Early the next morning…
In an unusually-decorated playroom, a man was sitting at a stark white desk with a newspaper in front of him. The walls were a girlish pink, and there were toys suitable for a young child, such as a crib mobile hanging from the ceiling, a wooden rocking horse, a toy box full of rubber bouncy balls, crank toys, jack-in-the-boxes and other strange objects for a grown man to own.
Looking down at the front page, he was fixed on the image of the town's newest overnight sensation. The headline said it all; "Young Woman Uplifts Crowds: Newest Sideshow Attraction a Hit"—the black and white, somewhat blurry photo of a young woman with a blonde crown braid, a simple outfit consisting of a long sleeved white blouse and dark-colored skirt, completed with embroidered shoes and vivid makeup. Chuckling slyly, he traced along the straight outline of the photo and proceeded to cut it out of the issue and glue it into his scrapbook next to a photo of his mother, whose life he had taken some time before.
"Mother, I've found myself a wife," he chuckled. He ran a finger over the photo of his mother, smiling triumphantly. "I hated you so much, but now I still feel inclined to make you proud. Those freaks want to reject me? I'll take from them their biggest star." He heard a grunt.
Turning his back and closing his scrapbook quickly, he was relieved to see it was Twisty, the mute clown who had been hired by Gloria, his mother, for his own amusement. He was paid a hefty sum just to keep her son happy and occupied as he lived out his lonely, emotionally-oppressed life within their luxurious mansion on the hill. After her killing, he received a large inheritance including the mansion and over two million dollars. Not only was Twisty being given half the inheritance, but he was now living with this man—his name was Dandy.
It was no wonder the freak show rejected him. Sure, he wasn't the most mentally stable person, and he didn't have any deformities that were extraordinary enough. The moment his mother took him to see the freak show, in which they were the only two people in the audience, he was enamored with the conjoined twins, Bette and Dot. His mother had even tried to negotiate a price and requested to purchase them from Elsa before blatantly insulting her singing. In the days following his experience, he went to the freak show during an off-hour and encountered Jimmy. He remembered the incident which made him snap so clearly.
"This is the perfect place for me!" Dandy had said with joy in his voice, trying to persuade the hot-tempered young man.
"It's nothing like you'd imagine," Jimmy replied, trying to maintain calm. "You wouldn't last one day here."
"I belong here! You are like me, and I am like you!" the happy disillusioned man claimed, smiling to be as convincing as possible.
Jimmy, not amused by what he considered a "sick joke" to poke fun of his and the other's deformities and shortcomings, grabbed Dandy's normal hand and held it up, comparing it to his own to prove his point as he gave his fiery response.
"You know what I wouldn't give to have real hands like yours?" he snapped, staring him straight in his clear, strange blue eyes. "To be able to touch a girl without scaring her? From where I'm sitting, you got the world on a string. So, you go home to your mansion on the hill, and you thank God for all you got!"
Dandy turned red with fury when this memory struck his mind, and he jumped up, pounding his fists on the table only to take a deep breath afterwards. Twisty was watching him, his scary self dressed in his dirty white clown suit, a mouthpiece depicting a frightening smile to mask his loathsome mouth injury, a horn-like headpiece on his bald head, and his costume makeup was smudged to add to his slovenly appearance. He never spoke, but always carried a sack filled with strange objects, even toys for the child he had kept kidnapped in a secluded trailer in the forest nearby. That had been Dandy and Twisty's "playhouse" for the time being—well, at least until they planned to kill the boy, the woman, and the teenage boy they kept hostage. Dandy shook his head at Twisty and laughed sinisterly.
"Your silence is utterly provocative," he stated.
"Wake up, meine leibchen," Elsa whispered, watching Britta's delicate face as she slept. It was now 10:00 in the morning, way too late for any of the carnies to be sleeping. She had fallen asleep in her clothes from the night before, and she moaned slightly as she opened her eyes. Elsa moved a stray piece of blonde hair away from her face.
