The Night is Long and Cold and Deep

by Terry M. West

  Johnny’s fantasy had carried him to the front of the tent. He paid the front man and then was ushered inside. A crowd was already pressed to the front, where a circular, iron cage was set on stage. Johnny noticed a monitor to the side of the stage that displayed an array of computer-enhanced colors. They danced across the screen in frenzy, like a living piece of abstract art.

  A small light shone on an archway set deep in the back of the cage. Cleadosia barely fit in the space, and her cold stare penetrated the darkness that Johnny and the others were observing from. More people poured into the tent as a speaker interrupted the murmurs of speculation and doubt.

  “We require that the audience remain silent now, as we send Cleadosia back. Back in time. Go back, Cleadosia. Back…”

  Johnny noticed the woman. Her eyes closed and she writhed in the archway. Her brow wrinkled and her head thrashed, back and forth.

  …he pictured her this way under his siege… her body shuddering and head thrashing as he slammed himself into her like a beast…

  “Go back in time, Cleadosia. Back even further,” the electronic barker urged. A red strobe light began to flicker in the archway.

  “Change now, Cleadosia. Transform!”

  The woman began to quake like an epileptic, her eyes rolling back into her head.

  “Come forth, beast. Come forth into modern time.”

  It was obviously a parlor trick. It either required mirrors or a video screen or a revolving door, but it looked to Johnny as if Cleadosia began to gradually disappear, giving her reality to a dark, hulking form.

  “We now urge the audience to remain silent and not make any sudden moves as we awaken Cleadosia. This cage is made with reinforced steel, so no one is in any danger. Arise, Cleadosia. Arise…”

  The figure in the archway began to move about. It lumbered to the front of the stage, and Johnny could tell that it was someone dressed in an extremely unrealistic gorilla costume. The audience scoffed, in disappointment and relief. The gorilla grabbed the bars of its cage, bucking on them unmercifully, as if agitated by the crowd’s response. Gorilla shrieks were piped in over the sound system. Johnny began to regard the scene with an overwhelming feeling of disillusionment himself. The gorilla raged, pounding on the door to its prison.

  The cage door gave way to the gorilla’s fury, crashing to the stage floor.

  Johnny jumped back, startled, as the gorilla leapt onto the stage, starting a panic among the audience. A white curtain fell in front of the gorilla as the audience began to push back toward the exit, screaming excitedly. It dawned on Johnny as he left the tent that the attraction had been set up that way. To make the people believe they were in for a lame time and then wham! It got their adrenaline flowing. It was perfect. Perfect.

  Johnny started toward the games of chance. He stopped, and turned back toward the gorilla girl attraction. Cleadosia would be out soon. Another show would start in the time it took to gather a crowd in front of the tent. He bought himself a corn dog and waited.

  ****

  After five more shows and numerous askance glances from the front man, Johnny tore himself away from her. It took tremendous force of will, but he managed to set himself in a course away from Cleadosia’s tent and walked aimlessly amid the carnival goers. He felt lightheaded and detached from reality. All he could picture in his mind was her, Cleadosia, in her cage. Elaborate sexual forays danced in his thoughts and dulled his awareness.

  His life had been bad enough; the hopelessness and alienation. Now, an exotic woman he didn’t even know was heightening his despair. How could he ever hope to have such a woman? She was most likely having an affair with the sleaze ball front man. The way he had been studying Johnny was indicative of a jealous boyfriend. Johnny thought of the man, a polyester wrapped huckster with greased back hair, nicotine-stained teeth and fingers. He had a thin goatee that resembled a small line of dirt from a distance.

  That was not the man for Cleadosia.

  …but neither was a man who had tried to dig his own parents out of their fresh graves with his bare hands… or a man who kicked a stray dog to death for baring its fangs over a piece of road kill…or a man who held his forearm over an open flame until the odor of burning flesh made him want to retch…

  Johnny paused at the crane machine, briskly dropping a quarter into the slot. Granted, he was fucked up. Losing one’s parents could do that to a guy. And the dog had been an accident. He had been walking up Eagle Mountain road after visiting the graves of his parents when the dog attacked him. He had defended himself. He hadn’t meant to kill the mongrel. But the other things… the other things may have needed a tad more introspection at a later date. He had to exercise those other things from his head. Away, away, he commanded them. Not on my night.

