Smile No More

by James A. Moore

  To hear him talk, it was the blacks who had ruined his finances and cost him the farm. It didn’t matter that the only people of color in my home town had worked the farm a few miles down the road since before he was born. They became his scapegoats.

  All I can say is, I guess the Klan in the area needed scapegoats, and a bunch of clowns and circus freaks seemed like as good a target as any to them.

  They came bearing torches, and several came armed with rifles. I didn’t know why they were there, but I knew they had no intentions of welcoming us to their town.

  An eerie silence had fallen over those of us who stayed outside, a silence that had nothing in common with the outward calm.

  I was raised to believe that all people should be met as friends until they prove otherwise. I was also raised with an understanding that you don’t back down from trouble unless you have to.

  Alexander Halston must have been raised in a similar fashion. He came out of his trailer with a loaded shotgun in one hand and four extra weapons to pass out to the men around him. By the time the Klansmen had climbed out of their trucks, easily half the men in the circus were waiting with weapons of their own. I never even guessed once that any of the people around me carried firearms. It never even crossed my mind, because to me the circus had always been a place of magic and in my naiveté I had assumed the rest of the world felt the same way.

  Maybe most of the world, but there were exceptions, and they wanted to have a talk with us.

  The men in white sheets stood around for several minutes before one of them came closer. “You need to leave here!”

  Alex shrugged his shoulders. “You can see we’ve packed the tent and supplies. We’ll be gone as soon as the sun rises.”

  “You’ll be gone right now if you’re smart!” The voice was filled with anger and righteousness, as if our mere presence on the planet was reason enough to be outraged.

  “We’ve done nothing to you and we paid good money for the right to camp here and hold a show. We spent the morning raising the tent, the afternoon in town and the evening taking the tent down. We need rest, and we’ll leave in the morning.” Alex’s voice brooked no argument.

  Unfortunately, the same was true of the man under the hood. I didn’t see any way out of a fight and I’d be lying if I said the idea didn’t terrify me. But I was raised to never back down from exactly the sort of nonsense that was going on and I wouldn’t have run in a million years.

  I’ve heard it said that great minds think alike. I guess angry mobs do, too. The Klansmen wanted us gone from their town and wouldn’t let us wait for sunrise. Alex Halston wanted to settle in until the morning came, and so did his people, including me. It was ludicrous, but guns were being pointed and I had no doubt in my mind that we were, all of us on both sides, perfectly willing to die for our beliefs.

  Doreen changed that. She came out of her trailer wearing nothing at all, except the flesh she was granted at birth. All of us turned and looked at her.

  I was struck by her beauty again but it was a different beauty this time, a terrible, powerful thing. Her looks had not changed, but their impact most certainly had. I wanted to look at her, wanted to be with her, but at the same time, I feared stepping too close to her, the way a wise man fears to reach into a furnace that’s blazing hot. Several of the men around me averted their eyes from Doreen Miles, and more than one actually cringed.

  Doreen turned away from me, from Alex, from all of the others who stood their ground against the hooded men, and faced the Klansmen. I looked at the shape of her body, the delicate muscles that moved under supple skin, the curve of her hip, her buttocks, her legs, and was, I think, relieved to not have to stare into her face.

  She spoke only one word, “Leave,” and the men who faced her trembled as they backed away. She stayed in the exact same spot, an unmoving statue with a petrifying gaze, as the Klansmen climbed back into their trucks and hastily drove away.

  Sounds silly, doesn’t it? A little girl terrifying a small army of angry rednecks. But that’s what happened. I saw it with my own eyes, felt a touch of what they felt, and for a moment, I was terrified of the same girl I’d helped into her clown costume the day before.

  Without another word, Doreen turned to head back into her trailer. Most everyone averted their eyes rather than look at her, but I stared, too drawn to her to look away and too petrified to move.

  The following morning, we were on our way, driving away from the town of Hapsburg and heading further down south. We couldn’t drive fast enough for me. No speed will help you escape fresh memories.

  Chapter Seven: Looking for Millie (Part Seven)

  I spent three days and nights in that damned hotel room. Reading about Millie’s life consumed one of those days. The rest of the time was spent thinking about what I’d learned and contemplating what to do next.

  I spent a lot of time sleeping, losing myself in dreams and memories and everything in between.

  I’ve had two families in my life. I lost one when I ran off to join the circus. I lost the other to fire and deceit. Much as I would have rather avoided thinking about either of my families, they were on my mind more and more and I had no idea how to stop them from haunting me.

  I had a grandniece. I studied the few pictures left of her again and again and I looked at the photos of Millie. They were hauntingly alike and completely different. I could see that they were related, could catch certain expressions in the pictures and know they shared blood, but that wasn’t enough to make me want to become a part of Meaghan’s life, was it? The girl was probably happy. Very few of the people I’ve ever met and befriended or loved could say the same.

  Oh, I know it sounds like I was wallowing in self-pity, but not really. It’s just a fact. I abandoned my family to make money for them. I meant to return and never did. The people I grew to love in the Alexander Halston Carnival of the Fantastic died. They were murdered and even if a few of them survived, the same problem came back to me again. They’d been alive fifty years ago and the odds were better than fair that they were either dead or so decrepit that they’d never even know I was in the room with them if I could somehow manage to find them.

