DISCLAIMER: Carnivale and its canon characters are the property of HBO and the show's producers; no copyright infringement is intended.

Note: Like any speculative Carnivale fiction written now, this story may be rendered AU by canon established in a future season.
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"Grand Master...Excellency...I need your help."

"I've been expecting you. You never give up, do you? I suppose that's laudable. I hope he appreciates you."

"I think he hates me. But that's beside the point. He needs me, whether he knows it or not. Please, isn't there a way I can materialize for longer periods of time? Spend more time with him?"

"You knew what you were doing when you gave away so much of your life-force."

"Yes, I did. You warned me often enough. But there must be a way to reverse it! You understand how important this is. Please, please--I'll do anything!"

"Hmm. As I said, I've been expecting you. I've been thinking about it...and there is a way. I believe you're a man of character now. You'd be a good influence on any troubled young person. But if you attempt this, there will be a price--"

"Isn't there always?"

"A high price. And if, as you say, he hates you, an enormous risk..."
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An exhausted Ben Hawkins, shirt stained with his own blood, stumbled through the night to the door of Carnivale's lead trailer. He found it unlocked and let himself in.

He ignored Lodz, sitting in a chair by the door, and spoke directly to the deep red curtains at the far end of the cluttered interior. "You're wrong," he said firmly. "I ain't like you. I ain't one of your kind, and I can't do it."

They'd been through this earlier. The unseen "Management" claimed they were alike, and only he could properly advise Ben on the use of his unwanted powers. The mysterious carnival owner insisted Ben could save the newly-dead Ruthie by killing someone else--and wouldn't have the power if he wasn't meant to use it.

Ben had been shaken by Management's referring to an occasion when he had made such a choice. He'd lied to himself about that: denied that an innocent had been dead at one point and that he'd killed the killer deliberately, knowing what would happen as a result. He'd convinced himself the revived victim had never been dead, and he'd merely struck out in fury and killed the bully by accident.

Deep down, he'd probably known the truth. He certainly knew it now.

But he also knew he could never kill again. He'd tried to strangle a drunk, the most worthless wretch in the town of Loving; he couldn't go through with it. Then he'd tried to sacrifice himself by slitting his throat. But his father Hack Scudder had made one of his ghostlike appearances, in which he healed him, then told him he could only save Ruthie if he killed someone else. There was no time for questions. In the blink of an eye, Scudder was gone.

Ben had made his choice, painful though it was. "God takes what's His," he said now. "Man don't take it back."

"That's where you are wrong," the voice from behind the curtains said slyly. "You see, God had nothing to do with Ruthie's fate. It was Professor Lodz who murdered your friend!"

Ben was dumbstruck.

The blind psychic jumped to his feet. "Why are you saying this?" His voice rose in terror. "What are you doing?" As Ben turned to look at him, he protested, "The man's joking, Ben. You don't believe him!"

Joking? Who'd joke about a thing like this?

Management said, "Look him in the eyes."

The eyes...why's he got dark glasses on?

Ben grabbed the frantically resisting Lodz and pulled off his glasses.

The eyes that had always been clouded, milky in appearance, were now as clear--and as obviously sighted--as his own.

My God. He ain't blind! He was lyin' all along, maybe puttin' some kind of drops in his eyes to make them look strange.

He kept tellin' me to trust him, and he lied even to me about a thing like that!

What else has he been lyin' about?

Lodz shot a desperate look in the direction of Management. "Hawkins, he's lying!" he pleaded. "Trust me!"

Trust you, now? Like hell!

Ben snapped. He seized Lodz by the neck and forced him down on his back. He screamed into those wild eyes, "Take a good look, you sonofabitch!"

And with a strength born of outrage, he choked the life out of him.

When it was over he sat back against the wall, panting. Stunned by what he'd done, yet not regretting it.

Then Management observed smugly, "It appears we are of ilk nature after all."
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Ben felt a chill run through his veins.

"Ilk"?

He got the point. "Ilk" must mean "like." But the odd word drove home how alien Management really was.

He scrambled to his feet. He couldn't bring himself to look down at Lodz's body. I'm not like this "Management" creature, I'm not!

Turning his back on those eerie curtains, he said forcefully, "No!" He lunged toward the door and put a hand on the knob.

"Wait!" Management called out. "Look!"

Ben knew he still had free will. Management couldn't force him to stop and turn around.

