2. Chapter Two

Take Me First - Bad Omens

Two hours earlier…

Well, that's one show done and over with. Thank fuck. These family-friendly shows are such a waste of time, and everyone knows it. It's the after-show that people want. The show where people come to let go of themselves and allow us to take them to their most depraved desires. Pleasuring them beyond anything they have ever experienced, and making them question how they will ever enjoy anything less. It's that show that makes us the real money. Especially in shit-hole towns like this. The ones that look straight out of a magazine but are full of all the closet freaks who wait every summer for us to roll in for the weekend so they can let loose. After running Cirque Du Désir for the last ten years, I can tell you it's the residents in towns just like Casselman, that have the most fucked up kinks and desires. Which is a good thing for us.

My shoes kick up dry dusty dirt as I walk through some random field off Route 700 on my way back to my trailer. As usual, I parked it at the back. As far away from the cirkies tents and trailers as possible. Even I can only handle their level of fucked up in small doses, plus I like my privacy. I tilt my mask up my face carefully. Pulling my pack of du Maurier cigarettes from my pocket, I lift it to my mouth, pinching one between my lips and sliding it out. I hold it between my lips as my other hand sparks up my zippo and lights the tip. Inhaling deeply, I fill my lungs with its sweet toxic fumes before exhaling it into the cool night breeze bellowing across the field. The air is crisp, and as I get closer to my trailer and further from the big top, the louder the chiming crickets hiding in the tall grass get.

Taking off my hat, I run my hand through my greasy finger-length dark hair. With my trailer in sight, I take another quick drag before tossing the butt to the ground. The screen door screeches loudly as I open it and step inside and out of the night chill. Liquor bottles and take-out garbage are littered across the small table and counter. Remnants of the last few days on the road. I grab the twenty-sixer of Crown Royal off the counter before dropping myself down on the small polyester sofa along the window. I take a swig, welcoming the instant burn of the whiskey as it glides down my throat. A quick knock on the door signals Dolly"s arrival and I quickly pull the mask back down over my face. I was expecting her. Dolly has been helping me manage the circus for four and a half years now and though I know she doesn't always "agree" with my methods, I couldn't run this shit show without her.

Let's be honest, not everyone understands the shit we do. Not everyone can handle our level of fucked up, I mean half the time I can't even handle the fucked up shit that my head comes up with without thinking I belong in the looney bin. However, my twisted thoughts do tend to make some pretty awesome shows, that and the fact that I'm willing to make my cirkies do whatever it takes to keep the paying customers happy.

The door opens and the chilly breeze rips through the small space as she lets herself in. "Well you wasted no time getting out of that one," she expresses, closing the thin door behind her. Laughing, I tily my mask up again, lifting the bottle to my lips as I take another swig. I have no idea how old Dolly is, but if I had to guess, I'd say she's in her late twenties like me. However, years of being a meth head have left her looking much older, and worn out. Her hair is a dull bleach-blonde color and her face is sunk in and littered with breakouts. She stands maybe five foot six and is so thin she's nothing more than a bag of bones covered by a skin sac.

"I couldn't stand the sound of that fucking kid anymore. I'd rather have knives shoved in my ears for Christ"s sake." Screaming kids has always been a trigger for me. It never fails to bring me right back to the past I worked so hard to bury. To the little boy who had his screams beaten out of him.

Fucked out of him.

"Well," she smirks as she leans herself up against the counter. "That I can agree with. Though I was stuck listening to it anyway thanks to you bailing out right after the finale. The guys are setting up and the girls wanna know who's going out tonight."

"Kallie for sure, I want her to team up with Skylar on those ballet knife shoes we picked up in Quebec. Put them on the left side, but closer to the entrance. I don't feel like being sprayed with blood tonight. Rhonda needs to be out tonight too. That toe-loving fuck from last year was in the crowd of tonight"s show, so I know he'll be stopping by, if he even left," I chuckle, lifting my mask slightly again to bring the bottle of whiskey to my lips.

Dolly takes notes on her clipboard. Scribbling the names of the cirkies in the positions I'm assigning them for the night. It's not as simple as just sticking them anywhere. Each person and their talent needs to be considered before deciding where to place them. Every town is different, as are the kinks of the people who flock to our tent when the sun disappears.

"Johnny and Troy, I want closer to the stage tonight. I want to keep my eyes on them so we don't have a repeat of Toronto. It's Casey's time of the month yeah?" I question. Dolly freezes, lifting her eyes from her paperwork to meet mine through the eyeholes of my mask.

"You know when they're on their damn periods?"

"I know everything about the people who work for me. It's my job. Put Casey on the right side near the entrance. Dress her up in that old shark outfit Carson used to wear in his Jaws skit and tell her it's time to embrace shark week. Tell her to charge double too, she'll pull in the big bucks tonight." I explain with a smirk. Each cirkie earns a commission on each client and the commission earned increases based on what level of fucked up they have to rise to in order to please their clients.

I've seen some of the most up-tight-looking fuckers come in here looking for shit so fucked up you'd think they should be committed. But who am I to judge someone else"s kinks? As long as I get paid I don't give a fuck what the town's preacher wants to shove up his ass, or how hard the grocery clerk gets off on strangling some drugged-out waste of skin to death.

