The Troll

by Darr, Brian

  The Acrobat wandered slowly to the center, right where he remembered a large net had been. He looked into the air, but there was no tightrope. Only the ladders on each end which he’d once climbed to perform were still there.

  He stood in one spot and turned, his arms outstretched as his mind traveled in time to when the applause of the crowd fueled him. A ray of moonlight shining through a tear in the fabric shined on his face and he closed his eyes, as if pretending a spotlight was hitting him.

  He opened his eyes and a smile spread across his face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the circus.”

  “Was it filled with dead people then too?” The Troll asked, nodding toward the stands, where skeletons were draped over chairs.

  “This must have been a place where people gathered,” The Acrobat said, stepping toward the stands and scanning the crowd of bones. “Unbelievable…”

  The Troll watched him with his eyes, relieved The Acrobat was distraught by the sight. He needed him on his side, and the more exposed the world was, the easier it would be.

  “What if you help me save Iris and Guide?” The Troll asked.

  The Acrobat turned and shook his head. “You say that as if it’s a possibility.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  “Then describe your plan to me Troll.”

  The Troll thought, but was stumped. “I don’t know. I don’t have one, okay?”

  “What good is a rescue mission without a plan?”

  “The plan is to wing it.”

  “Sure,” The Acrobat said, irritated. “Let’s just walk into town where Coach and Mortician are guarding them, with The Pilot overhead and The Moderator with his finger on a button, willing to kill millions of people. Let’s wing it. Sounds like a great plan.”

  “The Pilot will be there?” The Troll asked. “How do you know?”

  “He’s part of our group. He scares the shit out of everyone. He’ll be there if he wants to be, and he’ll want to be.”

  “Did he say that or did he just stare at you? You ever consider that he’s just a sissy who figured out how to fool everyone into thinking he’s not?”

  “If you want to go hand to hand with him, be my guest. I’m helping you turn yourself in. That’s it.”

  “But you want to help me, don’t you…” The Troll said, as if he’d figured it all out. “You don’t approve of anything they‘re doing.”

  “Of course I don’t!” The Acrobat said, suddenly passionate. “Look around you. How many people have you seen along the way? Everyone’s dead or hiding in groups, trying to find their next meal. You know who was among them? My own parents. They’re probably among the people in the stands.” The Acrobat threw up a hand and scanned the crowd with it. “We expressed concern before he did it. We said people would die. He told us it would be seconds that Psi would shut down, but it was two whole minutes. When that time expired, I wanted to call my parents and siblings. I wanted to rush out and find my friends, but he forbid it. He said we wouldn’t be safe out in the world right now. Later, he told me my parents were still alive and well, but one night, about a year later, I’m in his office and he steps out, so I decide to look and see for myself and looked them up in the computer. Both my parents—dead. They died the night Psi froze them. I don’t know what they were doing or where they were—just that they died. And he knew that too. I should have known he didn’t care. His wife died, he thinks his kid died, and I swear to you Troll: He didn’t shed a tear for them.”

  “Then I don’t get why you’re not going to help me.”

  “Because you’re talking about a rescue mission to save two people and even if you did pull it off, he’d just kill a few million to get back at you. You can’t beat him. The only way to keep the world safe is to keep The Moderator happy, and so that’s what we do. We follow orders to keep him happy. And the crazier he gets, the more we bite our tongue.”

  “But if you all feel this way…”

  “I’m the only one left in Circular Prime who feels this way. The others have become so desensitized to it all. People are binary to them. Bar codes. Ones and zeros. For you to end Psi, you would be fighting nine men who individually could easily kill you.”

  “But we can take the mission back. If we can get Rainbow back and save Guide and…”

  “You still need a plan!” The Acrobat shouted. “Without a plan, you’ve got a fantasy. Fantasies will not restore the world!”

  The Troll fell silent and he watched the dust fall in the air like snowflakes and swirl around in the moonlight. He could see The Acrobat wanted to help but couldn’t. It reminded The Troll of himself. He hadn’t really changed. He’d just realized that there were things that needed to be done. He wished he could be back on the boards, fighting with people and antagonizing them until they snapped. He wished conflict could be less real again.

  The Acrobat turned and walked for the exit, passing a cage, what was once a candy stand, a pile of bones which had once belonged to a tiger, a red plastic clown nose. The Troll hurried to catch up with him. The Acrobat walked quickly, as if he wanted to get out of the tent as soon as possible. As they felt the cool breeze in their face, they stopped as screens lit up in the sky. They silently watched the broadcast, their eyes frozen to The Guide and Iris as they turned the conversation against The Moderator.

  When it ended, The Troll turned to The Acrobat, who was equally frozen in place. “He denied you took down the chopper,” The Acrobat said.

  “No one ever accused him of being honest,” The Troll said.

  “Your friends did a good thing there,” The Acrobat said. “He looked flustered.”

  “They were doing what I do,” The Troll said, bitterly. “They don't need me anymore, but they're doing what I do. There's not...” The Troll trailed off and finished quietly, “…my friends.”

