Renata stormed out and slammed the door. This wasn't the first time his had happened. Why was it that she couldn't find a trustworthy man? Isn't that just like people, though? They could say they love you and they might even mean it, but sooner or later they'll have to "work late" or they'll "make friends" with a pretty co-worker and then it's over. People are people, thought Renata, that is to say, worms and scum.
She wouldn't have thought that Jeremy would be any different, and she was right. She didn't believe in natural monogamy the way she didn't believe in Santa Claus, Nigerian princes or the fact that they took the word "gullible" out of the dictionary.
As if someone's boyfriend suddenly just starts smelling different. What kind of an idiot would believe a story like "I just felt like a change of shampoo"? Renata wasn't surprised, but that didn't make her any less angry as she drove away, way over the speed limit.
Bitter tears obscured her vision and she didn't see the reflective arrows that would have warned her about the sharp turn and the steep drop. She punched right through the guard rail, and over the cliff. Typical crummy city planning, was the last thought that went through her mind.
The next things she knew, Renata was standing on some sort of midway, leaning against a pillar and wearing clothes that were obviously not hers: tight leather pants and a high school letter jacket that, surprisingly, fit her. Her hair had been teased out and she held a deck of cards she found herself deftly flicking from hand to hand without thinking about it. She looked around.
The ground was covered in sawdust and the carnival grounds lit up the night, awash in yellow and red light. All the games booths were decorated with the laughing faces of bizarre horned clowns. Renata spotted only one other person playing the games: an older teenaged boy. She went over.
His black hair was parted to the side and gelled so severely into his nerdy style that it looked like it were made of plastic. He was wearing a sweater vest over his button-down shirt and a bowtie at his collar. He was trying to dunk a statue of a clown into a tank by hitting a target with throwing knives. This poor sap, thought Renata.
She watched as he repeatedly hit the bull's eye of the tin target dead centre with his projectiles, but each time the clown failed to fall into the water. Renata shook her head. It served him right, of course, for not realizing that it's impossible to win a rigged game. To her surprise, the kid finally hit the target with enough force that the platform gave way and the doll fell into the tub with a plunk.
The boy clapped with joy as the doll fizzled and dissolved in the dunk tank's fluid.
"Huh. Acid. That's new," said Renata.
The dweeb reached to grab a prize from the carnie, but his hand was intercepted by a scroll held by another carnie. The craggy older man had long hair and a prosthetic eyepiece and said "Sorry, Scorpion, your foot was over the line. Rule 482; no prize for you."
The boy in the sweater looked dejected and Renata looked to the ground, bewildered. There was no line, nor any mark to be seen at all in the sawdust on which they stood.
The Scorpion turned to walk away from the booth when Renata caught him by the shoulder and turned to the carnies. "Oy, there was no line! This guy won fair and square, so give him his damned teddy bear."
The craggy man with the scroll scowled. "This really isn't any concern of yours. We can't just have guests breaking the rules. It'd be anarchy. We take pride in our order here."
"Bullshit," Renata spat back. "Look, ripping people off with crooked games is all well and good, but when they win, you have to shell out." She ripped down a little red stuffed devil from the booth's rafter and shoved it into the Scorpion's hands. "Here. It's yours."
The boy took it, overjoyed. Renata looked at his face and thought he looked like death warmed over: his eyes were all purple and discoloured, as if he'd been socked in the nose. He really gets shat on from all sides, doesn't he?she thought.
"Gee, you're really savvy," said the Scorpion. "Thanks for standing up for me."
Before she could answer, the craggy man with the eyepiece yelled "Hey Rube!" and Renata found herself seized in a vice-like grip from behind. She looked to see who had grabbed her elbows and saw a scowling bearded man in a top hat. He wrapped her in rope with the kind of ease that suggested years of practice and led her roughly up a set of rickety stairs near the booth.
"It's the tank for you," called the older man. "We have to keep things running smoothly." Renata was shoved through the trapdoor and it was all she could do to keep her balance as she stood atop the precarious tin platform. The acid fizzled below her. The ticket taker picked up a baseball and tossed it once in his hand. Renata let out a scream as he wound up and whipped the ball at the target. He missed by a mile.