But curiosity did.

The red curtains slowly parted.

What he saw made his knees buckle. He clutched at Samson's desk for support. Oh God, no...

The man who'd been concealed by the curtains was tall and powerfully built. He was well-dressed, and might once have been handsome.

But his face was a ruin, a mottled mass of burn scars.

Ben recalled Samson's explanation of why Management was obsessed with Hack Scudder. "Somethin' happened between them in the old country. Somethin' bad. Badder than you can imagine. Badder than anyone can imagine."

No, no!

Management said calmly, "I do possess some powers that you don't, my friend." He was still standing behind a waist-high wooden partition with a gate in it; but instead of opening the gate, he passed through it.

Ben swallowed hard. If my old man can appear and disappear at will, I shouldn't be surprised at anythin'.

My old man...I don't want to think about my old man.

"This is the face I showed Samson," Management continued. "Just once--after that I wore a mask. It provides a good excuse for my not wanting to be seen, don't you think?

"It was never real, of course. I can assume any form I choose. You seem upset by this one, so..." The scarred features wavered, re-formed--and Ben found himself staring at a man with movie-star good looks.

"It was never real..."

My father didn't do it, Ben realized. My father didn't do anything to him!

Management looked down at Lodz's body, prodded it with the toe of a fashionable boot. "This identity has served me well, and I mean to keep using it. But I don't need to be here full-time, never have been." He smiled at Ben. "Now for what I most want you to see. I don't want you to have any doubt as to who's who--any doubt that you really did kill your enemy. You see his body?"

"Y-yes." Ben was trembling, starting to feel sick.

"I can assume any form I choose..."

Management smirked. "Suddenly, his identity is available! Most fortuitous. And I'll be doing you a favor--you'd have a hard time explaining why you killed him."

His tone hardened. "I'd advise you not to run screaming, trying to draw a crowd and pin the murder on me. I won't let that happen. You'll be seen leaving the trailer, and when the body is found moments later, no one else will be here. Half the carnies don't believe I exist--they think Samson's delusional. Furthermore, if you go along with me now and try to claim later that I'm not the real Lodz, they'll think you're delusional."

Then his smile was back. "Watch, boy. Learn from the master."

His form wavered, flickered...and solidified again as a double of the corpse at his feet, down to the smallest item of dress.

"Excellent!" Management announced, in a voice indistinguishable from Lodz's. "I won't be blind, of course. But I'll fake it, along with the clouded eyes." He chuckled. "If the fair Lila notices any difference in her lover, she won't have cause for complaint."

Ben found his voice. "Lila! Oh God no, you can't!"

"Of course I can," Management said cheerfully. "Now, what about the body? I'm undecided what to do with it. I could just magick it away, but it might prove instructive for you to have to bury it."

Ben backed away from him, gagging. He flung the door open and ran outside--
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Into a carnival in turmoil. For a moment he was disoriented, aware only of heat and screaming.

Then he realized Apollonia and Sofie's converted school bus was in flames. God no, it can't be!

He stared at the fire, transfixed. He knew he should run to join the bucket brigade.

But...

Lodz got me so worked up about the Black Blizzard that I yelled, "Stop!" And it stopped. He said, "You did that." I didn't want to believe, and when I yelled, "No," it started again. He said, "You did that too."

I still don't want to believe.

But...

Insane as it seemed, he had to try. He looked at the burning bus and shouted, "Stop!"

The fire stopped. Every hint of flame vanished in a heartbeat.

Amid the gasps and shrieks, dozens of heads turned in Ben's direction. Were the carnies looking at him, or merely at the patch of darkness from which the mysterious voice had come?

He didn't wait to find out. More unnerved by success than he would have been by failure, he fled. He tried not to think of Ruthie or Apollonia or Sofie--just ran blindly until he blundered into one of the carnival's parked trucks. Then he threw himself into it and took off at top speed.

He didn't know what direction he was headed, and didn't care. All he wanted was to get away from Carnivale.
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Ben drove like a man possessed, letting the truck careen all over the road. Fortunately, it was a straight, level road that saw little traffic even by day. At this hour, there probably wasn't another vehicle within thirty miles of him.

What's happened to Ruthie? Damn, I don't know if she came back to life! If she didn't, Gabriel's all alone with no one to look after him.

The truck swerved, and he barely avoided a crackup.

