Turquoise Puppet

Chapter 12

Give it your everything, you don't have time to stall.

Unless your memory is playing tricks on you, your guess had been partly right back then—Alec had gone to meet Esmae. As for what they did when they met, you had been completely wrong.

You bite your lip, your fingers lingering on the corner of that page of Esmae's diary. Do you really want to keep reading? No. But you already opened that notebook, so you might as well finish it.

The next entry is dated over a year after the first.

December 27

I'm so pissed. My plan failed again, and it was because of Alec Warrensword again.

It was Christmas a couple days ago, you see, and Koen and Alec went out to see the Christmas lights contest at the outskirts of town. I'd planned for one of my guys to ambush them and make Koen bleed on their way back—then I'd show up and call an ambulance for them as they're still in a mess. I know it's a cliched plot, but it doesn't really matter how old the trick is as long as it works, right? And it was supposed to work: I'm the criminal but I'm also the one who calls the cops. Doesn't that sound neat? After all, cops and gangs are really one and the same thing. If not the same thing, we are at least accomplices. That's how it's always been. Give and take.

But then—and I'm sure my guy aimed right, I was watching it from not too far away—Alec was the one who got hit. And suddenly I didn't want to show up or call an ambulance anymore. I left before they could spot me, uninterested in the turn of events after that.

Yes, I have considered simply removing Alec altogether, but that won't work. People gain halos once they're dead. One simply cannot compete with a dead man. I'll have to make him screw up on his own somehow.

☆☆☆

The contest involved a neighborhood decorating their own front yards with lights—whatever lighting they thought suited the Christmas theme. You and Alec going to see those lights was, by then, a tradition, something your families had done for many years before you decided on your own to do the same. The two of you went alone this time, as family activities had begun to fall apart as the years went by.

Reasonably, the whole area was rather dark save for the decorations. You drove through the neighborhood, trying to calculate the costs of the elaborate lighting. Eventually, you'd finished driving through the contest and decided to get out of the car for a walk. The streets were empty that night, since families mostly stayed inside or went all the way out to the city to celebrate. You went into a park, and just as you were talking about Christmasses when you were little, an unfamiliar silhouette approached the two of you. Although he approached straight from the front, it still happened too fast. Rather than walking, the person lunged at you the moment he came into view. In his hand was a broken glass bottle, and, as if on an assassination mission, he said not a word as he aimed at you.

There being no time to dodge, you raised your arms in hopes of at least protecting your head. In the same instant, Alec caught the broken glass bottle with his bare hand. After that one hit, the man pulled the bottle away and took off before you could even see his face.

"Alec?!" you exclaimed in what sounded more like a hiss, your attention on his bloodied hand.

"I think it cut my wrist," he said quietly, staring at his wound.

You phoned the police, who also sent an ambulance your way. That night, Alec got the wound stitched and bandaged, and the police somehow lost track of the aggressor—despite there being a trail of blood that he'd carried with him as he fled the scene.

The next day, you sat by Alec's bedside, studying his bandaged hand. You sighed.

"It's alright," he said lightly.

"I think the guy was coming for me," you said, recalling the events of the previous night.

"I...think so, too," he replied, almost thoughtfully. "It's okay though. I don't think you're actually in danger." You tilted your head up at him questioningly. He met your gaze, and must have seen your unasked question, but chose not to answer it. Instead, he said, "If he really got you, you wouldn't be able to play the cello for...I don't know, months? And that's bad news, right? So...yeah, don't worry about it."

"But the same goes for you and basketball," you voiced, creasing your brows in discontent.

"It's not like that's the only sport I play," he said, chuckling. "Besides, it doesn't really matter."

"What?"

He shrugged.

His shrug was untroubled, but that was the day Alec began to grow wary of glass bottles. It was also on this day that you were more convinced he was hiding something from you—but, perhaps, for your own good, although you were unsure of whether it was wise to not tell you anything.