A Fear of Clowns (The Greasepaint Chronicals)

by Power, P. S.

  It was a desperate time, with the dark FBI agent seeming to have about as much clue about what to do as he did. Basic first aid didn't really cover it. For instance, how did you handle someone that had been skinned like that? Who had also been castrated, and had his tongue cut out?

  "Wet some towels. We need to drape them all over him." He said this in his real voice. It was strange, but the rest of the time he'd been his character. Joey the Hobo Clown. One of his many faces. Now he had to be stronger than that. Efficient and proactive. "Lynn, hang on. Try not to move too much. Help is coming. Most of your wounds have been taken care of for now." How that was done, he didn't know. From the leavings on the tray it was probably that the stumps of the tongues had been tied off, rather than burned shut. Cauterization would have sent both into shock. Not that they wouldn't be anyway.

  What had been done was so monstrous that Jason couldn't really capture it all in his mind. It was completed for now, he thought. Not over, but broken up a little. How Mills was going to finish the job, he didn't know, but the man would try. He had to. His entire life had been focused on killing the two people he'd been torturing. That being stopped wasn't going to be the real end. Not for him.

  That was wrong though, wasn't it? He tried to work, to stop what bleeding he could and keep talking to Lynn, being soothing, even as she glared at him. It was clear the she'd already decided to blame him for what had happened. How that worked, what mental gymnastics it would take on her part, he didn't know. The one saving grace was that he didn't have to listen to her belittling him over it. It was a petty thought, but he didn't take it back. He had no doubt it was accurate, as well as mean of him to consider. Her lacking a tongue was, for him, probably a good thing.

  "Hang in there." He said it, or variations of it, over and over. Nothing they could do there was going to help either of them much. Shock was a real problem, one that could end in death if not treated, but just hitting Carl with a blanket would probably kill him too. They couldn't eat, if there was any food there, their mouths being injured. The same was true when it came to getting them water. Drugs would have been a good plan, but Carl wouldn't have kept a hidden stash of them there, or not useful ones, Jay was willing to bet. Not that he had time to check.

  What they did have was water, so Carl could be kept moist. It was probably the wrong thing to do, but it was something, and seemed to hurt less than the dry towels did. He could tell by the screaming. It was softer when the damp towels came. That could just be him dying, of course.

  Mills had treated Carl harshly, but he wasn't the main focus of the exercise, was he? The former deputy had talked about not knowing about him, thinking Tony Mills was his real father most of his life. He was mad at being abandoned, left with a crazy and abusive woman, so blamed him. His dead father. Not Carl at all.

  Apparently skinning alive was just what he did to people who mildly annoyed him. It was pitiful to see, but Jay still helped the man, even if he didn't think he was deserving of it. The Sheriff would be better off dying, if he were going to be honest. Hating him, which he still did, no matter how much pain the other guy was in at the moment, didn't mean that Jason could get away with being a monster however. So he'd do everything he could to save them both. To keep them alive until that help came. If Mills didn't just turn around and come back. It kind of made sense to do that.

  It was hard to get the two hurt people free from their chairs. They couldn't help, and Lynn acted like he was going to kill her himself when he came over. She struggled enough that finally he had McNab do it.

  "Messy divorce, you know how it is." It wasn't funny, and got her to try and say something, but he ignored her. The other man didn't talk much, just going from one person to the other, tending them as well as he could. Talking, like Jay was. Being encouraging, not knowing what else to do.

  "It won't be long now. They'll send a life flight. I would." There was no real certainty to his words, which finally ended with Jay being stared at. The man gave a slow head shake, standing behind the red towel draped form.

  He wasn't going to make it. It wasn't a surprise, but they had to try. It was what you did, even if the person dying was one you didn't like. Especially then. He didn't want to be blamed for it, after all. It wasn't his doing, and he had witnesses, but who knew what Lynn would say, later. Probably that it was all him doing it, or that he at least had let Mills hurt them. If he wasn't in on the whole thing. It was the kind of thing that probably made sense, to someone like her. Because it was what she would have done.