"Fucking hell. Can't just let me have one easy night can ya? She isn't going to like that. You know how she feels about fucking on her period, Lux. The last time you made her do it she was in pain for days. She's not gonna do it"

"Well, unfortunately for Casey, if she wants to get paid, she"s going to do it whether she likes it or not. It's a great sell, and she knows it. It always makes us a killing." Rising from the small couch, I place the bottle on the table knocking styrofoam containers and garbage to the floor as I pull open the small drawer next to the oven. I grab a small bottle of pills, twist the cap off, and dump two in my hand before placing it back in the drawer and closing it. "Slip these into her drink about thirty minutes before show time," I add, handing the small pills off to Dolly. "With that much MDMA in her system, she'll be compliant, the customer will be happy and you'll still get your easy night. Might even give some relief from those cramp pains you women are always bitching about."

I brush past her, grabbing the bottle off the table before plopping myself back down on the couch.

"And if she isn't, then what? Do I just shove it down her throat or something?"

Dolly's persistent questioning and need to play dumb like this isn't the routine for every fucking show, has my blood boiling. I whip the bottle of whiskey. Sending it flying past her head where it shatters against the paneled wooden wall behind her. Quickly rising to my feet, I bring myself to stand before her tiny frame as my chest rises and falls with angered breaths.

"If she refuses, then you remind her where people end up when they're of no use to me. Ask her if getting fucked by paying customers while on her rag is worse than worms dining on her rotting flesh while she's six feet under the dry fucking fields, Dolly!" I snap with an aggressive tone as I look down at her. Dolly's lip trembles with fear. She's been around long enough to know I mean my words, and I follow through with my threats. Casey wouldn't be the first to give me a hard time. "Last I checked none of you had homes, or lives before I found you. So if I say jump, I don't give a fuck how you or the cirkies feel about it, you jump. Jump without question, or you die. Those are your choices."

"Ri-right, of course. Sorry, Lux. I'll get on it," she says, stammering in a fit of panic and fear.

"Don't be sorry. Just make sure you and the damn cirkies do what the fuck you're told. Now get out, I have shit to do before tonight and so do you," I reply, as I push the trailer door open with my arm. It catches in the wind and blows open wider. Dolly wastes no time rushing out.

I don't blame her.

I know I'm intimidating when I want to be, it's how I got where I am today. If growing up the way I did taught me anything, it's how to make people fear me. Once they fear you, they'll do whatever the fuck you want.

Fear is power.

Closing the door behind her, I lock it and open the cupboard pulling out another bottle of Crown Royal from my stash.

Twisting off the cap, I tilt my mask up again, and chug it down as I make my way across the small trailer, tripping over the styrofoam containers I knocked off the table earlier until I reach the tiny bathroom. I flick on the light, casting a yellow glow across my masked reflection in the mirror. Tilting my head to the side, I place the bottle on the vanity and slowly raise my gloved hands to remove the clown mask from my face. Like straight out of a horror movie, it's a cracked white base, with thin blue lines across its eyes. A signature red round nose makes up the center, but it's the oversized narrow grin that gives it the perfect eerie touch. It's become an everyday accessory for me. Allowing me to hide the physical scars of my past from the world around me.

Fire's kiss.

But it's the scars that even I can't see, that they should really be afraid of.

I place it next to the bottle of whiskey and carefully free my hands from the confinements of the tight black leather gloves. Each inch exposing more and more burnt and scarred flesh. Inspecting the parts of myself I keep hidden from the world, I can't help but retreat to the memories of my childhood and the night everything changed. My childhood was anything but easy. With a drug addict whore of a mother, who always put her addiction before her child, it's a miracle I even lived as long as I did.

I've always known it was the man who kept me alive. Not because he wanted me around, or gave a shit. But because I was useful to him. Because his friends liked to fill his pockets with colorful bills to pay a visit to my room when Mama was so doped up she didn't know what was happening. Sometimes even the man himself would come to my room. He'd wait for Mama to get her fix and pass out on the couch, knowing she'd be out till the morning. Giving him hours to have his way with me.

To touch me.

It didn't matter that I said no. The more I screamed the more I got beat, so eventually, I stopped.

Eventually, I didn't care what happened to me. Pain became an everyday occurrence, and when the fire swept across my room, I knew if I made a single noise, I'd get worse than a beating. So I decided to let the fire take me. I'd rather that than face the man or his touch again.

The sound of the DJ starting up the music for the night pulls me from the dark memories and thoughts that plague my head. Quickly I grab the bottle of lotion from the counter. Squeezing some out before spreading it around the red and purple raised flesh that makes up my hands before sliding them back into the leather gloves. I place the mask back over my face and grab the bottle of whiskey before flicking off the light and heading back down the narrow hall to the kitchen area.

Opening the same drawer containing the pills I handed off to Dolly, I pull out a small baggie of cocaine, and rip the bag open. Grabbing my trailer keys off the counter I dip one into the bag, I sniff a quick bump before tossing the bag back into the small drawer. It hits me instantly. Just the little kick I needed to get the night started.

"It's showtime!" I shout enthusiastically. My skin buzzes with my high as I make my way out the door. Tonight is going to be fucked, I can feel it.