A/N: I've decided that the current title of 'The Puppeteer' is bothering me; it sounds way too…harmless. Now I'm debating between 'Puppet Strings' and 'Devil's Advocate.' Your opinion on a new title is welcome. Takes place a little after GONE, but before HUNGER. Major thanks to those who review (and to those who already have!) :)
Devil's Advocate |Gone| (01)
I used to long for independence. I hated the doting parents, the clingy little brother, the overprotective asshole of an older brother. I wanted my own car before I even had a license, my own house before I was even an adult, I spent as much time out of the house and away from my family as possible. I wanted nothing more than to only be responsible for myself.
I wanted freedom.
Only, the moment I got it, I realized how much I didn't want it.
I never wanted to be a mother to my little brother. I didn't want to give him baths, help him brush his teeth, read him bedtime stories, make his meals for him, or spend every minute babysitting him. I never wanted to be a teen mother, without ever getting pregnant.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that having this independence, all this free time to do nothing, this entire life in the FAYZ, isn't freedom. It's being cast into a life I didn't ask for, but one I'm responsible for nonetheless.
After a month of living in the FAYZ, everyone's more or less accepted that this is our life now, and there's nothing to do but work through it. Work through the tough times and the hardships and the vendetta between the Perdido Beach kids and the kids from Coates.
It's been a month since the Thanksgiving Battle, and it seems like whatever unity we had dispersed, faded to people being solitary again.
Sam's in charge.
I'm not for it, I'm not against it.
I'm apathetic—not just about this, but about everything. I don't care about the politics of the FAYZ. I don't care about the coyotes, or Caine, Diana, or Drake. Until the day my life or Danny's is directly threatened, I'll stay this way. Outside our small little world, I just don't care.
I never really had many friends, so as far as I'm concerned, it's just less people to worry about in this godforsaken place.
I'm sitting on the front porch of the house that I've always lived in; Danny and I never left our original house. We live right by the plaza, a coveted area, and we guard our house selfishly. Had we not kept in it constantly during those first few days, it would have been looted for all it was worth. I took to keeping Dean's aluminum baseball bat near me, dubbing myself the sole defender of our old life. Those times have long since faded, though; the bat isn't needed any more, but we keep it around.
Just in case.
Danny is sitting on the front walkway with a bucket of colorful chalk, drawing pictures on the cement. I'm sitting on the porch railing, leaning against one of the support beams of the veranda, with my dad's ukulele in my lap.
My dad was a dork before the FAYZ, and wherever he was now, he's probably still a dork. I mean, for God's sake, the man was an accountant. Other than being good with math and playing the uke, he couldn't do much else. He was pretty useless, to be honest. He played his uke—never a guitar—obsessively in his free time, and it was the closest thing the man had to a friend.
At first I held onto it for comfort, much like how Danny slept with our mother's pillows at night, although her scent has long since gone from the pillow cases, but once the desire for comfort was gone, I only held onto it for another possession, a reminder of a completely different life.
I had no talent with music. I would strum the uke and produce ugly sounds, ugly discordant sounds that were less music and more noise. The more I ran my fingers over the taut strings, the more I paid attention to how to make a certain chord, where to press on the frets and how to hold the neck. I taught myself to play just to break the suffocating silence, just to fill the void. I still can't play real music, but at least it doesn't sound like nails on a chalkboard anymore.
I'm absently strumming the strings, sitting idly in the sun, watching Danny out of the corner of my eye as I've grown accustomed to doing. He's too old to be put in Mother Mary's daycare, but I've never wanted anyone else to take care of my brother since the coming of the FAYZ and the disappearance of everyone over fifteen.
It isn't that I'd suddenly grown attached to Danny. The love is still the obligatory kind shared between siblings, although I've admittedly grown a little fonder of the kid since the FAYZ, but he's really more of a reminder that there had been something else, another life than the one we knew now. Danny being here with me reminds me that the FAYZ isn't all there is—or all there used to be.
I figure that's what I am to him as well. Maybe I remind him of our mom.
Hell if I know.
