Go for the Juggler

by Leanne Leeds

  “Of course, my dear, but the rules of the living and the choices of the living are not always the same ones that apply once we pass on,” Mom told her as she slowly approached the girl. “I imagine that you simply gravitated toward the nearest location that held others like you so you wouldn’t be alone. It is a primal spirit urge we have. To not to be alone.”

  “None of these people are like me,” Tiffany scoffed, but in a much more normal volume. “I would never be around people like this.”

  “Of course, dear, but these are your people now, and they wish nothing more than to help you through this,” Mom cooed as she came to stand directly before the delicate girl.

  “I want my father,” Tiffany responded, staring into my mother’s eyes.

  “Unfortunately, my dear, it is unlikely that your father would be able to see you. While some humans can see ghosts quite clearly, the vast majority of human beings cannot.”

  “You can see me,” she said.

  “Yes, but I am not human,” my mother responded and smiled. “All of us in this room are supernatural in nature. So are you, now. We are terribly sorry that you lost your human world before you were ready, but we wish to make your transition into our paranormal world as easy as possible for you. You are not alone, Tiffany. We will help you, I promise.”

  “But I don’t want to be dead,” the girl whispered.

  “I am so sorry, dear,” my mother whispered back. “What happened to you was tragic, and we are so sorry this is so difficult for you.”

  Tiffany’s deflation was complete, and she moved to sit in a velvet chair in the corner of the room. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I mean, what am I supposed to do?”

  “First, I think we need to know what you remember about your attack,” I told her. “With so many paranormals here, I would really like to get us away from the human investigation as quickly as possible. It’ll give us much more time to focus on helping you.”

  “Nothing, really,” she said, screwing her face up as she concentrated. “I was sweeping the back storage room, the one behind the curtains?”

  My mother nodded.

  “There weren’t very many people looking at the dogs, and I had checked to see whether any of them needed help, but they didn’t.”

  “Did any of them act odd when you spoke to them? Ask you any weird questions, make you feel nervous for no reason?” I asked.

  “No, not really,” Tiffany said. “Nobody was really very talkative. I just told them to let me know if they wanted to see any of the dogs, and I would get someone to unlock the kennel for them.”

  “After that, you went into the back room?” Gunther asked. Tiffany nodded.

  “I talked to the nice couple, and then the guy, and then the other guy—”

  “Wait, there was a third man?” I asked her with surprise.

  “Yes, there was the couple and then one guy and then another guy,” Tiffany responded. “The last guy had this huge hoodie on, though, and I couldn’t see his face.”

  “Mom, I thought you said there were only three people out there? The couple and one other guy?”

  “I don’t remember seeing the fourth person, Charlotte. We do have cameras at the parking lot and around the property, though. If the police didn’t take the entire recording system, we should be able to look at the recordings and see if there was someone else.”

  “Can I please see my father?” Tiffany asked. Though the girl’s anger had dissipated, her fear was still present. I suspected that Mom was allowing her to feel some things so she could work through them. Numbing the girl would not serve her well.

  Not to mention the fact that as soon as Mom left, she would probably turn back into a shrieking banshee.

  “Again, you can probably go see your father, but it’s unlikely that he would be able to see you. Has he ever told you that he has any kind of talent for seeing ghosts? Any weird stories from when he was a kid?”

  “No,” Tiffany told me. “I just want to see him when he comes here. Can I leave this house? I don’t think he would come over to the circus. Can I go back over to the shelter?”

  “Wait, why do you think your father would come here?”

  “My father is Anthony Drake. There’s no way that he wouldn’t come here. He’s going to be really angry, and he doesn’t trust the cops.”

  My mother and I stared at each other in shock.

  “Did you know?” Mom shook her head no.

  “Who’s Anthony Drake?” Gunther asked.

  “My father,” Tiffany said.

  “A gangster,” my mother said.

  “Trouble,” I told him.

  4

  Mom led Tiffany back to the main house while Gunther and I headed toward my yurt to check on Samson.

  “I can’t believe Mom agreed to this without finding out who her father was,” I complained as we walked across the uncharacteristically quiet Magical Midway.

  “Why is that?” Gunther asked.

  “Why is what?”

  “Why can you not believe that your mom agreed to this without finding out who her father was? Is it common for offspring in the human world to have dangerous criminal parents?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Actually, there’s no real reason she would’ve asked, I guess. I’m just aggravated. This complicates things.”

  “How so?”

  “Anthony Drake owns Mickwac. I mean, like, not in a good way. He is such a creep. I went to school with his younger brother, and the guy was an absolute jerk. Rich, entitled, abusive. I found out later that they made their money through some fairly illegal dealings.”

  “Illegal how?”

  “Allegedly? Insurance fraud. They pay people to take falls, to slip on floors, to drive in front of semi-trucks. He’s a lawyer, and so he sues on their behalf, wins a mountain of cash through a trial or a settlement, pays the person that faked the accident a pittance and keeps the rest.”

  “That sounds so dishonest,” Gunther said as we drew closer to my yurt.