  After eight quarters, Johnny left the machine and gave up on the puffy toy he had been trying to latch onto. Who would he have given it to, anyway?

  He couldn’t get Cleadosia out of his head. Something told him this woman could save him. She could bring him in off the ledge he was precariously balanced on. Dr. Schrader would most likely find a reason for this new obsession to be a bad thing. The doctor would probably even have a psychological phrase for it, Johnny was sure.

  But Johnny couldn’t accept a clinical, neat and tidy explanation for his feelings. His heart was being as vocal about having this woman as his mind was. It was simple. He had to have her. It was impossible. She was passing through this hick town, staring out with little interest from her podium. How much of the world had she seen? How much more would she see?

  “Hey, Sabino, look who we have here!”

  Johnny’s heart jumped. He turned around, slowly. It was Rod McCune and Sabino Hernandez. They stood scant feet from the Test Your Strength pole; a perfect distraction for the two muscle heads.

  Rod, dressed in a letterman’s jacket, tight jeans and cowboy boots, was Pleasant Storm’s pride. A former starting quarterback for the Yellowjackets, Rod had bright blonde hair, sharp blue eyes and a mean streak a mile long. His alleged counts of date rape and vandalism were overlooked by a community that had prided a winning football team over human decency and justice. Rod was tall and lean, while Sabino was smaller, about five nine, and he had a stockier build. Sabino was a quiet, Hispanic man with long dark wavy hair. Sabino wore his leather that night. Johnny assumed Sabino was happy to leave his glory days hanging in the closet. Sabino was Rod’s right-hand man who resigned himself to watch as Rod meted out his abuse to the meek of Pleasant Storm.

  “If it isn’t Johnny Psycho,” Rod announced, moving forward on unsteady feet.

  As he came closer, Johnny’s apprehension grew. Rod was capable of anything when he was drunk.

  “How you doing, Johnny? Been down to see the parents lately?” Rod said, exploding with laughter and elbowing Sabino, who nodded and watched on in silence.

  “We aren’t in school anymore, Rod,” Johnny said, trying to hide his fear. “Why don’t you grow up and stop picking on people? I’m just here to enjoy myself.”

  “What did you say, you little psycho fuck?” Rod said, his face twisting into a mask of rage. “I always knew there was something wrong with you, Johnny-boy. Even in grade school. Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming here in public, when you should be locked up with the other loonies?”

  Despite what Rod could easily do to him, Johnny began to grow angry. “Leave it alone, Rod,” he said, his fists clenching.

  Sabino slapped Rod on the shoulder. “Come on, man. Forget this guy. Let’s go get some leg.”

  Rod stood his ground, ignoring his friend. He loomed over Johnny menacingly. “You’re fucking dangerous, man. You’re going to end up hurting someone in my town. Any fucker who would dig his parents up shouldn’t be allowed to live in a nice town like Pleasant Storm. Why don’t you catch a clue and get out of dodge, man. No one wants you here.”

  “Fuck you,” Johnny said.

  The blow from Rod never reached him. Sheriff Thornall grasped Rod�
��s arm and spun him around with ease. “What in God’s name are you doing, Rod McCune?” the rotund man demanded, shoving Rod aside.

  “He started with us, man,” Rod insisted. “He said he was going to kill me and Sabino both. All we did was tell him how sorry we were about his parents. He should be locked up.”

  Thornall shook his head, dubiously. “The only one getting locked up around here will be you, if I see you on these grounds or within a hundred feet of this boy. Do you read me?”

  “This is bullshit,” Rod argued. “Throw him out. He’s the freak around here. He’s the psychopath.”

  “Enough, Rod,” Thornall said through gritted teeth. “Now get.”

  Rod’s glared at Johnny. “This isn’t over man,” he warned, turning and pulling Sabino with him toward the exit.

  “It better be,” Thornall replied, sternly.

  He turned his attention back to Johnny. “How are you fairin’, son?” he asked, patting Johnny on the shoulder.