  Oh, she wouldn't have killed anyone, but setting it up was well within what she might have managed. Really... he didn't have any proof of the whole thing, but there was a tidbit that made sense to him suddenly. It hadn't even been bothering him, but as for a reason why... It sort of made sense.

  "Crap. Lynn, you set Mills up to kill me, didn't you? Made up some kind of lie, and sent him to Las Vegas after me? That's why he had to get me out of the way. He told you it was done, and you, and Carl, went to meet him or..."

  She glared again, but McNab did too. At her. She nodded though, her face pained, rather than vicious.

  "Because I ruined your scam? It wasn't enough for you that I have nothing now? Or... Wait, you. I keep thinking that it was always Carl, keeping me from getting a new job, having me harassed, but Mills said that it was you. It was always you." It hit him then, hard. The idea that she wasn't a good person had been with him for a while now, but that she was the real driving force behind it all... That everything bad had started with her...

  McNab tilted his head at Jason and then said a single word.

  "Hush." It came off as patronizing, but he understood that the man didn't want tempers to flare, right at the moment.

  Help may have been coming, but it didn't happen fast. They were there for hours, with him trying to digest the new information. There had been a lot of it. More than he could process, it felt like. Except that there was nothing else to do. He was there, dressed as a clown, still in makeup, of all things. He used the sink to wash his face, taking off the fake stubble, scrubbing with hot water. It was in the little kitchen space, which didn't have dishes in the sink, but did have hot water. Soap too. Dish washing liquid, but it worked. The bottle, plastic and clear, was a little oily on the outside, but he didn't stop to consider that, he just washed. It took a long time, but still, no one came.

  They worked together to lay Lynn on the floor, so she didn't have to hold herself up. Carl... That was a harder call. In the end they left him where he was, though he tried to fall over several times. It hurt him, to be stabilized at all. So they kept it to a minimum. He became softer, over time. Less loud. The screams had stopped, and now, when he was touched, it wasn't even a real whimper. More like an extra gasp. A response to the pain, but nothing that even sounded like he was a person anymore.

  That, most likely, was the point. Taking the skin meant something to Mills. What it really was, deep in his sick mind, Jay didn't know, and probably wouldn't have gotten, if told. It might have just been that he knew it was a thing that no one could recover from. That, or a way of removing the fake shell that the man had built around himself. A criminal that used other people, hiding behind the mantel of authority. Of course, that was probably just what Jay thought of him. Who knows what the real answer was. The skin, which was tattered and torn into tens of shreds, was on the floor, in a loose pile. He avoided looking at it. It was disgusting, and the horror of it all hit him.

  Rubbing his face again, he felt the real stubble there, and wondered when things would be normal again. When he could get back to work and not part of this freak show. That, it turned out, was going to come later. Much so. It was dark out, but there was the sound of a helicopter, and several cars and trucks.

  None of them were police, since the area was served by the County Sheriff's Office. They were all down, for one reason or another. He didn't know who they were, since it was dark out now, but he did open the door. Almost as an afterthought he took th
e oversized fake daisy out of his lapel and buttoned the jacket, so the rope he was using as a belt didn't show. It left him looking poor and a bit patched in places, but not like a joke. That seemed more important to him suddenly.

  There was a time to be the funny man, and a place for it. Neither of those was now, or here. He'd scrubbed that away already and was just himself, standing there watching things unfold. There was no place left, in the moment, for his day job persona.

  Especially with armed people coming in, who'd been told to look for a killer clown. That was a very real point, he decided. No one tried to tackle him or McNab to the ground, but he had to identify himself. So did the FBI agent. The men that spoke to them were State Police, which was refreshing.

  The one in charge looked at the scene as the para-rescue people did their work. They were taking both the victims. That would be good, since otherwise they would have died there. No one said a whole lot until the helicopter took off. It was too loud, and it let them have a bit to collect their thoughts.

