Dark Perceptions (Mystic's Carnival Collective) (2 page)

Matt’s foot rubbed against mine in one long, slow stroke, and he watched me with tenderness in his gaze.

My face flushed. “What are you looking at?”
 

His hand drifted toward me, his finger tracing the edge of my hair. “You. I could stare at you for hours. Tell me what’s bothering you. Please talk to me.” His knuckle brushed the curve of my neck.

I bit the inside of my lip and looked away, turning my watchful eyes back to the stars. “My parents are getting a divorce,” I said. I couldn’t have been more glum in my tone, but I hated the thought of a temporary separation, much less a permanent one. My parents had always been the ideal couple
―
or so it’d seemed. Forever finding comfort in their silence. Never needing constant reassurances of their love.

Matt turned toward me. The metal beneath us popped and groaned. “Damn, Sara. I’m so sorry. That’s tough.” He reached for my hand, pulling it free from beneath my head. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Has anyone in your family gotten a divorce?”

He shook his head. “Nah. But my dad’s been having an affair for almost two years. So I’m no stranger to a messed up family life.”

“An affair? How did you find
―
?” I twisted to face him and the blanket beneath us shifted, sliding against the metal of the car. Suddenly we were slipping in one quick glide off the hood, just like a kiddie ride. We landed in a dirty heap and a burst of laughter.

We rose in a mini dust cloud, our giggles still at full momentum. The desert landscape swung around me, confusing my equilibrium, and I stumbled a step to the side. Matt’s hand shot out, steadying me and warming my heart. My feelings jumbled into a giant knot, slamming my glee to a halt. No longer did I know what I wanted, the prospects of true and pure love now confused me. The pot in my system made it more difficult for me to figure out even the simplest of things.
 

My body slumped and I found stability sitting on the corner of the car. In a quick move that surprised both of us, I snatched the joint from Matt’s hand and tossed it as far as I could. “I’ve had enough. Remind me of this the next time I have a brilliant idea.”
 

Matt leaned into me, his hands caressing the sides of my face, his breath heating my skin. “If that’s what you really want.”
 

“You’re not mad are you?”
 

“Why should I be?” His lips twitched, curving into a smile. “I still have you. You’re the only fix I need.”

“Lame,” I whispered.

“Yeah, but you liked it.” His forehead pressed against mine, bringing his lips excruciatingly close. I wanted to kiss him with every cell in my body, and yet
―
if relationships were doomed to end in destruction worthy of an apocalypse, why purposely put my heart through the pain?

My hands trembled as I traced his arms up to his hands. I didn’t pull away, nor did I advance. I remained still on the point of indecision.
 

His lips grazed across the top of mine ever so lightly, inciting an eruption of chills all over my body. I ached for him. And I ached to pull away from him. Run away from him and every relationship that could ever hurt me.

A thump rang through the peaceful night, then a bump, and another bump. A car with its radio beating at a deafening volume pulled up and parked several car lengths away. The couple inside ignored us, but continued to serenade every living creature within a half mile.
 

Matt studied the new arrival with a squint to the eye. He looked back at me. “Time to go?” I nodded and pulled the blanket off the ground, wrapping it around myself. “Okay,” he said, then held my hand and walked me to the passenger side of the car, opening the door for me.
 

After he slipped in behind the wheel and started the engine, he paused, shifting to look at me. “Don’t let your parents’ breakup define you, Sara. It’s not like divorce is genetic.”

I stared at my hands for a moment before responding. “Working on it,” I said, and lowered my head.
 

The night was lit bright by nothing more than the full moon and the car headlights. The road was quiet, surrounded by endless acres of undeveloped land. A solo truck rambled by, kicking more dust into the air. Matt waited until the vehicle was a good distance past us, then pulled out onto the pavement, leaving the screech of metal music behind.

I sat perfectly still with my eyes closed
and hands laid out flat in my lap. The darkness was all consuming. Not a single ray of sunshine penetrated the barrier my eyelids provided. I expected to hear my teacher scold, “Pay attention, Ms. Fairchild!”

Except, I knew I wasn’t in class. The smell of greasy popcorn and overcooked hotdogs was all wrong for a day at school. The whispers weren’t right, either. No, I was having one of those stressed-out daydreams. Like when you envisioned yourself showing up late the first day of school with no books and no idea where to go. Or when you saw yourself walking into class naked. I hated that one in particular. Everyone always laughed and stared, making me feel more insecure in my skin than I already did.

God, school could be
so
brutal. Thankfully I wasn’t there now. I was…

I was…

I was where, exactly?

Light flickered across my lids, flittering through, turning them a burnt red. I bowed my head.

Where was I? I couldn’t remember. Blinking the sleep away, I opened my eyes in search of the answer.

The hem of my dress was frayed. Damn. Rubbing the edge between my finger and thumb, I tried to place the cause. Mom wasn’t going to be happy. I’d broken her down with a battle assault of
beggage
and this was my first time to wear the new dress. Her disappointed face already burned an imprint into my thoughts.

A sound rose all around me and I realized I wasn’t alone. Not only was I not alone, but I could easily be lost in the crowd of God-knows-how-many-hundreds around me. Yet I recognized none of them. No family. No Matt. The people chuckled and whistled at something below. Something center stage. I peered down.

My breath leaped back into my throat and my heart paused.

Clowns.

My last meal churned.

Spotlights left, right, center, everywhere illuminated. And everywhere there were clowns.

My entire body turned to fortified lead. Weighted into my seat.

Clowns flipped on the trapeze. Clowns danced on the wire. Clowns played friendly in the mouth of monsters.

Or unusually large lions, in this case.

