?
Summoning up all the love he could muster, Mike deliberately brought to mind everyone he had ever cared for; his family, his sister, his first car, and Lily—oh, wonderful Lily.
Mike fell to his knees and let out a choked gasp as pain filled his body.
Lily dropped to his side, hand on his shoulder. “Mike, what's wrong? Is it your chest?”
A cold breeze moved over them and goosebumps prickled his skin.
He could actually feel it.
“Mike? Talk to me—”
Her sweet, musical voice was soothing—like a warming balm. The puppeteer refused to look at her now. Mike filled his thoughts with heaven and eternal peace; anything he could think of to torment his captor.
His body spasmed and a slight cry slipped from his lips.
Mike flooded his mind with every happy memory he could recall, and a tingling filled his hands and feet; like pins and needles. He continued to focus his thoughts and the tingling moved up through his legs and arms, warming them. More gasps escaped his lips and he caught a glance at Lily, who was recoiling in fear.
Somehow, he had to warn her—before the cloaked man accosted them.
Chapter 24
Lily dropped to her knees on the walkway as Mike convulsed on the ground. He clutched his head in his hands, writhing.
“You're scaring me,” she said, heart racing, “how can I help? Please answer me!”
Fresh blood seeped through the bandaging wrapping his chest as he tried to sit up. She reached out to touch him and he turned toward her. His eyes widened with a sudden look of clarity. “Run,” he gasped. “Run, Lily—run to Varkis—”
A shiver rippled down her back and she glanced about wildly as though the world was closing in on her from all sides.
“Run,” he cried again, in a strangely disembodied voice. “You can't save me—you have to go.” He began to choke and gripped his throat: falling to one side and not letting go. He either couldn't breathe or was trying to strangle himself.
Lily jumped to her feet—and rejecting Mike's command to go to Varkis—ran to the nearby scullery entrance of the mansion instead. She yanked open the door and plunged inside. Her only hope of escape was by vehicle and she must retrieve her car keys. There was no way she was going back into the forest.
The scullery was empty; dull light from the windows barely suffusing the cupboards. Lily peered into the dining room, hurried through, and paused to surmise the corridor. There were several open doors and the assassin could be in any of the rooms, or none. But Ian was here somewhere too, and she could only hope that if the killer were still here, Ian had already captured him: and not the other way around.
She scurried down the hallway toward the front entrance, trying to keep her footfall light, and went up the staircase, avoiding the creaky steps.
The upper level seemed devoid of persons. All the doors were closed, and like the scullery, only a dull light entered through the leaded glass windows at the end of the hall. For all she knew, the assassin could be waiting for her inside her bedroom, behind a drape or settee; or even inside one of the wall passageways, watching through a peephole.
She opened the door slowly and looked inside, breath catching in her throat at the sight.
The room had been torn apart, furniture overturned, drawers dumped, and mattress feathers coating everything.
She went in, keeping an eye on every shadowy corner, and looked for her purse. She found it emptied on the bed, her car keys beside it. Whoever had ransacked her room evidently had no interest in her car.
Stuffing the keys in her pocket, she left the room and hurried downstairs, pausing on the landing to check for any intruders—and seeing no one, slipped out the front entrance and hurried down the steps. It had begun to rain.
She ran down the walkway until she reached the six car garage built of stone, and though she scanned the area under the willows, she couldn't spot Mike where she'd left him. Was he masked by dangling leaves or had he gone?—or worse, had he been taken? She hated to leave him like that but the only possible way she could get help was to leave this place.
Her sedan was parked in front of the garage where she'd left it, and not waiting to catch her breath, she fumbled with the lock and the door swung open with a familiar creak. She climbed in and slammed the door, locking it fast—heart slamming against her chest.
She dared not look back.
Ahead of her, through the trees, the tall wrought iron gates stood wide open, and she exhaled in relief. But why were they open? Had Ian taken a car and abandoned them all or had Chris and Angie left them open upon their departures the night before?
Rain drops spattered the windshield as she turned her key in the ignition with shaky fingers. The vehicle revved to life. She switched the car into reverse and cranked her neck to see out the rear view window as she positioned the nose of the car away from a tree. All was clear. She faced forward, switching on the front and back windshield wipers, and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.
The engine roared and strained but the car didn't move.
She cranked her neck over her shoulder again and yelped.
A hooded man stood behind her vehicle with his hands on the trunk of the car, vambraces on his forearms.
She blinked at him, lifting her foot from the pedal.
He raised a fist above his head and smashed it down on the trunk of car, crumpling it like tinfoil.
Her seatbelt yanked her backwards as the front dash airbag exploded open. She tried to push the puffy bag out of her face but froze as the man approached in her side view mirror. The rain continued to beat down on the windshield and roof of the car.
Beneath his cloak was an archaic vest. The hilt of a sword showed at his waist.
She waited helplessly as he tore open the driver's side door, ripping it from its frame and tossing it to the ground. She screamed as he ripped off her seatbelt and pulled her from the car like a rag doll.
“We meet again,” he snarled, dropping her to the ground next to the door. She landed painfully on her back, scuffing her palms on the wet pavement.
“W-who are you?” she choked out, blinking up at him through the rain. His face was black beneath the hood of his cloak.
He laughed.
“Who I am doesn’t matter,” he said in a low, gravely voice. “Now tell me where Ian is. We're going to pay him a little visit together.” He reached for
her and she covered her face with her forearms.
An unworldly screech sounded behind her.
She lowered her arms just as the hooded man took a quick step backward, bracing himself for an attack.
Callamous appeared out of the rain, galloping, and lowered his deadly horn to chest-level; ready to charge.
Lily scooted out of the way and scrambled to her feet. Without looking back, she raced down the driveway, through the open gates and down the dirt road, the soles of her shoes thudding against the soaked ground.
A piercing screech stopped her in her tracks and she whipped around.
Visible through the trees, the cloaked man had lodged his sword in the fleshy area between the unicorn's ribs and hip. Callamous reared, trying to trample him with his hooves, but the cloaked man dove out of the way, somersaulted and jumped to his feet again. He reached out and yanked his sword from the unicorn's flank, swinging it at his throat. Callamous blocked it with his double-edged horn.
Lily wanted to keep running, wanted to flee, but she couldn't. This was the third time the unicorn had intervened to save her life.
She owed him.
A fire welled within; fierce anger and hatred toward the killer. And without stopping to reconsider, she grabbed a fallen branch from the side of the road and ran back to the gates. With a holler to get his attention, she raced after him, adrenaline coursing through her veins as the rain beat down on her face.
“Get away—” Callamous shouted in his thunderous voice as she came upon them.
The cloaked man flicked her a glance.
She knew the tree branch was a mere twig up against a sword, but it might at least provide the distraction Callamous needed to run the assassin through with his horn.
She swung with all her might as he turned his attention back on the unicorn.
The branch broke in half off the side of his head and fell to the ground.
Undeterred, he took another swipe at Callamous with the sword. The unicorn caught it between his shark-like teeth and yanked it from his grasp; sending it spinning across the pavement. In one deft movement, the cloaked man ducked around the unicorn and kicked the oozing wound in his side. Legs buckling and an airy cry escaping his lips, Callamous crashed to the ground.