Carnies Page 18

There was a long pause, then the door opened. Rachel was wrapped in a dark robe, perhaps once black, but now faded to an angry grey from years of hand washing and drying in the sun. She looked half asleep.

  ‘Paul? What do you want?’ She sniffed a few times, then wrinkled her nose. ‘You’ve had company,’ she noted.

  He frowned, very aware of Jasmine’s scent on his skin. ‘Not welcome company, I promise.’

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked again. Paul was shaken by the chill in her voice.

  ‘Can I come in? Please?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Speak to me here, now, or leave.’

  Paul looked at her eyes, hoping for some hint of affection, or at least sympathy. There was none.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I made a mistake coming here.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’ The voice came from behind him. Paul spun to face Amos, who stood at the front of the house, two of his men at his side. He looked at Paul. His face was red, his eyes brimming with anger.

  ‘Amos...’ Paul started.

  ‘You don’t belong here, Paul Hampden,’ Amos said, shaking with rage. ‘You’ve brought danger down on us. You’ve threatened our very way of life.’

  ‘I...’

  ‘The police have already been here asking questions,’ Amos interrupted again. ‘The townspeople reported the disturbance last night. Attention has been drawn to us. By you and your damned brother.’

  ‘Amos...’ Rachel said, her voice soft, placating.

  ‘Be still!’ he snapped at her. ‘I should never have listened to you in the first place! If I’d had my way, he’d never have lived long enough to cause this!’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Rachel said, still quiet, but somehow her tone demanded attention. ‘The brother would have come whether Paul had been with us or was already dead. He was convinced we had him.’ She looked around at the small crowd of carnies that was gathering there, attracted by the shouting. ‘Someone clearly brought these two here, lured them somehow. Perhaps we should be laying the blame with them, rather than with those who argued for mercy.’ She spotted Jasmine in the crowd, trying not to be seen, and faced her. ‘Or those who tore this one from his own world in the first place.’

  ‘No,’ Paul muttered.

  ‘What?’ Amos asked him, still angry.

  ‘I said no,’ he said. ‘You’re right. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.’ His eyes burned with tears. ‘I’m the one who came back to the carnival. I’m the one who followed Jasmine. It’s not her fault. It’s mine.’ He turned and faced Rachel. ‘I’m the one who wanted something I couldn’t have.’ Then he turned back to Amos. ‘I’m the one who David came back for. I’m the one he brought those goons to retrieve.’ The tears were flowing down his cheeks now. ‘And I’m the one who killed him.’

  Amos looked at him, curious. ‘Then what do you suggest we do?’ he asked, his anger dying.

  Paul met his eyes without flinching. ‘Kill me.’

  There was a gasp from Rachel, and a sudden murmuring from the crowd.

  Amos blinked a few times. ‘I think it’s too late for that.’

  ‘I know how to make you kill me,’ Paul said, his voice devoid of emotion now. He felt empty, hollow. Dead.

  ‘Really?’ Amos asked, an eyebrow raised. ‘Do tell.’

  Paul lowered his head. ‘By challenging the alpha male.’

  In the crowd, he heard Jasmine breathe one word. “No...”

  ‘What?’ Amos sounded incredulous. ‘What are you...?’

  Before he could finish his question, Paul was leaping towards him, snarling, his teeth bared. He’d never moved as fast in his life.

  But Amos was faster. He stepped aside with ease, allowed Paul to land by his side, then kicked him in the small of his back. He sprawled in the dirt, winded.

  ‘Don’t do this, pup,’ Amos said, a trace of pity in his voice.

  ‘Fuck you,’ Paul growled, and clambered back to his feet. He charged again.

  Amos ducked beneath the attack and drove his fist into Paul’s stomach, hard. This time the breath left Paul’s lungs, seemingly for good. He collapsed on his knees, unable to inhale. He retched once, twice, then spat.

  ‘Are we done?’ Amos asked.

  In answer, still barely able to breathe, Paul scrambled towards the alpha male on all fours, trying to claw at him with his fingernails. Amos simply walked around him.

