"Mayor Carson! Over here!"
Victor was staring up at the night sky, stuck in a trance. An airplane flew overhead, miles and miles above him. He could barely make out the lights as it jetted across the sky and then disappeared above a cloud.
"Vic," grunted Ellen, nudging him in the rib with her elbow. He finally snapped out of it and turned to face his wife. She smiled and batted her eyes at him as if she was forced to. "Photo op, honey!" They both turned their heads to the press surrounding them. Ellen wrapped her arm around Victor's back; Victor brought his hand to Ellen's shoulder; neither one of them actually made contact with the other.
The cameras flashed and the journalists' minds buzzed thinking about the potential headlines they could make for the papers tomorrow morning: "THE CIRCUS BOASTS THE BEST: CARSON AND FAM GET FRONT-ROW SEATS"
Athena smiled as she saw the familiar face of Mayor Victor Carson walk past her and into the tent. She rearranged her tarot cards as a young boy ran over to her booth.
"Would you like me to tell your future?" she asked with a smirk.
"Pssh, no, I don't believe in that crap." Athena was stunned at hearing such vulgar language out of a boy that couldn't be older than 13. He ran off into the tent to get a good seat while Athena still sat there with a shocked expression on her face. Then it hit her. That boy's got a hell of an evening ahead of him, she thought to herself. She checked her watch: just one more minute before the show was about to begin.
Athena, the Barnaby Traveling Circus' resident fortuneteller, wasn't lying. An hour later, as the show came to its final act, that boy was about to regret ever stepping into that tent, or at least heckling the clowns. He had been doing it all night. It was just teen angst, probably. Circuses were for kids. They were no place for a 13-year-old. He should be at the movies with his friends, not inside some lame red-and-white tent watching a bunch of face-painted buffoons fumbling over themselves for cheap laughs.
The booing and bothersome comments were certainly not unheard by the self-proclaimed leader of the clown troupe, Sanguine. He certainly lived up to his name, in all aspects. He was red from head to toe: red hat, red face paint, a perfectly polished red nose, light red shirt, dark red pants, sparking red-and-white striped oversized shoes. Everything on him was red, except for his pristine white gloves. And why did they call him Sanguine? Because he was the jolliest old man you ever could meet. His smile was almost contagious to the youngsters in the audience. Whenever his fellow clowns made mistakes (on purpose, of course, it was all part of the act), Sanguine would come to the cheerful rescue and help clean up the mess.
"Uh oh, it looks like Jumpin' Jack found… the cannon!" exclaimed Sanguine as they prepared for their final stunt. "But wait, Jack, I don't think any of us can fit in that thing!"
"Are you sure? Want me to check?" Jumpin' Jack, one of the clowns, climbed a stepladder and slowly tried to worm his way headfirst into the mouth of the cannon. To the hollering laughter of the kids in the crowd, he got stuck inside, and two of the other clowns had to grab him by his legs to yank him out.
"I think we need a younger member of the audience to help us out. What do you say?" All the kids began to shout and stand up and raise their hands, basically they lost their minds in an attempt to get Sanguine's attention so they could volunteer to try it. Sanguine pretended like he was scoping out the entire audience, but he knew exactly who he had in mind all along. He clumsily waddled over to the edge of the ring and came right up to the heckler, staring right at him with his signature smile.
"What's your name, buddy?" the old man asked.
Uninterested, the boy responded. "Jacob."
"Jacob! Come on in to the middle of the ring, you are a very lucky guest tonight, because you will be shot out of a real cannon, out of the tent, and… don't worry mom and dad, he'll land perfectly safe in our plushy pit right outside. Isn't that right, Jumpin' Jack?"
"Sure is, Sanguine!"
Sanguine extended his white-gloved hand to the boy, and Jacob reluctantly grabbed it before being yanked rather forcefully out of the stands. Jumpin' Jack and some of the other clowns came rushing over and fitted the boy with the necessary helmet and protective gear.
"Alright, Jacob, are you ready?" Sanguine sounded extra pumped to get the audience ready for this last spectacle.
"Not really…" whined the boy. He glanced over at his parents with a death stare. Had he gotten his fortune read by Athena moments before the show, he might have stared just a little bit longer.
