The Fine Print: As always, the great Dan Knauf and the folks at HBO own Carnivale and all its characters. However, it's beginning to look like they are never going to show us this scene, so I had to write it myself.

Author's Note: This one occurs simultaneously with Chapters 2 and 3 in Norman's POV.

The Things You Can See From a Doorway

Chapter 4

They clung to him that night beside the river, the boy and his sister, terrified and shivering, until he promised they could come home with him. Norman finally settled them into the back of the carriage, wrapping them in a blanket against the cold night air. Minutes later, he glanced over his shoulder to see them curled together, asleep, her thin arm thrown protectively around her brother, his head tucked into her shoulder.

Norman smiled to himself at the strange and marvelous ways of God. It had been almost a year since they had lost their own child, a daughter, stillborn and too early. Rose knew that she would never have another child and the doctors agreed. Norman watched his wife everyday as she struggled with the loss of what she had looked so forward too. Now perhaps, he dared to hope, these children would fill some of that void.

Well into the night, Norman finally found himself pulling the carriage to a halt in front of his home. He stepped down and walked around to the edge of the carriage. The children were still sound asleep, their faces hidden now, beneath the blanket. "We're home now children," he called, smiling at his own words, but they still did not stir. He reached in and gently pulled the blanket away from their sleeping forms. The blanket slipped from his hand as he stumbled back away from the carriage, doubling over to be sick—the children, the boy and his sister, their small bodies, pale and bloated, the skin around their eyes and lips blue, wet hair matted against their faces, still clinging to one another . . .

Norman Balthus blinked his eyes against the morning sun, praising God that it had just been a nightmare. He tried to rub his hand across his face to smooth away the traces of the dream but to his dismay he found he could not lift his arm. It was frozen next to him atop the sheets. As he slowly took in the room around him, Norman remembered the events of the last year—his stroke, the fire, Justin's perversions and blasphemy.

"Irina!"

Norman's hand curled instinctively into a gnarled fist as Justin's angry voice broke through the silence of the early morning and interrupted his thoughts.

He heard Iris's hurried footsteps in the living room and shivered nervously as he realized she was heading towards his door.

Norman knew that Iris had fallen under Justin's evil influence, had committed unthinkable murders while under his sway. She had been corrupted by the demon in Justin, by the evil that was his adopted son. Norman was beginning to realize just how dangerous Iris herself was. Each morning he watched in growing fear as piece by piece her humanity seemed to be slipping away. But try as he might to the contrary, he still thought of Iris as his daughter, hoped that one day she might be saved.

He heard Justin's footsteps thundering across the room, a startled gasp from Iris drowned out by a roar, then a sickening thud, as if a body had hit the wall. Frustration overwhelmed Norman as lay paralyzed. The tension between the two of them had been almost unbearable since their move to the new house. Norman had witnessed their arguments, seen Iris desperately trying to protect her place at her brother's side, watched as Justin punished her and plotted with others. He listened as they continued to argue until Justin's chilling laughter rang out. Then silence dropped over the house. Norman strained to hear what was happening on the other side of the door.

"I don't want to have to punish you—to hurt you . . . but you are so willful."

Norman struggled to turn his head towards the door, alarm etched across his face. He caught something sickeningly familiar in Justin's voice—"You're mother taught you how to pray, didn't she?" No, not this.

". . . so very willful."

Norman closed his eyes. Please God, no. Not his own sister.

The maids, one after another, had been appalling enough, but how could Justin do this to his own sister? Norman knew now that the Justin he had known was lost forever. The old Justin had loved his sister, had been devoted to her.

Trapped inside his own body, powerless to stop what was about to happen, Norman silently called out to God. He prayed for his children's souls and for his own strength.

He prayed that it would at least be quick.

He lay, waiting for the horrible noises to begin—the demonic wails, the feral howls. He waited for her anguished screams and pleas for help. But they did not come.

He could hear only broken snatches of breathing, followed by periods of terrifying silence. Then Iris's pleading voice, "Alexsei, what. . .Don't. What are you do"

Is this my punishment, my punishment for saving the children, those innocent children all those years ago by the river? Norman thought. To be frozen, forced to listen as his son defiled—raped—his own sister.

He cringed as she moaned, continued to pray as her broken gasps and sighs grew louder.

Sounds of pleasure. Norman narrowed his eyes. My God, she was enjoying it. "No." Norman forced the single word out with all his strength but it came out as little more than a hoarse whisper. His body shook in anger and revulsion.

How long had this been going on—months, years? Norman felt bile rising up into his throat at the thought that it had probably begun under his own roof, in the house where he and Rose had raised them and loved them just like their own.

The pieces slid into place with startling clarity. All the touches that lingered just a little longer than necessary, the adoring looks, the unsettling kisses goodbye . . .

Iris's cry pierced the room. Norman's experience was limited to just one woman, but some sounds were unmistakable.

Thank god Rose would never have to know about this. Norman prayed that the lord would be merciful to him as well and let him die before he had to look into either of their faces again.

"No more secrets . . ."

Trapped, Norman listened as Justin's groans joined Iris's, listened to the muffled sound of a body bumping in frenzied rhythm against the wall.

Please, God. At least let it be quick.