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Hard Press: The Evie Black Files

Page 20

by Adam Nicholls


  Evie laughed and did as she was told. She couldn’t wait to be a part of the real thing!

  “Here goes.”

  The blade slid into the premade slit, which would be invisible from a distance—as far back as the audience would be. Evie didn’t hear it quite like she thought she would but felt the cold steel against her knees.

  “Everything all right?” Paris said.

  “Fine.”

  “Good. Right, the second will be by the crown of your head, so inch that to the left. Okay? That’s very important. The left.”

  Again, Evie did as she was told. This time discomfort set in, as she moved her head just in time to see the sword pass by her right cheek. It slid down like a stiff snake, crawling dangerously close to her chest.

  Waiting in the dark, Evie wondered where the next sword would come through. It was already becoming a little too hot in here; the naturally close air of the box combined with the swords created something of a barrier. But after moments of anticipation, Paris had still not said anything.

  “Paris?”

  No report came from the other side of the box.

  Evie felt a burning sensation creeping across her forehead—the first sign of sweat. Of panic. Clutching at her very soul. “Is everything all right out there? Paris?” She knocked on the roof of the box, thumping hard with what little room she had.

  Something wasn’t right. Just as Fry had asked, she’d taken a chance on Paris and decided to trust him. Now, however, as she lay alone in this confined wooden prison, Evie was beginning to regret her choices.

  “Come on, this isn’t funny.” The air got closer. Sweat began to dribble from her skin, soaking her shirt instantly. A part of her wondered if another sword would come through, this time with no instructions or warning, aiming to do some harm.

  “Paris!”

  Evie began to hyperventilate. After all she had endured at this carnival, she hadn’t expected to fall into such trouble so soon after her last brush with death. But the real terror set in when she realized something that made her blood run cold: she could die inside this box.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The swords retracted. The light hit her when the lid popped open. Paris towered over her, holding out a hand to relieve her from her nightmare. It felt somewhat impersonal. Almost as if his kindness toward her was nothing more than a performance itself.

  “I’m so sorry to leave you.” He hoisted her out of the box and brushed off her shoulders. “There was an emergency that called me away. You understand.”

  Evie, still recovering her breath from—what was to her—a near-death experience, felt a rush of blood in her cheeks. “No. I don’t understand. You can’t just leave me in a goddamn box, Paris! To think, I wanted to trust you.”

  But Paris placed his hands gently on her shoulders, his dazzling green eyes looking directly into hers. “I did not mean to make you feel uncomfortable,” he said. “Please, please forgive me.”

  Evie dropped her head in a sulk. When somebody was that sincere, it was almost impossible to remain hostile toward them. “Fine. But don’t ever do that again.” As she turned to leave, she could have sworn she had seen something. It seemed unusual—so unusual, in fact, that it could well have just been her paranoia.

  Was he… smiling?

  Within minutes she banged on Fry Carter’s door. Forgiving Paris was one thing, but Fry seemed to have absolutely nothing under control. Considering he was the manager, leader—father almost—of these people, there was very little order among them.

  Fry opened the door, and the grin fell from his face instantly. “What’s wrong, my love?”

  “What’s wrong?” Evie pushed past him as she fired the question, stood next to the couch, and tried her damnedest not to scream. “Let me tell you what’s wrong. I’ve been here for less than half a week, and I’ve already been tortured twice.”

  “Twice?” Fry came in, eyebrows raised. “What happened?”

  “Paris left me in a box and walked off, that’s what happened! You need to keep your freaks in check.”

  Fry took a seat then, clasping his hands together and staring blankly at the spotless beige carpet. “I’m sorry that happened to you. It was… I thought you would like it. And Paris isn’t normally like that. It surprises me that he would leave you like that. I would trust him with my life. In fact, I used to trust him with hers.”

  Evie turned to follow his pointed finger and found herself once again looking at the framed photograph of the young woman. Somehow, she felt as though she was on the verge of some explanation. “I don’t understand.”

  “Her name was Jessica, and she used to be the beautiful assistant. You were taking her role,” Fry said, looking flat. “We married young, but we were crazy for each other. I guess you could say we were one of the few couples who stood the test of time. Until…” He sighed then. “It was cancer that took her.”

  Evie finally understood why he had been grasping at her so tightly. Why he had offered her a partnership. Why he had asked her along on his travels, even after only knowing her for a few days. It was so obvious now—Fry Carter was lonely.

  “I’m sorry—I really am—but that doesn’t excuse this.”

  “I suppose it doesn’t.” Fry rose to his feet and held Evie’s hands. “For what it’s worth, let me extend my apologies. Paris likes you, and I’m inclined to agree that you’re wonderful. If it’s not too much trouble, would you be so kind as to try again with him?”

  Evie shook her head. “I don’t know if—”

  “Just one time, I beg you. If the shoe fits, then great. If you don’t like it, I will pay for you to get home and compensate you for your trouble. Is that fair enough?”

