The Guild of Fallen Clowns (20 page)

She closed her eyes. Peepers opened his fist
and rammed it deep into her chest. He squeezed her heart, causing
her body to relax as life drained from the tortured shell. He
removed his hand from her chest, leaving no wound. The blood
staining her dress faded, along with Peepers himself and all
evidence of his sadistic attack.

Music from the clock radio blasted. Alan
rolled over in his bed and looked at the numbers before silencing
it with a slam of his hand. It was six-thirty on his day off from
the carnival. He wasn’t scheduled to begin deliveries at Vince’s
until six o’clock that night.

After his shift the previous night, he
decided to get started on the second phase of his plan, which was
to help Cheryl. He stayed up late, sculpting Agor. The results
proved that his Peepers sculpture wasn’t a fluke. His memories of
Agor’s features were perfectly replicated in his newest sculpture.
He was anxious to complete the mold and cast the first piece before
taking Cheryl up on her haircut offer later that afternoon.

He stood beside the sofa bed and stretched
while admiring his sculpture on the kitchen table. As he approached
the kitchen to start a pot of coffee he said, “Hello, Agor, you’re
looking good today.”

A small amount of water spilled on the
counter when he poured it into the coffee maker. Instinctively, he
reached for the dish towel hung over the oven handle. The towel was
gone.

“Oh shit, the laundry!” He’d been so focused
on the Agor sculpture the night before that it completely slipped
his mind that he left a load of laundry in the washing machine in
the basement of the building.

Without hesitation, he pressed the start
button on the coffee maker and rushed into the bathroom for a quick
shower. The water turned off and he reached around the shower
curtain for his towel. Again, he reached for air. The bath towel
was also in the machine.

“Oh crap!” he said. He slid the curtain to
the side and tiptoed his dripping wet body into the closet, where
he grabbed a clean shirt from a hanger and proceeded to dry
himself.

“I gotta get another towel,” he said,
hanging the wet shirt over the towel rack.

Seconds later he was dressed. Tying his
sneakers from the foot of the bed, he glanced up and noticed the
Agor sculpture.
One coat,
he thought. One quick coat of
silicone, then he would check on his clothes. He mixed the two-part
solution with a few drops of thickener and brushed it over the
sculpture. One final examination to be sure it was completely
covered and he was off the basement.

Rounding the corner to the laundry room,
Alan immediately noticed damp clothes strewn across the floor. His
basket was empty and Lyle was transferring his own load from a
washing machine to a dryer. Alan stood still in the doorway as he
tried to make sense of what he saw. Lyle noticed him and grinned as
he continued loading the dryer.

“What happened?” Alan asked.

Lyle casually looked back. “Dude! You don’t
own the machines.”

Alan started picking up his garments and
growled, “But my basket is right here. Why wouldn’t you put them in
the basket instead of throwing them on the floor?”

Lyle walked over to Alan, who was still bent
over picking up his damp clothes. He reached down, grabbed his
shirt below the neck, and lifted Alan to his feet. Pulling his face
within inches of his own, he glared into his eyes until Alan
retreated and looked down to the floor. Lyle grinned and shoved him
against the wall.

Alan stood motionless. With his head tilted
down in surrender, the only strength he could muster was a fist
clenched so tightly that his fingernails re-opened his healing
palm. Two drops of blood dripped to the floor.

Looking at his pathetic target, Lyle
muttered, “Pitiful,” before turning away to feed coins in the
dryer. Before exiting completely, he stopped to challenge Alan
again with a threatening expression. Alan’s eyes cautiously rose to
meet the stare, but, as their eyes met, Lyle lunged toward him with
arms out.

“Boo!” Lyle shouted. Alan cringed. His arms
pulled up in a protective stance. Helplessly cowering against the
laundry room wall, his body started to tremble.

With just the two of them in the room, Lyle
laughed. He pointed at Alan as if a crowd of people were gathered
around, all mocking and laughing in unison.