Appy, Sofie. What if they're alive, burned bad? They might be worse off than if I'd let the fire kill them.

He remembered the disfigured face Management had shown him.

Appy and Sofie could wind up really lookin' like that.

Hell, why should I care about any of them? I've done my share! I tried to save Ruthie, even tried to kill myself to save her. And I had nothin' to do with startin' the fire in Appy's bus.

The truck veered wildly again, almost landing him in the ditch.

He brought it under control, wishing he could do the same with his emotions. He was crying now, and couldn't stop.

What about Lila? She ain't a bad person, and she'll be gettin' in bed with a demon and not knowin' it!

He couldn't go back. That was crazy. He should just be thankful he'd seen Management for what he really was, and been able to get away.

If I went back, how could I heal anyone who got burned in the fire? Just stand there and do it in front of the whole crowd?

Where would the life-force come from? From the rest of the carnies? I might keep two people alive by cripplin' all of them!

He cursed himself for fretting so. He wasn't going back, and he needn't feel guilty about it.

Was I in love with Ruthie?

Was she in love with me?

Stupid, stupid! I'd wind up havin' to play daddy to Gabriel, and he's probably older than I am.

He wasn't going back.

Maybe he wasn't going anywhere. He let his tears blind him, let the truck drift where it would. What the hell difference did it make?

Shit. Of course it makes a difference!

I love Ruthie. I could desert any of the others. But can I desert her, and live--or die--with myself?

Snapping to attention, he was about to get the truck under control and turn back when he felt a bump. A jarring bump, unlike any he'd experienced before.

That was no pothole.

Oh my God. I hit someone!

He couldn't have hit anyone! In the middle of the night, the middle of nowhere?

But he brought the vehicle to a screeching stop. Trembling, he climbed out and walked back to investigate.

In near-pitch darkness, he pulled out his Zippo lighter. He tried to shake off the memory of the nightmare--or spirit travel, or something--in which he'd used it to light his way through a haunted mine tunnel.

He almost concluded he'd been wrong about the bump. But then he glimpsed something white just off the road. A man's shirt? It wasn't moving...

He made his way over to it. And then he let out a shriek.

He was indeed standing over the broken, bloodied body of a man.

A man clothed in the tattered remnant of a tuxedo.

Hack Scudder.
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When Ben was able to stop screaming, he vented his frustration in a string of curses. At last he fell on his knees and sobbed.

Damn it, this ain't right! It ain't supposed to be possible to run him down with a truck, like any ordinary man!

What kind of son am I? I couldn't save my mother. Now I may've killed my father!

He pulled himself together and checked for a pulse.

He found one, and confirmed that Scudder was breathing. But that was small consolation. He appeared to be in worse shape than anyone Ben had ever healed.

Looks like every bone in his body is broken. I couldn't keep Ruthie from dyin', and that was just a snake bite--

Calm down. The problem there was that I didn't get to her soon enough after she was bit.

He laid his hands on the injured man and determinedly willed him to heal. Struggled to keep his focus, even as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"C'mon, Scudder," he urged. "Do somethin'! Why ain't your own powers kickin' in?

"What were you doin' in front of my truck, anyway? If you felt like strollin' in the road in the middle of the night, why didn't you disappear when a truck came at you? You disappear fast enough when I don't want you to. Hell, you disappeared clean out of my life the whole time I was growin' up!

"Scudder!" He was getting desperate. "What's wrong with you? Why the hell ain't your powers kickin' in?"

He began to sense broken bones mending, torn organs being repaired. But he still had the disturbing impression that he was doing it all.

When Lodz stuck a hot poker in my face, I healed the burn myself, without tryin' to or knowin' I could. Why can't I feel Scudder doin' anythin'?

Is it because he's unconscious? Or...

Of course that's it. What else could it be?

Ben was near the end of his strength when his instinct told him the healing was complete. He was thankful for the darkness. All the brush around them had wilted and died; he decided he'd rather not know how far the devastation extended.

Scudder sighed, stirred, then opened his eyes and sat up, as easily as a man waking from a nap.

Ben lit his trusty Zippo so they could see each other's faces clearly.

Scudder looked dazed. "Wh-what happened? Where are we?"

Ben grimaced. "Uh, I ran you down with a truck. Sorry--I guess it was my fault. You may've been tryin' to flag me down. I was upset, wasn't watchin' the road. Anyway, no harm done. Where we are--maybe ten, twenty miles from Carnivale."