  Evie wanted to tell him to go screw himself. This entire trip had led to nothing but trouble so far. How many more dangers lurked around darkened corners? Who was next in line to make her feel like a fool? It took everything she had not to storm out right then. But instead, she took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and said…

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The following night at exactly eight o’clock, Evie peeled back the curtain and looked out into the circus ring. Each and every seat was occupied. Row upon row of people circled around the tent, fans looking down at Fry with bated breath, just waiting for him to speak.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said softly, his voice ripping through the speakers. A single spotlight shone over him as his melancholy tone washed over the attentive crowd. “We’re here in Missouri for one night only, and not a moment longer. After the show, we will never have to see your mugs again.”

  The audience erupted into laughter. As Fry continued the act, Evie smiled and watched with eager anticipation, her breath caught in her chest like a bubble ready to burst.

  “So put your hot dogs down and your hands together for the Loopies!”

  Fry stepped out of the ring, switching places with the clown who Evie had stepped over when he’d passed out drunk the other night. The lights flicked on in a sudden burst, the music kicked in with a cheerful melody, and everyone was in high spirits. It was like an art, Evie thought as she welcomed Fry backstage.

  “How are you feeling now?” he asked, slipping a hand around her waist.

  “Nervous,” Evie told him, hearing it in her trembling voice. “How long until I’m on?”

  Fry glanced at his watch. “I’d say around thirty minutes. Listen, stay out of trouble while I tend to some things. If I’m not back before you perform, then good luck.” He leaned in to kiss her, and when she turned her cheek to him, he looked nothing short of disappointed.

  As soon as he left, Evie turned back to watch the show. When the clowns took their leave, the unicyclists entered the tent. When the unicyclists left, Jynx the Mystic Gypsy took to the spotlight, calling down members of the audience and giving them “potions” to make them sing and dance around like chickens.

  This shouldn’t be allowed. Evie watched in morbid fascination as a man from the audience fell
to the ground. The room fell silent, watching, waiting. When the man sat up and laughed hysterically, the crowd cheered for Jynx and the show went on.

  “We’re up next,” Paris said, appearing at her side. Since their dramatic disagreement, they had studied the act together almost nonstop. They had gotten along just fine, but Evie still couldn’t bring herself to trust him. “I hope you’re ready.”

  “I am.” But she really wasn’t sure. Looking down at her sparkling leotard, she felt ridiculous. She tried to think of the last time she had shown so much flesh. Back when she was hunting down Lady Luck with her brother Mason, she supposed. She’d had to dress as a prostitute, but even that wasn’t as unsettling as this. At least then she didn’t have hundreds of people looking at her, waiting for her to do something wonderful.

  “This is us.” Paris stepped out into the ring, taking the microphone from Jynx as they switched spots.

  Evie took a breath, stood up straight, and smiled like a flight attendant. Just like she’d been told in practice. The audience applauded as they made their appearance, and Evie tried to temper her shaking before it became obvious.

  But then Jynx passed her, snarling and eagle-eyed. Her mouth contorted into a sly grin, and she mumbled something at Evie that sounded like a threat. Something that sounded like “Good luck, bitch.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Evie’s first time in the spotlight had been terrifying, and yet, so exhilarating she felt aloft on a sea of emotion. Having been threatened by Jynx didn’t help either—Evie had had enough trouble trusting Paris before she’d even gotten into the box. But they’d done it. All had gone well, and she was so glad she’d decided to carry on with the show. The swords had been slid into the box at exactly the right places, and Evie had moved to avoid them exactly as practiced. And when that revealing moment finally came—when Paris opened the box to announce that Evie was alive and kicking—she’d felt an incredible sense of euphoria.

  I can’t wait to do that again!

  All smiles now, receiving numerous pats on the back from the backstage crew, Evie stepped outside to reward herself with some air. The cool summer breeze was exactly what she needed to soothe her skin. She felt flushed, ripe with adrenaline. She closed her eyes and looked up to the half-moon, absorbing all the fresh air.

  Thump.

  Evie craned her neck, gazing into the darkness formed by two rows of tents. It was far more isolated out here; the majority of the people on site were inside watching the show. But Evie could have sworn she’d heard some fidgeting coming from her left.

  Thump.

  There it was again, and as ever, Evie’s instinct compelled her to investigate.

  She grabbed a coat from the rail and slung it over her shoulders, suddenly beginning to shiver in the wind. Slowly, she tiptoed across the soft grass in her bare feet, leaning forward as if it would help her remain unheard.

  The noise came once more, and Evie was certain she had found the right tent. She looked around her, and when she saw no one, slipped inside. A gentle light caressed the walls, but she hadn’t seen it from outside. The material that these tents were made from must have been far thicker than your average camping gear. It made the entire atmosphere eerie.

  “Hello?” she called out. More intrigued than nervous, she began to open boxes and pull back curtains, searching for something or someone that had produced the thumping noise but finding nothing.

  Nothing, until she reached the final curtain.

  Evie’s arm swung back as she ripped back the cloth. The coat fell from her shoulders, and she stumbled back, her mouth agape at what she saw. A boy, aged somewhere between fifteen and eighteen years, was hanging from a railing with a rag in his mouth. His eyes were wide and raw with tears, his skin ghostly pale.

