Fine Print: I own neither Carnivale nor Justin and Iris; that privilege belongs to HBO and Daniel Knauf.

In a Pickle

By EllisBelle

Chapter 1: A Million Shining Pieces

Iris Crowe was in the proverbial pickle. Another morning of eating breakfast in silence, staring at one another coldly across the table had driven her to call and arrange to have lunch with Tommy Dolan on Friday. Another fight with Justin about Tommy Dolan had sent her out of their house and into town today. She felt like buying something frivolous. Maybe a new dress for Friday. Not that she gave a damn about Tommy Dolan. She was honest enough with herself to admit that the real reason she kept seeing Dolan was to make Justin jealous. It was one of the few emotions other than outright anger that she got from him these days. But they did still need his help with the radio ministry. And he knew about the fire, or at least he thought he did. He believed Justin himself had burned down the ministry. If he only knew the truth. A small hand fallen from under the sheet, five perfect fingers now peeled, bleeding and burnt, raw flesh mixing with the dust in the street. She pushed the unbidden image of the children lying together outside the ruined building from her mind. Why couldn't Justin see that it had all been for him?

Trying to make her way into the general store, she was blocked by a woman, obviously an immigrant, frantically gesturing at a shop clerk while balancing a baby on her hip. The clerk looked angry. The woman appeared upset and frustrated as she babbled on in Russian. The clerk spoke louder in English as if that could make the woman understand his words somehow. Though she was really in no mood for the trouble, Iris felt sorry for the young mother. She placed a hand on the woman's arm and asked in halting Russian if she could help. It had been decades since she had spoken more than a few words in her native tongue, but she managed to communicate with the woman. Smiling, grateful that someone understood her, the woman explained that she was simply trying to pay for a bundle of muslin, but she did not understand what the clerk was saying to her. "How much is the material?" Iris asked. "She just wants to pay for it." A simple matter soon sorted out.

Without warning the woman handed the baby to Iris. "No, I don't want . . ." Iris protested too late as she found herself in possession of the squirming baby boy. His mother smiled and fished in her pockets for the money to pay the clerk. Iris held him stiffly as if she were afraid he might bite her. She watched him closely, taking in his pale blond hair and dark blue eyes. He stared up at the sky, sucking on a tiny fist, the picture of innocence.

She wondered if there was ever a time when she had been this innocent. Even in the six short years before her brother had been born, she had felt somehow different. Special. Touched. Sometimes even cursed. She could sense what others were feeling. At first she thought everyone could do this. Her mother's shocked, frightened face taught her different. So she stopped mentioning it. And felt alone until he was born. Her brother. Alexsei. He was like her. She knew from the moment she peeked into his cradle and his dark, knowing eyes met hers. Alexsei was special too. Maybe even more so than she. Her father knew this too. Her father had always frightened her. Not that he was with them very often. She never knew what it was that kept him away from home so often. But she was glad when he wasn't there. Her father was a serious man, a soldier. She remembers the only time she heard him laugh. It was when Alexsei was born. The cold sound had made her shiver, made her cringe and want to hide. But she watched her father until he gave Alexsei back to their mother. After her brother was born, her father was at home more often. He watched her brother, as if waiting for a sign. This frightened her even more. It frightened her mother too.

Her parents were fighting again. Her mother was yelling at her father, screaming and crying and praying all in the same breathe. Irina ran to the nursery and hid, squeezed herself into a corner between a dresser and the wall. She covered her ears with her hands, trying to block out the noise of the fight downstairs. Through her tears she could see Alexsei, reflected in the glass of a mirror, flailing and screaming in his crib across the room. She pushed her hands harder against her ears, clenching her teeth, shutting her eyes tight. Willing blackness and quiet out of the turmoil. Just then the sound of breaking glass rose above the other noises. She opened her eyes to see that the mirror had shattered, covering the floor in a million shining pieces. She never knew how she had understood, but she knew that Alexsei had done this. Somehow her infant brother had broken the glass. She slowly came out of her hiding place and carefully walked across the room, broken glass crunching under her shoes with each step. She stood over him, looking into his wailing red face. She used the sleeve of her dress to wipe her own face. Then she picked the squirming form up and held him in her arms. His crying stopped instantly and was replaced by a sort of gurgling baby laugh. As she stared down into his face, she had to laugh too. She didn't hear her mother's pleading voice, the muffled sound of a fist against soft flesh, or the echo of a door slamming. As she rocked him softly in her arms, she heard one word. Together.

The baby in Iris's arms squealed sharply. She shifted him in her arms and smiled down at him, trailing a finger down his soft, chubby cheek. Her finger left a line of dark red blood against his pale skin. She gasped in horror as the baby's flesh burnt and peeled, red and raw. She closed her eyes, fighting back the bile rising in her throat. She looked back down at the now cooing infant, healthy and rosy. She practically shoved him back into his mother's arms as she ran towards the end of the street to her car.