Smile No More

by James A. Moore

  “Good man. Stay here. We’ll talk later.”

  The clown walked away, never bothering to look back.

  Carver listened to the sounds of the man’s footsteps on the metal stairs and closed his eyes, praying he was hearing properly. He couldn’t afford to screw up.

  After a few seconds, he started working his arms with methodical patience. It had been a very long time since he’d tried to escape from being bound, and he’d never actually used a straightjacket back then. There had been too many restrictions in the high school talent show and his magic tricks had been more limited to pulling a bunny from a hat.

  Sweat trickled down from his scalp and ran into his eyes, but he did his best to ignore the sudden stinging pain. Deep breaths, slow and steady, and maybe he would get out of this madness.

  ***

  Tia’s heartbeat was hammering in her chest. This was it. She was the one they’d all be watching this time around. Well, the guys would be watching Mary, too. The girl who played the seductive belly dancer was off to the side and practicing. She had circles under her eyes, but they were barely noticeable past the makeup. There were rumors she’d been seeing one of the bigwigs, one of the dead bigwigs. If so, she hid it well.

  The music started and a man she’d never seen before walked past her in a dark red get up. The crimson tuxedo flashed, covered in sequins, and the top hat the man sported was just as flashy.

  Tia stared, shocked, because the man shouldn’t have been there. He wasn’t a part of the show that she knew of. The red and blue and white makeup on his face stood out. He was a clown, but the design wasn’t the same as the stylized makeup for the Carnival. The clown looked her way as he passed and winked. There was something about him that seemed familiar, but it was nothing she could easily place.

  He was in the palace, frozen in the ice castle….

  She shook her head and made herself smile back. Maybe he was a local celebrity announcing them. They did that now and then, didn’t they?

  He slipped past the curtain and began speaking.

  “Layydieees and Gennnntlemeennnah, Girls and Boys! If I could have your attention please! Welcome one and all to the Alexander Halston Carnivale of the Fantastic!”

  “The what?” Mary laughed softly as she spoke and Tia couldn’t help giggling herself. How embarrassing for the man.

  “My name is Rufo the Clown, and I’m your Master of Ceremonies tonight. You are, I promise you, in for one hell of a show!”

  She started toward her place on the stage, near the wagon set that advertised Ramona the Gypsy Mystic, but stopped when the dizziness staggered her. Her vision grayed out and an involuntary moan escaped her mouth.

  The clown man walked toward her as the curtains started to rise. As her legs began to buckle he was there, his hands on her arms, supporting her.

  “Careful now, we can’t afford to have you falling down. You’ve got the most important role of all.” She nodded her head despite the way the simple motion made the world rock unsteadily. As she regained her feet, he let go of her, his fingers hooking the cloth of her gypsy blouse.

  He yanked and the fabric pulled from her body with a ripping purr. Tia let out a gasp and staggered again, her balance ruined and now her clothes torn away.

  But when she looked down, her body was not bared, merely wearing the wrong clothing. An outfit almost as red as the tuxedo on the clown flashed in the stage lights, covering her body like a second skin. She recognized the design. She’d seen the same outfits in dozens of pictures from the previous show put on by the Carnivale. The costume had been worn last season by the demon-women of the Infernal Chorus.

  She opened her mouth to speak, fully intending to ask the man what he had done and how he had managed it.

  Instead, her mouth formed different words; spoke them with an accent that was pure Midwest and in a voice that was not hers….

  The clown smiled at her, leaned in close and whispered, “This is going to be fun. Just relax and go with it.”

  What are you doing to me? She tried again and instead heard the words: “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Winkler. I didn’t expect a private meeting.”

  Billy Handler, the man who was playing Samson the Strong Man, looked toward her and responded, as if the lines were natural and part of the show. He walked toward her with a smile on his face and a definite strut that had nothing to do with the way Billy normally acted when he was playing his part. “Well, Meagan, from what I’ve seen so far, you’re an amazing talent. I wanted to talk to you about next season. We’re looking at who should be the leading female dancer and I’m interviewing several different girls from inside the show before we consider calling for open tryouts.”

  This was madness! She could see the confusion in Billy’s eyes. His face made all the right moves, his body the proper gestures to go along with his words, but they were still all wrong.

  She stepped toward him, her hands moving of their own volition, her mouth forming words that were not her own and as much as she fought to resist, her body refused to listen. Panic caught fire in her stomach and spread madly, but her face and her body showed no signs of her distress.

  Off to the side, the clown stood and watched, his eyes glittered, his face was like stone and his body trembled as if he were straining in a monumental effort.

  ***

  “Well, I’m flattered, of course, but I’m not the best dancer in the troupe. This is my first time on stage, I mean, what about Liz Montenegro? She’s just about the best dancer I’ve ever seen.”

  Michael listened to the words and stopped struggling for a moment. Liz Montenegro. Elizabeth Montenegro. Not a coincidence and not the dialogue that was supposed to take place in the show. Hell, there wasn’t any dialogue in the show except for narration at the beginning and two of the performers below him were talking loud and clear.

