Show Stopper

by Hayley Barker

  “No,” I say. I turn back towards Mother. “He’s hurt, Mother, really badly. He’ll die if we don’t get him help; he might already be dead. Please,” I’m begging her. “Please. Let me get him some help. I’ll come with you straight away after that, I promise.”

  “And why is it a concern of yours whether he lives or dies?”

  We don’t have time for this.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the ringmaster. “I need to get past.”

  He looks at my mother.

  “I don’t think so,” he says. He’s still not sure how to treat me. I think that’s why he turns on Hoshiko. “What on earth is going on here?”

  She looks straight back at him, her eyes fiery and unflinching, a scowl on her face. She’s not even afraid of him. She’s so brave; I want to be brave too.

  “We’re taking him to Amina,” she says.

  He laughs. “I’d really like to see you try.” He turns to Mother. “Madam.” He bows his head. “I can only apologize. If you would like to take your son home, I’ll deal with everything from here.”

  Mother looks at him in that same repulsed way she always does.

  “This Dreg girl has been openly rude. To me.” She laughs, incredulously. “It beggars belief. And now, here she is, with my son. How, exactly, will you deal with her?”

  “Oh, I’ll teach her a lesson she’ll never forget,” he answers. “Don’t you worry about that; I’ll make her pay.”

  “That’s all very well, Ringmaster, but I would rather see her … obliterated. No time like the present?” She turns towards the guards.

  “No!” I cry out. “No! Please!”

  Sabatini steps forward again.

  “Madam, if I might be so bold? She has a leading role in tomorrow night’s Spooktacular. Perhaps you would permit me to keep her alive until then?” He grins. “The performance should be more than enough punishment.”

  Mother nods. “Very well. You have twenty-four hours. If she’s not dead by then, I’ll shoot her myself. Guards, escort my son to our car.” She turns on her heel and walks back up the path.

  HOSHIKO

  The guards immediately close in. They take Anatol from Benedict Baines and then begin dragging the Pure boy away. He’s struggling with them, but it’s no good; there are five of them and one of him.

  “No!” he shouts out. “No! Leave her alone! It’s not her fault; it’s my fault!”

  I look into his eyes as they take him. Ever since I saw him, I’ve tried so hard to hate him, but I can’t do it, not even now I know who he is.

  I hate his mother but I don’t hate him.

  He stood up to her; that must have taken some guts.

  It’s then that I notice the stillness that has fallen over Anatol. His eyes are open, staring sightlessly. He isn’t making any sound at all. Horror floods through me and I lift my head to see Silvio standing there, smirking.

  “Oh, how sad,” he croons at me, making my skin crawl. “It’s too late. No point taking him to the san now! What a tragedy.”

  My tears – of sadness, of anger, of loathing – begin as I’m hauled away from Anatol’s dead body.

  BEN

  I wrench away from the guards, shake their arms off and run back down the path. They chase after me but not before I see her being dragged away. Then I see the boy lying there dead on the pathway.

  The guards quickly catch up with me and drag me away, back up the path.

  “I’ll save you!” I call to her. “I won’t let them hurt you!”

  I’m pushed into the back seat of the car, where my mother is already sitting, staring straight ahead.

  “I hate you,” I tell her. “I hate you.”

  She laughs. “Benedict, you think you hate me now but you’ll realize, one day, when you’ve grown up a bit, that all I’ve ever done has been for you. You’re a teenage boy; I suppose it’s natural that you should want to rebel. But you’ve had your little piece of action, your little piece of fun. You must have known what a futile activity your attempt at running away was. Stanley works for me, Benedict, not you. He called me the moment he found your note. He’ll escape punishment on this occasion. We need to go home, forget this ever happened and get on with things in the real world.”

  I turn away. What’s the point in responding? She’ll never listen. She’ll never allow herself to let compassion back in; it would mean becoming human again, and she’s done with all that. She’s turned to stone now, that’s all she is; stone and ice and steel.

