Page 87 of Circus From Hell

I pause before asking, “How do you know about that?”

No one ever believed me about my pain before. How can this stranger know about it?

“You squint against bright lights. You rub your head as though you’re in agony, but you’re used to it. And I can smell the drugs on you.”

“The weed helps,” I mumble.

“I’m sure it does. That might too.” He nods at the drink. “Have another sip.”

I awkwardly do as I’m told, still bewildered by the situation, but no one has ever tried to help me with my pain before.

“What’s with the funky get-up?” I ask to distract myself from the lingering distaste of the whisky.

“I’m the leader of the circus, but that’s not all I do.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something dark. He places a rat on the middle of the table. I stare at it with wide eyes—it has weird legs, like a chicken, and when it moves and blinks, I see how its eyes are nearly falling out of its head. It curls in on itself, watching me like it’s expecting me to snatch it up and cause harm.

“What is that?”

“Project One. You see, I’m a doctor. Of sorts. I take broken, unloved creatures, and I make them worthy of something. Project One here didn’t have eyes when I found him, half-dead and waiting for the cold to take him out.”

The rodent curls deeper in on itself, like it understands what Kreo is saying.

“I could make you great, boy. I could give you a reason to live. You’re like me, you know.” He takes another sip of whisky, and this time, I do the same on my own volition. “The boys in an orphanage can be pretty mean, can’t they? They don’t like those who are different.”

“You were in an orphanage?”

He nods once. “I was weak, but no more. Do you like power, young man? I could give you power in abundance. Come with me to my circus, and you can see for yourself. I can cure your pain. I can give you attributes normal humans could never comprehend.”

As I listen to him, the alcohol courses through my veins. The strong liquid starts to numb the pain, just like Kreo had told me it would, just like the weed does.

Does that mean I can trust him?

I do like power. I adore control.

“You don’t have anything else to live for. None of my performers did until they met me. You’d be with likeminded people. With fellow freaks. I can tell you have the leadership qualities I’ve been looking for in a second-in-command. Join me, and I can show you what real control is.”

I don’t know what he could possibly want with me in his circus. I have no skills, no education, nothing that makes me worthwhile.

But it saves me from death, and it gives me a chance at a life with no pain. Would I be a different person without this pain?

I watch the scared, shaking rat. If he can save a rat from death, alter its body so majorly, then what could he do to me? The idea of harbouring the power he promises… It makes my blood rush.

I swallow the rest of the whisky in one agonising gulp, pushing past the taste and awaiting the numbness to continue.

“Okay. I’ll come with you.”

He smiles and tucks the rat back in his pocket. “Here.” He pushes his glass to me, and I follow orders before I’m asked, finishing off his drink for him. “See, I told you it would do you good.”

As I pick up my backpack, he stops me.

“Is there anything in there of value?”

I look at the black bag and consider. No. Some clothes, a bit of loose change, and a few grams of weed I swooped from one of the boys as I packed my shit.

“Didn’t think so,” he mutters before I have the chance to answer. “Leave it and follow me.”

It feels like I’m parting with everything I know as I walk away from the bag, leaving it nestled in the corner of this little pub.

Saying goodbye isn’t sad.