I finally set the uke on the ground, bored with it, and I close my eyes, tilting my face towards the sunshine to bask in the warmth.
As my mind wanders, it touches on the date. December 16. Something about December is important, although I can't think of what it is...
Oh. Right. The big fifteen.
If I'm not mistaken, my birthday is in a few days, just around the corner. I've thought a lot about just letting myself poof, zip out of this hellish dystopian world, but who's to say what poofing really is? Do you die? Do you end up outside the FAYZ, unharmed and with the rest of the world, outside of this horrible fishbowl?
It's tempting, the possibility of leaving, whether you end up outside or if you just die.
I'm all talk; I'd never really do it. Who else would take care of Danny?
The idiot would probably burn the house down like it almost did that first day.
I fall into a sleepy, half-awake state that's really very comfortable, until a voice disturbs me.
"Hey, Kasey."
I crack my eyes open, not bothering to hide the irritation on my face. "Hi, Sam," I respond.
We weren't friends before the FAYZ. A few exchanged words here and there, but other than that, we might as well have not existed to one another. We ran in different circles. He was School Bus Sam, sure, but he'd faded away from that title, faded back into general anonymity before he got all gung-ho and take-charge with Perdido Beach. It's not like we're friends now, either; acquaintances, maybe, but once again, just scattered conversations here and there.
He's a hero; I'm just Kasey Steele.
Anonymous resident of Perdido Beach. An extra. The girl who used to run things in her circle before the FAYZ, a manipulator, someone who played dirty to get what she wanted. Now, just another face; the politics of high school are so irrelevant in the FAYZ. Things in the past don't matter; who I used to be doesn't matter anymore.
"Do you need something?" I ask, although it's very clear in my tone that I'm not in the mood to talk.
"You'll be fifteen in two days," he says.
"Yep."
Maybe he's surprised at how blasé I am. "You know what happens at fifteen, right?"
"Yep. The poof. The choice. I got all that."
He glances at Danny, who's perfectly oblivious to the both of us. "You won't do it, will you?"
"Do you think I'm an idiot? No. Who else would be able to take care of the brat?" I nod at Danny, who looks up, catching the tail end of that.
"I'm not a brat, Kasey! You're a brat!" he yells.
I just smile at him, then turn back to Sam. "See? Who else would willingly put up with that?"
Sam only smiles wanly.
"No worries. Hakuna matata. I won't poof, for my brat's well-being."
He nods. "Good to hear. I'll see you later, Kasey." Sam turns and starts to walk away, and I almost let him go.
But my curiosity gets the better of me.
"Hey, Sam?" I call after him.
He turns back.
"What's it like? When you turn fifteen and you have to make the choice?" The words come out not as stoic as I'd meant, and I sound nervous. I wince to myself.
He looks thoughtful. "It's...not pleasant. I can tell you that much. You'll see someone you really love—your mom, you dad, whoever—and they'll ask you to come with them. It's tempting—they seem so real—but if you resist, they turn into monsters. Horrible monsters. It'll threaten you, try to intimidate you into coming with it. Just say no."
It sounds almost like an anti-drug speech, and I almost laugh.
"Okay," I say, nodding and hiding my smile. "Thanks."
Sam turns and walks away again, giving a quick greeting to Danny before he leaves for good this time. I watch him go until I can't see him anymore, then sigh and lean back against the support beam of the veranda again, folding my hands behind my head for a makeshift pillow.
You'd think this choice would be easier: live or die. Live or...whatever. Live or poof.
I turn my head to look at Danny, who's humming a nonsense tune as he drags the piece of chalk over the pavement, drawing a girl and a much-smaller boy, holding hands. It has so much detail for a little kid's drawing—enough detail to tell that the little, smiling boy is him, and the taller, dark-haired girl is me. Even on his chalk-depiction of me the smile looks fake.
It stings, to realize that Danny must know to some degree how much I resent caring for him, and I know that, even if I was considering taking the monster's offer in two days, I could never leave him on his own.
Not when he has nothing left but me.
Hey. Did you read the Author's Note? No? Scroll your ass back up and read it, then.