  “Well, Liz is also being considered, but we believe you have a lot more potential than you’ve had a chance to show so far.” He looked down at the actors. They weren’t even dressed the right way. The woman was wearing an outlandish red costume that had nothing to do with the show. He knew, because he’d seen parts of it several times.

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate the opportunity.” Her voice was pleasant, but neutral. Guarded. There was no denying the undercurrent.

  The man stepped closer to her and smiled. “We want to give everyone a chance to shine at the Carnivale, Meagan.”

  The girl stepped back, trying to stay just out of easy reach, but the guy wasn’t taking the hint. He stepped closer again and as she tried to avoid him he reached out and caught her shoulders.

  “There are a lot of girls vying for the lead role, obviously, but I think we can almost guarantee that you get the part, with a little personal practice and coaching.”

  She looked around, caught and worried, and shook her head. “I—Listen, I’m very flattered but I don’t—”

  The tension was high, the acting nearly flawless. Despite his situation Carver was drawn in watching what happened below.

  “Try not to be too hasty, Meagan.”

  “It’s not hasty, sir. You’re old enough to be my father, and I don’t need any job where I have to sell myself—”

  He cut her off, his hands squeezing hard enough that the girl gasped in sudden pain. “Old enough to be your father? What? You want to call me daddy?” His tone and attitude changed, growing more menacing.

  “Stop it! I mean it!” She fought to get away from him, but he shook her violently, a rag doll in the hands of a temperamental toddler.

  “Who the hell do you think you are, girl? You think you’re something special? You’re nothing! Another little dancer with delusions.”

  She broke his grip for the moment and slapped him across his face with a resounding noise.

  His fist drove into her midriff and the girl gasped.

  Below him the stage faded to near black and the figures below struggled as little more than silhouettes.

  In the darkness,
the girl screamed and the man first growled and then laughed as her cries became whimpers and then sobs. The effect was more chilling than he would have expected.

  ***

  The rape didn’t happen. For a moment Tia thought Billy meant to tear her clothes off and force himself on her, and the sounds that came out of her were closer to real than she wanted to think about, but as the lights faded and he pushed her to the stage she understood that it was for the show, whatever insane show they were being forced to act out.

  Moans and cries came from her mouth as Billy loomed over her, going through motions that, happily, were only pantomimed. She felt him pressed to her. He had no erection; he took no pleasure from the acts. Even if she hadn’t seen his eyes or known that Billy was homosexual, his lack of arousal would have offered some small comfort.

  While the stage was lost in darkness she heard people moving around, feet shuffling, boards creaking. Tia looked out into the audience and saw the people there watching, lost in the show that was not what they had come to see.

  The faces in the front row were close enough that she could see their individual expressions. Some seemed to enjoy the show; others looked disgusted by the intimations of rape. All of them were affected, though it was impossible to say if they were enjoying the show or merely too shocked to react.

  Off to the side, the clown watched on, his face heavily shadowed by the hat on his head. Only his mouth could easily be seen and the red smile hid whatever he might have been thinking.

  Tia closed her eyes, her body once again refusing to answer her commands. She wanted to see what was happening, especially when Billy climbed off of her and stepped away.

  Past the closed lids she saw the lights brighten and knew the next act had begun.

  ***

  The figures below had multiplied while the darkness hid almost everything, and Carver shrugged his shoulder free of the ropes that held him secured. The blood surged back into his arm that had been deprived for several minutes and pins and needles of heat pricked the limb.

  “What the hell did you do, Mitch?” The man who spoke to him looked down at the girl on the stage who now lay motionless, her eyes closed and her body twisted into an awkward shape.

  “I—It was an accident! We were just, it got rough and the next thing I know she’s not breathing. You have to help me here, Adam. I can’t handle this alone!”

  The man playing Adam paced, his features twisted into conflict. “This can’t keep happening! I helped you the last time, and I’ve heard from others, Mitch. Other people who helped you hide this sort of thing. Bad enough when you—when you get rough, but Jesus, you killed her!”

  “Just this one last time, Adam.” The big man whined, pleading, his hands clasped in front of his chest in a gesture not unlike a prayer. “Never again, I swear, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “‘Make it worth my while?’” Adam laughed nervously. “What the hell could you possibly do to make it worth my while to hide a murder?”

  “I could step down as the head of the Carnivale. You, you could take my seat. The salary is outrageous.”

  Adam spun to look toward the audience, his troubled brow slowly calming, his frown briefly becoming a smile before fading into a calmer expression to neutrality.

  “Okay, Mitch. This one last time. But never again, I mean it.”

  Mitch moved toward him, relief changing the lines of his face. “Thank you, Adam. Thank you so much. I’ll be better, I promise I will.”

  “You have to, Mitch.”

  “It’s a sickness, but I’ll get help. I’ll make it right.”

  The men fell silent and moved. Two more men joined them on the stage and quickly wrapped the girl’s body in a heavy drape of fabric. Carver saw her chest move as she inhaled and exhaled, but otherwise there was no sign that she was alive.

