Show Stopper

by Hayley Barker

  I stop. What do I want to ask her? What do I most want to know? It’s suddenly simple.

  “Do you ever wish things could be different?”

  Finally, she looks up. She strains forward in her chair and she stares, really stares into the crowd for the first time. “Can you repeat that please?” she asks.

  I stand up and repeat the question. Her eyes lock on to mine. She’s seen me.

  HOSHIKO

  The questions are exactly the same as they always are. Pathetic Pure journalists, desperately wanting to know about every gory detail of my life. They lap them up; the more bloodthirsty and chilling they are, the better.

  I’ve rehearsed the answers to all these questions time and time again; there’s nothing new here, but I can still feel Silvio watching me carefully.

  I really don’t want to do anything to make him angry, not after everything that’s happened recently. He nearly killed me while I was up on that wire last night. For some reason, he’s no longer as keen to protect me as he’s been before. In fact, it feels like the opposite. All of a sudden, it feels like he’s desperate for me to die.

  So I answer the questions exactly as I’ve been drilled to do. I manage to not scream at them, manage not to tell them how I really feel. It’s agonizing sitting up there going through the motions after what he’s just told me about the twins. All I want to do is get back to the dorms, find out if it’s true. He might have been lying; he could have just wanted to upset me.

  I need Amina, she’ll make me feel better. Surely there can’t be much longer left?

  Then, a new question: one I haven’t heard before.

  “Do you ever wish things could be different?”

  Something about the voice makes me look up. I can’t see where it’s coming from.

  The spotlights shining on me from the back of the room are so dazzling that the audience, even though they’re just a few feet away from me, are in darkness.

  I strain my eyes, trying to see more clearly. It’s the first time I’ve looked at the audience, so it takes a while for them to adjust.

  That voice: gentle, apologetic in its tone. I’ve heard that voice before.

  “Can you repeat that, please?” I ask.

  A figure in the middle of the room stands up, and a spotlight moves obligingly, illuminating him.

  It’s him. The boy from last night. Why is he here again?

  I look at him and his eyes stare back into mine. He asks the same question again, softly, quietly, his voice trembling a little.

  “Do you ever wish things could be different?”

  I keep looking into his eyes; they’re pleading with me, somehow, to tell the truth.

  The room is silent; they’re all waiting for my answer.

  My eyes turn to Silvio. He shakes his head at me. I daren’t defy him. Then again, if he’s already got my cards marked, how can things get any worse?

  I look back at the boy, wonder again what he’s doing here. I lean forward; it’s as if there’s an invisible chain linking us, pulling me towards him. I take a deep breath.

  “Yes,” I tell him. I whisper it at first, but then I think of Astrid and Luna. They must be dead. Silvio never lies about stuff like that. He never needs to. I know, somehow, that they are truly dead. Rage fills me up, it boils up inside, it cannot be contained.

  I stand up, I speak loudly, clearly. My voice rings out across the room as I stare at him. “Yes, I do wish things could be different.”

  BEN

  For a few seconds it’s as if there’s no one there but me and her; as if the room, the Cirque, everything, just melts away. It was the same in the arena last night. It’s as if the rest is just background, just outlines and she’s the only real thing there is; glorious, iridescent colour in a world of silhouettes.

  The spell is broken abruptly as Sabatini comes to the centre of the stage, grinning maniacally.

  “Right, thank you, everyone. That’s all for tonight. I’m sure you’ll agree it’s been eventful. On your way out please take an exclusive press pass for Saturday night’s Halloween Spooktacular! Thank you, thank you.”

  She’s dragged out of the room by two security guards. Sabatini looks at me coldly, then turns on his heels and rushes out after them.

  Everyone gathers their things together and begins to leave. Most of them aren’t even talking about what Hoshiko said at all; they’re all still going on about the shark tanks. Two deaths at once to report on; they must be more than happy with the night’s events.

  I suppose I should wait for Sabatini to come back and escort me out, but I can’t bear the thought of seeing him again tonight. I wish I could see Hoshiko though, check she’s OK.

  The room’s empty now except for me and Stanley, who is standing impassively at the back. I wish I could talk to him about it. There’s no point though – he never engages in conversation with me, no matter how much I try. Ever the professional, he just maintains his detached façade.

  I sink back down into my chair.

  I definitely wasn’t imagining it. She did look at me. She recognized me, I’m sure of it. The way she whispered the words – as if she was just talking to me. As if it was just us, as if she was really answering me.

  There’s a sound, a polite cough. It startles me; I was so deep in my thoughts. I look up and there’s a cleaner there, waiting to tidy the room.

  “Sorry,” I tell him. “We were just leaving.”

  I look at him. Old, wizened, olive skin, frail emaciated frame. There’s nobody here. Just me and him and Stanley.

  “Do they treat you well here?” I ask him. What a stupid question. Look at the poor guy: of course they don’t.

  He glances around hurriedly. His voice, when he speaks, is weak and hoarse.

  “Yes,” he replies, in the same monotone voice Hoshiko used. “They treat me very well. I am very happy.”

  He’s not looking at me; his eyes are on the ground, like hers were for most of the time.