Jacob was hoisted into the barrel of the cannon. Admittedly it was a snug fit, but he was still smaller than the adult clowns. Meanwhile two other clowns ran to opposite ends of the tent and pulled on some ropes that loosened a flap in the tent, exposing a big wide hole at the top through which the boy was about to fly. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I will ask you to please count backwards from ten, and we will launch this boy into outer space!" Sanguine let out a bit of a maniacal laugh as Jumpin' Jack started the countdown.
10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 6 … 5 … 4 …
At that moment Jacob gulped. He realized that this was actually happening. Did he totally just forget that he was deathly afraid of heights? And he was going to be launched however many feet into the air and then plummet straight back to earth? He could feel himself shaking, and he wished he could say something to stop the clowns and get out and just run straight home. But by the time he even attempted to open his mouth to say something, the cannon went off.
Jacob didn't even remember passing through the tent. All he saw was the dark night sky above him. He kept going up and up, he started to think that he might never come back down. Unbeknownst to him, the same two clowns covered up the hole in the tent the second Jacob flew out of it.
Sanguine smiled. "Thank you so much, ladies and gentlemen!"
Jacob started to feel the arch of the trajectory he was following and started to feel his body descend. He looked down, expecting to find the plushy pit Sanguine mentioned within sight. But there was nothing, nothing but the empty parking lot that extended beyond the tent. Jacob was about to scream, but then chose not to. He knew he was going to die. He wasn't going to survive this fall, even with all the protective gear they strapped onto him. He closed his eyes, braced for impact, and just a few seconds later he collapsed on the hard pavement.
He could feel himself being dragged just moments after he landed. Jacob opened his eyes, expecting to see the pearly gates in front of him, but all he saw was the night sky above. Two unknown people were pulling him, one taking each arm. Just about every part of him hurt. His shirt rode up a bit and he could feel his back being scraped by the rough blacktop. He also lost a shoe at some point, but he wasn't sure if it happened before, during, or after the fall. Jacob tried to crane his neck back a bit so he could try to see who was pulling him, but his head felt way too heavy, as if it was about to fall off. He just let whatever was happening happen.
"Great show, Lura," commented one of the jugglers walking past the star acrobat of the Barnaby Traveling Circus.
"Thanks," she replied, patting her coworker on the shoulder as she made her way into her dressing room. She closed the door behind her and let out a heavy sigh, removing the beaded bandana from her head and letting her golden locks fall just as gracefully as she did not too long ago. She found her water bottle on her makeup counter and took a swig of it to wet her whistle just before slipping out of the top of her skintight leotard. Lura walked over to her boudoir and opened the door. When she saw what was inside she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Charles M. Barnaby stepped out of the tent after a great night's show. He removed his top hat and dabbed his brow with his handkerchief before making his way back to the circus train. As he did he saw an unknown figure standing there, seemingly waiting for someone.
"Excuse me, can I help you?" he asked.
The person turned around. She looked very distinguished, as if she was practically a goddess. "Are you the Barnaby man I spoke to?"
"Yes, I am. Are you…"
"I go by many names. Some call me the Duchess. Others call me the Healer. Some others refer to me only as Her. You may call me Ruuxa."
"Well, Ruuxa, I appreciate you coming to my aid on such short notice. We have your room set up for you, I can show it you right now if you like."
"I don't need a room, Mr. Barnaby. I take up no home made by man. I choose to live in nature. With nature."
"Are you sure?"
"Let me ask you, Mr. Barnaby, what do you think I plan on doing with the large sum of money you promised to give me in return for my services?"
Barnaby hesitated a bit. "Is this meant to be a rhetorical question?"
Ruuxa adjusted her robes and crossed her arms. "There are lands in this country, in this world, that are being destroyed every day for selfish reasons. We cannot risk destroying our harmonious relationship with our sensuous world, Mr. Barnaby. Some of my followers and I are planning some peaceful protests. Your payment to me will be used for preparation, and perhaps a bit of bribery."