  They hopped on their mopeds and drove the next two hours until they finally came within range of the sound of the Mississippi crashing below. They left the mopeds behind and walked toward the town, and when they were close, they circled at a distance, staying on high ground and among the trees. There was little movement below. There was an occasional passerby, but it was mostly quiet.

  The Troll saw them first, bound to the fountain, facing away from each other. It was the only light in the dark and displayed them for everyone to see. He squinted his eyes at them. The Guide and Iris looked dead. He started walking toward them but The Acrobat’s arm shot out and grabbed his own.

  “You’re crazy if you think you can just walk in there.”

  “Then what do I do?”

  “You transmit here and now. Turn yourself in and I’ll talk to The Moderator. You probably won’t get Chicago, but we might be able to put you back where you started.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then you’ve saved millions of lives.”

  “And what happens to them?” The Troll asked, gesturing toward The Guide and Iris.

  “I don’t see a lot of scenarios that play out where they’re not dead in the end.”

  “Do you see any that do?”

  The Acrobat paused. “Troll, you walk down there to save them and you’ll be dead before you even reach the fountain and then they’re dead too. It’s time to do what we came here to do. You need to transmit now.”

  The Troll pulled the transmitter from his pocket and held it close to his eye, studying it. Transmitting now meant a certain end, but no matter how much he brainstormed, in his head, he came up blank.

  “Make up a story,” The Acrobat said. “Find a way to stay in The Moderator’s good graces and you’ll have a fighting chance.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “When you, me, and Iris were walking, you expressed the reason you troll. Use that. Make something up, outright lie. Smoke and mirrors, remember?”

  “Smoke and mirrors,” The Troll said, his eyes narrowing as a revelation began to hit him. He tuned the world out as his mind began to spin, and by the time he was done
, The Acrobat was staring at him perplexed. “Smoke and mirrors,” The Troll said again, with some confidence.

  “Yeah, so what?”

  “How about I describe my plan now?”

  Chapter 5

  The Pilot flew a small stunt plane in the sky, his every spin calculated. He’d hoped for a sighting of The Troll but wasn’t surprised when the early hours of the morning hit and he was a no-show. The Coach and The Mortician woke to the sound of the plane overhead. The Coach forced himself out of bed and shook his head with dissatisfaction. The Pilot was the sharpest, most focused person he knew, and somehow functioned 100% on little or no sleep.

  The Mortician stayed in his bed silently for a long time, as if he was getting himself ramped up for the day’s events. The Coach was all business as he loaded his duffel bag with six metallic objects and filled his jacket with soft pouches. The Mortician had only heard of his special “skill” but had yet to see it in action. The Coach didn’t look like much at first glance, but there was a reason he was called The Coach and the duffel bag held the key.

  The Pilot was seemingly bitter. The Mortician though…he only had his own interests in mind: To watch the life drain from someone’s eyes was all he lived for. The Coach was there to weaken and taunt them, but The Mortician was allowed the final kiss of death.

  The Coach hurried The Mortician along, reminding him that when the sun was in the sky, the time would come to punish The Guide and Iris.

  They found The Acrobat on the ground outside the motel, laying with his arm outstretched as if he’d almost completed his journey but fell short. The Coach crouched down and shook him awake, concerned for his well-being while The Mortician stood back and watched with fascination.

  The Acrobat turned and blinked his eyes as if coming to. He suddenly sat up. “Water…” he gasped and The Mortician ran off to fetch some water.

  “What happened?” The Coach asked. “Did you see The Troll?”

  “They locked me up with him,” he said, nodding toward The Guide and Iris. “Troll’s still there…locked in a cell.”

  The Coach took in the information, thinking hard about what it meant. It meant one in ten people would die this morning unless someone told The Moderator that The Troll was unable to turn himself in. The Coach didn’t see the need to tell though. They could pick up The Troll later and make an example of him. All in all, it would be an eventful morning filled with death and destruction and The Coach could still be back in time for lunch.

  When The Acrobat finished his story, The Coach scratched his head and pretended to consider. “Let’s keep that to ourselves for now,” he said. “We’ll finish up here and take care of him later.”

  “We need to tell The Moderator,” The Acrobat said.

  “Don’t get soft on me Acrobat,” The Coach said. “I’m almost positive this is what he wants. If The Troll can’t call it off in person, then there’s no point. To the public, it will seem as if we bluffed and made up a last minute excuse. Just hang tight and we’ll get you some water and something to eat. You’ve been through a lot. Let’s get you to a room.”

  The Acrobat wanted to protest but bit his tongue. Their plan was far from complete, but he hoped simply placing The Troll in a helpless situation would stop The Moderator from executing millions. Instead, he could only wait and hope that The Troll would come through on his end.

  The Coach and Mortician fed The Acrobat and gave him plenty of water, unknowing that he was feigning his weakness. When they were alone in the hotel, The Acrobat went over his story again, which was mostly truth, up until the point The Troll talked him into helping stop The Moderator. It was an easy lie to pull off, but though he appreciated the theory of what The Troll was hoping to pull off, he didn’t see it coming together the way The Troll described. The Troll wasn’t a fighter, and he needed fighters to win.

