The Marionette

Chapter Twelve - Finding Cara

Chapter Twelve- Finding Cara

We walked inside, alert; our eyes roaming to every dark corner. He could be anywhere (not that they knew who we were searching for.) I wasn't sure myself but I had a pretty good hunch it was Vladimir. The problem was I had no way to stop any of the events that could — and possibly would — transpire tonight. I was on his territory. I was under his control. Oh, no. I didn't think about that! What if he uses his dark magic to make me do something to the girls? What if I switch sides and leave them to fight him alone?

I was puzzled – and yet – overcome with undeniable fear. I didn't want him to cast Voodoo on me, especially not when I had my best friends with me.

What was I supposed to do?

If I told them I needed to leave then they would only persecute me by saying I was selfish, uncaring, and held no empathy for them. They would accuse me as if I were on trial for the disappearance myself. I rubbed my face in pure frustration. I was trapped between a rock and a hard wall. And they were simultaneously beginning to press in on me.

I'm starting to feel the stress of the situation, the physical and emotional pain has been taking a toll on my body. Anyone with eyes could see how my eyes were sunken in with dark-purple bags painted underneath, how my cheeks are now protruding and my skin is sallow and ashen. But what could I do? I could only try to fight my way out of Vladimir's grasp, I could only hope and pray that I can keep my family and friends out of his reach, if only just barely, until I've taken him out.

I just have to go with it and try my best to keep things from falling apart. I obviously haven't been doing very well on that end, but I will prevail in the end. I can't take anymore, physically, emotionally, mentally, wholly. My whole world has been torn apart, ripped to shreds and all I can do is keep pressing forward; fighting ice with fire, no more solitude. I have to make a stand against the enemy.

As Cleo motioned for us to follow her to the stage, I swallowed the tightly wedged ball of fear and breathed deeply, desperately hoping and praying he wouldn't be waiting for us in the shadows to consume us all.

Jenna leaned over and whispered in my ear, "It's a little creepy in here when it's empty, isn't it?"

She was on point.

"You have no idea how creepy it can get."

Her brows knitted at my response trying to figure out what the double meaning hidden in my reply could mean, but she didn't have time to dwell on it. We were now passing through the curtain to stand on the stage. An all-too familiar feeling began to bubble inside the pit of my stomach; a dreadful feeling. I needed to get them out of here fast. How was I going to manage to rush them out just minutes after arriving? I have mere seconds to formulate a plan and use my "powers of persuasion" against the clock and quickly guide them back to the exit before the dark foreboding cloud releases its stormy wrath.

I just needed to figure something out.

Every inch that I scoured in the auditorium was dark and ominous – darkness clung to the seats, in the air. Then, like a little ray of hope, a small spotlight lit up on a lone seat. Illuminating in the darkness like the sinister Jigsaw dummy, Billy, was a wooden Puppet. I couldn't see which one it was from my position, but in all honesty, I didn't want to. I was afraid of what I would see. I was afraid that once I saw which Puppet it could be that I'd begin to unravel, the concrete wall that I'd built around my heart would start to give way — cracking before beginning to crumble and ultimately bursting — releasing the floodgate of emotions that I'd kept locked away until I was ready to deal with them. I was terrified of who I would see.