  Then the man in charge, who was white, about fifty and looked to be in good shape, turned to the FBI agent left and made a hard face.

  "This is messed up. Why didn't you call in earlier? We've been standing by, ready to help on this." The words weren't polite, or kind, seeming stressed. As if that man knew what real stress was? Jason did, now. It was staring into the face of death, the only thing saving you being your own mind, and a bit of cute performance. Battling with a killer clown, with nothing more than a daisy and some witty banter.

  McNab looked back at him, and then after about half a minute of seeming ready to shoot the other guy, shook his head. Hard.

  "We thought the place was abandoned. There were no vehicles showing. Probably in the barn, or behind the place. Deputy Mills got the drop on us. We resisted, but he's good, and managed to get us tied down. So, that's why we didn't call it in. We didn't think it was warranted. We were wrong."

  Then the man turned to him, still looking like he thought they were both morons. He might have been right too, if not in the way he thought.

  "And you? Why are you here?"

  Jay shrugged.

  "It's about the same thing, to be honest. I figured out that Carl Morse had this place, and tried to call the agents. I got voice mail, so I thought that I'd drive by and see if I could locate a car out here. I'd gotten the information from Deputy Richmond, who's one of the dead outside. The man. The other one is Pensley. I saw the government car so I pulled up and called out. Then Mills cuffed me, after a punch to the neck."

  The rest of the story he let McNab tell. It was different from his perspective. A lot, really. Not so much as to what happened, but what it sounded like. How Jay had seemed from the outside.

  "Hadley here, he was cold the whole time, acting like a clown. Doing his act. So there were two of them. I think that actually made a difference. He talked the freak into playing a game. That wasn't perfect, since it led to more damage for the victims, but probably kept them alive. He was like ice, the whole time. Not nervous or anything. I was about to lose it, and here's this guy making jokes and working a psycho like it was what he did every other day. Then he worked out that one of the victims was in on part of it, kidnapping and drugging him. It was a murder plot, but Mills didn't act on it, for some reason."

  Jay had noticed that part too.

  "That's... Really, it's hard to know. Everything about this should have had him killing me. If he had, he would have finished up here and just left without anyone finding him. Instead he left me alive. I think... I think that it's because of what they, Morse and Lynn, had done to me." Then he had to explain that part, with the State Police man just looking at him, amazed.

  Probably that anyone would let themselves be used like that. But, as he pointed out, the moment he learned of it, or close enough, he walked. That was one thing that they all agreed on, at least, which seemed out of place. Why were they talking about him? To see if he were secretly in on it? Or to pass time? They had to go over it all again, several times, and finally, near midnight, Daniels came back, looking grim, and with a bandaged arm. From where the scalpel had sliced him, earlier.

  McNab led the way over to him. They'd migrated outside already. It was cool, but not a torture den. Or the place where his wife had met up with Carl for their love fests. Jay decided that, given everything, he wasn't going to be concerned with that ever again.

  There was a team going over the whole house, but they didn't find anything. Just what they'd been told would be there. That, some extra guns and about ten thousand dollars, hidden in the back of a closet, behind a false wall. Loaded, not that it would have done them any good, being that no one in the place that knew where they were would have had a chance to get at them.

  Carl had started out armed, and it hadn't helped him, so those wouldn't have either.

  The older agent shook his head a little.

  "We lost him. More to the point, we never picked him back up. He could be anywhere by now. With the amount of people we have out looking for him, the only sensible move would be to run as far as he can and then hide in the deepest hole he can find."

  "Except that he won't." Jason said it firmly, expecting the men to tell him that it wasn't his business anymore. They were right, as long as the killer didn't come back for him. "Carl Mills hates his mother to a level that transcends rationality. He wants to kill her, and has, his entire life. The only question now is, will he wait, for you to let your guard down, or do it fast, so that no one has time to really plan for it?"