  I reach forward and place a hand gently on his arm. He flinches and takes a step backward, as if I’ve injured him.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him.

  He looks up, his moist eyes meet mine, just for a second. I can’t read the expression in them; it’s not hatred and it’s not fear. It’s sadness, I think.

  There’s a silence for a second or two. And then he turns suddenly. “I’ll come back later,” he croaks. For someone who doesn’t look very well, he moves fairly quickly and I’m left there, with Priya’s words running through my mind. Judge with your heart and your head.

  What if my heart and my head don’t agree?

  My heart is crying out to me that this is wrong. Her, me, all of it. The Cirque, the world – wrong. My heart is telling to me go after her.

  My head tells me not to be a fool. This isn’t some silly fairy story; this is the world we live in. This is the way things are; what’s the point in wishing things could be different? I’m just a boy, just one boy, that’s all. Look at my family; look at my life; look at who I am. I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m on the right side of the gulf that splits our worlds in two: the deep, un-crossable chasm. I can’t change that, even if I want to.

  I look at Stanley, expressionless as always. What would it take to make him react? To tell me what he really thinks? I sigh heavily.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get out of this place. Let’s go home.”

  HOSHIKO

  I know I’ve taken it too far, even before Silvio drags me out of the room. As soon as we’re out of sight of the audience, he pushes me into the wall and grabs me by my throat. “What do you think you’re playing at, girl? You went completely off-script there – that answer was inflammatory!” His eyes, millimetres away from mine, are flaming with fury. “Do you know who you were talking to? Do you know what you may have done?”

  What does he mean, who I was talking to? Does he mean that boy? He was in the VIP box last night. Who is he?

  “I just told the truth,” I answer.
“You’re a Dreg too, Silvio, you must feel the same!”

  He lets go of my throat and thrusts me away from him, so that I fall to the ground.

  “How dare you compare yourself to me? I’m not just a Dreg! Not like the rest of you! The Pures value me.”

  I stare up at him. My God. He actually believes it.

  I start laughing, I can’t help it. “You’re just another performing animal to them, Silvio, don’t you see? They’ll kill you off like all the rest of us once they’ve had their use out of you.”

  “No.” He kicks me hard again and again as he speaks. “You’re wrong! I’m nothing like the rest of you!” My poor tender bruises protest helplessly at another beating. I ought to keep my mouth shut. Then again, I never could do the sensible thing.

  “Silvio,” I say, smirking up at him. “They’ll never accept you.”

  He pulls me to my feet, and then hurls me against the wall. My head slams backwards, cracking painfully.

  “How dare you! I’ve had about all I can take out of you, girl! You aren’t such hot property that I won’t have you taken out to the firing squad and blasted off the face of this planet right now!”

  I look at him, my head still reeling, and I laugh. I laugh in his face.

  “If that’s the best you can do,” I say, my eyes meeting his, unflinchingly, “bring it on.”

  We stay there, eyes locked for a long moment and then he turns away. “Fortunately for you, I’ve got a last minute show to plan or I’d do it right now, but I won’t forget this, Hoshiko. I’ll deal with you before too long, I promise you that.”

  He grabs me again, throws me back down to the floor and marches off.

  My bravado vanishes as quickly as it came. What have I done? You can’t speak to Silvio like that and get away with it. He’s going to have me killed.

  What am I going to tell Greta and Amina?

  BEN

  As we’re leaving, I hear raised voices in the corridor: Sabatini’s and another voice. I think it’s her.

  “I won’t be a second,” I tell Stanley, and move towards the sound. The door is open a crack and I peep through it.

  It is her.

  She’s on the floor, looking up at Sabatini who’s standing over her.

  “I’ll deal with you before long, Hoshiko, I promise you that!” he snarls, and then whirls around and leaves through the other door.

  She stays there, curled up on the ground. Her face is pale, with spots of colour high on her cheeks. She looks really frightened. I don’t blame her; I’d be frightened.

  Stanley is standing behind me, impassively. God, I hate it. Hate having this silent witness there all the time, stuck to me like a limpet.

  I move forward quickly through the door, shutting it behind me. She looks up, shocked.

  “Are you OK? Your hands, I saw the bandages,” I say. “I wanted to check. Let me help you up.”

  She scrambles to her feet, smoothing down the green dress and hugging it around her.

  “I’m fine,” she answers abruptly. She glares at me. “What are you doing here? Who are you?”

  “I helped you yesterday, in the show, and I saw you again just now, in there. You answered my question. I wanted to check you’re all right…”

  “All right? No, I’m not all right. I nearly died during that show. I do hope you enjoyed the performance?”

  She’s really angry. It’s as if she hates me. She does hate me.

  “I didn’t enjoy it,” I protest quickly. “Not one bit. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

  “Poor baby, did the big lions frighten you?” Her tone cuts me deep. “Two performers died tonight, did you know that?”

  I hang my head, but I can feel her staring at me. “My God! You did know. You were there, weren’t you? You were there when they died! Enjoy it, did we? Entertaining enough for you, was it?”