  ‘I remember,’ he said, thoughtful, ‘that you used to walk with a limp.’

  Paul couldn’t respond.

  ‘Perhaps you should again.’

  Amos brought the heel of his boot down on the back of Paul’s leg, just above the ankle. Bright crimson pain exploded there as the bone bent and snapped beneath the blow, and he screamed without breath, hoarse. He lay writhing in the dirt, doubled over, clutching his injured leg.

  The alpha male turned to one of the carnies standing nearby. ‘Trevor, get him out of here.’

  ‘Uh, okay,’ the man said, running his fingers through his curly black hair. ‘Uh... where to?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Amos said, and walked into the house, gesturing for Rachel to follow. She did so, and glanced back once at Paul’s squirming form. Then the door closed and they were gone.

  Paul lay there for a while longer as the pain in his leg abated. It became a slow, roaring fire in his shin, spitting and sparking from time to time.

  “Paul!” he heard Jasmine call through the haze of agony. He looked up and saw her trying to make her way to him, but the other carnies stopped her, dragged her away, shaking their heads. Around him, he could hear the rest of the carnies walking off, awkward and unsure, muttering to one another. Then a hand touched his shoulder.

  ‘Come on, mate,’ Trevor, said. ‘We have to go.’

  Paul didn’t resist. He didn’t have the strength or the will any more. He bit down a scream as Trevor lifted him onto his one good foot and walked him away from the alpha house, towards the trees, talking the whole time.

  ‘We don’t blame you for what happened, mate,’ he said. ‘It ain’t your fault.’

  Hot tears seared Paul’s face, from a mixture of pain and shame, anger and loss. He was blinded, and did not even notice that they’d left the camp and entered the forest.

  ‘You’ll be right,’ the man assured him. He sniffed the air and smiled. ‘I think your ride is here.’

  Paul couldn’t smell anything. His nose was flooded with snot, and it ran down his face to mingle with his tears. Trevor sat him down against a tree, which prompted another stab of pain from his leg. He waved once, then turned and walked back towards the camp.

  He sat there, alone and in agony, for a minute or two, his face in his hands, sobbing. But eventually he stopped, all dried out, all cried out. He didn’t even have the strength for that any more.

  He’d lost everything. He’d given up his old, miserable life for a new one, and then had ruined it as well. He was like a carnival mirror image of King Midas. Everything he touched turned to shit. He’d even lost his brother, his only blood relative.

  Blood relative, he thought, a bitter half smile crossing his lips. That’s appropriate. Blood relative. Blood brother. Blood that I drew. Blood that I tasted.

  ‘Paul?’ a man’s voice came from the woods, a familiar, small voice. He couldn’t even raise his head to look.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ it said as it grew closer, ‘my van’s not far. I’ll get you out of here.’

  Paul felt hands grip him under his armpits and lift. The man groaned with the effort. He opened his eyes and found himself looking into Alvan Roy’s.

  ‘Come on,’ he encouraged, and hauled Paul onto his feet. Then, for a moment, his weight rested on his broken leg, and a tide of agony washed up and over him, sending his mind tumbling in its wake. He screamed.

  He was unconscious before they’d even taken a shambling step towards the van.

  -30-

  David stepped out of the motel room into the bright sunshine. The afternoon air was cool and pl
easant. It was a beautiful wintry day, and he felt happier than he had in a very long time. He’d driven down earlier in the day, stopping off at the silversmith’s on the way (whose name, appropriately enough, was Smith). He’d done an amazing job, David had to admit, considering the short time he’d had to throw together the collection of objects requested. Of course, for the prices he was charging, David would have expected nothing less. A second mortgage on the house would have just about covered it. If he’d ever had any intention of actually paying the man, that was. He’d left Smith’s cooling corpse behind the counter, the taste of the man’s lifeblood still in his mouth, and then carried the small crates out to the back seat of his car before continuing his trip to Tillbrook.