Ever since my dad took me to the circus when I was six, I’d avoided the too-happy comedians. A white-faced, red-nosed, pointy-haired buffoon had scared the pee out of me
―
literally
―
slamming his face in mine and asking to lick my candy. My rainbow-swirled lollipop. Not cool, crazy Ronald McDonald.

Shivers. My heart jumped like a jackrabbit off a burning skillet, my knees jerked, and my hands flinched. Popcorn flew over the bleachers. Something fluttered in my stomach and my chest tightened. I looked down at the empty bag in my hand. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding anything. Not until I’d spilled crunchy treats all over the dark filth at my feet.

I hated clowns!

Hated them with a passion.

The thought absorbed me, soaked through me like water to a sponge. And yet, I couldn’t tear my gaze from the multiple freak shows occurring in the ring. From the clowns
―
the disturbingly macabre clowns.

Why was I here, staring at clowns?

Drab red and white striped walls. Creepy, delirious music. Pungent kernel corn and sweet cake aroma. Twisted carnival acts. Where was
here
? I couldn’t recall. And that, quite possibly, disturbed me most of all.

Think, dammit, think.

Everything, getting here, where here was, my memory, was a black swirly mess. A big
nothing
. At best, blots of recall were all I had from before the lights had come on in the Big Top. Smoke and cigarettes
―
a mist of escapism mingled with pot.
 

I sat beneath a colossal striped tent. It draped above and fell around an enormous oval space, trapping everything, everyone, me, within its clutches. It looked old, tattered, and stained. The light within, dim, with the exception of the various spotlights dancing on and around the ostentatious clown acts.

The air weighed upon my body, like someone was pressing on me, pushing the oxygen out of my lungs.

I coughed, struggled to breathe.

I was alone, the space beside me empty. I searched again for someone I knew but saw no one. Fear bubbled up inside of me and I fought to maintain control. My eyes narrowed in on the girl sitting in front of me. A blonde, the girl’s hair brushed up into a pony high on her head, exposing her long neckline and an unexpected glow there.

“Is that a tattoo?” I mumbled and leaned forward. I’d never seen a tattoo glow before. Shaped like a symbol, it reminded me of a letter from the Islamic alphabet.

A shimmer ran over the odd shape and my breath caught in my throat, an awful sour taste lingering there, until I let it out in a long wind. Without thought my hand reached out, wanting to touch the marking, run my fingertip along the glossy lines. But I stopped, hesitated, my gaze darting to the side and the man sitting beside her. The couple had their hands intertwined in a hold resembling an infinity knot. The sign of affection shot a pang to my heart, and lit an image of my parents at the back of my mind.

If my parents couldn’t make it work, what chance did Matt and I have? I blinked the thought away and averted my gaze from the couple’s hands. Maybe what I should be considering is what it meant that Matt wasn’t here with me now. My stare settled on another glowing mark
―
this time at the back of the guy’s neck.

He had one too!

I looked down the row, along the backs and necks of all the people crowding the long bench before me. So many people marked with symbols, glowing in various colors, shapes, and sizes. Not everyone, but enough. My insides stirred like a nest of hornets had been set loose to swarm wildly within my gut. My hand rubbed at the back of my neck, trying to determine if any symbol existed upon my own skin.
 

“Hey, Saraaaa.”

The voice wheezed frighteningly-frisky at my side. At my ear.

A scream catapulted from my throat. I lurched forward, out of my seat, away from the grimly-ghoulish circus clown leaning over my shoulder.

Where had he come from? Why had he come?

His face bled paint, his teeth yellowed, breath rank with rot and decay. The old silk costume he wore, now stained with perspiration and old food, hung off his body two sizes too large. Popcorn stuck between the tangles of his hair.

My feet shifted beneath me. Moving without thought or plan, bolting for the exit
―
my way out of
clownland
.

Too many people. Rows packed tight like the teeth of a zipper. Feet and legs created a tangled web designed to encumber or trip or trap. I charged my way through. Away from him. Toward my escape. I pushed, jumped, leaped over into the next row, heading for the main aisle.

Each step, each stride, clowns laughed at me. They sneered at me. And I feared exactly what they would to do to me. I tripped and stumbled and fumbled for balance, my foot catching the wicked end of a wrenched board on the first step. Filth and grime, crushed popcorn, stale peanuts, chunks of sticky cotton candy raced up to meet me. My face kissed the plank.

I inhaled the too sweet, sugary eats, feeling the nausea curl in my gut. This was a twisted version of a high school, fear-fueled daydream.
It can’t be real
, I reasoned.

Everything under the Big Top stilled, like the clock had taken a time-out. Dust bunnies danced in my face, my name sung in a soft melody beyond my mind’s reach. People around me stared, but moved not a muscle to help.

Just a dream. It’s just a dream.
I repeated the words in my head.

The people looked away and, like hypnotized zombies, returned their gaze to the show in the center ring. Slowly I picked myself up off the ground, willing my body to keep moving. Needing to keep moving. One step, two steps, then a third. My pace increased, my energy returning. I wouldn’t let one falter stop me. I moved down the path as fast as my feet could manage. Maneuvering directly toward the melting clown, waiting with arms open wide. The one in stained blue checkered pants and orange striped suspenders.
 

He stepped forward, blocked my path. The paint dripped off his face like blood or pus and his rotted, yellow teeth reeked of decay. “Where are you going? You’ll miss the finale.” His eyes widened, filled not with question, but with madness and craze.
 

My mind skipped all over, an acid war ensuing within. I didn’t want to stop, yet I didn’t want to turn back. I had to go forward, toward the way out. “Umm.” A feeble sound leaked from my lips and I stepped to the side, but his hand leaped up, creating a barrier. “I don’t mean to be rude. I only want some fresh air,” I said. My eyes darted from side to side, searching. Forever searching.