This was the final straw for Alan. He
reached the point where getting your ass kicked wasn’t as bad as
the constant bullying from someone like Lyle. His head rose and his
shoulders drew back. He scowled as his chest inflated. He was
locked, loaded, and ready to retaliate. Then it happened. Still
laughing uncontrollably, Lyle turned and left the room. He had his
fill of bullying and simply walked away.

Fuming with pent-up rage, Alan waited to
hear the door at the top of the stairs shut before unleashing his
anger with a punishing kick to the defenseless trashcan beside him.
The can flew across the room with Alan in hot pursuit. One blow
wasn’t enough. He relentlessly kicked and stomped it until its
empty red detergent bottle of a heart tumbled out a dying beat
across the concrete floor.

Pausing to look at the mess he made, he
realized that Lyle was responsible for his anger, not the helpless
trash can. He cleaned his mess and attempted to pop out the dents
from the mangled receptacle. Then he reloaded his whites for
another run through the washing machine. More detergent, softener,
and bleach went into the machine. With the bleach bottle still in
his hand, he glanced to the dryer where Lyle’s clothes were
tumbling. Vindictive visions of the effect a splash of bleach would
have on his load of darks were interrupted by the sound of the door
opening at the top of the stairs. He tightened the lid and nodded
as he passed another neighbor on his way up the stairs.

I can’t let him get away with treating me
that way,
he thought as he stomped up the second set of stairs
to his apartment. Adrenaline coursed through his body.
This is
it. That was the last straw. If I don’t take a stand now, he’ll
think he can keep doing it.

He was going to give Lyle a piece of his
mind. Instead of going straight toward his own apartment, he turned
toward Lyle’s. The door was closed and Alan’s hand rose to give
three hard knocks.
I’ll just talk to him rationally. I’m not
looking for a fight.
Before following through with it, he
lowered his fist and huffed.
But what if he doesn’t want to
talk? What if he wants to fight me?
His hand went up again.
Okay, if that’s where he wants to take this, so be it. As long
as I get in a few good hits, he might think twice the next time. He
might back off for good.

His brain said, “Go,” but his fist wasn’t
able to garner enough strength to deliver his angry summons. He
paused and then lowered his hand again. He turned away and stomped
five steps toward his own apartment before spinning and returning
to Lyle’s door. He took a deep breath and raised his hand a third
time. Before he could knock, Peepers’ words flashed through his
mind. He had offered a guild clown, Spanky, to help with his Lyle
problem. Again, his hand lowered.
If I confront him now, it
might just piss him off. Lyle might kick my ass and feel empowered
to continue bullying me. Or, maybe my size advantage will help me
and I end up hurting him bad. I could go to prison,
he
thought.

Maybe Peepers’ offer to use Spanky was a
better way to go. I doubt I’m the only person he bullies. Even if I
can stop him from messing with me, it probably wouldn’t help all
those others. If these things really work, Spanky should be able to
stop him from bullying me and everyone else.

It was decided. He would create a Spanky
figure and use it to help Lyle become a better person. As he
started to turn away, Lyle’s door opened, freezing Alan in
mid-stride.

“What the hell are you doing outside my
door, Booger?” Lyle said.

Alan didn’t look back or respond. He just
walked slowly toward his own apartment.

“I’m talking to you! Where do you think
you’re going?”

Alan stopped in front of his door and said,
“Nothing. I was going to talk to you about what happened
downstairs, but I changed my mind.”

Lyle took a few steps into the hall. “Oh
yeah? You were going to talk to me? And just what were you going to
say, asshole?”

Alan unlocked his door and replied,
“Nothing, Lyle. It was a bad idea.”

“You better believe it was a bad idea. I’m
the one who does the talking—”

Alan opened his door and Lyle sprang toward
him. Alan quickly ducked inside and locked the door behind him.
Lyle pounded on his door once and commanded him to open it so they
could talk. From inside, Alan leaned his back against the door and
waited for Lyle to give up. Lyle gave the door a final punch and
yelled out a warning to Alan before leaving.

“You’re lucky I gotta go to work. But this
isn’t over. Sooner or later we’ll have our little talk,
Booger.”