  “I’m okay,” Johnny lied. “I’m glad you showed up.” Johnny suddenly realized that he had never apologized to Thornall for attacking him. And that was months ago. “I’m sorry about your forearm, Sheriff. I don’t know what happened to me.”

  Thornall shook his head. “It healed. It looked like a hell of a mess, but you barely broke the skin. ‘Sides, grief can make a fella do about anything. The important thing is that you’re feeling better.”

  “That I am,” Johnny replied, managing his best bullshit front. “I’m much better.”

  “Good,” Thornall said. “If that McCune boy bothers you again, give me a holler. Little pencil dick thinks a high school football championship gives him free reign over my town. Kid’s much in need of a little what for. Oh, well. Nice seeing you, Johnny. Keep me posted.”

  Johnny watched as the sheriff worked his way back through the crowd.

  He’s a good man, Johnny thought. Most people shared Rod McCune’s sentiments. But not Thornall and he had the most reason to see Johnny in a rubber room.

  Johnny pressed himself into the crowd, which had grown considerably thicker in the last hour, and followed the flow of people back toward the carnival entrance. He gazed up at the night sky, beyond the lamp posts that lit the fairground, at the vastness of stars in the sky. It was a beautiful night. Even a suicidal manic depressive psychopath had to admit it. He thought about calling it a night. Heading home. Maybe he would wait another fifteen or so minutes and make sure Rod and Sabino were far away.

  His eyes trailed back down to earth and focused on Cleadosia’s tent. Cleadosia stood outside, arguing with the front man. Johnny worked his way closer, trying to get within earshot without being obvious about it.

  “Come on!” the front man barked. “You’re being a total cunt about this, you know? I am so sick of your little tantrums. I can put any bitch in that outfit.”

  “Then maybe you should, Manny,” Cleadosia shot right back, her voice angry, but measured. She didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of upsetting her. “Maybe you should find another gorilla girl. I’ll go find one for you.”

  “We got two more shows, Clea.” Manny complained. “How the fuck can you do this?”

  “Easy, Manny,” Cleadosia retorted. “I just put one foot in front of the other.”

  “I know about you, Clea!” Manny shouted. “Don’t forget what I remember, sweetheart!”

  “What you know couldn’t fill a thimble,” she called back over her shoulder, as she stepped out into the crowd, still clad in her gorilla girl outfit.

  She brushed past Johnny, and then paused. She craned her head back slowly and looked at him.

  “Well, are you going to stand there all night?” she asked, in a husky voice.

  “Excuse me?” Johnny said, turning and looking for the person she was talking to.

  “You came to see me six times tonight,” Cleadosia said. “I think that sort of dedication should be rewarded.”

  There was a spark in her eye, but she didn’t smile. Johnny hadn’t seen a smile grace her lips the entire night. She was as intimidating as she was beautiful.

  “I really enjoyed the show,” Johnny managed, his mind trying to trudge up anything that would add eloquence to his speech. There was nothing to be found.

  “Would you kindly be my escort?” Cleadosia said, taking the ball from Johnny’s hands.

  He was grateful.

  Cleadosia crooked up her bare arm for Johnny to take. She stood a few inches taller than Johnny, and she was wearing flat heels. He didn’t care. He was too shocked to offer anything but utter sincerity.

  “I would love to,” he beamed, taking her arm.

  ****

  They walked arm in arm to the carnival entrance. Their stroll had been a silent one. Cleadosia hadn’t offered a word and Johnny was in too much awe to comment on anything. Roustabouts smiled at the couple and allowed them to step outside beyond the gate.

  “I hope you don’t mind a walk in the country,” Cleadosia finally said. “I need a break from the sights and sounds for awhile. Working the circuit can drive you crazy.”

  “I can imagine,” Johnny replied, hoping he wouldn’t say or do anything stupid. He wasn’t that experienced with women. Being labeled a psychopath hadn’t helped.

  “This is a nice little town,” Cleadosia said, steering Johnny toward an open, moon-lit field of corn. “I like quiet little towns.”

  “They don’t get quieter or littler than Pleasant Storm,” Johnny observed.

  “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Johnny Brendan,” he said. “And your name?”

  “You can call me Clea,” she said. “That’s what most folks call me.”