  Both of the FBI men looked at him, as if he were just stating the obvious. Really, he was. They'd been there all evening too, taking mental notes and working things out.

  Daniels took a breath, and didn't sound like it bugged him too much, regardless of his facial expression.

  "Which is pretty obvious. We have a four man team on her, but we have a decision to make. Do we move her to a place he can't reach, or use her as bait?"

  McNab shrugged, "when in doubt, do both? We move her in secret and then grab him when he moves in for the kill. If he does. The sane thing really would be running away right now. Doing anything else is asking to be captured. Or killed. We need to get that set up. That man isn't sane."

  Jay looked at the scene and realized that his rental car didn't have a scratch on it. No bullet holes from the fight even. That would mean he didn't have to pay for the damage. He even had the keys on him. Right there in his right hand pocket.

  "So, I need to get back to Vegas. That's, you can reach me there?" It made sense to him, but the two men just looked at each other, as if debating in utter silence which one was going to tell him to stop being stupid. "Unless you need me for something else?"

  Daniels shook his head.

  "Most people that have to stand up to a serial killer for hours like that, and see messed up shit like this, don't just drive themselves home. Besides, Mills has nearly as much reason to go after you, or one of us, as he does Morse or Davies. We need to pull back and stay as a group, not spread out. We'll send you with your ex, so she can see a friendly face?" He grinned then, but it was a worn and sad thing.

  McNab shook his head.

  "Hell no. That witch set Mills on him. That thing in the casino was supposed to be a hit. She as much as copped to it when asked. She messed up though, because her little boy likes his step-daddy better than he does her. I agree, let's keep this together for the time being. We need to pick your brain anyway, Dr. Hadley. What you said, earlier, it didn't feel like you were pulling all of it out of your behind. Do you have any other insights? Anything that might tell us how he'll jump now?"

  The State Patrol had found the blue Sedan, which was in the large metal barn, hidden from view. They walked the property, looking for fresh turned or packed areas, but that wouldn't do much. Not unless Carl Morse had used the place to dump the bodies of his enemies. That would have been stupid, of course. It was too close to him. Anyone would look at him first when they were found. Pl
us, the area was wide open. Isolated, but if anyone noticed him burying a body...

  Well, then, they'd have called the police... and probably have ended up right alongside the first victim. Not that the man was a killer, as far as Jason knew. Corrupt in other ways, and a horrible person, but that was all. A misguided man, who'd fallen prey to a conniving and evil woman. It was the exact opposite of what he'd always assumed had gone on.

  Jason gave each man a look, then slumped a bit.

  "Right. Well, I don't really know any more than you do. He has issues with his mother, which is what this was really all about, and he's pretty clever. Methodical, but willing to adapt when he has to. I... Don't really think he's planning to live through this. That needs to be remembered. A person will do a lot of things they might not otherwise, if they think they're going to die anyway." That part was so clear that he was surprised when the two men looked at him funny.

  "How so?" Daniels seemed not to get it at all, his face confused and almost tired. "I mean, why not escape to kill again another day?"

  "He might, but think about it. He has one goal. To kill the person that left him, as a small child, in an untenable situation. That, to his mind, is Lynn, and only her. He isn't even wrong about it, I don't think. She didn't know that would be the outcome, but... That doesn't matter." He looked at the younger man, feeling closer to him, for some reason. "Mills only has one real goal in life, and until she dies, it won't be over. There's nothing else though, as far as I can tell. There was no talk of how killing her would fix things, or right the wrongs and let him get on with a normal life. He doesn't have another plan. Just to kill her. It was probably why he did the work on Carl first. He... wasn't the target. Not the obsession. Just a stand in for a dead man. Tony Mills. The father that left him. A good substitution, being the real dad. Lynn, she's the real thing and always was, in his mind. The ultimate goal. That's my guess. He won't act sane about it. I feel pretty strongly about that. I mean, to the point that if we're going to go and get her moved, I think we should take a whole team with us."