This is what dying feels like. I thought as I wiped the back of my dirty hand across my forehead. The sun seemed especially unforgiving as the grave I was digging grew wider and deeper. I had yet to sleep off the bottle of whiskey that I had managed to put away the night before and was now firmly entrenched in the hangover stage. Each time I blinked to keep the droplets of salty sweat that poured from my hairline out of my eyes, it felt like sandpaper scraping across them. I longed for sleep, but I refused myself the luxury. Meep didn't get to sleep; he had been beaten to death in his cell for being a 'child killer'. Being an alleged 'cop killer' as well had garnished him no sympathy from the officers.

My knuckles whitened as I gripped the handle of the shovel and tried not to be sick over the thought that Meep's screams fell on deaf ears. Someone would pay for what had been done to Meep. Just because he was a little weird - a 'freak'- no one had bothered to listen. If the officer had paid one ounce of attention he would have taken one look at Meep and known that he was simply physically unable to do what they said he did. But Meep was the easy scapegoat, and now he was dead.

My mind was skirting around the most painful part, trying to shield me from what I know deep in my core; I am a coward. I killed the cop, if I had confessed it would be my body in that bag, and all would be right with the world. You didn't die in vain, buddy, I swore silently to my fallen brother, I will avenge your death. I let fresh tears fall from my eyes and soak into the ground where Meep would be buried in just a few hours time and added, out loud, "I'm so sorry."

/

Somehow I found the strength to finish digging Meep's grave, but I had none of it left as I dragged my tired feet across through the entrance to the big top. A wall of noise and movement hit me like a punch in the stomach and made the sour liquid in my gut slosh menacingly. I felt disappointment welling in my heart, but i didn't have the energy to be angry.

"Where have you been?" Bette asked me in that dreamy way of her's when I sat heavily in a folding chair.

"Digging Meep's grave." I answered bluntly, rubbing my tired eyes.

Realization seemed to hit both sisters at once and I would be lying if it wasn't a little satisfying to see their shame. Dott stood and raised her voice to address the troupe, "We should all be ashamed of ourselves." She said, her voice booming across the big top and causing everyone to look her way, "Meep is dead. Can't you see how much pain Jimmy is in? We should be mourning him, maybe even dedicate the show to him tonight." She seemed close to tears, so I covered her hand with my own to convey my gratitude.

"There ain't gonna be no show tonight." My mother's voice carried from where she was sitting, leaning heavily to once side and clutching a bottle of Rye, "Any freak that performs on Halloween Night will summon Edward Mordrake." She continued once she was satisfied that she had everyone's attention. I rolled my eyes and wished I was in my bed. I had heard the silly folk tale my entire life. I still wasn't sure if my mother truly believed the bullshit she was spouting or if she just enjoyed scaring people. Either way, I was in no mood for her shit.

"Who is Edward Mordrake?" Bridget asked. I whipped around to locate her. She was sitting cross legged on the piano bench, smoking. She was trying to hide her fading hair under a red bandana. My head suddenly swam with memories from the night before; Me drunkenly arguing with Bridget, her drawing, her words. I couldn't place the strange feeling that came over me. I remembered now; I shoved her drawing into my pocket and was about to run after her when the truck came. Meep overshadowed everything else. You're not ugly, Jimmy. Bridget's words echoed in my head, causing my blood to pound and my head to throb more rhythmically. My fingers twitched with the urge to pull it from my pocket and look at it right now, but I couldn't do that.

Bridget's eyes met mine and widened a fraction. Shit - I had been openly staring at her. I averted my eyes quickly and pressed my sweaty palms into my thighs.

"He was a carnie" My mother continued like my world hadn't just been tipped on its axis, "In a Freak Show just like this..."

I let my mind wander for this part of the story, I knew it like I knew the back of my deformed hand; Edward Mordrake apparently looked like a regular Joe but he had another face on the back of his head. Apparently this 'demon face' would whisper all kinds of crazy shit to him until he finally snapped and murdered his whole troupe and then hung himself.

