Chapter 4
Chapter four
Reeve Hardy
Monsters — Tommee Profitt, XEAH
Killing one clown or a hundred, it doesn’t matter; I’ve always hated clowns anyway. In the end, I killed for her.
She has no idea what I’ve been through to get back here, and she doesn’t need to know because I would do it all over again if I must.
That is my responsibility.
I’m the monster who kills other monsters and parts of myself because she deserves to live.
I roll the old pocket knife in my palm and pause to glide my finger over the carved initials on the wooden handle.
My initials.
It’s been a minute since I’ve felt its weight in my palm.
I grab the pocket knife from the old wooden box under my bed and stuff it in my pocket.
The lid is broken, but it’s the only place I can hide it from the slew of scumbags who work in the circus.
Sleight of hand and pickpocketing often go hand in hand.
It’s the only present Mom ever gave me that I remember.
She knew what kind of creeps wandered inside, but never had it in her to leave.
One of the comic books Dad gave me last year leans against the wall. In case of an emergency, our pocket change is hidden inside. I tuck the box closer, ensuring it stays in place before straightening up.
Mom is passed out from the lines she sniffed in the bathroom. Her brown strands are splayed across the table. I step out of our cramped trailer house and glance at her one last time before I shut the door behind me. I don’t know why she tries to hide it when it’s obvious she’s been using for years.
Maybe she’s ashamed?
In all fairness, I don’t think she even remembers how jittery she became a few times, how her hallucinations worsened in the past when paranoia kicked in, and she needed a fix. I had to be the one to find it for her and inject that poison into her vein.
Not anymore.
I make sure she only takes small doses when needed and monitor her addiction to keep her alive. Her fleeting memories worsen each day. It’s even harder to watch her waste away.
Dad disappears more often than not, and when he’s gone for long stretches, I know he’s probably in prison, which is funny because I feel like I’m the one in prison.
He is so fucking useless.
The wet grass beneath the soles of my shoes guides me as I stroll around the row of trailers, making my way to the tents and food vendors.
Each act has its own tent, and the performers live here, including me.
I have lived in the circus my whole life.
This place is a nightmare that no kid will ever understand because they come here for the thrill, happy smiles, and sometimes tears when they get scared, but eventually, they leave.
I get to stay. Completely deserted. And I always have to watch my back because no one else will.
The roar of dirt bike engines echoes across the circus. The motocross shows are the city’s most anticipated events, especially when the Globe of Death is part of the act.
I move past Mute. He never speaks to anyone and occasionally communicates through sign language, which I have learned to pick up here and there.
I always watch him exercise his calisthenics techniques and mimic him from afar.
He’s neither the friendliest nor the worst company around here.
For me, he’s a calm and inviting distraction.
Golden lights illuminate the entire area as night falls.
Dread fills me when I spot the circus clowns in the distance, skipping through the crowd with their creepy masks. They always harass me. In seconds, they snatch the little I have left in my pockets, call me names, and threaten me because they know I’m not violent like them.
My hands are always tied. No one can see it, but it’s there. Those invisible handcuffs dig into my skin, bruising my wrists before the wounds have the chance to heal.
The clowns head for their tents, and I exhale a sigh of relief, but pause when I see Dick Graves, the owner of this hundred-acre property.
I’ve seen cops coming to the circus doing business with Dick. He’s got connections everywhere. And they don’t strike me as the decent type, probably dirty cops who turn a blind eye every chance they get.
He walks with that insatiable gaze, eyeing the crowd as they scatter to different tents, especially the little kids and teenagers.
The show is about to begin, and moral depravity spreads across every part of the circus.
I’ve heard stories about his involvement with human traffickers from the clowns. He captures the victims, and they collect. Still, I’ve never seen it happen around here. I do my best to keep him occupied during opening hours, but sometimes I just want to run as far away from him as possible.
Every chance he gets, he tries to convince me that I need him.
“Everyone ditches you like you’re filthy garbage they forgot to dispose of. Then, they remember when it starts to smell. You’re invisible, Reeve. But I see you.” I’ve heard him say it one too many times. At some point, it became a ringing in my ear.
I want to get out of here, but don’t want to leave Mom. I’ve tried to convince her dozens of times, but she never listens. It’s as if she wants to perish in this wretched place.
