by Andy Monk
Sadly, they didn’t seem to have retained their power now she was dead.
His mind wandered, his fingers drummed, his eyes drooped.
Still, it was quiet and peaceful in his office and he slowly managed to read through some of his correspondence. The town hadn’t quite fallen to pieces in his absence, but several matters had clearly been allowed to slide while his attention had been distracted.
“Miss Dewsnap!”
She appeared instantly, “Yes, Mr Furnedge?”
“Can you fix me some coffee please, then I’ll need you to take some dictation. I’ve fallen behind with my correspondence.”
“Yes. You have.”
He raised his eyes, but she’d already scurried off.
She really would have to go at some point.
Taking a deep breath, he returned to business. The ongoing business of the Goslings and the Lumieres. Even though there was more land than anyone knew what to do with, the two families had been in dispute over a parcel of land between their farms. The owner had been careless enough to die without either an heir or a will and both families wanted it, largely due to the fact it possessed a deep well and they’d been squabbling over the land for years.
The farms were way out from town, a good couple of days in the saddle. He suspected the dispute had as much to do with the fact neither family had much to entertain themselves with in the evening as anything else. He’d been asked to mediate and find a solution. The latest semi-literate pile of invective had arrived from the Goslings during his absence and needed to be dealt with promptly in case they all got a bit bored waiting for him to sort their lives out and started shooting at each other in the meantime.
He sketched out the points he would cover in his head and jotted them down in his notepad. He would dictate the full letter for Miss Dewsnap, using words that would placate old man Gosling. So long as the old reprobate could find somebody to read them to him of course.
Miss Dewsnap returned with his coffee. There was no cookie today, which was at least something to be grateful for.
“I need a letter sent to Henry Gosling,” he explained as she settled herself down across from him.
“Very good Mr Furnedge,” she replied, snapping open her notebook.
“Dear Mr Gosling…” he began, his eyes dropping back to his notes.
Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.
They were the only words he’d written in his precise, tidy hand. Over and over.
“Mr Furnedge?”
He snapped the notebook shut.
“Actually… on reflection I think it needs a little more thought…”
*
A few people nodded at him and smiled, a couple touched their hats in greeting. Most didn’t pay him any attention at all. It was something he’d always found slightly irksome, given how important he was to the town. For all the recognition he got for the work he’d tirelessly shouldered to ensure everything went as tickety as it could so people were able to get on with their lives with as little fuss as possible, he might as well have been a complete nobody.
Today, however, he was relieved. Being unappreciated was a whole lot better than being thought a raving madman.
He stuffed his hand into his trouser pocket and felt the page he’d torn out of his notebook there. He’d initially screwed it up and thrown it away, but he didn’t entirely trust Miss Dewsnap not to rummage through his trash when he was gone. She was just the type. He would burn it later.
After sitting and staring at those words for a couple of hours he’d told Miss Dewsnap he’d was going out for a while. When she’d asked where he would be he’d shouted the single word “Business!” at her.
It wasn’t at all befitting and she’d looked like she’d been slapped. Still, her feelings were the least of his problems.
He’d stalked the periphery of the town a few times. Telling himself he hadn’t written those words but knowing he must have. He was frightened if he went back to the office he’d do something that would alert Miss Dewsnap to his madness. And once Miss Dewsnap knew something, you could bet your last pair of socks on the fact everybody else in town would know it by sundown.
He didn’t want to go home either. Amy might be there and he didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t think he would, but if he was spilling as many marbles as he feared then how long would it be before he started believing those words and acted on them?
He swallowed and blinked back a tear. He didn’t want to hurt Amy. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. All he’d ever wanted to be was happy. Not too much to ask from life really.
He needed help, he realised, and there was only one person he could turn to.
There were a lot of people on Main Street, he dimly realised. He spotted Molly and her little black waif walking away from the Square and darted into a doorway. She was a complication he didn’t need right now, even though his heart gave a little flutter at the sight of her all the same.
He sighed when she’d passed and stepped out of the doorway. The shop had been Mrs Milton’s haberdashers, but it had remained empty since she’d passed away the previous winter.
As he glanced back he froze, his legs suddenly unwilling to move as his mouth dropped open.
The top half of the door was glass and a thin film of grime had settled upon it. Beneath the CLOSED sign that still hung from the last time Mrs Milton had turned it, three words had been finger drawn in the dirt.
Kill her too.
He yanked a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed the words away, looking over his shoulder as he did so to make sure no one was paying him any attention. No one was and he hurried away as quickly as he could, stuffing the dirty handkerchief next to the notebook page in his pocket.
Heart pounding, he pushed on towards Pioneer Square, telling himself he wasn’t going to kill anyone.
A group of horsemen came thundering out of the square led by some of the town’s deputies. For one mad moment he thought they were coming for him and he almost put his hands in the air and shouted he’d come quietly, but they roared past paying him no heed.
When he entered the square, he found a good number of people were milling about.
Some shit’s happening…
Lorna’s voice rasped through the dust thrown up by the passing horsemen.
