Turquoise Puppet

Chapter 14

Don't wait till you could have realized it sooner,

That you'd never change your mind.

You feel a chill run down your spine. What would have happened if you'd told Esmae the truth back then? What would she have done to silence Alec? Up to this point, you have yet to see any real cruelty or violence; but given her background, you wouldn't be surprised if the pages that follow make your blood grow cold. As a matter of fact, given the state of Esmae's mentality in the last entry, you expect that the very next entry might reveal something even more disturbing.

I'm a coward, you think to yourself, is it too late to make amends?

The next entry is dated quite a while after the previous one—in fact, it was only a year ago.

June 24

I'm writing this as I wait for the results.

I think I've changed a lot over the past year.

I'm still pursuing Koen, but at this point, it feels more like a conquest, a challenge, more than a genuine pursuit for love. I've been so in love with him, and for so long, that everything is now little more than instinct. Everything he does is perfect. His music is affectionate, and he makes me feel that it's for me he plays when he looks up at me in the middle of a song. He looks at me with such a gentle gaze that I could almost believe he is really seeing me. He says the most comforting words, and aside from the crucial "I love you", he's said everything else a lover should. His kiss is the most convincing, as he delivers it with his eyes closed.

But I've also seen him when Alec comes on the TV or social media. When he sees him on the screen, his initial gaze is always naturally soft; very quickly he switches it to a deliberately cold look and then shifts his focus elsewhere. If he really only sees Alec as an old friend, he wouldn't have to do that. He would be watching the screen like everyone else, and he would be watching it the same way he watches Zander's performances. Then, when Alec shows up randomly on social media, Koen always lingers for a moment longer on that page before scrolling past it.

What is love? It's that feeling that connects you to that one person no matter how long it's been since you last talked, no matter how far away or apart you are. It's that feeling that makes you willing to do anything for them. It's the bond that nobody but the two of you can break.

I got carried away. As I was saying, I've changed over the past year. Now, I'm more devoted to ruining Alec Warrensword's reputation and life than anything else. It seems almost as difficult as gaining Koen's true love. I can't tell you why, but I love seeing Alec struggle more than anything else in life. I might actually kill him ultimately if all else fails. The first joy is to be loved by whom you love; if that doesn't work, torturing your foe is the next most exciting thing.

We've recently developed a kind of aphrodisiac. The reaction time can be controlled directly by the dose. I've arranged for my men to slip some of that in Alec's drink at tonight's gala and bring him to our small house at the edge of the city. I've considered abducting guys—all the better for the scoop—but there's a chance of them being able to fight him off; besides, anyone would do in that situation, so we're bringing in teenage girls instead. We have hidden cameras in the house, though initially they were set up there only because the house is sometimes rented out for other businesses. Tonight, though, it will be for my entertainment.

It will me who stages his crime, and it will also be me who calls the cops. Well, not me literally, but it is me nonetheless. My men are only an extension of me after all.

You might ask: if you want to ruin him, why not just do it by any regular addictive drug? It's simple. I want him to be fully capable of thinking. I want him to be aware of everything that's going on, that it's me who's making all this happen. I want him to know it's me, to hate me so, so much but also know that there is nothing he can do about it. I look forward to that despair.

☆☆☆

You saw it on the news. At the time, you had been so confused by the news that you hadn't the capacity to feel anything about it. It was the first time that Alec came to face the media with sunglasses on, the first time he hid his burning amber eyes from the camera. At first glance, he looked like he was guilty of what the "passerby" had called the police for, but he was not, in fact, guilty of that crime.

"I don't know how you all interpret this," he'd told the dozen microphones in front of him in a tone that was clearly troubled, "Whoever staged it, I'd like to tell you this: whatever you do with me, whatever your reason is, there is no need or reason to involve innocent people. You could have ruined the lives of three young girls. If you don't care about that at all, you have become a very, very sick person."

The three teenage girls in question, all of whom were supposed to be victims, were surprisingly willing to show themselves before the press soon after stepping out of the police station. However, they too wore caps, sunglasses, and masks. According to them, they had been requested by Alec himself to hide their identities as much as they could, as they were still underage and there could be a world of trouble awaiting them if the media learned their faces so early on in their lives.

The girls wept as they spoke, but it was not for their own grievances. They told the same tale, even though they were interviewed separately: that night, they had been kidnapped and tied up, then brought to a house they did not recognize. The house was probably uninhabited, since it was mostly empty except for a few chairs and some knives in what was most likely the kitchen. They witnessed Alec Warrensword struggling—but refused to describe it no matter how the reporters pressed for it—but not once did he touch them except to quickly cut loose the ropes that bound them. He cut the ropes apart for just one of the girls, then asked her to free the rest. The doors were locked, but they later found a key in one of the kitchen drawers. While the girls were fumbling around, Alec kept far away from them. They knew he couldn't get anywhere in that state, and wondered what they should do. He shocked them all by cutting himself on the upper arm. They gasped out loud at that decisive slicing motion, but he asked them to not mind him.

Someone might be standing guard somewhere outside, he warned them, try to call the police from the inside of this house.

They peeped out to find that there were indeed a few men outside. At this point, they were oddly more trusting toward the drugged Alec Warrensword than the people outside that they did not recognize. Even more queerly, the police arrived without them having called them.

While watching this, your brows creased in deep thought. The girls didn't mention it in their testimony—most likely because it wasn't directly observed by them—but according to the police, it was a report of rape that they'd received. They were just as bewildered when the scene they arrived at was not that.

But then, like many others, this case was soon forgotten by investigation authorities, joining the heap of unsolved cases in the dusty files belonging to the disciplinary forces.