I do not own American Horror Story: Freakshow.
And really, we aren't even in Freakshow territory anymore, are we?
The Lost Orphan Boy and The Daughter of the Jupiter Freaks
His name was Patrick Oliver Anderson.
And he loved Annabel Margaret Walker.
He couldn't say he always had because there had been time when he hadn't known her.
And his world had been more bleak and more dark than he had cared to admit.
But he could say that he had loved her ever since he had first heard her voice on the radio.
Well, maybe not first.
". . . Humperdinck, which is a name I personally appreciate not having, but enjoy it anyway, Night Shifters, 'cause here's the spin Sally's been asking for . . ."
But he had loved her long before seeing her beautiful brown and blue heterochromiated eyes.
She lit up the darkness with her sultry voice, reminding him just a little of that actress with the purple eyes.
She sent out songs and well-wishes and caring out in the middle of the nights when he wondered if there was ever going to be anything in his life, besides Sam, worth living for.
". . . -stupid crap, what is this, Neil Sedaka? God, why don't you ever play some good music for a change, Pat? Like disco."
Judy didn't like it.
". . . god, Pat, get this mangy mutt off me. He sheds!"
"Sorry. I brushed him yesterday."
But Judy didn't like a lot of things.
Including . . .
". . . go. Dan's waiting. I'll see you around, okay?"
"Okay."
"'Okay.' God, don't tear up or anything. Like you've just got women breaking down the door to get in here. See this is why-"
. . . him, apparently.
And he didn't really miss her, Judy.
". . . want to be something, you know, better than some loser who works at a candy factory?"
"But . . . you work at the candy factory too."
"You calling me a loser?!"
Well, he did.
"Mmm, co'mere, baby . . ."
Alot.
". . . let's see what that teeny little weeny of yours can do, hee . . ."
Kind of.
It was more like he liked the idea of not being alone.
Having someone to talk to.
". . . -rol at work is sleeping with Bobby even though she's dating Eddie, she is such a slut . . ."
Even if she mostly did all the talking.
". . . and I said I'm not going to be like my mother and spend my life catering after some man, I am never getting married . . ."
And he did most of the listening.
". . . but, ya know, a diamond ring for a birthday present wouldn't be such a bad idea . . ."
But at least he wasn't alone.
"Do you want to stay tonight?"
"God no, that little bed's too narrow and I don't need you drooling all over me while you sleep, Pat."
Sort of.
So when she left and it was just him and Sam . . .
". . . walk, boy?"
. . . it should have been a relief.
". . . Night Shifters, call me up with . . ."
But it wasn't.
And he had really, really . . .
". . . requests, dedications, . . ."
. . . needed a solution.
". . . to easy groove your night away . . ."
So he had tried.
"Hey, you're on the Easy Grooves Night Shift with Ana Darling. What can I spin you for?"
"Um, hi. Uh, would you play 'Just Remember I Love You' by Firefall?"
Because he didn't know there could be anything better for him.
"You got it, man. Comin' in ten."
And he had failed.
"Hey, you're on the Easy Grooves Night Shift with Ana Darling. What can I spin you for?"
"Uh, hi. Would you, um, play 'I'll Be Around' by The Spinners?"
And he had tried.
"You got it, man. Comin' in ten."
And he had failed.
Over and over again.
Just him and his casual desperation and a steadily dwindling stack of quarters at the pay phone at work.
Until finally . . .
"Hey!"
"Hey, Ju-"
"No, none of that 'hey' bullshit and your fucking pauses! You have got to stop sending me songs! It's embarrassing! Just leave me the fuck alone, Pat! Or I'll call the fucking police! Got it?!"
. . . everything had just gotten worse.
And Patrick Oliver Anderson had gone . . .
"I'd like to request 'Steppin' Stone' by The Monkees."
. . . a little dark.
"Judy?"
"Yeah."
Not as dark as his dreams of squeezing his hands around her throat when she called him a fucking loser or kicked at Sam or guilt tripped him into paying her rent that one month and he had to subsist on saltine crackers and peanut butter until payday.
But . . .
"Okay, Pat. I'll play the song. But you gotta do something for me. Stay on the line for me, will ya? I want to talk to you."
"Okay."
. . . dark enough.
And then . . .
"Thank you, Patrick."
. . . there was just a little . . .
You're . . . welcome?
It didn't happen all at once.
". . . Night Shift People. This one goes out to Patrick from Ana Darling. Hope you're okay out there."
He wasn't in a midnight room in his mind and suddenly the drapes fell down and the room was filled with light.
". . . flare for you tonight, Patrick. Don't be a stranger."
In fact, it got worse before . . .
"Okay, Patrick, three's the magic spin, darlin'. This one's for you."
Really?
Why?
. . . it got better.
But eventually . . .
". . . out of sorts last night we spoke. I was worried something had happened to you."
"No. I'm still here."
"I'm glad."
That's nice of her.
To be nice to a loser whose girlfriend dumped him for the assistant manager of a candy factory.
"Would you like to hear a song?"
Oh, um-
"-yeah. I guess."
. . . he decided to try.
"Thanks for callin' in. I was worried about you."
"You're welcome. Thank you for caring."
"You're welcome, Patrick. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Maybe.
Hello, gentle readers! Hope you are safe and well.
I don't know if anyone will be interested in revisiting Annabel and Jimmy and Dot and Bette through a fresh set of eyes but I do know I have had a thoroughly enjoyable time writing it.
And I've missed them.
So, as always, everyone appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.