  I’ve changed though.

  I close my eyes and I talk to Hoshiko instead, inside my head, as if I’m praying to her.

  “I meant it,” I tell her. “I’ll save you. I don’t know how yet, but I will.”

  HOSHIKO

  The guards drag me back to the dorms, tossing me in like a bag of rubbish. Next to me, they hurl Anatol’s body; I have to scoot to one side to stop him landing on me.

  Emmanuel comes forward, picking Anatol up effortlessly and carrying him into the san, placing him gently on the bed. Amina rushes in after him, gasps when she sees that he’s dead.

  We’d all been looking forward to tonight; it’s so rare to get a night off together. It’s quiet now though; the atmosphere in the dorms is strained as everyone realizes what has happened.

  Anatol is brand-new, he hasn’t even been with us a week. I feel responsible for him, somehow.

  The boys who were in the arena with him describe what happened and the story spreads around the dorms in whispers.

  Things have always been horrific in this place – it’s always been a dance with death for everyone but, lately, it feels like Silvio’s lost the plot altogether. At least he used to try and preserve our lives for as long as he could. Before, when the Dregs met their deaths, he wanted it to be on stage, in front of a packed house of Pures. He’s reckless now, in a way he’s never been before. It’s like he doesn’t care how or when we die, as long as we do die, like every death is a notch in his belt that will somehow elevate him up the slippery ladder to Puredom.

  My own death has always been inevitable, I know, but it’s different now: it’s imminent. He promised her he’d have me killed tomorrow. This is my last night on earth.

  I should want to be with Greta and Amina, or my family. That’s what you’re supposed to want in the last few hours of your life, isn’t it? Your family, friends, your loved ones, the people who mean the most to you.

  I don’t though. I find myself avoiding conversation with Greta when she comes over and sits beside me, turning away from her coldly. I see the hurt in her eyes, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I mustn’t let myself feel too much, that’s why. I mustn’t let the emotions out.

  I keep seeing him as they dragged him away, Benedict Baines.

  Benedict bloody Baines.

  It’s like someone’s playing some kind of sick joke on me. The only Pure I’ve ever felt anything but hatred for and he turns out to be the son of the most evil woman on the planet. What on earth was he doing wandering around the Cirque on his own? And why did he help Anatol like that? Why didn’t he just turn away and run?

  I think again of when he asked that question during the Press call and then, after, when he apologized. How can someone like him have anything but evil inside him? Still, there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen in any Pure’s before. Something soft, something deep, something good. He stood there just now, side by side with me, a Dreg girl, and refused to obey his mother’s command. Why?

  Stop being soft, I tell myself: he’s back home now, probably sitting around the dinner table and discussing his eventful day with Mummy.

  But even as I think this, I know it isn’t true, that it’s my grief and anger twisting things. I’m drawn to this Pure boy – his story is starting to become mine.

  BEN

  When I get home I run upstairs. The pictures play round and round in my head, as if I’m watching a slow-motion film on repeat. I see the boy, Anatol, being catapulted across the arena. And the
n, later, dead on the path.

  And I see her. Again and again I see her. Looking up at me, looking into me, whispering: “Yes. I do wish things could be different.”

  I hear my mother, coolly ordering her death, arranging it with Silvio Sabatini.

  I can’t let them kill her.

  I take out my tablet and get on the PureWeb again. The home screen of the Cirque has changed and the whole site has been revamped to promote the Halloween/Firework Spooktacular.

  The screen swirls hypnotically in an orange-and-black kaleidoscope and then Hoshiko’s face appears. I touch the cold screen with my fingers and the camera zooms in on her eyes. I stare into them. They’re like the eyes of an animal: untamed, somehow, savage but beautiful. The screen freezes like that and then the picture colour slowly changes, turning redder and redder, until her eyes fade away completely. It’s just red. Blood red.