Barnaby couldn't help but roll his eyes, but he did it subtly, hoping she wouldn't notice. She did, and returned with a scornful look. "Mock my beliefs and causes all you want, Mr. Barnaby. But keep in mind that I am very powerful." She took a step closer to him in an attempt to intimidate him. "What you are asking me to do involves power beyond anything you might possess. You may have wealth and connections, but I could end your life with a simple thought. If you truly want me to help you for your little project, I suggest you keep your mouth shut. You do your thing, I do mine. I complete my mission, you return the favor. Nothing more will come of this." She stared him down intently. "Are we clear?"
"You listen to me, you shaman or whatever the hell you call yourself. I hold myself in very high esteem. I go to incredible lengths, endure unbearable hardships to get what I want, and it's gotten me to where I stand today. And where I stand is in front of you, above you, not beneath you. I am employing you for a short time. You are to serve me from now until your services are no longer needed. Yes, I have wealth. Yes, I have connections. And with just those two things I can help give the go-ahead to have those bulldozers and tree-choppers clear your precious natural lands right off the map. I do not fear you. I do not cower in your shadow. I do not care what supernatural forces you utilize. You are below me. You cannot even present yourself in an appropriate manner. Look at your… garbage garb!"
With that Ruuxa smacked him right across the face.
"I'm leaving! Good luck with your little freak show or whatever you're attempting to concoct."
Barnaby rubbed his cheek and rolled his eyes once more. "Ruuxa, wait." She stopped, but still had her back turned to him. "I'll add an additional thousand dollars to your pay. With that I promise I won't belittle your operation, as long as you promise me the same." She turned back to face him.
"I'll see you in the morning, Mr. Barnaby."
"Great. And see that? You were drawn by my promise of money." He smirked at her, nagging "I told you so" in his head.
"Just be careful, Mr. Barnaby. What we are about to embark on is very dangerous, very dangerous indeed. Keep track of your staff, wouldn't want any of them stepping out of line."
She walked away, but her robes covered her feet so it appeared as if she was floating. Barnaby wondered if she actually was floating.
At that moment he heard Lura screaming in her room. He quickly ran to address the issue.
"What's the matter, Lura?" Barnaby asked, barging into the room. He found Lura standing there, covering her bare chest with a towel, while a young man was sitting in the boudoir, covering his eyes.
"He was hiding in my boudoir!" she shouted. Barnaby made a disgusted face and then grabbed a shirt for Lura to put on. He admired his lover's bare top in the process and then turned to the problem at hand.
"Alright, lad, she's decent."
The boy that was sitting in the boudoir uncovered his eyes and stood up. "I'm sorry, I really am, I… I snuck on here during the show and I guess I fell asleep. I swear, miss, I didn't mean to, like, peep on you or anything."
Barnaby grabbed the young man by the back of his shirt and began to haul him out of the room. "We do not carry stowaways, my boy. Please, be on your way."
"No, wait!" The kid tried his hardest to stop the man from manhandling him and managed to break free of his grip. "I want… I need to join the circus."
Barnaby couldn't help but laugh. "If I had a nickel for every time I heard someone say that, I wouldn't need this shit show to help me make a living." The ringmaster could tell the boy was serious. He didn't just want to join the circus, he had to. "What's your skill?"
"I'm sorry?"
"What's your skill? You thought we would just ship you off across the country with us while you just sit back and enjoy the shows? I don't think so. If you're going to join the circus, you will join the circus. So, what's your skill?"
The boy was at a loss for words. "I—I don't have one, sir."
"What's your name?"
"Parker. Parker Redford."
"Now, Parker, I've spent years of my life hand-selecting these performers to make this one of the most spectacular spectacles on earth. In my twenty years of operation, I have never allowed a kid to run away from home and become one of my performers. Take Lura here, for example. I spent years trying to convince her to come work for me. Why? Because she's the best at what she does, and I only hire the best."
At this point Parker was almost at the verge of tears. "Please, sir, I—"
"You will address me as Charles Barnaby, owner and ringmaster, and the man who just might hire you if you quit sniffling and tell me what you can do to make our circus better."
"I grew up on a farm not too far from here. I spent my whole life taking care of animals, I can help with yours."
"Something tells me you haven't had much experience with lions and tigers and bears," said Barnaby.
"Oh my!" exclaimed Lura, as if on cue. She giggled. Parker almost forgot she was even standing there.
"I don't, but I at least know how to handle animals. Isn't that something?"
