Page 143 of Circus From Hell

Is this how Kreo feels when he does these experiments?

The sight of Spiral’s dead face takes away that feeling immediately.

“I can’t watch,” Arlo whines, shoving his head into Micha’s chest.

“I know, Pipsqueak.”

“What’s next, Karma?” Soren asks.

I know what to do.

My fingers wrap around the large pull lever near the top of the machine. The metal pole makes my body tingle, conducting through me, and I fight the urge to pull away.

I tug the lever down.

The machine shakes, sparks of electricity protruding from every switch, bulb, and button. Soren shields his eyes from the onslaught of white light, and Micha turns Arlo’s body away, nestling into his neck to protect himself.

Voltage is thrown into Spiral’s convulsing body. His carcass shakes violently, pulling the leather straps.

Flashes of light fill the room.

Animals fall silent.

Rumbles and whirs and claps of metal reverberate around us.

The room comes to life. It’s so loud, so bright, almost unbearably so. I refrain from covering my eyes and ears. I push through, set on staring at my dead clown’s body.

It doesn’t last long before the machine overrides, and the back of it explodes.

Soren slams into me, and Micha slams into Arlo, throwing us aside.

I land on the floor beside a gasping Arlo and a panting Micha.

The four of us stare at the table as the room stills.

The machine ceases all power. Darkness ascends.

Everything is frozen. Dead silence is overpowering.

Slowly, I stand. Micha helps Arlo up, and Soren takes a step forward with me.

Spiral is stationary. His chest is motionless, his eyes are still shut, and I can’t hear his heart beating.

A sob breaks out of me.

It failed.

I’ve failed.

He’s dead.

“Oh no,” Soren whispers, dragging me to his chest and wrapping his arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Karma.” But he’s not just sorry for me; he’s sorry for Spiral. The proof leaks down his face in the form of more tears.

I cry into his chest, and for the first time in my life, real liquid leaks from my eyes. Micha and Arlo wrap around me too. Arlo sobs loudly; Micha cries quietly.

Their hearts beat back into my ears, pounding thunderously, but it misses a vital step in its tune. I’m used to hearing them all together.

I never told them that their hearts sync up. That all five would beat in time when they surround me. But now they’re out of coordination, sporadic and wrong.