Vagabond Circus Series

by Sarah Noffke

  Zuma smiled a little at Jasmine. How had she kept any of this from her? Now that Jasmine knew the truth Zuma felt the first bit of hope. “You’re right,” she said.

  “Girl, of course I’m right.” She winked at Zuma before leaving. “Catch you tomorrow,” she said and then laughed at her own pun, since she was the new catcher in the flying trapeze act.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The next day, morning light illuminated the big top, the dew on the roofs of the trailers and Jasmine’s lean body. The acrobat was laid out in the yard between Zuma’s and her trailer. It appeared the virus she’d contracted the week prior had finally taken her out. She was dead.

  Chapter Forty

  Sacramento Bee

  Vagabond Circus Suffers Another Tragedy

  Vagabond Circus, which has had many changes and tragedies this year, has yet another to add to the list. This month the star of the circus, Jack Fuller, fell during rehearsal causing him to be paralyzed. Now another tragedy has befallen an acrobat. Jasmine Reynolds-Underwood suffered from cardiac arrest yesterday, Titus Rogers, the creative director, reported. She had apparently contracted a virus and it appears to have not been cured. Complications due to the untreated mystery virus caused the young girl’s heart to go into cardiac arrest and she was found too late. The nineteen-year-old performer was a beloved star of the circus and will be missed. Her parents, Joseph Underwood and Trent Reynolds, are extremely grieved by the loss of their only daughter. Vagabond Circus, which has brought love and happiness to so many, appears to be having a tragic year. We send our prayers and condolences to the members of Vagabond Circus who definitely have a long road of healing in front of them.

  PART II

  Chapter Forty-One

  By the time Vagabond Circus reached Santa Barbara, winter had transformed everything brown. Knight had transformed a once happy circus into a dysfunctional conglomeration of lost souls. It only took three months for him to steal the fire out of the eyes of Fanny’s young girls, Emily and Tiffany. Ninety days was more than enough time for him to turn the rig crew against one another. The once happy staff fought so often that they were always behind schedule, which meant their wages were constantly docked. Injuries were up. Crime among Vagabond Circus members was an actual phenomenon. Morale was at a record low. And yet no one had abandoned the circus. The show still received reviews complimenting it on delivering a thrilling performance. However, fewer children and non-believers were in the crowd. It was mostly full of teens looking to be spooked or rebels who dared to sit in the front row. However, by the end of the show the front was usually abandoned. Most patrons left after being singed or were scared so much by the idea of being attacked by a lion that they knocked out the row behind them trying to get away. The circus, once reminiscent of a midsummer night’s dream, was now a nightmare sought out by those looking for a year-round haunted house experience.

  Zuma hadn’t given up on the circus. She didn’t abandon it after Jasmine’s death. The girl of stone simply nodded when the news was told to her. Zuma had been practicing with Finley when she’d been interrupted and then those three words matter-of-factly spoken to her.

  “Jasmine is dead.”

  Inside Zuma, she screamed. Something felt as though it sliced through her chest, making it impossible to breathe. Her mind shook with torturous grief. However, on the outside Zuma was unchanged. A true girl of stone. She then held her chin up and commenced her routine, practicing with Finley. For a brief second, Finley’s appearance gave something away. It told her he was sorry. The sharp angles of his face softened and his expression seemed to say, “you’re lying to pretend you don’t care.” But what could she do? The news had been delivered by Knight himself, Sebastian standing at his back. If she cried or showed any emotion at all then she’d give them both what they wanted. Her pain. Her remorse. She’d show them that they’d won. Instead she bolted her emotions in a storm shelter, away from her grief which had the power of a hurricane. Then Zuma looked down at the ground, her words directed to Knight. “Finley and I will get the changes made pronto to replace Jaz,” she said, her voice cold and removed from her body.

  From her peripheral she spied the twitch on Knight’s face. He hadn’t gotten the response he’d wanted. The ringmaster hadn’t gotten a response at all to this devastating news. That was unacceptable.

  “There is a memorial service,” Knight said, drawing out the last two words, almost singing them. “But I can’t permit you to go, since you have much work to do replacing Jasmine.”

  Inside Zuma’s inner child was throwing a fit. A pure tantrum where each tear brought a torrent of more uncontrollable tears. Ones that made it hard to breathe. That burn. Inside she was hyperventilating. On the outside she was a marble statue of poise. “I don’t want to go,” Zuma said, her words quiet, dead.

  “It’s being held here on the grounds. Should only be a short service, since I think that best. And still it is better for you to devote your time to practice,” Knight said.

  And Zuma felt too acutely what he was doing. Knight had worked for this moment and didn’t like to be deprived of the pain he caused. He’d had Jasmine murdered and he knew Zuma knew that. She was supposed to cry. To scream. To convict him and Sebastian of a crime she couldn’t prove. And then he would punish her. But now Zuma’s worst-case scenario had somehow gotten even worse. This didn’t weaken the girl. It hollowed her out and made her more motivated than ever. She wouldn’t be defeated.

  “I understand,” she said, and then turned her cold, flat expression on Finley. “That means we should get to work right away.”