  He looked away from the show and saw Booker standing off to the side, watching the performance. The man looked up at him, his face expressionless. A smile broke through as he stared at the detective.

  Then he stepped onto the stage and looked out at the audience, clapping his hands savagely.

  The audience joined in, reluctantly at first but then with more enthusiasm.

  The clown stood facing the applause and bowed sharply, his hat held out formally as he accepted the accolades.

  “And so we come to intermission, my friends. A moment or so before the final act begins!” He stood and once again donned his hat. “The story you have just seen is truth, though no one will find record of the murder of Meagan Phelps.” He paced, his hands moving animatedly, waving and carrying on as if they had a life of their own. “Look it up if you doubt me. Officially she’s been reported missing.”

  A few people in the audience started speaking and he stopped moving, looking at one of the speakers until the silence was once more complete.

  “It took a little looking, and in places most people would never consider, but I found out all about our Mitchell Winkler. He came up with the idea of the Carnivale. According to what he told a few close friends, he actually saw the circus it’s based on when he was a kid and loved the show so much it stuck with him. Isn’t that amazing? He saw the show and liked it so much he had to come up with new ways to show how it might have ended.”

  Rufo stopped his pacing and stood tall, facing the audience and taking his time, looking from person to person as everyone stared back.

  Far behind him the players for the Carnivale stepped onto the stage. All of them moved slowly to the last person they stared out at the audience, expressionless.

  “These fine folks have entertained audience after audience with tales of what might have been. I’m not going to ruin their work. I know the truth, but I’ll not share it with you. Let them speculate and entertain you. I’ve revealed the one secret I needed to show.”

  He pointed out into the audience and a spotlight cut through the twilight of the auditorium, lighting up a single empty seat.

  “Mr. Mitchell Winkler is not here tonight. That seat was reserved for him, but he failed to show. That’s all right. I’ll meet him soon and we’ll take care of his final curtain call. In the meantime, I have a message I’d like to have passed on by anyone who sees him.”

  The clown stepped toward the audience and lowered his hat until it was held in both gloved hands. His actions were slow and solemn.

  “Should you happen to run across the man, any of you, feel free to tell him that Meagan’s Uncle Rufo is looking to settle the score.”

  Another pause, and this time he tilted his head as he looked out into the masses and his grin spread wider until his teeth flashed.

  “Of course, there’s always the chance that I’ve missed my chance with Mitch. I think he might already be dead, because I haven’t found any sign of where he might be hiding.”

  The clown did a fast stride that covered the length of the stage. “But enough about me! What we need here is a showstopper! How about a magic trick?”

  He waved his hands high in the air, his fingers wiggling frantically and they descended. “Abracadabra!”

  Several gasps became a wave of noise from the audience and Carver looked out toward them. The people were looking around, in some cases covering their heads and in others studying the water that fell from above.

  Mist reached the edge of the stage and Rufo stepped back a bit. More people in the audience were looking around and the voices rose from murmurs to shouts.

  “Oh, calm down. It’s not really rain, just water from the sprinkler system.” The clown laughed and the sound was carried over the speakers despite the water and the flickering lights. “Still, I had you there for a second.”

  Rufo shrugged and laughed again. “Its just water! If I were you, I’d be worried about the electricity!”

  Carver had no idea how the clown managed it, but he saw the end result. The lights above the audience flashed and shattered, raining down glass shards and fragments of superheated metal.

  Most of the
people ducked down and let out surprised noises, a few tried to run from the shower of sparks and slivers.

  Rufo raised his arms above his head and lifted his hands toward the heavens. He drew his fingers in until he’d clenched them into hard fists.

  When he brought his hands down abruptly, the lightning followed a second later. Arcs of electricity flashed through the air, leaping from the light sockets and stroking the audience with fiery fingers. People screamed, they danced and died as they burned and bled and through it all, the clown looked out at them with a broad, savage smile twisting his features.

  The lucky ones died. A surprising number of individuals in the audience survived the electrical burns and the deep cuts from falling fragments, but if Carver had been given a chance to look around right then and there, he’d have placed money on the survivors wishing to join the dead rather than suffer the agonies of living through the unexpected storm.

  The clown laughed, threw his head back and roared his merriment to the heavens until he seemed incapable of doing anything else and all around him the performers, King and Cantrell among them, stared toward the ruined audience with no expression on their faces.

  When he’d finished his laughing jag Rufo the Clown waved an arm at the performers and gave an order. “Take a bow, folks. These people are here to see you.” And they listened. As one the entire troupe bowed formally. The dead in the audience did not applaud. The living were in too much pain to notice.

  Booker looked up again and winked at Carver as he removed his hat. Without another word he walked away from the stage and Michael followed his progress for as long as he could, too shocked to do much more than observe.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The rage came on him a few moments later as he tried to slither the rest of the way from his bonds and finally slipped one arm completely free. Carver let out a groan and shook, his blood pressure surging dangerously, his pulse a rapid fire staccato that would have terrified any sensible cardiologist.