Challa

by Linda Mooney

  “She may be slight in stature, folks, but she’s a mean one,” Lawson announced. He turned to give her a warning look, reminding her to keep to the timeline.

  She hissed again, keeping her face tilted toward one of the spotlights so her teeth gleamed. Taking a menacing step toward the bars, she ignored the taunts that were coming again. Fortunately, no one had thought of hurling anything at her other than words.

  There. That one.

  Her eyes caught sight of a young man wearing a football jersey. He was bulked up, and looked like someone who considered himself both a top jock and prime ladies’ man. He also wore a smirk of conceit that always rankled her whenever she saw one.

  Without warning, Challa threw herself at the bars, hitting them more with her claws than with her body. Lifting her hands to show her formidable talons, she gave a scream and drew the sharp tips down the metal bars until they screeched like nails on a blackboard. More people jumped, several more screamed. The taunts suddenly stopped, as she knew they would. Before the crowd could recover, she lifted her arms and opened her wing flaps. All the while, she never took her angry gaze off the smirking jock, who finally realized her attention was directed straight at him. So did others in the crowd.

  “Stand back, everyone! Someone in here has ticked her off big time!”

  Challa shook the cage, reaching between the bars and clawing at the air as if she was trying to get to the man. Several people hurried away. That was a good sign. Most of the crowd still left backed further away. Many turned to see who was the target of her tirade. The jock’s face had gone bleach white. All braggadocio was gone, as well as the smirk.

  Lawson finally saw her intended, and milked the scene for all it was worth. “Sir! Sir! What did you do? What have you done? Get out of here, now!”

  The young man lifted his arms in confusion, shaking his head in denial that he’d done anything to tick off the alien. Lawson played his next hand with consummate skill.

  “Did you say something to her? Could it be your aftershave? Something about you has upset her to the point where your life may be in danger! Go! Security! Please escort that young man to the parking lot immediately! There is no telling if these bars can hold her!”

  Charlie left his post in front of the low stage and made a beeline for the jock, who didn’t argue or try to shake off his firm grip. When they exited the tent, so did the rest of the crowd—as was expected.

  The moment the tent emptied, Challa drew back from the bars and took a deep breath. That was show number one. Her introduction to the locals. Word would spread about the “almost breakout”, and tomorrow night the crowd would be bigger. Noisier. More curious. And then she would put on show number two.

  Her chest felt sore. Challa glanced down at herself. She must have hit the bars a little too hard. It wasn’t the first time she’d end the night with a few bruises, and it wouldn’t be the last. If anyone cared to investigate, the bars were real. The cage was real. Challa, the Alien Girl, was also real, but if the world ever learned that last fact, it would mean the end of her.

  Heavens, she was thirsty. The heat generated by the lights and packed bodies always left her parched. The floodlights remained on, but there would be no more peeks at her tonight. Lawson knew how to stir the crowds, keep them in a frenzy. Give them a little taste now so they’d come back for a second bite. And a third. And a fourth, if the carnival remained around the vicinity that long, but he rarely stayed longer than a weekend. In on a Friday, out by Monday. But if the take was steady and good, Lawson would extend their date by a couple of extra nights.

  She glanced around the cage, but there was only the prop bucket with its fake bloody entrails hanging out of it in the corner next to the stage. Sight of the bucket always made her laugh. However, there was no sign of the bottle of water that was usually hidden under the straw near the door at the back of the cage. Lawson must have forgotten to stash it.

  She started to leave the cage and tent when she sensed someone standing in the shadows at the rear. Thinking it might be one of the customers who’d managed to sneak back inside she launched herself at the bars with a snarl.

  The figure didn’t jump, nor did it make a sound. Instead, it moved closer, limping slightly, until it reached the periphery of light, and she could gradually make out the features.

  It was a man with reddish-brown hair and dark eyes. He had a perplexed look on his face, a face that Challa felt herself drawn to. It spoke of intelligence and maturity, not the kind of look she normally saw on a high school student or even college man. Yet, at the same time, she could see shadows of deep emotional pain.

  He carried himself erect despite favoring his right leg. His whole figure radiated strength and confidence. He was a man who had gone through stress and horrors, and survived. Just like her.

  He took another step toward the cage. His eyes raked over her, his head tilted slightly at an angle, until they locked back onto her face. Silently, they remained staring at each other until the man finally spoke.

  “Are you real?”

  Challa started to answer when a faint scent wafted over to her. She sniffed, stunned, then took another longer sniff. To be certain. To erase any doubts.

  Her knees buckled. Before she was aware of it, she collapsed in the straw. Her trembling hands gripped the bars as her mind screamed the impossible truth she’d never expected to experience in her lifetime.

  The man smelled of sweet, tangy lemonade. And the only other being in the universe who would throw off that scent was the man her body had chosen to be her equal. Her other self.

  Her destined life mate.