  It had taken him less than an hour to lay everything out. It would have been quicker if he hadn’t needed to be extra careful. He’d had to wear leather gloves and take pains not to let any of the silver touch his skin. He’d accidentally dropped one of the objects onto the floor and it had bounced up near his feet, just brushing the skin on his leg. It had felt like he’d spilled boiling oil there. He’d limped to the bathroom and run it under cold water, but the raised welt was still an angry red.

  It’s the real deal, his father’s voice had said. No sterling silver here. Rubbing the painful spot on his leg, David agreed. It was still sore even now, but he took that as a good sign. If just touching it hurt this much, just imagine... just imagine...

  Yes sir, he felt happy all right.

  He looked around and took his bearings. He’d completed the first few stages of his plan, and now it was time to proceed with the next one. He had contacts here in town, important contacts. Powerful contacts.

  David climbed into his car, started the engine, and pulled out of the car park, and headed north on the highway. He knew it was a short drive to where he was going. Then again, around Tillbrook, everything was a short drive, but this one was even shorter. He’d passed the building any number of times in his travels and hadn’t paid it much heed, but now he knew he had to visit it.

  The town hall sat hunched in its gardens, two storeys tall and perhaps only three ordinary houses wide, its red bricks faded by many summer suns. He stopped his car out the front, in the largely empty public parking area, then strolled towards the steps up to the front doors. He was dressed in his best suit, and straightened his tie as he mounted the stairs, climbing them two at a time. He swung open the doors and stepped inside.

  The entry foyer was quite chilly, much colder than outside. David imagined it would stay cool even in the middle of summer, with its high ceilings and insulated walls. There was a small front desk, and on either side of it two hallways heading into the building. A dowdy middle-aged woman in a thick brown woollen jumper sat at the desk, reading a magazine. She didn’t look up as he entered.

  He strode up to the desk, grinning. As he approached, the woman finally noticed him, looking up from her women’s magazine with a look of tired irritation.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked in a monotone.

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ David replied, still smiling. ‘I’m looking for the council offices.’

  ‘That way,’ the woman droned, pointing down the left-hand passageway. ‘End of the hall, you can’t miss it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ David said, and walked off.

  ‘Hey,’ the woman said, just realising what was happening, ‘hang on, wait, you can’t go in there. They’re in a private session.’

  David beamed at her, and the woman shuddered, as if she saw something in that smile. Something dangerous.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘they’ll want to see me.’

  She said nothing more, but stared at him as he walked away down the passageway.

  David reached the end of the hall and found a large door marked ‘Council Chambers’. She had been right. He couldn’t have missed it. Without knocking he grabbed the handle and turned it, throwing the door wide open and stepping inside.

  There were a dozen or so people at the table, who had all been arguing at once. David recognised a few of them from the meeting at the pub a few nights earlier, but others were strangers to him, including the bald man who sat at the head of the table. They all went silent as he entered.

  ‘Hi,’ he greeted them, waving his hand. ‘Sorry about the interruption. I need to talk with Richard there.’ He gestured towards the moustachioed man sitting near the head of the table, who ran his hand nervously through his short dark hair. ‘I need you to take a message to your boss.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ the bald man snapped, adjusting his round glasses on his nose, ‘but I think you’re referring to me.’

  ‘You?’ David looked the man up and down. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Graham Llewellyn,’ he said, as if it was self-evident. ‘The Mayor of Tillbrook.’

  David laughed. ‘Sorry, Graham,’ he said, ‘but I think you might have an inflated sense of importance here.’ He turned back to Richard, who was cringing in his chair. ‘Tell Parkes that there’s been a change of plan.’

  ‘Parkes?’ Llewellyn asked, confused.

  ‘Tell him,’ David continued, ignoring the mayor, ‘that I’m going to wipe them out. All of them. Tell him I don’t want any interference.’

  The mayor’s face was turning bright red. ‘Richard, what’s he...?’

  ‘Stop interrupting me,’ David snarled, and the redness drained from Llewellyn’s face, leaving it as white as a spring cloud.

  ‘I...’ Richard started, sweat beading on his upper lip, glistening in his thin moustache.