He let out a low little moan and walked faster.
The Mayor was outside the Sheriff’s Office talking with Sam Shenan and a small knot of townsfolk, maybe taking part in a discussion, maybe just listening in. Either way it didn’t matter, he had to see the Mayor, nobody else would be able to help him.
“Mr Mayor,” he announced breathlessly, pushing through the circle of men.
“Ah, Guy! Just the fellow, we have a-”
“I need to speak to you!”
“Of course, hopefully this isn’t a serious problem, but I need all of the town’s leaders together.”
He blinked. He had no idea what the Mayor was talking about, but whatever it was, he was going to have to put it aside and help him.
“It’s about Lorna,” he hissed in a low urgent voice.
“Lorna?” the Mayor frowned, dropping his head towards the lawyer’s.
“Yes… there is a problem.”
“Really. Guy, this isn’t the time, we can talk about it later.”
“No, we can talk about it now. You owe me,” his voice boiled out of him in an angry squeak.
Both the Mayor’s frown and his smile melted away in an instant.
“Guy, pull yourself together,” his gaze dropped to where he had seized his arm, “and get your fucking hand off me.”
His fingers sprang open. He hadn’t even realised he’d grabbed the Mayor’s sleeve.
“But I need your help!”
“The whole town needs my help, wait your fucking turn,” the Mayor shrugged him off, “now go home and sleep it off, I’m busy.”
The Mayor returned to the Sheriff and the other men, several of whom gave him looks scattered between amusement
and annoyance.
He stood and dumbly watched the Mayor return his attention to whatever was so much more important than his loyal and selfless servant Guy Furnedge.
You know what… Lorna hissed in his ear …you should kill that slimy piece of shit too…
The Clown
“Why?” Kate asked, a single tear rolling down her cheek as she glanced at her husband, “Why would the Mayor make me love… him?”
“God works in mysterious ways. I suspect the Devil does too.”
It wasn’t much of an answer, he knew, but he sensed they had little time. The Mayor wouldn’t be long. Whatever his diabolic motivations, this was important to him. Not in itself, but as a part of something greater. His terrible work. The Serpent wouldn’t be distracted for long.
He straightened up, managing the feat without wobbling too much despite the pain in his stiff knees.
“We have to leave, before he returns…”
Kate swallowed and nodded her understanding, but made no move to stand herself. He hoped she was not broken. The knowledge that the life one had lived was not, after all, of your own choosing and free will was a dreadful realisation. God, in his infinite wisdom and divine mercy, knew the value of free will and had given the gift to his children. The Devil, however, sung a different song and it was a song he liked everyone to dance to.
Ash was still standing by the door, the same smile ghosting his face, as rigid as a statue. He didn’t know how the Mayor’s meddling worked, he suspected it differed from victim to victim. Preacher Stone had become addicted to the candy from what he had seen, like a drunk on the bottle he had craved more and more of the stuff, Emily had retreated into herself, Miss Jones had rejected it though it had seemingly nearly killed her in doing so. Others had been bent effortlessly to the Mayor’s will.
Perhaps Ash was not yet entirely lost. Perhaps his memories were all intact and his free will could still exert itself. If he wanted it too.
He left Kate and crossed the room.
“Ash?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember me?”
“You’re Mr Wizzle.”
“That’s right. Do you remember the things we’ve talked about recently? With Amos and Molly? Miss Jones and Mr Smith? The Dark Carnival? Sye Hallows? Preacher Stone? The Mayor?”
Ash’s eyes seemed to cloud as if he was struggling to focus.
“The Mayor is a very nice man.”
“No Ash. I’m afraid he’s not. He is evil. He hurts people. He uses them. He is using you and your family. He hurt Emily… or had her hurt, to frame an innocent man. We talked about that. You remember?”
“The Mayor is going to make Emily better. He is going to make everything better…”
“Ash, do you see that little bottle in your hand?”
His eyes fell to the bottle in clenched in his fist.
“Yes.”
“That’s the black candy we talked about. It will rob you of your memories. It will take away your free will and make you think things that are not true. It will not make things better, it will make you someone else. As painful as our memories may be, they make us what we are. Who we are. My life is full of painful memories. Sometimes they make me curl into a ball in the darkness and cry, even after many, many years. But I would not want them taken away from me. They are part of me. Part of my soul. Part of who I am, weak and foolish man that I am. You must hold on to your memories too. You are a good man. I do not want you to become someone else. Fight it Ash. Fight the black candy and hold onto your memories…”
He placed his hand on Ash’s, wrapping his fingers around both his hand and the foul little bottle he held within it.
“Even the worst of our memories are precious…”
Ash’s face twitched, his eyes clouding and clearing before falling to stare at his hand enclosed in Mr Wizzle’s.
“I don’t want to remember…” he whispered, a tear rolling down his face, “…I want to be happy again…”
That was when Kate hit her husband over the head with a vase.
*
“Is he dead?”