I hate it here.
I hate my life.
What did I do to deserve this? Why do I have to bear this weight on my shoulders? It feels like we’re on a different planet, yet chaotic just as much.
“Mommy!” A little boy yells, his eyes brimming with tears. “Mommy!”
Dick snaps his head in his direction.
Not on my watch, Dick.
His tall frame closes in on the little boy, but the sly grin tugging at his lips spells an ominous sign.
The small crowd left outside rapidly shrinks in size, and my eyes search for the panicked face of a parent looking for their child.
Come on.
Where are you?
I dash forward.
Thick fog floats against my skin from the smoke machine.
Two kids trip over the tossed toys scattered on the ground. I help them up.
Hands holding cotton candy or popcorn zip past the lot from left to right.
Sounds of laughter, thrill, and chaos linger in the air.
I jump over a tent’s fence when a woman sprints toward the little boy and scoops him up before Dick can make a move. The little boy presses his head against her neck and wraps his tiny arms around her.
I exhale a sigh of relief as they disappear behind the curtains of the acrobats’ tent.
That breath soon catches as Dick advances toward me. My legs urge me forward. As soon as he spots my shadow, he begins to walk at a faster pace.
We’re on opposite sides of the circus, separated by vendors, tents, benches, and a playground.
The sick fuck quickens my heartbeat as if I’m being chased by a lion seeking to feast on its prey. He makes my skin crawl. Even if he had to slither in order to reach me, he would.
“Reeve Hardy.” His irritating delight echoes in his voice, sending a shiver down my spine.
He swaggers before me, brushing his hand over his coffee curls as if he casually strolled here.
His greedy eyes devour every inch of my body, focusing on the gap of my old, loose shirt that exposes my firm chest. I may be fifteen, but I’m already six-foot-four, and aside from working out and reading, there’s not much to do here.
He slides his hand into his front pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
“You’re always wandering around the circus, frowning at our guests.”
Mostly you, but whatever.
“Want a smoke?” He flicks the lid of the pack open.
I know he won’t let me off the hook so easily.
“Sure.” I grab one and push it between my lips. He immediately brings his lighter closer to the end, sparking it neon orange.
“How’s your Mom?” He asks.
I take a long drag, letting it burn the wretchedness within me. He already knows the answer. Everyone does. Two voices are waging war in my head, and I struggle to form an answer before I even open my mouth. I need to stay strong even when I feel weak. Hopeless.
“It’s okay. As long as she is managing to get by,” Dick says in an understanding tone, taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing it into the narrow space between us.
I recognize the false facade of concern and strategic maneuver in every step he takes. Trust can take you a long way. Too bad I’m not buying it. He will change the subject because he only cares about himself and his needs.
“It’s my birthday today.” He smacks his lips together while flicking the cigarette at his side. “I am officially forty.”
I’m on the verge of making a bored yawn. It’s almost amusing how predictable he can be.
What should I do with this useless information that serves no purpose for me?
Perhaps I ought to make a wish.
May it be your last…?
But I can’t be a complete jerk because he lets us live here for free, even though Mom misses her shows half the time.
Dick never threatens to fire her, letting it slide like the wolf in sheep’s clothing he is.
A true saint. That’s why she lets him inside the house, occasionally, for a quick fuck.
Sometimes, they even get high together, yet it’s I who he keeps staring at.
He constantly tests the limits and sees how much he can take from others.
“Happy birthday.”
Rot in hell.
“Thank you. It means a lot coming from you.” His lust-filled voice makes me clench my jaw in irritation. “Are you here for your mom’s paycheck?”
No, I wasn’t. But we could use the money. “I don’t think she even worked this month.” I blow a cloud of smoke and dump the cigarette into the trash can beside us.
“She did three shows, but consider the rest an advance for next month, my gift to you. I know how hard it is to take care of a sick parent.”
I shouldn’t, but we don’t have a dime. Drugs aren’t cheap, and food isn’t either. I could also buy new clothes and a pair of sneakers that don’t look torn, greasy, or stained.
I glance at the tent to my right, aware that it’s Dick’s office, and with an exasperated sigh, I enter.