Renata wriggled furiously against her bonds as the carnie picked up another baseball. She looked up and spotted the boy in the sweater behind the carnie. He had one of his throwing knives in his hand, and he daintily flipped it in the air, catching it by the blade. Her arms seemed a little looser under the rope, and she redoubled her efforts to pull herself free before getting stabbed or dunked.
"Calm down," called the Scorpion. "I'm going to cut through your bonds. Hold still."
"With a throwing knife?" bleated Renata as she thrashed. "Are you crazy? Fuck that!"
Another baseball flew, this time hitting the wooden beam of the booth.
"Come on, you're going to fall into the tank. I can help you."
"I don't need your help, I'm fine." She pulled her arms and with a wrench of her shoulder, two loops of rope slipped over her hand. Another baseball whizzed by, this time almost hitting her in the hip. "Aim for the target, asshole!" she yelled at the carnie.
"I have really good aim, you saw it yourself," continued the Scorpion. "I won't hit you, I promise. Just say the word, and I'll cut you free. Hold still."
"Don't! I don't trust you! Fuck off! I'll do this myself." Renata yanked and yanked her right arm as another baseball hit the booth, this time missing the tin target by mere inches. Just as the carnie was winding up to throw another ball, she got it free. Unfortunately, the sudden loss of resistance threw her off balance and she pitched herself violently into the tank.
The last baseball struck the bull's eye true, and the empty platform gave way.
Renata burst to the surface of the acid, unsure whether to scream or gasp for air. She paddled in vain with her rapidly dissolving hands and sank in the cloudy orange solution.
The Scorpion walked up and watched sadly as her face melted away and the bubbles of her screams broke the surface in pathetic gurgles. He put his hand on the tank. This didn't seem right.
The ticket taker let the boy into the Ringmaster's tent. Lucifer greeted him with mild amusement without looking up from the volume he was reading.
"Scorpion. How's tricks?"
"Master, I don't understand your design."
Lucifer didn't raise his eyes. "That's because I don't have a design." He turned the page. "And even if I did, you wouldn't need to understand it to obey my will."
"You sound like your father," muttered the Scorpion.
The Devil finally raised his head and looked up. "What did you just say?"
"Nothing!" he replied quickly. "Never mind. I'll just…" He turned to leave.
"Know what? You're right." Lucifer closed the book. "You have a question?"
"Yeah," began the Scorpion, trying to put words to his objection. "Okay, so we just doled out punishment to a woman who has trust issues, right?"
"In the dunk tank, unless I'm mistaken. Very good work."
"Thank you. But that was a penalty for being unable to trust. I always thought our position was that trusting me was a fool's game."
"You're thinking of Tamara."
"Well, yeah. If trusting is a sin, punishment for it is my job. I'm the Scorpion, it's what I do." The Devil nodded, and the boy continued. "But in that case, the new girl didn't so anything wrong. I'm missing your point."
Lucifer smiled. "Where do you work, lad?"
The Scorpion blinked. "At the carnival."
"Whose carnival?"
"Yours."
"And who am I?"
The Scorpion suddenly felt very uncomfortable, acutely aware that he was being messed with. He should know – this was his whole racket. He replied carefully. "You call the shots. You're the boss." He paused again. "Is this a test?"
"Always. Now, if you work at the Devil's Carnival, that means you're in Hell. And in Hell, you can do no right. I'm sure you've heard the adage 'damned if you do…'"
"Damned if you don't?"
"That's right. Now back to your question."
"I still don't understand."
"I know you don't, sweet Scorpion. I have other ways of making myself clear." He nodded to someone over the Scorpion's shoulder, who the boy didn't realize had been standing there.
"No wait!" interjected the boy as he turned to see The Enforcer. "You don't have to do that."
"Nonsense, lad," said the Devil with a smile as Scorpion was seized. "How will you ever be able to mete out the punishment if you don't understand the crime?"
"I do understand! This isn't fair!"
Lucifer laughed as the Scorpion was dragged away. "'Not fair', he says! Where do you work, lad?"
The Scorpion found himself back in his old leather jacket, leaning against a pole and absently flicking a deck of cards from hand to hand. He watched as a girl in a blouse, sweater and shirt threw knives at the tin target of the dunking booth, trying to knock a clown statue into the tank. He could swear that he knew her from somewhere, and tried to place her as she repeatedly hit the target without making the platform budge.
This poor sap, thought The Scorpion.