  “No. I hated it. I’d never have come to the Cirque if I’d known; I was here for a school project.”

  My words trail away too late. As soon as I say it I realize how it sounds. Everything I do seems to dig the hole I’ve made for myself deeper.

  “A school project? Well, this keeps getting better! And talking to me now, that’s going to help improve your grades, is it? I’m so pleased to be of service to you!”

  “No. I wanted to see if things were really what they seemed. I’m sorry. It’s horrific here, I know that now.”

  “And you’re telling me that because?”

  I stand there, silent and stupid. This was a really, really bad idea.

  “Look,” she says. “I don’t know who you are and I don’t know why you came, but you need to leave. Right. Now.”

  I turn to go, but something makes me spin back around. I have to know that it wasn’t just me.

  “You must remember me,” I beg her. “Today, when I asked you the question. You recognized me, I know you did.”

  “No!” She spits the words out. “I don’t remember you! You Pures all look the same to me. You are all the same. Now get lost, before I scream.”

  I look at her, drinking her in for one last second.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, cursing myself for never knowing the right words to say.

  I turn away. Stanley’s waiting there in the doorway. I’m moving towards him when she speaks again. “Wait. There’s something I want to tell you.”

  HOSHIKO

  He’s like some weird stalker, appearing everywhere I go. He was in the arena, he was in the press call and now he’s here, in the corridor. Every time he looks at me with those deep brown eyes, as if he really cares about how I feel, it makes me so angry; at least with most Pures you know where you stand. You know they hate you; you know they’d rather you were dead. Even ones like that stupid woman in the press conference who develop these weird obsessions with you because you’re in the Cirque, you know they don’t see you as a real person, not really. They don’t actually consider what might be going on under the surface.

  This boy though, helping me back on to the wire yesterday, saving my life. Trust me, he said. And then today: Do you ever wish things could be different? What a ridiculous question. How dare he come in here and pretend to care like that?

  “Wait,” I say to him, and he turns back towards me, all hopeful. “You can’t come here and ask questions like that. It’s not fair.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I know that now.” He sighs, and his lip trembles. “I don’t know what I’m doing here either.”

  He looks so lost, so dejected. I feel my heart give a tiny involuntary tug. I have this ridiculous urge to comfort him; as if it’s him who’s been pushed around, him whose life is in danger.

  What the hell’s wrong with me?

  “Is there anything I can do,” he says, “to help you?” His tone is so concerned, so respectful. It makes me angry again.

  “Yes,” I tell him. “There is. Leave me alone! Leave this circus, go back to your safe little life in your safe little world and don’t come near me again.”

  A guard has appeared now, standing in the doorway, so I turn and run the other way. I look back round when I get to the end of the corridor and he’s still there, staring after me with that lost look on his face.

  BEN

  By the time we get home, Mother, Father and Francis are all in bed and the house is in darkness.

  I don’t even get changed; I wait in my room until I hear Stanley relieve the other guard and reset the alarms, then I go downstairs to find Priya. The only light is coming from the kitchen, so I guess she must be there.

  When I walk in though, it’s not her I see at all. There’s someone else there, washing up. A man, in our house uniform. He looks up at me briefly, then back down.

  “Hello,” I say. “Who are you? Where’s Priya?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not permitted to discuss that with you.”

  “What do you mean? Who said you can’t discuss it with me?”

  He carries on washing up, scrubbing away vigoro
usly at the pots and pans.

  “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not permitted to discuss that with you.”

  I walk over to where he’s standing and push myself between him and the sink but still he won’t look at me. He stands there, eyes downcast.

  “Where’s Priya?” I ask him. Why won’t he tell me? “Tell me where she’s gone, please!”

  “I’m sorry, sir, I’m not permitted to discuss that with you,” he says again, his voice shaking.

  I turn away. What can I do?

  I walk slowly back upstairs. Where is she?

  I pause outside Mother and Father’s room, then turn the handle and thrust open the door. It’s dark, but I can make out their sleeping forms in the bed. I turn the light on, and they both sit up, blinking in the glare. Mother gasps, the covers clutched up to her neck, and Father grabs instinctively for the pistol on his bedside table, pointing it at me. As soon as he realizes it’s just me and not some evil Dreg kidnapper, he drops it on to the bed.

  “Benedict! What on earth are you doing?”

  “Where’s Priya?” I demand.

  “How dare you?” Mother’s voice is outraged. “How dare you come barging in here during the middle of the night asking such impertinent questions?”

  “I said, where’s Priya?”

  She reaches for her glasses and puts them on, glaring at me through them. “Why should the whereabouts of a Dreg servant be of any concern to you, Benedict?”

  “Where is she?”

  “She’s gone and she will not be returning,” my father says firmly.

  “Why? Why has she gone?”

  Mother sighs heavily. “Do you really think we don’t know what goes on under our own roof, Benedict? Do you think we are that naïve? We know all about your cosy midnight chats with that woman, that’s why she’s gone.”

  My mouth goes dry. I stare at her.

  “What were you thinking of, fraternizing with her like that – as if she was an equal, as if she was of value?”

  “She was of value,” I say. “Is. She is of value.”