"Like I said, Parker, I can't just hand out positions to any old farm hand. This is a business I run. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Does the mayor always come to your shows, Mr. Barnaby?" Parker asked, sounding desperate at this point.
"Not always, tonight was a rather rare treat."
"And did you charge those press guys to come take pictures of him at the show?"
"No, they came on their own volition. They obviously have stories to write."
"If I were you, I would've charged them. They took pictures of one of your paying customers on the property you reserved for the show. And this is the most populated town in Long Island, Victor Carson is a pretty big deal to them. Next time, charge the photographers to get the shots they need."
Barnaby was immediately impressed. "You're a rather sharp thinker for a young boy like yourself."
"I'm not young, I just turned 19. And I've been going to night classes, I hope to be a successful businessman." For whatever reason, Parker looked at Lura. "Why else do you think I'm escaping the farm?" Lura smiled at him.
"You know what, Parker Redford? You may have just got yourself a place in this troupe."
"Really?"
"I could certainly use an advisor, an accountant of sorts. God knows none of these dimwitted performers could carry out addition or subtraction. I'll put you on a trial basis for the next week or so, see how you handle the show's expenses. And you can help Julius, our lion tamer, tend to the animals if you like. If you impress me, you can stay on. Do we have a deal?"
"Yes, sir! Thank you so much!" Parker instinctively hugged the man, catching Barnaby off guard.
"And it just so happens that we have a room available for you. Step outside a moment, will you? I'll show it to you in a few minutes." Parker listened to the man, gathered his belongings, and left the room. The minute the door closed Barnaby turned to Lura, tore off her shirt, and began to make out with her.
"Feisty, are we?" she managed to blurt out.
"I can't help it," he replied, fiddling with his zipper. "You turn me on more and more each day."
Lura slipped off the lower half of her leotard and let Barnaby force her against the back wall. "You're not jealous, are you? An attractive younger man peeping on me, ready to take me away from you?"
Barnaby absolutely loved it when she teased him like that. And Lura absolutely loved his rough lovemaking in response.
"Please, that boy has nothing on me. He could never… hnnng… please you like I do."
Once they both came and tidied up, Barnaby cordially showed Parker his new quarters, and Lura settled down from a rather eventful evening.
"Is he ready?" asked Sanguine, walking into what he called 'the dungeon.' One of his fellow clowns nodded and the old man stepped forward. There he found Jacob, practically unconscious, strapped to a chair. Two other clowns were standing by his sides, guarding him, waiting for the okay from their boss.
Sanguine admired their new specimen and addressed his henchmen. "Put him in the shackles. Make sure he's got clean water for the day ahead. The fun begins tomorrow night." Sanguine closed the door behind him and walked into his own room. When he opened the door he shuddered at what he found.
Jumpin' Jack wouldn't be jumping anymore, not when he's chopped up into dozens of pieces and left for Sanguine to see on his bedroom floor.
Sanguine scowled. "Looks like someone's after us, Jack," he said, talking to his deceased comrade. "The question is, who?" He then looked for something to cover up the body parts and mask the smell.
At midnight, Barnaby very carefully slipped out of Lura's nude embrace, gathered himself in some boxers, a robe, and some slippers, and exited the train. About a mile's walk away was the ocean, and Barnaby quietly snuck his way over to the fishing docks.
"Ah, pleasure to see you again," he said to a fisherman on his boat. "Have you done as I have asked?"
"Yeah, and I think you're going to like what I found," the fisherman replied. "Follow me." Barnaby stealthily stepped onto the man's boat and followed him around the back to where he kept his latest catch in a net.
"Oh my," the ringmaster let out. He saw dozens of dozens of fish, but that wasn't what he was interested in. Smack dab in the middle of the fish pile was a deceased woman. "Where did you find her?"
"She just came up in the net like that, swimming amongst the fishes," the fisherman replied. "I figured you would have a better use for her."
"I just might," Barnaby said, not taking his eyes off the body.
"I'm sure something was starting to nibble away at her legs, they're almost gone. But her torso's almost entirely intact, if that counts for anything."
"No, no, it's fine, really. In fact, it's… perfect," Barnaby stated, smiling as his mind buzzed with excitement.