  Chapter 4

  Compton

  A dozen steps past the sign that read, in bold lettering, Lawson Hall’s Carnival and Sideshow, and Compton Scott felt as if he was ten years old again. All the games were as he remembered them: sharpshooting; ring toss; penny ante; hit the milk bottle. From where they stood to get their bracelets, in the distance he could see all the familiar rides looking exactly the way he’d left them: Tilt a Whirl, the Octopus, House of Horrors. Except they looked like someone had slapped a fresh coat of paint on them. They also looked less sturdy than they did nearly fifteen years ago.

  Max led the way toward the sideshow. The girls were right behind him, arms linked and heads together as they giggled and talked. Compton mentally shook his head. Girls would always be girls, no matter what their age.

  As they approached the sideshow tents, along with what Compton felt had to be half of the carnival crowd, he caught sight of the huge, wall-sized posters advertising what was to come. There was the obligatory strong man, a bearded lady, Beverly the Smallest Woman in the World, and a contortionist available for viewing in tents five through eight. Compton checked the other side of the mall. Tents one through four held a snake charmer, GiGi the Turtle Woman, a sword swallower, and Challa the Alien Girl.

  “Hey, Max!” Compton pointed at the other side when his friend turned around. “That alien you’re wanting to see is on the other side.” Max nodded and led them in the other direction.

  If anything, the crowd was thicker in this area. Or maybe it was Compton’s imagination. The barker appeared from inside the main tent and climbed up to a small podium.

  “Welcome to Lawson Hall’s World Famous Carnival and Sideshow! Here, you will see the unbelievable! Witness the indescribable! Learn what few men will attest to, and what is the truth! So step right on in, everyone! But hurry! We have limited room, and can accept only a limited number of tickets!”

  A few steps below the podium another man accepted cash from people already starting to file inside. Compton gave his friend a nudge. “The sideshow is an extra fee.”

  Max snorted. “Figures.” He looked at the two women. “You two coming with us?”

  His wife smiled sweetly back. “Just try to leave us behind.”

  Shrugging, Max moved forward to shell out for the tickets.

  Compton found himself mentally drifting as they filed from o
ne tent to the next. Even though the snake charmer was nearly nude, and the python had been trained to do acts that were alarming, if not distasteful, he couldn’t seem to get into the mood. Gigi the Turtle Woman was nothing more than a hunchback woman with a very rare skin condition that gave her skin its reptilian effect. He was impressed with the sword swallower, but it was the alien girl they’d all paid to see, Compton concluded.

  As they walked into the last tent, he sensed a fresh energy in the place. Excitement permeated the air, along with everyone’s expectation. Max leaned over to whisper, “Every person I’ve talked to who’s seen this girl swears she’s the real thing.”

  “That ought to make the show worth its money.” Compton grinned.

  “Damn right.”

  The lights dimmed prior to the show beginning. The barker from outside stepped to the front. “Ladies and gentlemen! Lawson Hall’s World Famous Carnival and Sideshow proudly presents…Challa, The Alien Girl!”

  The curtains parted, and immediately two Klieg lights came on overhead, nearly blinding the crowd. Once his eyes adjusted, Compton saw a huge cage had been erected in the room. The floor of the cage was covered with hay, and a bucket bearing what appeared to be animal entrails sat in one corner. At the opposite end, a small shape huddled in a ball. It appeared to be tense, waiting, expectant. Compton tried to move closer, but the crowd was packed too thickly.

  “Take a look, everyone, but please keep your distance. She’s dangerous.”

  “She’s fake!”

  The yell came from his left. Frowning, Compton sought the crowd, looking for the culprit as the crowd laughed in response. He didn’t like hecklers. Never had.

  Several people gasped, drawing his attention back to the stage. The alien girl was awakening, and she had a pissed expression on her face. She scanned the crowd, and in the microsecond when her eyes met his, Compton saw tears. Real tears. And without a doubt he knew the woman was unhappy. As she got to her feet, Compton mentally took a step back, detaching himself from the current situation and becoming a critical observer, rather than a participant. His brain and his body obeyed instinctively, well trained and well adapted for similar situations after so many years in the military.

  He watched as the alien woman lunged at the bars. He scanned her body, looking for seams, buttons, or zippers—anything that would tell him it was a costume. But the lighting was too bright and too intense, preventing him from gaining any insight.

  People screamed at her repeated attempts to reach them. Several began to leave the show. Compton shifted his gaze over to Max and the girls, but they had been among those who had retreated.

  The barker continued his spiel about watching out for the alien girl’s temper. One of the young high school kids was singled out. Compton stepped further back to give himself more room to observe.

  The temperament of the crowd went from frightened to distressed. Security began clearing out the tent. To his right Compton found a seam in the makeshift wall where the edges of two tarpaulins hadn’t been sealed properly, and he slipped between them, out of sight while the tent was being evacuated.

  The place grew quiet. Still. Presently he could make out the alien girl moaning softly. She was in pain, but he couldn’t tell if it was an emotional or physical pain. Not until he saw her.

  Even with his artificial leg, Compton managed to ease out of his hidey hole and walk around the corner to where the cage was located. The moment he reentered the area, the girl heard him and looked up.

  Their eyes locked, and once again Compton swore he saw a deep sadness flicker across her green face. He advanced slowly. The cage was real, and so were the bars, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t easily escape from it.