  He nodded, his expression also trained into something emotionless.

  Finley wouldn’t comfort Zuma. There would be no talk about Jasmine. Not a single look would be exchanged that spoke of the great sadness this loss meant for the two acrobats. They were soldiers. And that’s how Zuma stayed at Vagabond Circus. A quiet, calculating soldier.

  For the three long months after Jasmine’s death, Zuma kept her head down, her words full of compliance. Ian had promised Zuma that he was tweaking the future and she must only hold on for a solution. She knew they needed a way to fight because resisting Knight was a death wish. Many at the circus had tried it, had simply disagreed with the ringmaster. It never turned out well for them. Over the last ninety days pain killers had become a desperately sought after commodity. Headaches beset the Vagabond Circus members and spread like lice in a nursery school.

  Zuma had been fortunate not to have too many headaches; only when on a rare occasion Knight caught her eyes on him. Her combat sense could teach her so much about the man, but not when she wasn’t permitted to study him. After being caught several times she trained herself not to look at the impossibly tall man. Zuma forced herself to practice. To keep to herself. To telepathically encourage Titus. To keep things with Finley brief.

  The acrobats worked together, both restrained by their marionette strings. They spoke in a script. Looked at each other with mostly sideway glances. Zuma had figured out how to survive when most people at Vagabond Circus were withering away, physically and mentally. But it was easier for Zuma. She’d never known happiness. Zuma was different from the others who had experienced joy from being a part of the magic of the big top. Those who have yet to taste the sweetness of life can endure its bitter moments much longer.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Charles Knight was not a man who gave up anything easily. Not grudges. Not possessions. And not people. However, he had to finally admit that it was getting too difficult to maintain control of his kids with the circus all around them. When they traveled, patrons asked questions about the strange kids they saw, the ones the surrogates failed to hide in the semis fast enough. And the same kids, who had been easy to manage inside the compound, were now adorning shifty expressions. They saw what freedom looked like when observing the Vagabond Circus members. They smelled popcorn. They realized there was a life they could have and they were hungry for it. Knight’s
kids, who he knew would one day help him to get Vagabond Circus, were now a liability. They had served their purpose though. They had stolen enough that he was worth millions, and three prodigies had come up through their ranks. Finley, Sebastian, and Gwendolyn. The rest weren’t necessary anymore.

  “You know what to do?” Knight said to a man he’d almost come to like.

  Riley nodded. “Yes, Master.” This man, a bum, had been digging through a dumpster behind the compound when Knight first took possession of the property. Knight already had the plan to breed an army of thieves, but he knew he’d have to find the right people to assist him. Riley was a Middling and had a desperate look in his eyes. Knight loved that look. That’s how he found all his supervisors and surrogates. He sought out those who were destitute and in need of saving. The bum was thin then, with a head full of black, dirty hair, but now he had muscle and his shaved head had wrinkles in the back and extra folds of skin. Since Riley was a Middling, Knight knew he would do him no good in building his army since he needed Dream Traveler sperm. However, the homeless man was perfect for keeping the kids in line and supervising them on jobs. To ensure Riley’s compliance, Knight gave him room and board and manipulated him with his words, alternating between being nice and then cruel. Knight also opened a bank account for the man and deposited funds every year; however, he never granted him access to it.

  “I told you the day would come when I gave you everything you wanted if you followed my orders. You’ve served me well.” Knight then handed Riley an envelope with all the information regarding his untouched bank account which now held eighteen thousand dollars. A thousand dollars a year for each one he served Knight. It wasn’t a livable wage, but the people who served Knight didn’t know any better. “Here, you’ve earned this,” Knight said. “Now finish your last job for me and then you can sell the truck or keep it. Your call.”

  “So kind, Master. Thank you for saving me,” Riley said, his eyes to the side.

  Knight didn’t respond. He just roamed his gaze over the closed up semi where the sounds of kids shuffling emanated. He wouldn’t say goodbye to them. Knight had brought all of them into this world using surrogates, and trained them, and yet he felt no attachment to the kids. He was ready to move on.

  “Be sure to drop them off one at a time, one hundred miles apart. And warn each one not to talk or we will hunt them down,” Knight said.

  “They’re getting what they think they want, the ungrateful little bastards,” Riley said with a sneer, several of his gold teeth showing. “They won’t talk. They all think they want to be free, but soon they’ll learn how hard it is without you to take care of them, Master.”

  “I suspect you’re right,” Knight said.

  “I’ll be on my way then,” Riley said, a fond look in his one good eye. And then he climbed in his truck to finish his last job. He was about to give the kids crammed in the semi the same fate as he had before Knight found him. He was about to make them all homeless.

  Knight watched the truck pull away. All the kids were packed in that one vehicle. The other two semis were empty now and living quarters for Gwendolyn, and Sebastian. Before they had been living with the other kids. But now the two had their own places, a real treat for them and a testament to their rank. Gwendolyn and Sebastian were test tube babies as well, but Knight felt almost an affection for those two. Actually the only one who wasn’t born from a test tube was the one kid Knight admired the most, and the one who he suspected despised him the most.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “Unbelievable,” Dr. Chang said on the other side of the phone.

