The Master Puppeteer

2. The Master Puppeteer

Bright artificial light shined through my eyelids and burned my cornea. My body was stiff, and throbbed with pain. So much pain.

Disoriented, my eyelids fluttered as I attempted to pry them open. A strong stench of mustiness and iron filtered in through my nose.

I roughly hacked out cough after cough, my diaphragm struggling to keep up.

"Ma'am? Can you hear me?"

Focusing my eyes towards where the voice originated, they met with the sight of a man kneeling down about two feet from me, dressed impeccably well, though it was his face that captured my attention. It held a grim and somber expression, as if that was the only expression he knew.

Losing concentration, I groaned as my head pounded out a deep bass tune. A tune that was reverberating throughout the inside of my head, making it feel like I could possibly be on the verge of death. The cause being my head exploding from all the pressure held within.

Then, all at once, memories filtered in. Looking around in hysteria, I screamed as I tried getting out of the mess. Sharp flashes of pinprick pain ran throughout my flailing arms.

Suddenly, my movement stopped as I felt hands holding me down; restraining me, smothering my initial panic by suppressing my nervous system.

"Ma'am, please calm down. You're okay, you will be okay."

Silent tears dripped as I tried to calm myself.

After a few minutes, I felt relatively calm, though it was a weird sensation.

I felt numb, as if I were floating, watching the scene rather than being a part of it.

I desperately wanted out of that puddle of blood surrounding me, but it all seemed so far off. The voices were warbled, distant, muted.

"She's in shock. Get the medic here to take her vitals and the crime scene analyst down here to get all this evidence off of her as well. I need this done quickly so we can get her to the hospital and I can question her properly."

Through the heavy fog in my head, I heard footsteps scurry away and a meek, "Yes sir!"

The sharp sound of snapping brought my attention back, but not fully. My body was shaken a tad bit too hard causing me to grunt out in pain.

"Ma'am, you need to tell me your name."

My name? Why is that more important than getting me out of this stuff?

"Ma'am?" his voice was sharp, as though irritated, and yet concerned.

Breathing out harshly, I opened my mouth to talk. It was hard though as my mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert, and my lips were too chapped.

"Sarah," I whispered hoarsely. "My name's Sarah."

Everything after that happened in a blur. The details were too hazy to understand properly. Like the way I was brought to the hospital and a doctor and nurse rushed at me. The way the man was always there. The way that police officer after police officer came to him and rushed away after a few words.

Throughout the whole process though, a few words stuck out to me like blinding headlights in the night.

Master Puppeteer.

The infamous serial killer not yet caught, but had seven murders under his belt. That was when I knew.

I had escaped the Master Puppeteer. I would have made murder victim number eight.  It was all so surreal and I didn't get my bearings until I woke up the next morning, getting ready to check out.

My body was barren of the will to keep going. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, fear clouding them.

What was I going to do?

The Master Puppeteer would come back to finish what he started. What would I protect myself with? I was just an average nurse who worked too many hours, with absolutely no social life at all.

Who would help me?

In an instant I thought of the detective, who introduced himself as Detective David Barthlow, that was leading this case.

He would help me.

Maybe he even came to the conclusion himself that the Master Puppeteer doesn't leave his victims alive, and we all know that he had sufficient time to get rid of me.

Even when I had escaped, who knows how long I had stayed unconscious in that one spot.