Feeling secure inside his apartment, Alan
decided it was time to get back to work. He touched the coating on
the Agor sculpture. It was still tacky and needed more time to cure
before he could apply the final coat of silicone. He looked into
his box of sculpting supplies on the floor, and after a long pause
he exhaled hard and reached in.

*****

Four o’clock arrived quickly. He carefully
peeled the mold away, revealing a perfectly replicated casting of
Spanky. He placed it on the table beside the completed figure of
Agor.

“Now we’ll give you a little paint and
deliver both of you today,” he said.

For the next hour he worked on the Spanky
figure. After the paint dried, he gently placed it in a cardboard
box and left it beside the boxed Agor before leaving the room to
change.

Lyle usually returned from work just after
five. The plan was to leave the box outside his door so he would
take it in with him long after Alan was gone. Placing the boxes on
the floor outside his apartment, he locked the door. He picked up
the boxes and heard voices coming up the steps toward him. The
voices got closer and their faces appeared from the stairway. It
was Lyle’s friends, the same guys who had joined Lyle in mocking
him from Lyle’s balcony. One looked up and saw Alan standing
outside his now locked door. He had nowhere to run and he was
outnumbered. His muscles stiffened, and he stared back.

“Hey, how’s it going?” the approaching man
said. His friend looked up and followed with another “Hey!” They
continued their conversation and walked past him on their way to
Lyle’s door.

Surprised that they left him alone, he
realized two things. First, it wasn’t a good time to leave the
Spanky figure. And second, with them going to Lyle’s apartment,
there was a chance that he might be home and catch him in the
hallway. He couldn’t risk getting spotted so he rushed down the
steps before they could even knock. Just as quickly, he placed the
boxes in his car and drove off.

*****

On the way to his brother’s house, he
glanced down at the two boxes in the passenger seat. Since the
original plan for Spanky fell through, he would have to come up
with another way to discreetly deliver him to Lyle. However, the
more pressing issue was how he would go about giving Agor to
Cheryl.

Ideally, he would like to hand it to her and
explain how it would help with her problem. Realistically, he
needed another plan because she would think he was crazy. Without
any proof that the things actually worked, he wasn’t so sure that
her predicted assessment would be so far off base. Also, he wasn’t
ready to share his newly discovered talent for sculpting. He had a
history of starting and stopping a wide assortment of wild ideas.
Before he shared this one, he needed to be positive it wouldn’t
turn out to be another in a series of disappointing failures. His
days of believing in dreams were washed away long ago by waves of
doubting faces taking pity on his naivety and apparent inability to
understand the rational world around him. This would have to be
accomplished discreetly.

The house and surrounding neighborhood was
quiet. Parked in the driveway, he waited a minute before taking his
package to the porch. If Cheryl or the kids spotted him, the door
would fling open before he could get ten feet from the house.
Cheryl would spot the box under his arm and ask what was in it. He
didn’t plan for that. Instead he just hoped he would get to the
house unnoticed. To his good fortune, his wish was granted. Before
ringing the bell, he slid the box to the side of the door. Cheryl’s
name was written across the top in bold, black letters.

The door opened and the twins excitedly
yelled out, “Uncle Boogy,” as they jumped him and dragged him
inside. Cheryl stood beside a stool in the kitchen, laying out her
tools of the trade on the table beside her. Still being dragged by
the twins, he entered the kitchen as she looked up and smiled.

“I’m so glad you decided to take me up on my
offer, Alan. What made you finally come around?”

H smiled back and said, “I have a date.”

Cheryl screeched as she jumped up and down
with joy over his news.

“Oh my god, Alan, I’m so happy for you!”

“It’s just a first date, Cheryl. Don’t get
all excited. I’ll probably blow it and there won’t be a
second.”

“No, Alan! I refuse to believe that. You
have to stop thinking that way. Sure, it’s a possibility, but it’s
also possible you’ll marry this girl and live happily ever
after.”

Her words prompted the girls into song.
“Uncle Boogy’s getting married. Uncle Boogy’s getting married.”

“Girls!” Cheryl said with a snap of her
finger. “Go wait for Grandma in the other room. I need to talk to
your Uncle Boogy.” The twins continued chanting as they danced into
the family room.