"Huh?" She looked at Elsa. "Oh, god morgon."
"Guten tag," Elsa said cordially. "It's very late to be sleeping, ja?" Britta stirred a little and rubbed her eyes, looking up at the German as she continued to speak.
"You were wunderbar last night," Elsa smiled. "A sensation known to all. They threw a tomato at you, but you turn it around so fast."
Standing up, she reached into the trunk used to store Britta's belongings and took out a mauve, button-up blouse and a floral skirt that matched. Handing them to Britta, she nodded affirmatively.
"Get dressed and washed up," Elsa said, walking toward the door and opening it. "We will be waiting for you."
Britta did as directed, going into the bathroom and taking off her old clothes, running the water for a bath as she fluffed her permed, shoulder-length golden hair. Once the bathtub filled, she got in and used the lavender-scented soap on herself while alternating with water to rinse. When holding the soap in her hands, she looked down at the deep scars across her wrists—sighing, a terrible memory came to mind, causing a tear to roll down her cheek. It had been the memory of attempting to take her own life, an event which led to her cruel, abusive foster parents sending her away to Konradsberg, the mental hospital in which she spent three years in Stockholm. She had been fifteen at the time, but even though she was now eighteen years of age, seeing them still triggered memories of an even more traumatic event she wouldn't dare to think about. Jimmy had noticed and tried to see the scars up close; it is no wonder she wouldn't let him. Yet he also yelled at her out of thinking . The voices of those terrible people played in her mind like a worn-out recording…
"You're going to Stockholm. We've had it with you."
"We should have left you in that godforsaken orphanage! You probably caused that fire doing what you do!"
"You have the devil's power!"
"The pastor must pity you because he knows he can't save your soul."
"You're going to Hell, little girl!"
"STAY DOWN THERE!"
"AHH!"
The girl clawed the sides of her head, gripping some of her hair as she shut her eyes and shook her head to block out the voices that haunted her from her past. When she opened her eyes, she saw herself back in the bathtub—her hair had only been subtly washed, and she got out and dried off with a sage green, absorbent towel before changing into the outfit chosen for her by Elsa. She proceeded to brush her permed pin-curls gently and using small combs, she pinned it back away from her face with some voluminous strands going slightly past the front of her shoulders.
She got out of Ethel's caravan and walked down the dirt avenue with neighboring caravans, tents and trailers. Her eyes were slightly red, and tears had dried to her face; wiping them away, she managed to make her way toward the great tent, where everyone met and were playing games, reading, or socializing with each other. Amazon Eve and Ma Petit were looking at a globe, exploring the maps present as they spun it. Salty and Pepper were trying to play checkers. Elsa was sitting in her chair with the newspaper when she saw Britta enter, and Jimmy sat alone, his forehead in his palm as he slouched over.
"Britta, you made the front page," Elsa said with a smile, smoking a cigarette. "Congratulations, liebchen."
The girl took the paper and saw a photo the journalist had taken the night before of her dressed simply but elegantly, a neutral expression on her face as the crowd from the audience swarmed her and made unattainable requests, like asking her to levitate something or if she spoke any English. The headline was clear: "Young Woman Uplifts Crowds: Newest Sideshow Attraction a Hit"; the accompanying story was nonsense to Britta, as she only understood a fraction of it. Jimmy got out of his deep thinking state of mind and looked at the young woman with admiration. He stood up and approached her, leaning in to see what Elsa had been talking about.
"You were great last night, Britta," he said. She smiled a closed grin, and nodded, looking down at the paper and seeing herself standing there in her simple, traditional ensemble in the black and white photograph.
"That's me," she whispered in her mother tongue.
"What?" Jimmy asked with confusion, noticing her reverent opinion on seeing herself on the newspaper's front page and dead center. Then, he felt a familiar presence lean in a whisper to him; it was Elsa.
"She is proud of herself," she whispered in her thick accent. "Let her gloat in her humble way that she does."
