DISCLAIMER: Carnivale and its canon characters are the property of HBO and the show's producers; no copyright infringement is intended.
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Varlyn Stroud let out an oath that turned into a groan. Then he sat up, rubbing the back of his head.
Wh-what the hell happened? Where am I?
If not for the moon, he would have been in pitch darkness...
Then he remembered, and reeled off another string of oaths.
He'd been about to enter the shed, happily singing "She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain When She Comes" in anticipation of raping that bitchy maid - and then, of course, killing her. He hadn't felt free to rape her till he was sure Brother Justin had no further use for her. But when he was ordered to kill her, he'd decided to have his fun first. There was clearly no need to hurry back to help Justin. When Stroud had last seen him, he'd looked strong enough, and furious enough, to tear the carny boy limb from limb.
But as Stroud approached the door of the shed, someone had hit him from behind. Slammed something into his left shoulder, he recalled. Yeah, that still hurts. Gonna be black-'n'-blue. He'd fallen backward and hit his head on the wooden flooring of the porch, hard enough that he'd been knocked out.
Shit. Okay, let's see what's been goin' on here.
He got to his feet, noting in disgust that the door was standing open. Someone musta rescued the girl. Justin'll have my hide. But as he started toward it, he almost fell over an obstacle in his path.
Huh? Holy moley - this here's a dead body! An' whoever it is, it ain't the girl.
The corpse was face down. He turned it over, and fumbled for his cigarette lighter. A small improvement on moonlight.
He took a closer look - and laughed out loud. Well, whaddya know. Ferris Wheel Guy! He was sure the carny's job involved more than that, but to him, he'd always be Ferris Wheel Guy. Yup, it's him. An' dead as a doornail. Couldn't o' killed him deader myself.
That raised interesting questions. Who had killed him, and why? And where was the girl?
Ferris Wheel Guy had been shot in the chest. Stroud reached for his own gun, but wasn't surprised to find it gone.
Moving cautiously, he opened the door a tad wider...then ventured inside. Common sense told him no one had stuck around. But he didn't feel secure till he'd found and lit a kerosene lantern, and confirmed that he was alone.
He went back to check the lock. It hadn't been broken. Unlocked - with my key, dammit. They took my keys, an' that means they also took my car.
Sighing, he pondered who "they" might be.
Suppose there were two carny men. An' they wanted not just to "rescue" the girl, but to have the same kind o' fun with her that I meant to have. They fought over who'd get to fuck her first, maybe? Or else only one wanted to fuck her, an' the other was a goody-goody who opposed it. So they fought, an' one got killed...
No, that don't work. Ferris Wheel Guy got killed after I was knocked out, prob'ly with my gun. I woulda spotted the body if it was there before. An' if carnies had somehow found out where she was an' got here ahead o' me, they woulda just broke into the shed, not waited around for someone to show up an' unlock it.
But if someone lookin' to rescue the girl got here the same time as me...face it, he hadda be hangin' onto my car. No other way. An' I couldn't o' missed two guys doin' that.
Ferris Wheel Guy was alone. He came here to rescue the girl - an' she killed him!
He whistled softly, in something like admiration.
Whew. What a bitch. Can't imagine why she'd do that, but there sure is more to her than we thought.
He felt a moment's uneasiness at the thought of that young woman - aware Justin had ordered her locked in the shed, perhaps guessing he'd ordered her killed - heading back to New Canaan in his car. With his gun.
But then he pictured Justin as he'd last seen him, and grinned.
No, Sofie won't cause him no problem. He may just decide she's interesting enough to rate bein' raped by the head man!
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He knew he'd have to hoof it back to New Canaan, so he'd better start.
Hope I ain't gonna miss all the action.
Hefting the lantern, he decided to take it with him. He'd need the light; but beyond that, he hoped he'd get to use it to torch the carnival. Whatever's left of it.
He paused outside the shed, trying to study the horizon. But as he'd expected, tall trees and a moonlit night combined to prevent his determining whether the carnival's lights were still on. The shed was on a small hill, but it was a hill that rose only slightly above the valley floor. It provided nothing like the view from Justin's house.
Lights don't mean much, anyway. If they're on, it could just mean there ain't no carnies left alive to turn 'em off.
Snickering at that thought, he started walking. Fast.
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As he skirted the camp, near the end of his hike, he wasn't sure what he was seeing. More lights than normal so late at night...people moving furtively from tent to tent...it could mean anything.
I know Justin'll hafta do some damage control after what people saw when he got off the Ferris Wheel. Can't imagine how he'll handle it. But I trust him.
He looked up at the house on the hilltop. It was shrouded in darkness.
That bothered him for a minute. But then he relaxed. Wherever Justin is, he'll be goin' at it hot an' heavy with the bitch by now, puttin' her in her place. Don't need no lights for that!
He resumed humming "She'll Be Comin' 'Round the Mountain When She Comes."
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He scowled, however, when he reached the carnival grounds. The carnival had gone dark - as it would have, by that hour, in any case. But it appeared to be in good order. There was no sign of panic. Men were quietly dismantling some of the attractions, loading the trucks, by the light of lanterns like his own. Others stood guard. A few held guns; most brandished such makeshift weapons as baseball bats, shovels, even rakes. All looked tough and determined.
Stroud thought indignantly, Ain't Justin gonna kill these freaks? Is he lettin' them leave?
Hell,he realized, he may have no choice. There's only so much he can cover up.
Then came a more cheerful thought. Maybe he'll let me follow 'em an' take care o' them later, like I did Daily Brothers!
He still didn't doubt that Justin had killed Scudder's boy. Coulda killed that little twerp with one hand tied behind his back...
But the thought of hands reminded him of what the kid had done to him: ducked his punch and caused him to put his fist through a mirror. The cut on his hand had been the most painful injury he'd ever suffered.
Yeah, Justin coulda killed the brat with no trouble at all. But I hope he tortured him for hours!
One way or another, Justin's young enemy was surely dead. And yet...something was nagging at Stroud. He couldn't put his finger on it. But something wasn't right.
I know what it is. It may be understandable that the carnival's bein' allowed to pack up an' leave. But why ain't the Knights o' Jericho here, showin' their weapons, lettin' the freaks see who's in charge?
He decided he'd have to sneak closer, get more of a feel for what was going on. Reluctantly, he doused his light.
As he edged nearer the trucks, he spotted that pesky midget. The midget was deep in conversation with a woman. And when she turned slightly, Stroud recognized her.
Iris?
What the hell is she doin' here at this hour? Did Justin send her to do some kind o' negotiatin' with them?
Stroud's situation was embarrassing. If he hadn't let himself be caught off guard and knocked out by Ferris Wheel Guy - and lost his car - he would have gotten back from the shed hours ago. Then he'd know about Justin's latest moves.
But the bottom line was that he didn't know, and he had to find out.
Feigning casualness, he stepped out of the shadows and strolled forward. "Miss Iris," he drawled. "Fancy meetin' you here."
The midget said politely, " 'Scuse me, Miss Iris. I gotta protect the perimeter." And with that, he whipped out a gun and emptied it into Stroud.
Stroud was dead before he hit the ground.