He didn't know how long he'd been driving, or at what speed. If he'd headed toward Loving he probably would have reached it by now. Assuming he'd gone the other way, he had no idea what community was closest.

Scudder was frowning. "You mean I was walking in the road? No car?"

"I ain't seen one."

"But--" Scudder gazed around, perplexed. "It's so dark--seems like we're way out in the country. This, this Car-ni-vale place you mentioned--is that a town? Odd name for a town. It sounds more like a carnival."

Ben had gone rigid. "Carnivale is a carnival. You know that!"

Scudder was shivering, despite the warmth of the night this close to the Mexican border. "B-but why would I have been walking around at night, if the nearest place with people is a carnival ten or twenty miles away? I c-can't remember! Do you live near here, or were you coming from the carnival?"

Ben was quaking as well. "Comin' from the carnival. Listen, do you recognize me? Do you know who I am?"

"N-no. Should I?"

"Yes. But stay calm, everything's all right." Gripping the older man's hand, Ben asked gently, "Do you know who you are? Can you tell me your name?"

After a frighteningly long pause, Scudder whispered, "No!"

"It's all right, it's all right." Ben had to fight to keep his voice steady. "I've heard this happens to people sometimes when they've been in an accident." Yes, to people with no special powers. How in God's name can it be happenin' to you? "It's no big deal, because you're safe with me and I can tell you who you are. Your name is Hack Scudder--"

"Hack? That's a strange name."

"Short for Henry. And the reason you're safe with me is that I'm your son. My name is Ben." Better not confuse him by tellin' him we have different last names.

"Oh." Scudder's eyes were those of an innocent child, scared and trying bravely to hide it. "Thank you, Ben. I'm sorry I don't remember you. Do we live near here?"

God help me. "No, not exactly, but there's no cause to worry. Everything's gonna be all right. I'll take care of you, uh, Pa."

"Th-this is kind of scary. I just can't remember...do we have more of a family? Your mother? Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"No, Pa. There's just the two of us. I don't think I should get into explainin' that now. If you can stand up, we'd better get in the truck and, uh, go someplace."

Don't ask me where.

Oh, Ruthie! I'd just about decided to go back to Carnivale. But there's no way I can take him there, in this condition, with a demon runnin' around who wants to kill him. I think you'd understand.

"B-but--" Scudder was looking at his clothes now, and at Ben's. "I don't feel like I'm hurt, so where did all the blood come from? Are you hurt? Or was there someone else--?"

"No, no. No one's hurt." Ben thought fast. "It was a coyote. The truck went out of control when I hit you, and I struck and killed a coyote. I picked it up and tossed it a ways off the road, and I got blood on both of us. Don't worry, the blood ain't human!"

Scudder looked dubious, but he kept his mouth shut. He got up without help, as Ben offered a prayer of thanks for the darkness that prevented his seeing the nearby vegetation.

His gratitude to the Divine Powers-That-Be was premature. The men had taken only a few steps toward the truck when they heard the wail of police sirens.
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Damn and double damn!

Ben grabbed Scudder and pulled him back into the brush. "Take cover!" he hissed. The plants around them were dead, but they weren't flattened. They would provide adequate cover, at least in the dark. And darkness would also keep the cops from noticing the dead plants.

Scudder looked mystified, but he followed Ben's lead without argument. They dropped down in the tall grass and lay side by side, close enough that Ben could hear his father's breathing.

These cops can't be after me, he reasoned. They're probably just rushin' from somewhere to somewhere else. But it's safest to stay out of sight.

I think I parked the truck okay. If they're in a hurry, they won't pay it no heed, even out here in the sticks. They'll think there's probably a couple lovers makin' out in it.

The police cars came closer. Cars, plural--he was hearing two separate sirens. Coming from the direction he'd been headed, though that didn't tell him anything.

His hopes were dashed when the cars stopped. He didn't dare raise his head to look at them. But he heard squealing brakes, and after the sirens were turned off, slamming doors and tramping feet. Flashlights played over the area.

He held his breath--and realized Scudder was holding his, too.

"Hey, you out there!" a cop yelled. "Why'd you go and steal this damn truck? Are you blind, or just stupid? Truck's got the carnival logo painted on the door!"

My God. Carnivale ain't got no phones. No one but a demon could've reported the truck stolen that fast.