  “It’s more than dishonest. It’s illegal. And it’s dangerous. A few years back some kid drove in front of a semi-truck to cause an accident. The driver was looking away at the time and didn’t stop as fast as usual. The kid died.”

  “That’s horrible,” Gunther gasped.

  “Yup, it is,” I agreed. “Lots of horrible things happen in the world.”

  “In both worlds, apparently.”

  “Anyway, Anthony Drake is very protective of his little fraud scheme, so he lines the pockets of the local politicians, donates money to the police funds, slips cash into the open palms of law enforcement. It’s all very corrupt, but he flat out owns this town. It’s one of the reasons we put the shelter outside of the city limits. He’s definitely in with the county, but not quite as deep.”

  Walking into the yurt, Ms. Elkins door was still closed. The cavernous house was quiet except for a muffled murmuring indicating that Devana and Ms. Elkins were still hard at work.

  “What do you think they’re doing in there?” I whispered to Gunther.

  “I don’t think you need to whisper,” Gunther answered. “Ethel can hear what you say on the other side of the Magical Midway. Whispering won’t keep her from hearing this conversation. As for what I think they’re doing? I have no idea.”

  The quiet murmuring stopped.

  “Just you get on with your business!” Ethel Elkins screeched from behind the door. “You don’t worry about us!”

  “See?”

  “If we ever do take over the Witches' Council and we get the chance to push for new laws? Right to privacy is going to be high up on my list of things I want to deal with,” I told Gunther as I slowly opened up the door to my bedroom.

  Samson was laying in the center of my king-sized bed, a black circle in the middle of the spring shaded comforter. He looked completely normal… Completely normal, that is if you could ignore the bright white light emanating from him.

  “Samson? Gunther and I just wanted
to check on you and make sure you are doing okay,” I said quietly.

  I’m fine.

  “Is there anything you need? Anything we can get you?”

  No.

  Ever since Samson had begun to maintain the elaborate illusion designed to hold up even in the face of a police investigation he had become uncharacteristically quiet. My uncle had warned me not to bother him too much because of how taxing this was on him, but I worried. I missed his sarcastic banter, his wordy responses to the most straightforward questions. Responses that only sometimes contained an answer.

  “Charlotte, he seems fine. I know you’re worried about him, but I’m sure he’d let you know if there was a problem,” Gunther said as he gently placed his hand on my elbow to guide me away.

  I would. Go.

  I reluctantly made my way toward the door. I wasn’t sure what else I could do.

  Pausing, I looked back.

  Despite the things I had learned about the paranormal world, about myself, about the Magical Midway, the mystery that eluded me the most was Samson. My lack of knowledge about my guardian frustrated me. I felt powerless to help, and I knew without a doubt this was a struggle for him. I could feel the strain in our bond.

  Stop worrying. Go.

  “I love you, Samson,” I told him for the first time.

  Me, too. Go.

  The police had left the main house. I knew they were still taking pictures and walking around the back part of the property, but I had confidence in Samson’s ability to protect the Magical Midway, so I didn’t worry too much.

  “Was Tiffany able to tell you anything more about what happened to her?” I asked my mother as Gunther and I walked into the kitchen.

  It was funny, really. The kitchen was my mother’s sanctuary, the place where people sat to talk about serious issues. As people unburdened, Mom would hand them whatever drink or food she felt they needed. She was a kitchen witch through and through, and the kitchen table was the altar she presented to you so you could let your burdens down.

  Even though Tiffany Drake could eat nothing anymore, she sat at the head of the kitchen table altar so Mom could help her unburden.

  “No, Charlotte, she truly doesn’t remember anything more that could help,” Mom said as she cleaned the dishes. “Your father is in the back office looking to see if the other man is on any of the security tapes. She has a bit of a description, but it’s very generic.”

  “You know, I’m sitting right here and can hear everything you’re saying. Anyway, I didn’t know I would have to remember him,” Tiffany snapped through my mother’s continued downpour of enforced calm. “When I woke up this morning, I was unaware someone was going to bash my skull in, and I certainly didn’t know it would be someone at the shelter.”

  “Speaking of that, I have a question,” I said sitting down next to Tiffany. It was hard to speak to the ghost in a bright room. The sparkling transparency of Tiffany’s apparition almost disappeared beneath the rays of streaming sunlight. I started to sincerely appreciate the darkness of the haunted house.

  At least I could see who I was speaking to.

  “Ask away,” she answered.

  “Why did you have to serve community service for what you did? Considering her your father is, frankly, I’m surprised you got any punishment at all,” I told her.

  “Right, because I’m Anthony Drake’s daughter I would no doubt get out of any kind of punishment, right? Because my father’s never prosecuted for anything that people think he does, we’re all corrupt and the law can’t touch us, right?”

  “I don’t know that I would’ve put it like that, but essentially, yes. That’s my question.”

  Tiffany glared at me angrily, and then suddenly shrugged.

  “I guess it doesn’t matter what I say now. I wasn’t supposed to be punished,” she snapped at me, fuming anew. “Daddy promised me that his lawyer would show up at the hearing and make sure the proper people were told how it was going to go. His assistant set the whole thing up, he said.”