Kate was standing with her hands clamped over her mouth. Blood trickled down Ash’s forehead to pool on the uncovered floorboards by the door. The vase was heavy enough to still be in one piece next to him.
Which was more than could be said for poor Ash.
“Was that entirely necessary?” he demanded, looking up at her. His knees weren’t up to all the crouching he’d been asking of them today.
“Is he dead?” Kate asked again, still from behind her hands.
“No…”
Ash was breathing steadily enough, though what the blow to his head would do on top of the Mayor’s meddling, he couldn’t imagine.
He thought he’d been getting through to him, though that was possibly just his pride rearing its ugly head again, but something had been stirring within Ash, whether it was enough to overcome the black candy he didn’t know. While Ash had been distracted Kate had taken matters into her own hands, along with a heavy stone vase, and maybe now he never would.
“We need to get my children away from this town,” Kate sobbed, “please help us?”
“Let us settle for getting you all away from here first, we can worry about getting out of town later.”
“Where can we go?”
He smiled and made the long painful journey back up onto his feet again, “I know one or two places nobody much goes to.”
“Let me get Emily and we’ll have to pick up Ruthie from school.”
“And Ash?”
“What about him?”
“He is a victim too… and his love for you is real.”
Kate snorted, “How the hell am I supposed to know that? I don’t even know if my love for him was ever real.”
He noted the use of the past tense, but let it pass.
“He is my friend. I want to keep him away from the Mayor too.”
“He’s out cold. We can hardly carry him.”
He had to concede she had a point.
“Then we must hide him as best we can and I will come back for him when you and your daughters are safe.”
Kate ran her hands through her hair and nodded, “Fine, where do you suggest we hide him?”
“Do you happen to have a big cupboard?” He asked. Hopefully.
*
Emily’s eyes unblinkingly tracked the dust motes floating in the shafts of sunlight lancing through cracks in the warped old roof.
The warehouse was on the very edge of the Flats to the south of town. One of a number used for municipal storage, though this one was so old and full of holes it had been left empty for years as it quietly decayed. Eventually, the town would get around to pulling it down and building a new one able to keep the weather out, but for the time being only rats and the town’s more adventurous children ever ventured here.
Kate sat next to her daughter, one arm slung around her shoulders, head tilted and resting against Emily’s. They both had exactly the same shade of honey blonde hair, he noticed.
The warehouse was empty save for a few rotting tarps and some piles of old bricks nobody had ever gotten around to using. It wasn’t what anybody would consider to a desirable residence. However, it would suffice for the time being. They just had to get Ruthie here.
And he had to try and save Ash.
He didn’t understand how the Mayor’s despicable candy worked, but Ash hadn’t yet had his memories completely rearranged. He was hoping, and praying, that if he could keep the barber out of the Mayor’s clutches long enough he could still save his friend.
He let his eyes follow the dust motes fascinating Emily so much.
Was Ash his friend?
He didn’t know. He’d been alone for so long, had become so used to being shunned and ridiculed, that he’d found it strangely intoxicating to be around people again. People who didn’t sneer and snigger at him. Ash, Molly, Amos, Miss Jones, little Amelia. Now Kate and Emily. It was just va
nity and pride of course. He knew he had been doing the Lord’s work for many years and that was all that mattered, but the consolation it offered sometimes seemed scant indeed. Not that he deserved consolation, of course, given the terrible thing he’d done. And what the last friend he’d known had suffered because of it.
Despite never knowing any other way of living, his soul was tired of being alone. However, it was for the best. No one else could die for his friendship if he had no friends. Scorn, ridicule and loneliness were easier to bear than enduring that pain and heartache again. A pain that had never left him in all his years he’d spent in Hawker’s Drift and all the years on the road getting here.
It was what he was used to anyway. He’d always been alone, even when he’d been young and surrounded by people, surrounded by their laughter, excitement and happiness. As a skinny little boy scampering through the legs of Ho-Ho and playfully kicking Blossom’s backside to howls of laughter when he’d been Billy the Wizz, and, later, as their hapless sidekick Mr Wizzle when he’d become too old to be the cute little kid the Kandashans had stolen to be in their act.
Moving from town to town, scrapping a living from county shows and summer fairs. Ida and Earl Kandashan. Blossom and Ho-Ho to the punters who paid their coin to be removed from their cares by acrobats, fire-eaters, strongmen and lion tamers. And the clowns of course.
Ho-Ho and Blossom. All laughter, smiles, pranks and tomfoolery behind their greasepaint and in front of the crowds.
Ida and Earl had been full of pranks and tomfoolery too once they’d washed off their make-up, put away their gaily coloured costumes and the crowds had gone home. However, their tomfoolery had involved the tips of cigarettes and heavy leather straps, while their pranks had included locking him in a trunk with a pair of Earl’s old socks stuffed in his mouth so he didn’t disturb their drinking and fornicating or giving him nothing but potato peelings to eat for a week because they wanted the kid in their act to be a skinny kid.
And there was never any laughter.