Maybe I should've expected it. At least it sounds like all they're interested in now is the truck. But if they see me, they'll recognize me from the Wanted poster.

"Listen," the cop urged. "Be sensible. All the carnival owner cares about is gettin' his truck back. If you come in and save us the trouble of beatin' the bushes, you can drive it back there. We'll follow and make sure you do, but there won't be no charges."

Ben didn't move or make a sound.

"If you can't see us, there are six of us. It'll go a lot harder on you if we have to hunt for you! And we will find you. Without wheels, you don't stand a chance of gettin' away."

That's what you think. It might be true in daylight, but not now. Not with so many hours of darkness left. I can move real quiet, and I bet Scudder can too.

Scudder, of course, didn't realize what was at stake. He made a soft, inquiring sound, almost at Ben's ear.

Ben whispered, "I can't let them see me!"

"Why?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm wanted for murder."

He was glad he couldn't see Scudder's face. Probably wishes he could pass out again. Hell, maybe he will pass out again!

He wasn't prepared for the question that followed. "Were you telling the truth when you said you're my son?"

Caught off guard, he said, "Yes."

"Stay down," Scudder ordered. Before Ben could stop him, he got to his feet and strode toward the police, hands up. "Don't shoot! I give up. Sorry for the trouble I caused."

Ben wished he could pass out. Nooooo!

He listened in consternation as Scudder apologized for having "borrowed" the truck. "I never meant to keep it, Officer," he said mournfully. "I got scared when I heard the sirens, so I stopped and hid. That was stupid, I know."

Hell! It wouldn't do any good now for me to walk out there and fight him for the honor. They'd hold us both, drop him off at Carnivale, and take me straight to jail. That way I'd have no chance at all to help him.

Ben was keeping down and couldn't see, but it was clear the cop in charge was stunned by Scudder's appearance. "God Almighty. All we were told was that a truck was stolen. You look like you've been in a war! Are you hurt? Where'd all that blood come from?"

"No one was really hurt, Officer. I got in a fight with another man on the carnival grounds--that was why I lit out with the truck. I'd been hit in the face and had a nosebleed, and I couldn't attend to it because I had to concentrate on my driving."

Jesus, he lies as well as I do!

"Why the hell are you wearin' a tuxedo?"

"Uh..." Scudder undoubtedly hadn't noticed until that moment that he was wearing such a thing. But he came up with an explanation quickly. "It's a carnival costume. I'm a barker."

Ye gods, he's forgotten everything. We don't use that word, and our talkers never wear tuxedos. But it'll probably sound good to the cop.

It did. "Ah. I hadn't heard whether the truck was taken by a carnie or an outsider. Glad to know you're a carnie. I guess any discipline can be handled by the owner."

Ben winced.

"What's your name, boy?" Scudder might be older than the cop, but carnies didn't rate much respect.

"Uh...Jim Adams."

Damn, another thing to worry about. Is he lyin' on general principles, or did he actually forget the name I told him?

"I should've asked this before. Were you alone in the truck?"

"Oh yes, Officer, I was alone. I can't imagine two people deciding to do something so dumb!"

"Yeah, I agree. All right. Get in, turn around, and head back to the carnival. Don't try any funny stuff! We'll be right behind you."

Ben beat his head on the ground. No, no, nooo!

It occurred to him that disaster might strike even before Scudder marched blindly into the custody of Management. What if he's forgotten how to drive? What if he never knew how to drive?

He risked poking his head up to see what would happen. His father's struggle with the truck made him want to bury his head. But after the vehicle had lurched this way and that for a minute or two, Scudder got it rolling in the desired direction.

Ben watched in horror as the little convoy pulled away.

Hack Scudder was rushing into dangers of which he was completely unaware. He'd risked striking out on his own, scared as he must be, to protect a son he didn't know. He hadn't even asked whether Ben was guilty of that murder!

And Ben had an awful suspicion that Scudder had lost more than his memory--that he'd somehow been transformed into an ordinary man, with no powers at all.

Even if he does have powers, what good are they if he can't remember them?

I thought findin' him like this meant I couldn't go back to Carnivale. Now I know I have to go back. And however fast I can make it, I may be too late.

Why am I thinkin' of that guy Stangler, who could never get away from Babylon?

The hell with Stangler. Hang on, Pa, I'm comin'!

And he headed back into the thick of things, at a dead run.
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(The End)