  It stays like that for a few moments and then Silvio Sabatini appears on the screen, flicking his whip and grinning at the viewers. He winks and then whispers something: it’s so quiet that I can’t make out what it is. He says it again though, louder, and then again, faster and louder. In the end, he’s shouting it, frantically, joined by hundreds of other voices, faster and faster, louder and louder. The same chant, again and again:

  See the flames go higher, higher.

  Who will survive the funeral pyre?

  See the flames go higher, higher.

  Who will survive the funeral pyre?

  There’s a tap at my door: I slam the tablet shut.

  “Come in.”

  My father pokes his head tentatively into the room.

  “I’m not angry, Benedict,” he says. “I heard it’s been an eventful day; just wanted to check you’re OK.”

  “Do you know what she did?” I blurt out. “Do you know what she is? She has people killed! She doesn’t even care!”

  I search his face. I need so desperately for him to be different, for him to be shocked. For him to feel the same pain I do, clawing at me inside.

  His eyes meet mine and he smiles, softly. “I know it’s hard to understand, but it’s her job, Ben. It’s important.”

  “Important! How can having people killed be important?”

  He comes into the room and closes the door, sitting down on the edge of my bed.

  “We’ve all felt like you do at one time or other, but it’s not people she has killed, Ben – it’s Dregs. She does a good thing, an important thing. What would the world be like if we let them run free? They’d breed and spread and before you know it, they’d have taken over.”

  “They aren’t rats!”

  “No. They’re much more dangerous than rats. Rats would be easier to control. You should know better than anyone what Dregs are like.”

  He’s talking about the kidnapping attempt.

  “Why do you think they tried to take you?” he says. “What do you think they wanted?”

  “Maybe they wanted to be heard,” I say. “Maybe they wanted someone to pay attention.”

  He laughs, patronizingly. “It’s time you stopped being so naïve.” For the first time the gentle edge is gone from his voice. “They wanted to kill you, make no mistake about that. They wanted to punish you for being Pure, for being superior to them. They’re all the same, Ben. They’re angry and dangerous and evil. Do you hear me?” He raises his voice a notch further. “One day, you’ll understand what your mother is doing. She’s making the world a better place. She’s not a bad person, Ben, none of us are. If she gets into power, she’ll stop places like that circus. She doesn’t want Dregs paraded in people’s faces any more than you do. That’s what she’s campaigning for – to get things done in a more professional way. She’d do it all much more quietly, make much less song and dance about it.”

  I stare at him. “Where’s Priya?” I ask.

  His face clouds over. “She’s the reason your head’s been turned. We should have regulated things with her far more closely from the start. Your brother did the right thing, reporting her.”

  “Where is she?” I repeat again.

  “Ben, she’s gone – that’s all you need to know. Look, the sooner you stop romanticizing and start accepting the world for what it is, the better it’ll be for all of us. You mother can’t afford any more scenes like the one today. She needs to avoid any scandal if she’s ever going to stand a chance of becoming leader.”

  “Please.” I’m begging him now, pleading with him to understand. “Please, speak to her for me. Please tell her to speak to the Cirque, tell them not to hurt anyone.”

  He sighs and shakes his head, then he stands up; he’s not pretending to listen any more.

  “Stop being so melodramatic. Your mother doesn’t have the time to deal with this now.”

  I stare at him.

  Why am I wasting my breath? This is another one of those pointless conversations. I don’t have time for it, either. I need to get Hoshiko out of there.

  I look back at him; force myself to nod meekly.

  “Sorry, Father,” I say. “I understand how it is now. Sorry I’ve let you both down. I won’t behave like that again.”

  He stands up, leans forward and ruffles my hair awkwardly. “That’s a good lad. I knew you’d see reason.”

  He leaves the room.

  There’s no way I’m going to let her die. Accept the world for what it is? No, never again.

  HOSHIKO

  After they come and take his body away, everyone congregates together, sitting mutely.

  The silence is broken by the door crashing open and a security guard enters, ushering in a child. It’s Ezekiel, the boy from selection.