"...if you perform on Halloween night Edward Mordrake will come to you, and he will take a freak with him." My mother finished, her words slurring. I sighed and chanced another glance at Bridget. She, like the rest of my friends, was sitting rapt with attention, a look of terror on her face. Meep, Bridget's drawing, my mother's stupid story, it was all too much to take.

"Enough!" I shouted, standing and kicking the folding chair I had been sitting in, "Why do you want to scare them like that?" I advanced on her, she narrowed her eyes when I snatched the bottle out of her hand, "What are you doing, Ma? I thought you quit this shit?" I shook the bottle under her nose, worry creeping into my voice. My mother had previously had a bad drinking problem when i was a kid, but she kicked it! Elsa saved us and helped her kick it. Why would she start again?

"It's the truth, and you're a fool if you don't head my words!" She snapped back at me.

I tossed the bottle to the floor, where it smashed and rounded on her, 'It's bullshit! Nothing but a stupid scary story."

I felt like the air around me weighed a thousand pounds and was a thousand degrees. It was too hot, too crowded, and it was crushing me. Without looking back I ran out of the big top and gulped in fresh air. I stuck my hands in my pockets and my fingers brushed the edge of Bridget's drawing. My heart thundered in my chest and I worked hard to suppress the urge to take it out of my pocket. I wanted to be alone; away from the dirty camp and away from the noise. I walked toward the line of trees that bordered the camp. There was an open field close by; it would be the perfect place.

/

When I reached the field, I could resist no longer and sat amongst the tall grass and pulled the drawing from my pocket. My hands shook as I unfolded it and smoothed it out on my knee. How could I ever have called it a 'doodle'? You're not ugly, Jimmy, I remembered Bridget's words as I gazed at the drawing. It was quiet, but so beautiful that it made my throat ache. My pulse quickened, Bridget had drawn me, but not me as I saw myself. it gave me chills from my scalp to the balls of my feet. The drawing not only showed Bridget's technical mastery and her eye for intricate detail, but also contained so much grace, so much feeling that for once I didn't look and see the face of a monster. I didn't feel ugly. I felt my eyes grow wet when I noticed that Bridget didn't draw my hands. She didn't draw them because she didn't see them; this, the man in the drawing, was who I was to her.

I hugged the drawing to my chest like I could soak Bridget up through the fibers. There were no words to express the gift she had given me.

"Hello? Hi. Can you help me?" A woman's voice carried through the tall grass and startled me.

I hurried to dry my eyes. I thought I was alone! I folded Bridget's drawing carefully and put it back in my pocket. I had already resolved to keep it there, to remind myself that someone saw me as more than 'The Amazing Lobster Boy".

When I stood and turned to face my visitor I almost fell back down again. The way that she was standing, silhouetted by the sun, in the tall grass, smiling that red lipped smile was like a damn postcard. She was beautiful and she was standing right in front of me, smiling a beautiful, straight toothed smile.

/

She was 'Mystic Miss Esmeralda', and she was looking for a job. She had asked me to take her to Elsa, and of course I obliged; it wasn't every day a beautiful stranger stumbles upon you in a field and needs your help. Especially if you have lobster hands.

I couldn't stop grinning as I stood in front of Elsa with my hat in my hands, explaining the beautiful stray that had followed me home.

Elsa considered me, a look of amusement on her face, "Send her in. I am not so weak in the presence of a pretty face." She smiled at me, and I could barely contain my excitement as I hurried to ushered Mystic Babe inside.

"Leave us to our...reading." Elsa waved me away, her eyes on Miss Mystic.

I smiled again before exiting the tent. As soon as I was free from the beauty I felt a stab of guilt. How could I act like that after what had happened to Meep? He should be here, and I should be in a body bag being readied for burial. As quickly as they had risen, my spirits fell. I slowly made my way to the picnic table, hoping to find it empty. I wasn't ready to pretend to be okay yet.

I was relieved to find that Bridget was the only one wasn't the prying type. For once she wasn't drawing or smoking. She was just gazing out across the field. Her hair was still pulled back under a bandana but the expression on her face was one of calm. She was sitting mere feet in front of me but I could tell that her mind was miles from here. Bridget's strange calm pulled me toward her like a magnet.