Ma Petit, who was standing on the table, looked at the globe where Europe was, and where Sweden was labeled one country in from Norway, she looked over at her and began speaking in her adorable, small voice. Britta looked over at her and smiled, stepping closer to the table and putting the newspaper on the surface as she sat down on the chair directly across from Amazon Eve. The tall woman with strong features looked down at her as she walked over with Jimmy following, seeing her sit down and have her attention caught by Ma Petit's brightly-colored sari. Then, Britta looked to Eve, who smiled and spoke in her low, soft-spoken voice as she noticed the girl's frail, thin arms reach up and open as if to try and hold the miniature Indian woman.
"If you want to pick her up," she whispered, "you have to be careful. She's fragile."
Looking and judging by her size and stature, Britta knew that she had to be careful with Ma Petit, whose slanted, small dark eyes looked in her direction and walked over to her. With a toothy smile, she let the willowy, golden-haired Swede hold her in her lap. At the same time, Jimmy smiled down at the young women, seeing them exchange grins with each other. He watched Ma Petit reach up to touch Britta's hair, smiling with admiration in her small, beady eyes as he small, jeweled hands and long fingernails ran through the bottom of her shoulder-length pin curls.
"You are so pretty, Miss Britta," said the small Indian lady in her tiny-sounding, high-pitched voice.
"Aw!" exclaimed the young Swedish woman, who began to gently return the favor by touching the Indian woman's long, eat black braid woven neatly and expertly tied with a pink ribbon at the end. There was a pause, and once Britta began to speak her mother tongue, the only language she knew best, everyone was quiet and listened even though they could not understand a word she was saying. Britta's voice itself sounded soft and feminine; it was just the right pitch.
"In Sweden, I wore braids," she said. "I cannot braid mine anymore. My mamma wore hers around her head, like…" The Swede gently took Ma Petit's long black braid and gently formed it around the crown of her head without fastening it, demonstrating what she meant to say but could not; "this."
"Mamma?" Ma Petit asked while fixing her braid back, as it was the only word she understood in her sentence.
"Min mamma," Britta said in Swedish, putting her down on the table and sighing sadly. Meanwhile, Jimmy felt in his gut something was wrong as he saw her stand up from her chair and walk slowly toward the big top's entrance. Amazon Eve looked in her direction with concern, seeing Jimmy was feeling the same way as well.
"Is she alright?" she questioned in her strong, but soft-spoken tone.
"I'm going to find out," he answered, walking toward the entrance and following her not far behind.
Once he was outside, he sprinted up toward her, meeting her at the side. She looked at him as he talked.
"Hey, what's the matter?" he asked. "Britta?"
"Ja?" she asked in response to her name being said by the handsome man with deformed hands, dark eyes, and charming cheek dimples.
"Britta, please," he began. "I know something is wrong. You won't tell me, and I'm freakin' out. Did I do anything wrong to you?"
She just stared at him, noticing his tone of voice.
"Why do you shy away from the others? ME?" he asked, intimidating her again with his tone of voice. "I saw those scars on your wrists. You had to have gone through something really bad."
Britta looked down and sighed sadly—the grass had gotten greener, but it was nevertheless still mottled with patches of beige. Then, she turned her focus toward the forested area near the grounds, the tall tress and bushy shrubs. Jimmy, realizing that his tone may have offended her, took a breath and calmed himself down.
"Britta?"
"Ja?" she looked at him, responding to her name again as he said it.
"I'm sorry if I've ever been a jerk to you. Or in front of you," he told her. "I lose my temper sometimes, and at the wrong times at that. Sometimes the wrong people. Look," he explained as he placed his hands on her shoulders, and she looked him in his dark brown eyes. "I should probably mind my own damn business, but it ain't everyday where I'm really concerned for someone. You can trust me. I ain't gonna judge, none of that shit. You can tell me anything." He raised his hands up as if to shrug, but he didn't. He put them to his chest. "I'm a friend. I always will be, you hear?"