  “But is that your real name or stage name?” he asked.

  Clea stared him in the eyes. “Clea is what people call me. Okay?” She looked annoyed.

  “Okay,” Johnny shrugged, hoping he had not offended her.

  “So what’s your story?” Clea asked, perching on the ground.

  “There’s not much of one. I live here, I work here… when there’s work. I eat and sleep. That’s about it.”

  “That’s not much of a life,” Clea commented, her eyes trailing over the cornfield.

  “I know,” Johnny agreed. “Surely not as exciting as carnival life.”

  “It has its moments.”

  “How do you do that trick?” Johnny had to ask.

  “What, the gorilla girl transformation?”

  Johnny nodded.

  “I can’t tell you. There’s a code among carnies. We don’t give trade secrets away,” Clea replied. “I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.” She sounded serious.

  It freaked Johnny out for a second, but then he snickered nervously. He decided to change the subject. “So, what were you arguing about back there with that guy?”

  “Money,” she offered. “Manny owes me a ton of it.”

  “Is her your boyfriend?”

  Clea shook her head, wisps of blonde hair sparkling like fireflies in the moonlight. “No. I fuck him, sometimes. But that’s going to stop. He seems to think of it as compensation for pay. Not much of a compensation, either.”

  Johnny nodded, not believing how frank Clea was being with a total stranger. She was so raw and at the same time cold and dispassionate. She was like no woman he had ever known. He could leave now, and she wouldn’t even care. He adored this woman.

  “Do you have family, Johnny?” Clea asked, still absorbed by the cornfield that swayed in the night breeze.

  “No,” Johnny said, with a downcast expression. “My parents died in a car accident.”

  “Oh,” Clea replied, still staring intently at the cornfield.

  She offered no condolences or sympathy. Johnny was struck by that. How, he wasn’t sure. Clea was a mysterious woman. She seemed totally self-consumed by her own thoughts, tuning him out. But she wanted him here, and he would stay until she sent him away.

  “My parents died in a fire when I
was very young,” Clea said, after several minutes of silence. “It seems we have something in common, Johnny. We’re both orphans.”

  Johnny offered no sympathies himself. He could tell that she didn’t want any. He sat at her side, content with that. To be in her presence was enough for him.

  “Do you know what a kindred spirit is, Johnny?”

  “I’ve heard the term, yes.”

  “Kindred spirits are brought together because they recognize innate qualities that bind them,” she explained, anyway. “We’re kindred spirits, Johnny.”

  “What binds us then?”

  Clea turned to him. “Darkness. Darkness binds us, Johnny. I could see it in your eyes when we met. Share it with me.”

  “What do you mean?” Johnny asked, his heart racing. Did she know he was crazy? Could she tell?

  “My darkness attracted you, and yours attracted me. Tell me about it.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” Johnny said, feeling his face tingle and stomach churn acid.

  She took his hand. “It’s okay. I know of these things. I won’t scorn you or run away. You can tell me,” she said, softly.

  “When my parents died, I wasn’t right anymore,” Johnny began, taking a deep breath. “Something inside of me died with them and what was left turned into something cold… violent. The whole town knows about it. How I tried to dig my parents up. How I attacked the sheriff like a wild animal. They all either hate me or are afraid of me now.”

  “I don’t hate you,” Clea said, a spark of understanding lighting her eyes. “And, believe me; I am not afraid of you.”

  Johnny contemplated if he should tell her the other thing. It would be suicide; surely this woman would never see him again. But he now had to tell her everything.

  “I kill small animals, sometimes, when I feel the darkness inside of me. I torture them a long time before I do it,” Johnny confessed. He waited for the rejection. He waited for the fear and revulsion to dawn on her face. It didn’t.

  “Let me explain something to you, Johnny,” Clea said, her grip tightening on his hand. “We are all just hair and blood machines. There’s nothing more to any of us. We’re just thinking animals with some moral notion that we shouldn’t hurt anyone or anything. But the worst thing is the pain we allow to be inflicted upon ourselves. There’s nothing wrong with cutting the pain and anger away. There’s nothing wrong with silencing the voices. Do you believe in the afterlife?”