  “Is it?” Fanny said, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. “Why is that?”

  “Bones mending after the kinds of breaks Jack endured takes several months. I expected him not to be ready to start physical therapy for a good while longer,” he said.

  “Well, there you go, our expectations were different,” Fanny said into the mobile she had pressed to her cheek.

  “What were your expectations?” the doctor asked.

  “That I’d be amazed by something miraculous,” Fanny said, her Louisiana accent bringing more conviction to her words.

  “Is that what makes you such a successful nurse? Is it because you bring a bit of faith to the art of medicine?”

  “I think I’d like you if we ever met, Doctor,” she said. “Few doctors would refer to what we do as an art. And yes, I do rely on my faith. I dare say it was God who bestowed my talents on me.” Fanny thought fondly of the warmth she felt tingle from her fingertips when she used her gift of healing.

  “So Jack’s bones appear to have healed in all the places where major breakage occurred?” Dr. Chang asked.

  “Yes, we had X-rays done here in Santa Barbara. Now what we are hoping to see is regeneration of the bone loss in places.”

  “That’s what he’ll need if those bones of the legs are going to be able to support him for standing and maybe walking,” Dr. Chang said.

  “I have every hope they will be strong enough one day to do more than just that,” Fanny said.

  “More?”

  “Jack is an acrobat. He’s anxious to get back on trapeze.”

  “Nurse Fanny,” Dr. Chang said and she spied the disapproval in his tone. “I support your methods and mind set but I hope you aren’t giving Jack the false impression he will have that sort of mobility in the future. We are being hopeful to believe he will walk.”

  “Again you and I are divided by our expectations,” Fanny said, sounding almost amused.

  “It’s simply that I’m applying logic and experience to the expectations I have set.”

  “And I’m simply not restricting outcomes. Why should history dictate Jack’s result?” Fanny said, knowing this was the opposite thought of most conventional doctors.

  There was an exasperated sigh on the other side of the line.

  “Look, Doctor,” Fanny continued. “You asked me to keep you in the loop on Jack’s recovery and I’m happy to do that. Now that we enter the physical therapy portion of his healing I ask that since your consciousness impacts his future that you have positive expectations, whatever they might be. I won’t dictate what you believe will occur and you shouldn’t dictate that for me.”

  “Very well. I must say your methods, whatever they involve, are incredibly successful. I wish you’d consider coming out of retirement. I would be happy to employ you in my private practice,” Dr. Chang said, hope in his tone.

  “Thank you, but my place is here, with my family. My days of treating the public are over.”

  There was a pause that Fanny felt reeked of Dr. Chang’s hidden disappointment. “Well, then I must ask you, your methods were always considered mysterious. There was hardly any documentation on how you treated most of your cases that were considered terminal and yet made full recovery. Nurse Fanny, would you do me the honor of sharing with me how you do it? How are you so brilliant with your care?”

  Fanny smiled, although no one could see it since she was alone in her room. “Magic, Dr. Chang. What I do is done by magic.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “What you believe is what you experience.” Jack heard Fanny’s words echo in his head. She’d repeatedly said that statement to him over the last three months.

  Jack had weaned himself off the pain meds pretty early on in his recovery, knowing they were preventing him from dream traveling. One must be totally lucid in order to instruct their consciousness to travel to a specific location and time. Jack had been incredibly excited to dream travel. However, Fanny had told him he had to wait until a month after the accident since his body needed the nourishing power of good old-fashioned sleep.

  It is important to note that most things behave similarly in the dream travel realm as they do in the physical world, although laws can be flexed. Just as in dreams the imagination makes many things possible. The day the drugs wore off and the very same hour that Fanny gave Jack a thumbs-up to dream travel, he closed hi
s eyes with the intention to “escape.” To escape his imprisonment from inside the tiny trailer, with children who were never quiet. And to escape his legs, which imprisoned him in a bed that always smelled of sweat and dead skin. The acrobat almost believed when his consciousness landed on Division Street in Nashville, Tennessee, that he’d be standing on his legs, able to walk on them. However, he found himself lying on the pavement, his legs stretched motionless before him. There was a brief moment where Jack wanted to cry from the unfairness of it all. It was only his consciousness, not his physical body, in Nashville, so he should be able to walk. Hell, he should be able to fly if he wanted, he thought. And although the things that happen in dream travel really affected the physical body, the physical body wasn’t as much impacted in the dream travel form. At least that’s what Jack thought from years of practicing stunts in the dream travel realm. It was always easier to practice in that realm, muscles not hampered by soreness or the stress of the day.

  After that first failed dream travel Jack returned to his body and called for Fanny. She gave him a knowing look when he explained what he’d experienced.

  “How was I just lying on the sidewalk?” he said, his hand in his hair, which she’d just washed that morning.

  She clapped a warm hand on his. “Because you believe you’re paralyzed. Your body, whether in the physical or dream travel realm, acts based on your expectations. If you don’t expect your legs to function properly right here and now then they aren’t going to allow you to walk around in your dreams. You are always confined or enlivened by your beliefs.”