Page 37 of The Puppetmaster

But first things first. I won’t go any further with her until she signs the paperwork. Flying her to New York has only been the first step, and she knows that. She can still say no, she can still leave and get out of this—and as long as that’s the case, we can’t get started for real.

I walk over to my office just in time to see the cat stalk away from the door, its thick tail swaying nonchalantly. It doesn’t even deign to look at me for a second.

It’s always like this when Dorota is gone and I have a new puppet in the house. Dorota is its main caregiver, and when she’s around, the cat always stays in her immediate vicinity. We’re not very fond of each other, but when Dorota is not around, the cat has no other choice but to turn to me when it’s in need of human attention. Still, it never comes too close, it never curls its body around my legs like it does with Dorota, and it certainly never falls asleep on my lap or anything like that.

It’s implicitly forbidden to get too close to my puppets, but that has never been an issue anyway, because it appears to hate any other woman besides Dorota. I make sure to lock it out when I’m in the midst of a session with my puppet, but other than that it’s just free to roam the house, with the only room off-limits being my office.

There were puppets who tried to befriend the cat, seeking a companion during a time that is as exciting as it is challenging. They fed the cat, they tried to lure it into play, and one of them even went as far as trying to pick it up and force the damn thing to cuddle. After that, the girl wore more marks from the claws it inflicted on her body than I inflicted on her.

I was amused and annoyed at the same time. That little fucker sure knows how to set and protect its boundaries.

The cat stops about ten feet away from me, sitting down at the foot of the stairs that lead up to the first floor. It’s facing me now, the white fur blending in with the marble floor and bright walls, its blue eyes piercing me with that same fuck-you expression that seems inherent to this creature. It’s actually the only reason why I can tolerate this little bastard; it’s got an attitude that I can relate to.

I acknowledge it with a short nod before I disappear inside my office, heading for the big desk, on top of which a stack of paper is waiting for me. I pick it up and see Alena’s letter lying next to it. Pausing, I wonder whether she expects me to address it. Would she want me to? Would she become suspicious if I don’t? After all, to her it feels as if she dared to reveal something to me that not many, if any, other people know about her. It’s a dark and harrowing secret she’s been carrying for years, something that’s been eating her alive long enough for her to jump at the chance to finally share it with someone else.

The thing is, I already knew this about her. I’ve known pretty much ever since it happened, so reading that letter wasn’t as shocking to me as she thinks it must have been.

Still, the difference is this: now she knows that I know. And she may want to talk about it, or expectmeto talk about it.

I reach for the letter, weighing it in my hand for a moment as I ponder whether to take it with me or not. The solution turns out to be something between yes and no as I slip the note underneath the stack of papers in my hands.

She hasn’t moved an inch by the time I return, and even when I close the door behind my back noisily, she only twitches slightly, not turning her head to face me. Her forehead is resting on the sofa cushions, her back still hollowed and her arms stretched out to the side as if the rope wouldn’t allow her any leeway. She’s right; she could easily tear the rope apart from the sofa legs with just a quick yank.

She could free herself, but she doesn’t. Because it’s not the strings that are binding her, it’s her mind.

“Good girl.”

Her ears move upward, suggesting that my praise causes her to smile.

I leave the paperwork on the small coffee table that stands a bit distanced from the sofa and kneel down next to her, quickly loosening the knots that confine her to the sofa legs. Holding a string in each of my hands, I get back up on my feet, beckoning her to follow me with a gentle tug.

She doesn’t hesitate to follow, obviously grateful to be allowed to unfold her body from that awkward position she was forced to maintain.

“Sit,” I guide her, collecting both strings in my left hand as I point to the sofa with my right.

She casts me a quick look as if to make sure that she’s not doing anything wrong before following my gesture to sit down. I can see her cuffed wrists move nervously, trying to shield her intimate parts before shying away again, apparently worried that it might anger me.

She’s right about that.

I sit down next to her, suppressing the urge to touch her beautiful naked body, and place the end of the strings in my lap before I point to the paperwork before us.

“I would like to get this out of the way,” I say, meeting her expectant gaze. “If you’re ready for it.”

Alena’s eyes trail over to the table, resting on the stack of papers for a moment before they return to face me. Swallowing dryly, she suggests a little nod.

I reciprocate the nod and hurry to reach for the papers before my mind gets in the way. I can’t waste any more time reconsidering, questioning whether I’m doing the right thing.

Yet there’s a small but palpable sting in my chest, because no matter what, this still feels wrong. I feel sorry for what I’m about to do to her, because I know the consequences it will have on Alena’s life.

I worry for her. I feel sorry for her, even though I’m the one derailing her life like this.

I will be the one to blame.

And I can only hope that she’ll understand.

Chapter 24

Alena

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