The Puppet Maker's Bones by Alisa Tangredi Read Free Book Online

housing subdivisions. Each development blended into the next with hundreds of identical houses on identical streets with identical mailboxes and lawns and front doors and homeowner associations with requirements that each and every dwelling remain indistinguishable from the hundreds surrounding it. Kevin’s attention was suddenly stimulated, and he sat up, paying closer attention to what lay beyond the window. Kevin smiled. A plan began to form in his mind, a spontaneous bit of fun to break up the boredom of yet another football game.
    Kevin had not brought his usual set of tools, but he was not concerned, as improvisation was second nature to him. The set of tools was at home in its special place in the attic, but he had ones he could work with. He had his skateboard, a watch to let him know what time to be back at the bus, a small, digital tape recorder of the kind used for dictation, and the most important tool of all, his scalpel which he kept on his person at all times. He had stolen it from the station next to his in the science lab when they were dissecting fetal pigs for Physiology class. He kept the scalpel in his pocket, wrapped in a square of leather cut for the purpose of keeping the scalpel safe and covered to prevent accidental injury or worse, loss of the scalpel through a hole in his pocket. His school was one of the few in the greater Los Angeles area that had not installed metal detectors, and students also were allowed the luxury of a locker. A student could carry or hide about anything. Sure, occasional locker inspections occurred, but Kevin never kept anything in his, other than what he needed for his classes. In fact, had faculty paid attention during the random inspections, the lack of items in Kevin’s locker might have set off an alarm. His locker contained no pictures, notes, messages from friends, party invitations, clothing items—nothing personal to tie the individual to the locker other than the required textbooks and school supplies.
    Kevin exited the bus with his fellow students. He blended into the crowd that rushed to the football field and the bleachers. He ducked under the bleachers, came out the other side and walked back out through the fence near the porta-potties brought in for the game. Kevin hopped on his skateboard and sped away from the crowd. No one paid attention to one boy on a skateboard moving away from the crowd. Kevin noted that the parents and students from the other school seemed to reflect the same nature as their houses—no one stood out from anyone else. No one expected anyone to stand out from anyone else. Kevin depended upon this to camouflage himself.
    Kevin rode up and down identical streets through the suburban development, looking in front windows for signs of people at home. Many people were home for dinner, and Kevin watched them through dining room or kitchen windows. None of the occupants glanced out the window at him. No one appeared to notice the teenager on a skateboard at dusk. Other houses appeared to be unoccupied, the families out perhaps for a Friday night pizza or at the local game.
    Kevin pointed at inhabited houses that were flanked by houses where no one appeared to be home. “Eenie, meenie, mynie, mo….” He rode his skateboard over the curb, onto the sidewalk, up the front walk of the house, and jumped off the skateboard as he arrived at the front door. He placed the skateboard behind a hibiscus bush planted near the front door and knocked.
    A woman answered the door.
    “Hi, are you Mrs. Williamson? I’m Kevin. Are my parents here?”
    Kevin saw no reason not to use his real name.
    “No, I’m afraid you have the wrong house.”
    Kevin noticed that the woman answering the door had the same appearance as many of the other women he had seen at the football game. Bobbed haircut, pastel sweater set, khaki pants. He wondered if the homeowners’ association required that people look as identical to each other as their houses.
    “Oh no! You