Her eyes snapped to my face when she heard my footsteps. Her face remained expressionless, like she had been expecting me, and she slid over a few inches to make room for me. I was unnerved by her calm. Seeing her like this made me notice how tense she was all the time; how she carried herself like a rabbit in a wolf sat together in silence for a while. Each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. Bidget nibbled the skin around her thumb thoughtfully.

"Elsa says we're going to perform tonight." She flicked her eyes toward mine before examining her thumb nail.

I scoffed, "Good. you don't believe that garbage, do you?" Bridget didn't seem like the type to believe in ghost stories.

She shrugged, "All I'm saying is that I am no stranger to unexplainable things."

There was something in her voice that made me look at her again, harder. I could see now that what I had thought was a calm expression was actually one of deep sadness. There were dark shadows under her eyes, her nails were bitten down to almost nothing. I could see now the dozens of cigaret butts that littered the ground around her bare feet like confetti, the empty container lay crumpled and forgotten, her dress hung off of her thin shoulders.

"Bridget, are you okay?" I asked her, concern lacing my voice. She had that far away look in her eyes again, but this time there was something underneath it - fear.

She shook her head 'No', but before I could inquire further, Bridget changed the subject by nodding toward Elsa's, "New meat?" She asked in way that made me believe that she didn't really care. I wanted to ask her again what was wrong, but the look on her face told me now was not the time to press her. Whatever was bothering her, I didn't want to make it worse. Besides, look what happened to Meep under my supposed care.

"Maybe." I answered, keeping my eyes on Bridget's face, "She's a fortune teller."

She nodded, "Think she's for real?"

I shook my head, "If she is a gypsy I am the Easter Bunny, but the customers don't have to know it; The question that remains is, how well can she fake it?"

"You know," Bridget said absently, "I am actually disappointed. It would be nice if someone could tell me if I am going to be okay or not."

I looked at her hard until she made eye contact with me. I leaned in close so she could see how much I meant it when I told her, "Bridget, if anyone is going to be okay, it's you."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes, "Thank you, Jimmy, but you don't really know me very well."

There was so much sadness in her voice that I was rendered speechless. Whatever ghosts had chased her here were catching up to her. I was worried about what would happen when they finally caught her.

I was so absorbed in watching Bridget that I didn't notice when the fake fortune teller approaching us.

"Am I interrupting something?" She asked, eying me and Bridget and the very small space between us. I opened my mouth to tell her yes, and that I would be with her in a second, but Bridget was too quick.

"No," Bridget said standing quickly, "I was just leaving."

"Wait-" I tried to stop her but she waved her hand at me.

"I'm fine. Really, Jimmy. I'm just a little tired. I think I am going to go lay down before the show tonight." She turned to Miss Mystic and explained, "I'm doing a big leg piece and I want to rest up." Her eyes flicked from the new girl's to mine. They seemed to be pleading with me to drop the subject and let her go.

I pressed my lips together into a line, "Fine, I'll talk to you later." I looked hard at Bridget, trying to swear with my eyes that I would be back for her.

"Whatever, it's fine." She said before walking off toward her tent. I watched her go with a growing anxiety. Something was clearly wrong, but I couldn't help her unless she let me in.

"Jimmy?" Miss Mystic asked, pulling my attention away from Bridget's retreating form, "I left my purse at the pay phone, would you take me to go get it?"

I smiled and jingled the keys to my motor bike, "Ready when you are, doll."

A/N:

Hello! Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanza, or Good Day to you all!

I wish I could upload the notebook draft of this chapter because, oh my djfnsdj, you guys ; It is so different from what I originally had.

I went back and forth about going AU with this and omitting Maggie completely, but in the end I decided that would be less challenging and that is not what this is about!

Can you smell the draaamaaa?

*cue the spooky music*

I want to thank you guys for favoriting, following and reviewing. It's amazing to see how well this story is taking off. When I first started I had no idea that it would become something, and with your help it has!

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Reviews are appreciated, help me write the best story I can!

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