  Trembling, Evie wanted to turn back, to run for help. It was then that she realized there was nobody to help either one of them. Whoever she ran to would most likely be in on this and would only want to make sure she kept her mouth shut. Permanently.

  Like it or not, this was her problem now. There must have been a police officer nearby, and if she moved fast enough, she might be able to get him to safety. That was if she could snap out of her trance and set aside the thousands of questions that stormed her mind.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  She stood rooted in place as if the soles of her feet had sprouted foliage anchoring her in place. Her ability to think or speak was wrenched from her as she stood gawking at the boy, who squirmed and wriggled, his eyes filling with dread.

  “It’s okay,” Evie said, coming around. She rushed to his side, began to remove his gag, and then stopped short. “I’m going to take this out, but you need to keep quiet, all right?”

  The boy took moments to settle down from his violent struggle and then nodded.

  Evie pulled the cloth from his mouth, cringing at the long line of saliva that followed. She tossed it to the floor and looked right at the boy. Never had she seen anybody look so damn terrified.

  “I thought you were one of them,” he said, looking down at her leotard.

  “Makes sense.” Evie reached up toward his hands, unthreading the rope that had bound him. “What the hell happened? Who did this to you?” Although Evie had an idea that she already knew.

  “I don’t know,” the boy whimpered. “I was at a gas stop with my buddy. Next thing I know, some big fucker has me over his shoulder, and I’m thrown in here. Stupid witch told him to do it.” Moist with tears, his eyes looked as though they were made of crystal.

  I knew it. I knew it! There was every reason to suspect that Jynx was some kind of psychopath, but this only made it all the more concrete. Even if burying Evie alive had truly been some kind of sick prank, at least she’d gotten out of there. She suddenly found herself wondering what would have happened that night if Fry hadn’t come to take her out of the grave. A chill shot through her spine, and she shuddered.

  “What’s your name?” she asked the boy.

  “L-Lance.”

  “All right, Lance. Can you walk?”

  He shook his head rapidly, sweat leaping off his skin.

  “Then I’m getting you out of here.” It took every ounce of strength in her tiny body, but Evie hoisted him off the rail and put one of his arms over her shoulder. She clutched him tight, holding him upright while he struggled and failed to help.

  Together they left the tent, stumbling along slowly and trying their best not to draw attention. All they needed to do was find a cop, and then Lance could go back to his family and Evie could… well, she didn’t know what she wanted to do. A part of her wanted to stay with Fry, but what if he was in on this, too? Sure, he had saved her from the grave, but that didn’t mean he was totally innocent… did it?

  Evie dismissed every thought and concentrated all effort into escaping and seeking help. They passed the long row of tents and came out at an opening that ran alongside a fence. On the other side of that fence, freedom beckoned.

  “Okay,” she said, taking a brief break from the heavy weight. “We’re going to make a run for it. As soon as we get out of here, I’m going to set you down somewhere public and try to find a phone.”

  “Please don’t leave me.” Lance’s head sagged as if he were drunk.

  “I have to. Now come on.” Evie shifted his weight around her, finding a second wind. Forcing herself into action, she dragged him across the grass. The opening at the fence was only forty feet away.

  Twenty feet.

  Ten.

  Evie was stopped by a gut-wrenching sound—something all too familiar in depth and pitch, but the tone was significantly different from how she had ever heard it before.

  “Going somewhere, my love?”

  Her nerves ashatter, she turned to face Fry Carter, surrounded by Lucas the Strongman, Jynx, and two other men who stood still, smirking devilishly at her and Lance. The threatening look in their eyes spoke volumes, and it was clear to her that she would not be allowed to leave.

&n
bsp; Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Conan hadn’t anticipated the early-morning arrival. His thoughts pingponged between leaving Cheryl in a bad mood and finding Evie Black before there was trouble.

  Somehow, he had the sense that something was wrong. Evie was nothing if not annoying—checking in every few hours and keeping everything perfectly organized. That, coupled with her remarkable talent for journalistic writing, made her the model employee… even if she did have a tendency to act out.

  At dawn, when summer was still waking up to warm the air, Conan parked his car near the carnival site and walked the rest of the way. There was a long stretch of road that remained closed off to vehicle access, and litter covered the ground. The street appeared ghostly in its vacancy, not another human being in sight.

  Within a few minutes of concerned wandering, Conan arrived at an empty field. Thinking the worst, he looked around at the grass, flattened and disturbed. They marked the absence of the attractions and tents that had occupied them recently.

  It suddenly dawned on him what had happened.

  Stooping to pick up a flyer, he held it in a quivering hand.

  COME ALONG TO

  LOWNER’S CARNIVAL!

  FREE ENTRY – RIDE ADMISSIONS APPLY

  IN COLUMBIA, MISSOURI, FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY!

  “I’ve missed her,” Conan said aloud, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand.

  Worse yet, he had no idea where she was headed, and he only had himself to blame. It was he who had put pressure on her to write Cara’s story, and he alone. So—God forbid—if something really had happened to Evie, it would be on his conscience until the day he died.

 

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