  There were too many questions clouding his mind. Who was she? How did she get here? What would entice someone like her to do something like this?

  Was she wearing makeup or a costume? Were those talons real? Were those thin, membranous wings stretching from her wrists to her ankles real? Were those her real teeth?

  Before he was aware of it, he spoke aloud his most pressing question. “Are you real?”

  The girl never took her eyes off him as he approached. Neither did she hiss or growl, or make any move to lunge at him. Compton noticed her nostrils flaring, sniffing the air like an animal. Then, suddenly and without warning, her face paled to a pasty neon green, and she slumped into the hay.

  Alarmed, Compton rushed forward until he reached the edge of the stage. He started to swing a leg onto the chest-high platform when their eyes met again, and all the air rushed out of his lungs.

  They were blue, a very deep, dark blue, but with strange purplish flecks glittering within their depths. And they were filling with fresh tears.

  “Hey, you! Stop!”

  The barker had returned, catching him when he was about to roll onto the stage so he could check on the alien girl. Instead, Compton backed off, raising his arms in surrender.

  “Sorry, sir. I got lost trying to leave the tent, and ended up back here. That’s when I saw the alien fall.”

  The barker looked over at where the girl remained hunched over. Her eyes never left Compton.

  “Charlie, would you escort this man to the exit?”

  The security guy Compton had seen standing guard in front of the stage was back. Giving the alien girl one final look, he thanked the barker and followed the man named Charlie out of the tent, where Max and the girls were waiting for him.

  “Hey, Comp! Where have you been? We were starting to get worried.”

  “Sorry. I got turned around in there.”

  He glanced back at the sideshow tent one last time. Charlie remained standing at the exit, in case Compton changed his mind. Too bad Max and the girls were still here, or else Compton would have.

  As he trailed behind the others who were gunning for the main part of the carnival where the rides and food booths were located, Compton knew he would be returning. He had to. He had no choice.

  He had to find out why the alien girl affected him like she did.

  More than that, he had to find out why the hell he cared.

  Chapter 5

  Run

  Where is he?

  “Are you sure you’re okay? Damn it, Challa! What happened out there tonight?”

  Challa raised a hand to ward off Lawson’s angry, insistent questioning. “I told you. I’m fine. You didn’t leave me any water up there, and I got dehydrated!” she lashed back, hoping he wouldn’t hear the quivering in her voice.

  Where did he go?

  “Do I need to get Doc over here to check you out? Fuck this! You’ve never fainted like that before!” Lawson was persistent, if not irritatingly smothering when it came to her welfare. But Challa could understand. Army had been right. Without her, the carnival would have been dissolved years ago.

  “Answer me, woman!”

  She shook her head. “No. Don’t get Doc. You know every time he prescribes something for me to take it makes me sicker, throws my metabolism all out of balance. I’m not human, Lawson! You know that!”

  They were yelling at each other. It was becoming more frequent now. Maybe her being here was no longer the godsend the man had thought she’d be. After all, she wasn’t one of them, wasn’t like them, and she didn’t think like them. What’s more, Challa had her own mind, shaped as it was after years of captivity and servitude.

  What is his name?

  Growling softly, Lawson crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. Turning away from him, Challa looked down at her wristwatch still sitting on the makeup counter where she’d left it. The man must have read her mind.

  “No. You’re not going out running tonight. I forbid it.”

  Her temper flared, and she whirled on him. “You forbid it?” As soon as she’d said the words in that tone of voice, Challa backed down. She’d learned very quickly that Lawson always won the battle when he faced adversity. On the other hand, soft promises and wheedling usually helped her get her way.
Challa bowed her head and lowered her voice. “I’m sorry, Lawson. But I have to go. I need some fresh air. I need to run. I…I can’t think straight.”

  I can’t think of anything except the man who smelled of tart lemonade.

  “I won’t be gone long. I promise. But I’ve got to go. I have to run, and you know that, Lawson.”

  “How do I know you won’t just keep on running?”

  Challa sighed. It was an old argument. Whenever she most needed to get away, whenever she felt the overwhelming burn to run, he always hit her with the same question.

  “I will return, Lawson. I promise.”

  The man relented. He knew she never broke her word. Saying she promised was as good as cuffing a chain about her ankle, and he accepted it.

  Except she didn’t promise to stay nearby. Challa held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t tag that part onto her deal. Instead, he tossed his head and gave a little exasperated noise, turned, and walked out of the tent. The moment he was gone, so was she.

  * * * *

  Max and the girls hung around the carnival until closing time. Compton relented, not wanting to cause a scene between himself and Max. But Max would put on a tirade if he knew Compton had lost all interest in the carnival. All interest, except for the green-skinned woman in tent number four.

  As was to be expected, Max had chugged too many beers. The girls weren’t as badly off, but they definitely couldn’t be trusted behind a steering wheel, either. Which left Compton to do the honors and get everyone home safe and sound.

  As it was Max’s car, and Max had picked him up that evening, Compton chose to leave the vehicle in his friend’s driveway and walk the three miles back to his place. Even with the artificial leg, three miles was nothing compared to the hikes he’d been forced to take during boot camp, and later when he was on assignment.