  The guard shoves him in and leaves without a word, slamming and bolting the door behind him.

  He looks so tiny, standing there. The bravado of earlier has gone and his lips are trembling as he looks around, wide-eyed. He sees me, and rushes over, throwing his arms around me as if I’m a long-lost relative. He clings to me, sobbing.

  What can I do? I crouch down on the floor, and return his desperate hug, holding him as tightly as I can.

  “It’s OK,” I whisper to him. “It’ll be OK.”

  Over his shoulder, I see Greta looking at us, her eyes narrowed. I hold my left arm out and gesture her over. She runs into the hug and I hold her tightly too, so the two of them are enveloped in my arms.

  “Greta and I will look after you. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine,” I lie.

  Amina catches my eye and winks at me. I wonder if she’s remembering my first day and how she took me under her wing, right from the start.

  Around us, the preparations for another memorial service begin. This can’t be the first thing Ezekiel experiences in here, surely. I take him into the women’s dorms and sit down on one of the bunks with him. Greta doesn’t leave us for a second, so I’m sandwiched in between them the whole time.

  His confidence increases quite quickly and he asks us hundreds of questions about the Cirque. I don’t lie, but I don’t exactly tell the truth either. I try to leave out all the really nasty bits, which is pretty much everything, so there’s not much to say; I just go on about the lights and the music and costumes, the buzz of performing, and how he’ll be a natural.

  Amina comes in. She smiles at Ezekiel.

  “It’s about to start,” she says gently to me.

  What do I say to this little boy? How the hell do I explain to him what’s going on?

  I can’t.

  The two children either side of me need me to be strong, but I don’t think I can be. I can’t go and sit out there, between him and Greta. I can’t. I can’t be strong any more.

  Suddenly, I can’t breathe. My chest rises up and down rapidly and I’m gasping for air, choking, rasping for breath.

  I look up, panicked, and see Amina, gazing at me, her brow furrowed with concern.

  “Greta,” she says, “I’m going to check on Hoshi’s bruises. You two stay here, I’ll be back in a minute.”

>   “But I can come too.”

  “We won’t be long, I promise,” she tells her.

  Amina puts her arm around me and manoeuvres me out of the door and into the san.

  “Take deep breaths,” she keeps saying. “That’s it. In. Out. In out. Concentrate on your breathing. Be calm. Nice and calm, nice and deep.”

  Gradually, I feel my breath slowing.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I pant. “I couldn’t get any air.”

  “It was a panic attack,” she says. “This day has been too tough on you. Sit quietly now, you’ll feel better soon.”

  I can’t tell her what’s happened with Vivian Baines, not after what she’s been through tonight.

  “It’s fine. I’ll be OK. I’m sorry,” I say. “This is the last thing you need.”

  “It’s not your fault, Hoshi.”

  Behind the door, the melancholy song of grief begins. The mourning ceremony has started.

  “It’s time,” she says.

  Suddenly, I can’t stand the thought of it. I can’t do it – can’t sit out there with everyone else; can’t sit amongst them, knowing that this time tomorrow they’ll be singing for me.

  My breath starts getting faster again. I clutch at my throat, sucking desperately for air.

  “Shh, shh.” Amina is rubbing my back. “It’s OK, Hoshi,” she says. “You don’t have to go out there; you can stay in here.” As soon as her words sink in, I begin to breathe more slowly. Eventually I can speak.

  “What about the service?”

  “You aren’t well.”

  “What about Greta? What about Ezekiel? They need me out there.”

  “I’ll tell them you’re sick. You can stay in here. I’ll look after them; they’ll be fine. Greta can sleep next to me and Emmanuel will look after Ezekiel.”

  “Anatol is dead,” I say. “It’s disrespectful to miss his memorial.”

  “It’s not. He’d understand. You did your best. You need to rest. Look,” she points down at the bed. “I even managed to find some clean sheets.”

  “I can’t,” I say. “It’s selfish. There’s nothing wrong with me.”