  ‘You too, Richard,’ David said in a normal tone of voice, and the man went quiet. ‘That’s better. Now, I want no police, no rangers... in fact, no one at all. No one human, that is,’ he added with a low laugh.

  Richard nodded.

  ‘You tell him that if I’m disturbed, he will be too, a hundred times over. You got that?’

  The man nodded again.

  ‘Good boy.’ He turned and walked back to the door.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ Llewellyn had found his voice again, it seemed, as well as some measure of indignant courage.

  David turned and faced him, his eyes blazing. The entire council flinched.

  ‘I’m the answer to your prayers, Mayor,’ he said coldly. ‘I’m a bushfire, come to destroy all the dead wood, to allow life to start again.’ The voice was his, but the words no longer were. His father was speaking with his lips. ‘I am the sword with which your enemies will be slain.’

  He turned and walked out of the council chambers without another word. Behind him, the silence was absolute.

  The woman at the front desk had vanished as David passed it. He smiled to himself. She was probably in the toilet. Or perhaps she’d seen the light, and had gone to pray somewhere in private. Either way was fine with him.

  He strode out of the town hall, back into the pleasant sunshine, still smiling. Everything was going to plan. Now it was time for the next few steps.

  You are powerful, his father reminded him, but you are not invincible. You are but one, and they are many.

  ‘I know,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t do this alone.’

  You have allies, the voice said.

  ‘If they’re still alive.’ They are.

  He nodded and got back into his car. His next destination was clear. He had to return to the scene of the crime, so to speak. He could track both his allies and his enemies from there, because that’s where he saw them last. He was confident in his ability to do so. His sense of smell was so heightened that he could distinguish one body odour from another, and even before he’d been transformed he’d been able to smell the men he sought clearly. There’d be no problem finding them now.

  He started his car, turned it around and headed once more for the football ground where the carnival was held.

  -31-

  Paul woke up in the familiar bed in Alvan Roy’s bush house. There was no disorientation this time, no disturbing nightmares. One minute he was enveloped
in a comfortable blackness, the next the sunlight was stabbing at his eyelids. He groaned and tried to turn over, shifting his legs.

  Bone scraped against bone. And he was a hundred per cent awake. The agony in his broken shin rocketed up his leg and pierced his brain, which brought the events of that morning back into sharp focus. He cried out, in equal measures of pain and anguish.

  Alvan came running in, opened the door and rushed to the side of the bed. ‘Jesus, Paul,’ he breathed, ‘are you all right?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Paul gasped.

  ‘I know it hurts,’ Alvan said, ‘but it’ll heal quickly enough.’

  ‘Who gives a fuck about my leg?’ Paul snapped.

  ‘I wasn’t talking about your leg.’

  Paul looked up at him and watched his eyes for a moment. Then he realised what the man meant.

  ‘They rejected you too,’ he breathed.

  Alvan nodded. ‘There’s no beast in me, it seems,’ he said. ‘No wolf in my heritage. Worse luck.’

  That reminded Paul of something Rachel had told him. ‘Bloodlines,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘Not male bloodlines.’

  ‘The animal resides in the women, yes,’ Alvan said.

  ‘Men can’t pass it on.’

  Paul went quiet then, wishing he’d known his mother. He’d only been a baby when she’d died. Apparently the second pregnancy had damaged her kidneys, and she was taken to hospital with complications. She’d never returned. No, he’d only known his father, the pious, stern man who’d raised David and him. He wondered if his mother had been more... he couldn’t find the right word. Free? Liberated?

  Natural?

  ‘So you see,’ Alvan said, to break the awkward silence, ‘it’s not the end of the world. Life goes on.’

  Paul looked at Alvan again. ‘Why do you stay here?’ he asked. ‘It must be painful, to see them all the time, but still be apart from them. Why do you do it?’

  Alvan smiled, but his eyes didn’t. ‘I have a responsibility to them,’ he explained. ‘I’m making amends.’

  ‘Why? What did you do?’

  ‘Me?’ He laughed, a little bitter. ‘I didn’t do anything. No, it was my dad.’