  I watched the television a lot while I was in that room. A lot. There was nothing else to do that wasn’t too distracting, and the sound of voices kept me from going too stir crazy.

  I was watching the local news when I heard about The Carnivale De Fantastique. The name was similar enough that it took me away from my internal musings and drew me back into the world around me for a moment.

  An anchorwoman was talking about the latest show and how some people were claiming that the carnivale was the next best thing to magic. As she spoke they switched to shots of the show, a couple of scenes that were nicely laid out and colorful to say the least.

  Three clowns did a crazy dance while a girl in a scanty outfit with more glitter than cloth pirouetted across a high wire. All of them were young and athletic and flexible enough to be made of rubber. I’m a circus man. Naturally it caught my attention.

  I listened to the report with slight curiosity until I found out the mythology behind the show: The stories were based off the “alleged” disappearance of the Alexander Halston Carnival of the Fantastic.

  Alleged. I felt my teeth grind together.

  All that I had experienced, all that had happened to me and my second family came down to a footnote about maybe having existed once upon a time and just possibly disappearing one day, never to be seen again.

  I felt the smile growing as I contemplated that. Not a happy smile. I have to be honest; most of the people who’ve dealt with that smile are dead and a lot of them by my actions.

  While I was in that room, I saw a documentary on chimpanzees. According to that film—which I think has certain elements of hogwash—the smiles that chimps show in the wild are signs of intimidation and challenge. It was that sort of smile that played across my lips and face. I watched the flesh on my hands peel away and show t
he white underneath.

  I didn’t leave the room. I didn’t dare. I think if I had, I’d have killed almost as many people as I did in Serenity Falls. And believe me, I killed hundreds in that particular town.

  No. Instead I stayed right where I was, staring at the television set and grinning like a chimpanzee. My body rocked back and forth on the bed where I sat watching, and I took the comforter into my hands and tore it into strips of fabric, all the while watching an hour long special about the Carnivale de Fantastique and contemplating what I would do next.

  I think I might have gone after the owners of the show with a hatchet, but seeing Meaghan’s face stopped me.

  Meaghan, my grandniece. The last member of my family. The legacy left behind by Millie.

  She was in the show.

  Not the star, but oh, for me she shined so very brightly.

  Millie’s ghost haunted me again, only this time she was made flesh. Her smile, her mannerisms. The girl my sister had raised and this time she’d gotten it right.

  She was not Millie’s ghost. I know that and I knew it then. She was something better. She was family.

  I had Meaghan’s address. I knew where to go to find her.

  Finally, I would meet my remaining family. Maybe, somehow, I could make it right again, I could just be Cecil Phelps, a man with a reason for living beyond the need to kill.

  Maybe I could live again. Really live.

  I had a purpose. I had an address.

  I sat carefully, looking at the clown that smiled back at me from the mirror. Cecil Phelps was dead. I knew that, too. He’d died in a trailer, locked in with other performers five decades earlier. I just had his mind and soul. The body belonged to another person entirely until I took it.

  Still, I could have a life. I could have a family. I kept thinking those thoughts as my body grew another layer of flesh, the mask that allowed me to hide when I was out in the world where the rubes ruled.

  Family. It had been so very, very long since I’d had a family.

  ***

  The term “clusterfuck” came to mind. Certainly it was the word the captain had used not once or twice but roughly fifteen times during his long, drawn out rant in Michael Carver’s face. He didn’t even try to defend himself. As far as he was concerned, everything that went sour happened because he didn’t think the man he’d cuffed was really dangerous. Bad mistake, and one he wouldn’t make again if he got the chance to go after John Booker or whatever his name really was.

  Thinking about the smarmy bastard made him clench his jaw.

  Booker had played him like a fiddle and then escaped. Worse, he’d maimed a cop in the process. Wilkins lost his eye. There was no chance in hell he could keep it, and it looked like the doctors would have to do a few reconstructive surgeries before he’d ever look right again.

  Personal? That would have been an understatement. It was very personal. He wanted the bastard in a cell at the very least, and if he were honest, he wouldn’t mind beating the man into a coma.

  Mike kept his poker face on through the entire reaming, never once letting himself lose his temper. Every spray of spittle was another reminder that he’d screwed up.

  Aside from three possession charges and a handful of outstanding warrants for everything from traffic violations to armed robbery, Booker was all they had to go on. He was the most likely suspect on the murders, but that connection was weak at best. There was no evidence aside from the fact that one of the workers said Booker and Lowman were working together right before Lowman was murdered and that information came from a man they’d had to take in for outstanding drug warrants in Florida.

  And Lowman, there was a character. He’d had links to a hundred different porn sites, almost all of them dealing with children, on his computer. The FBI had already taken the laptop because they were better equipped to take care of a ring of pedophiles. If Booker was responsible for Lowman’s death, he’d done the world a favor, as far as the detective was concerned, but that didn’t make the other murders any more acceptable or legal.