  The Guide and Iris were fighters though, and without them, The Troll wouldn’t win today.

  “I want to see The Guide,” The Acrobat said, looking up.

  “Sorry, but this is our kill,” The Coach said.

  “I don’t care about that,” The Acrobat said. “I was locked up for days. I could have starved to death. I have the right to see him before he dies. They left me there.”

  The Coach stepped aside and gestured for him to go ahead and say whatever last words he had. They all walked into the hall but The Acrobat asked if he could shower first. The Mortician brought him a fresh pair of clothes as he showered and they walked back to the fountain to wait. In the bathroom, The Acrobat smashed the mirror with his elbow and picked out a shard of glass that looked like a long claw. He tucked it into his pants and covered it with his shirt. He was pleased that there was no suspicion raised, and there never would have to be. At the very least though, he could give the resistance a chance. He didn’t know why he was going the extra mile for them. He wanted to stop the killing, but had no investment in ending Psi…except…without Psi, The Moderator could never make this threat again. He could never deactivate another person just because he was having a bad day. The Acrobat wasn’t willing to fight, but they deserved a shot.

  He approached the fountain where The Coach and Mortician stood back and watched as The Acrobat walked a large circle around the fountain. Iris and The Guide were surprised to see him and could only assume the worst.

  “What did you do with The Troll?” Iris asked.

  “He didn’t make it out,” he said with a smile.

  The Guide was unsurprised, but Iris hung her head, disheartened to hear this.

  “You left me there to die,” The Acrobat said with a sneer, stepping onto the stone wall that surrounded the water and facing The Guide across the way.

  “I left you to kill The Troll,” The Guide said. “I was indifferent in what would happen to you.”

  The Acrobat stepped into the fountain and approached The Guide, standing face to face. He suddenly balled up his fist and hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of The Guide. The Coach laughed from the side.

  The Acrobat stood nose to nose with The Guide and before The Guide could spew off a threat, he said, “There will be a signal.”

  The Guide felt something sharp slip into his hand, out of range from where The Coach and Mortician could see.

  “What?” The Guide asked, searching Acrobat’s eyes, trying to find the bluff or a trick.

  “You’ll know when,” The Acrobat said. “Trust me. It will be hard to miss.”

  With that, he turned and left the fountain, approaching The Coach and Mortician with a laugh and buddying up to them again. The Guide’s brain worked a mile a minute, trying to decipher what could possibly be happening. The Acrobat was with them? There was only one way that was possible: The Troll. They’d certainly had time to spend together, but what happened in that time? A fraction of hope filled him as he considered the possibilities. In his hand was an escape option: A shard of glass he could use to work through the rope. There was also the possibility of an attack of some sort, but by…The Troll? What could he possibly do?

  And when? There was only moments left to strike if it was really going to happen. He watched The Acrobat hurry back to the hotel, as if trying to get away from the scene. His eyes darted from one spot to the next, searching for a clue as to what was about to happen.

  But nothing did. The only movement was the stunt plane in the sky, whirring by every few moments.

  Business went on as promised and The Coach and Mortician approached the fountain with sinister smiles on their faces.

  “You really angered The Moderator with your last broadcast,” The Coach said.

  “Good,” The Guide said without hesitation.

  “What is it that makes you so stubborn? It’s as if you have no concern at all for your own well being, even when you’re in a war you can’t win.”

  “That’s the difference between us,” The Guide said. “I’m a man of principle. You’re just a sheep…afraid that if he cares about something, someone will hurt him.
A hundred years from now, we’re both going to be dead Coach. You’re just going to die a coward.”

  “Everyone has a weakness though,” The Coach said as he circled slowly around the fountain to where Iris was bound.

  “Talk to me,” The Guide said, trying to carry the conversation. The Coach ignored him and came face to face with Iris, his eyes full of fire as he considered the task ahead of him.

  “You’ll be last,” The Coach said. “I’d like you to hear this.”

  The Guide tried talking to The Mortician. He screamed. He begged. It all fell on deaf ears though as he listened to The Coach as he began taunting Iris, running his hands over her face and down her shoulders and hips. The Guide was ready to cut his ropes, but held on a little longer. If he broke out now, he’d still have The Coach, Mortician, AND Pilot to face. Any anger he felt, he would contain as long as possible until there was a signal.

  A damn signal. His mind spun as Iris sobbed. He heard the plane circle in the sky. The sounds all blended together, piercing his ears as he tore apart inside, completely helpless to circumstance. “You don’t have to do it this way!” he shouted, but whatever The Coach was doing, he didn’t stop. “Damn-it Troll!” The Guide shouted, and finally, The Coach did stop, and circled back to face him.

  “Troll?” The Coach asked. “Your Troll was nothing but a gimmick to show the world that no one cares for your cause Guide. He didn’t even make it out of state, and where is he now?”

  “Coach…” The Mortician said, distracted by something in the distance. The Coach turned and saw The Mortician was looking toward the bridge. He followed Mortician’s eyes to where the silhouette of a man stood in the center, looking out toward the plane, as if to face The Pilot. The Coach squinted his eyes and stepped forward, trying to get a better view.