  “I thought your father was a lawyer?” Gunther asked.

  “He is, but he has a lawyer, of course. There are different types of lawyers, you know.”

  “You mean corrupt and not corrupt?”

  Tiffany narrowed her sparkling, translucent eyes at him.

  “I think she’s talking about the fact that her father is an ambulance chaser, and she needed a criminal defense attorney. They are not the same in the human world,” I told Gunther.

  “That’s offensive,” Tiffany said. “True, but offensive. She’s right. Daddy sent his criminal attorney to defend me and get me out of everything. Only he didn’t show up. I was just there all by myself, and I didn’t know what to do. Some public defense attorney came up to represent me, and before I could blink, I pled guilty and agreed to all this stuff. Even Daddy couldn’t undo it once he found out, it all happened so fast.”

  “Who is the public defense attorney that came up to represent you?”

  “I don’t know,” Tiffany responded. “He told me he was my Daddy’s attorney, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t have been. If he were, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Wait a minute, back up a second. Did you know that the public defense attorney wasn’t your father’s attorney at the time you pled guilty?”

  “No. He just apologized for being late, so I assumed it was Daddy’s attorney. I never met his attorney before. Why would I?”

  “So why do you now think he was a public defender?”

  “I don’t know,” Tiffany shrugged. “Afterward when Daddy found out what happened, he was super mad and said it couldn’t have been his attorney. Michael said it was probably just some attorney that was assigned because I didn’t have one. Because I was indignant.”

  “Indigent?” I asked the girl.

  “Whatever.”

  “What was the other attorney’s name?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”

  Though my mother’s powers helped keep Tiffany relatively calm, the girl was such a bundle of resentment and entitlement and anger it kept trickling through everything she said. I was amazed that Tiffany hadn’t gotten herself into trouble long before this considering how unobservant she was.

  “Mom, do you have the paperwork they sent you for Tiffany’s volunteering here? Since it was court ordered, they had to have sent you something, right?”

  “I think your father has it in his office, Charlotte,” Mom answered wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Why does the paperwork matter? I don’t have to keep volunteering here now that I’m dead, do I? I mean, it seems like the least you can do is let me out of that,” Tiffany said crossing her arms.

  “The lawyer that represented you when you pled guilty. His name should be somewhere on the paperwork,” I told her.

  “Why do you care who that guy was?”

  “Because someone you don’t know steered you toward a guilty plea,” I explained to her. “It’s possible that this was all a set up just to get you in an isolated area outside of town where you would most likely be alone. Our property isn’t in the city limits. It’s outside of your dad’s direct sphere of control.”

  “Why would someone do that?”

  “To murder you?” I asked her patiently, though I must admit the conversation felt like one I would have with Samson.

  “Oh, right,” she sighed. “I’m dead, aren’t I? Why hasn’t my father shown up yet? I mean, he has to suspect all of you of doing something terrible to me.”

  “It hasn’t been that long, Tiffany, and it’s possible the police haven’t informed him yet.”

  “I wouldn’t want to be the copper that had to do that,” she laughed. “He’s probably going to get a punch to the mouth just for saying it. Maybe a few before my father actually believe someone would do this to me.”

  “Why would your father punch a police officer?” Gunther asked, confused.

  “Why not?” Tiffany said shruggi
ng. “No one messes with my father. Or me.”

  I stared at the egocentric, self-involved girl. Her arrogance at her untouchability wasn’t even fazed by her being dead. Tiffany seemed unable to grasp that someone had, indeed, messed with her and she was beyond her father’s protection now.

  “We're going to have to close the shelter for a few days so the police can conduct their investigation,” my father said as he walked in from the back porch. “I’ll put a notice on the website and the social media accounts, though I suspect people will realize we are likely close once they see the story about her murder in the newspaper.”

  “Have the police found anything?” I asked my father.

  “Well, they suspect she was bashed in the head with one of the paver stones that were behind the kennels, but they haven’t found it. We were going to redo the walkway next month,” Dad said as he grabbed a drink out of the refrigerator. “Since whoever did this didn’t leave the stone hopefully the murderer still has it. If they find it on someone, it will be good evidence against whoever has it.”

  “Why would somebody take a bloody paver stone? Ew,” I shuddered.

  “Fingerprints, maybe? I’m not sure,” Dad said as he sat down at the table with us. “Obviously, Charlotte, you shouldn’t open the circus while you’re here. That would just complicate things.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” I told him. “Did you manage to communicate with the dogs at all? Did they say anything?”

  “Unfortunately, they smelled what happened, but they didn’t see it happening.”

  “What do you mean they ‘smelled’ what happened?” Tiffany asked.

  “You moved into the back storeroom behind the curtain. It’s across from one of the exits in the building, but both are blocked by the walls. None of the dogs in their kennels would have been able to see what happened in that room, but animals can sense things.”

  “They sensed my murder?”

  “They were alarmed when someone came in, but no dog saw that person walk from their kennel area into the back room, so they would’ve had to come in through the back exit. There was just something ominous about the person’s energy, I suppose. Then they sensed an explosion of aggression, your fear. Of course, once it happened, they smelled the blood as well.”