  The captain finally wound down and moved on to the next police officer he intended to ream. Two of them actually, the ones Booker had managed to handcuff together. Michael had no intentions of defending them either. They’d screwed the pooch on their own and they’d face the captain the same way.

  There was the other body to consider, of course. The one that had been shipped up from Atlanta. He’d have to look at the files, see what he could find out about who had been added to the cast and crew after they moved up to Baltimore. One of the cast members was the victim. A girl if he was remembering properly. He hadn’t been assigned to that case, but there was always a chance that there was a connection. Now he just had to remember the name.

  “Elizabeth Montenegro.” The name clicked into his head and he nodded to himself. There was a real possibility that there was a connection. He made a note to call the Atlanta PD and find out who was working that case, if anyone. He still wasn’t quite sure exactly who was supposed to be in charge of that one on either end.

  “What?” Jeffries turned on him and snarled the word. Mike made himself stand still and even avoided flinching.

  “Elizabeth Montenegro. Is she a part of this investigation, sir?”

  “The dead girl that got shipped here?” The man still scowled, but Mike knew him well enough to understand that he was thinking now, and not just pissed off. “Maybe. Who’s assigned to that one?”

  “I think you gave it to Koslowski.” Actually he knew the man had assigned Koslowski. All the other detective had done since then was bitch about being overworked and underpaid, like that was a news flash.

  “Not any more. Add it to this case and get all of Koslowski’s notes.”

  Mike nodded his head. He didn’t need the extra work, but if there was a connection he wanted to know about it. Still, now he had to call Atlanta and then, just to add to the grief, if there was a correlation, he’d have to call the feds. Technically it would be their show if they decided to take over.

  Maybe that would be for the best. Mike didn’t like the way this investigation was going so far.

  ***

  Tia walked slowly, wincing at the aches moving through her legs and stomach. Despite the pain, she was still smiling. She’d gotten down all of the parts. Now all she had to do was remember them when the time came and an audience was watching her every move.

  Leslie walked next to her, wiping sweat from her face with a towel that looked big enough to cover a station wagon. “You did good. Really good.”

  “Think so?” It was a serious question. Leslie was the one in charge of making sure she was good enough to be on the stage, and Leslie was also the one person she was looking to as a real friend at this point. They’d spent a lot of time together, and now they had matching bruises from a few of the maneuvers they had to do on stage.

  “Yeah. You’ve got the goods.” Leslie smiled and waved at one of the cast members. Tia did too, but she still couldn’t have told you the man’s name if pressured for an answer.

  The props were all in place now, and the stage was amazing. Tia felt a sudden need to soak it all in again and stopped where she was.

  The final set for the performances was a frozen wonderland, walls of ice and snow that towered into the air, with a castle in the distance that also glittered in shades of white and blue.

  The idea of the story was that the head of the circus fell in love with one of the performers, a gypsy fortune teller named Ramona—played by Leslie and Tia alike—while she in turn falls for John, the lion tamer. Even as all of this is going on, the circus is visited by strangers who watch and dance around the periphery until one of them, a beautiful woman, also falls in love with John. The woman is the queen of a frozen fairy land, and when the final fight between John and Alex, the head of the circus takes place, John is gravely injured. The Fairy Queen then offers to save him, but only if he’s allowed to stay with her. Everyone agrees and the entire troupe is carri
ed away to the frozen paradise, leaving little to prove that they ever existed. As complex stories went, it was weak, but the performances made up for the lack of in depth tale. Besides, it was hard to go into too much detail when none of the performers actually spoke or sang.

  Leslie stopped with her, and smiled. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?”

  “I can’t get over it, you know? I’ve wanted this my whole life…”

  Leslie put an arm around her and rested her head against Tia’s. “See? That’s why I like you. You stop and look and it still makes you smile. Half the people with the show couldn’t care less. They’re just here for the cash. You? You love to dance.”

  “I almost went out for that show, the one on Fox. ‘So you think you can dance.’”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I was too busy worrying about the audition for this.” She knew how lame that sounded, but it was the truth. The Carnivale wasn’t just big, it was huge. The money, the publicity generated, it was the sort of thing that could make a whole career.

  Of course, the show on TV was getting pretty big, too.

  “I wanted to try out for it too, but I’d just gotten the part on here and I wasn’t going to risk it.” Leslie slipped her towel around her shoulders and did a long slow stretch, touching her hands to the floor in front of her. Tia thought about it and joined her. She didn’t much feel like it, but knew stretching was all the difference in whether or not she managed to keep all of her muscles where they belonged instead of letting them get torn to pieces.

  One of the stagehands came by and let out a wolf whistle. Without even looking, both girls raised one hand in a one-finger salute. It was automatic after a while. The calls were mostly good-natured and the response was given in the same spirit.

  Something moved at the corner of her vision and Tia responded automatically looking toward the movement to her right. Someone was moving behind the plastic ice wall. She couldn’t make out many details but she could see that he was looking in her direction. Dark hair, pale face, tall and lean. For a moment she thought he could be John Booker, the person the police believed was behind the killings, but she shook her head at the very notion. If the man had half a brain he was in Canada or Mexico by now.