Page 8 of The Carnival

Kenan approaches slowly and reaches out, pulling the knife free in one smooth motion. His fingers brush against my lips as he removes the remnants of the apple, letting it fall to the floor. “Did I scare you, Emerson?” His fingers trail along my bare arms and I have to fight a shiver at the touch, but I don’t answer him.

“Ladies and gentlemen, wasn’t she magnificent?” He turns around abruptly. “I hope you all come out tomorrow and don’t miss the final show in just four days.” He’s addressing the still roaring crowd instead of me, which is good, considering I’m not sure I even can speak yet.

Kenan steps closer to me and the crowds continue their cheers. “You were perfect.” He whispers, but the words don’t match the troubled look in his eyes.

Suddenly, the stage lights dim and the curtain behind him closes with a heavy swish of fabric. That gut instinct kicks in, telling me something wrong. So very, very wrong.

“Um, Kenan?” I call out, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I tug meaningfully at the restraints still binding me.

He walks over, methodically plucking the knives from around me. Each blade slides free with a soft sound, like a sigh that I’m also needing to release when he lets me go. When he reaches for the one framing my hip, his fingers graze my bare skin, and hot needles shoot around me.

“No Kitten ...” he murmurs, that same sorrowful look darkening his features. “I’m not.”

Chapter 7

I watch as Kenan walks off the stage, his shoulders hunch slightly as if he’s carrying a weight that only he feels. He tugs his mask down and runs a hand through his hair as the curtain closes fully – plunging me into semi-darkness. Just as he disappears behind it, I hear a whisper of a voice right above me.

“Run, Emerson.”

I jerk my head up at the hushed command, catching on something that glints in the dim light directly above me — a small knife wedged into the wood just inches from where my bound wrists strain against the ribbons. It’s not a performance blade, but the personal one Kenan had been twirling between his fingers at the beginning of the show.

My heart hammers against my ribs as I strain upward, fingers stretching toward the handle. The velvet digs into my wrist, burning against my skin as I pull myself up using only my arm strength. My muscles scream in protest, but I keep going.

“Come on,” I hiss through clenched teeth as my fingertips brush the knife’s handle.

Just a bit further. I can do this. My shoulders feel like they are being pulled from my sockets as I lift myself higher, finally grasping the handle. I yank it free, nearly dropping it in my haste.

The blade is wickedly sharp, slicing through the velvet ribbons with no resistance. My arms drop suddenly and the attack of pins and needles shoots through my shoulders as blood rushes back into them. I stumble forward, my bare feet hitting the cool floor.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I mutter, trying to scan for my clothes.

A rustling sound comes from behind the curtain and voices carry with it. I spot my jeans crumpled near the side of the stage where the stagehand must have dropped them. I lunge for them, almost tripping over my own feet.

The denim is rough as I hop awkwardly, yanking them up with trembling hands. I hear my phone go sliding across the floor, but I don’t have time to find it. I need to go, when I get to my car I’ll just drive to the town I passed and call for help there. My jacket is nowhere in sight, so I decide to leave that as well.

“Check on her,” a gruff voice commands from behind the curtain.

Ice floods my veins as I frantically scan the floor for my shoes. They’re scattered near the wooden board and I snatch them up, not bothering to put them on yet. I dart toward the side of the stage, clutching Kenan’s knife in one hand, shoes in the other. My bare feet make no sound as I slip into the shadows.

I bolt towards a small sliver of light and pray it’s a backstage exit. My feet pad on the cold floor, and the door is heavier than I expect as I throw my shoulder against it to force it open. The night air is like a slap to the face as I try to collect my bearings and sort out where I am.

I need to find the exit of this ridiculous nightmare of a place, even if I don’t have many answers about my sister — I know without a doubt now that she was taken here. Which should make me want to stay, but the logical part of my brain is screaming that I have to survive first to be able to find justice for her.

The eerie music still mingles in the fog-covered air as I shove my feet into my shoes and run in what direction feels like the way I came.

My arms are heavy as I look for the gate, with its arching iron letters, but none of the paths look right. The Ferris wheel looms, but always at a new angle; no matter how I circle around, it never grows closer. Looming over me as if it’s mocking me from its perch way up high. I try to orient myself using the carousel I see as well, but the horses no longer hold their pastel colors, looking melted and slumped on the poles.

A small lantern glows ahead, hanging from a wire stretched between two tents. It’s the first one I’ve seen, I assume it might be a signal of the way out, so I head towards it. The tents here differ, from what I saw earlier, as I move through them. Unlike the vibrant colors of before, the canvas of the tents are patchy, the color of bone left in the sunlight for too long.

Suddenly, the giant gate can be seen ahead and a small breath of relief escapes my lungs. I pick up my pace, running towards it. My lungs burn as I bring in the surrounding air, my bare feet slapping the earth hard.

Then …. my world shifts.

The path in front of me is gone in an instant, replaced by more tents, and I nearly twist my ankle as dizziness settles into me. I turn in a circle, looking for the lantern again, or the exit that was just there, but nothing is the same.

A flickering of a light catches my attention from the corner of my eye, and I follow the path towards the right, chasing it, but just before the paths turn, everything changes. For what seems like hours, every path I try to trace sends me sprawling into something else. I’ve had to stop and vomit more than once from the dizziness of it all.

I drop to my knees hard, screaming in frustration. The sound is more than I’ve ever let release from me — it’s broken and torn. I feel like I’m losing my mind just trying to escape. It wasn’t this hard when I entered. I dig my fingers into the dirt, trying to ground myself, to remember why I’m here ... who I am here for, and that I am in fact not going crazy.