Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Lila
Once I’d made the decision to go, everything happened rather quickly.
Quitting my job was one of the best things I’ve ever done.
My boss had always been such a giant chauvinistic pig, and telling him to kiss my ass was awesome.
Relief hit me as soon as I had one foot out the door, that telling me, more than anything else, that I was making the right decision for my future.
Whether I stayed with the circus after a year or not, my body knew that I wasn’t meant to stay in that damn bar.
I didn’t have much in the way of things to pack, and I gave my furniture to Susie to do with what she willed.
She might miss me, but she’s getting an upgrade out of the situation, for sure.
Mark’s apartment is bigger and nicer. Definitely won’t need much of my crap.
If they decide to keep the furniture, that's fine, but if they donate it to Goodwill, I'm not going to be unhappy either.
Before I know it, my two days have flashed by, and I’m walking onto the plane with a heavy heart and too many questions in my mind after a tearful goodbye with Susie at airport security.
“Good morning, miss.” The flight attendant with a pleasant smile points me in the direction of my seat.
After taking my book out of my carry-on bag, I stow the bag in the overhead compartment before settling into my large window seat.
While the plane continues to load passengers, I check out all the buttons on the screen in front of me and pull out the pamphlets from the pocket underneath it.
This is exciting as well as a little nerve wracking.
I’ve never had the opportunity to fly before, and now I’m doing it in style.
Talk about being spoiled. Nobody sits in the seat next to mine, which is a bit of a relief.
Take-off is thrilling and terrifying all at once, but when we hit cruising altitude, my breathing and heart rate settle.
A glass of champagne in my hand, there’s nothing left to do but relax and pray that we don’t hit turbulence.
This flying thing isn’t bad so far, but I’m not really looking forward to the prospect of bumping all around.
The flight between L.A. and London is uneventful, and I have no desire to join the mile-high club as a solo passenger, so I swap out my book for the rest of the packet the lawyer gave me.
The recirculating air of the plane is giving me a slight headache behind my eyes, but I need to go through the information.
It gives me a run down of all the financials and the schedule of stops for the next year, but it’s confusing and hard to understand.
Lots of words and names I don’t know and enough abbreviations that I stock up on several screenshots of terms to Google once I get off the plane.
God only knows what language they’re in, but it’s no form of English that I’ve ever seen.
I’m not sure whether it’s the stress of moving, the puzzle of those crazy words, or what, but my headache only intensifies as time goes by.
When the throbbing grows strong enough that not even my book can distract me, I decide to give up.
Putting it all back into my carry-on bag, I try to enjoy the facilities that business class has to offer.
A good movie, a tasty meal, and a couple of glasses of wine later, God bless you, business class, I fall asleep.
Images of tentacles and fangs, fur and claws dominate my dreams, making me restless.
Waking just as we land, I feel like I haven’t slept at all, and my goddamn headache’s still hovering behind my eyes.
The plane touches down in London in the early morning, but the airport is so busy I’m elbowed repeatedly and jostled back and forth as I make my way to the luggage carousel.
The smoggy smell of the air is a hit to the senses after being on the plane for hours, so by the time my luggage arrives, I’m more than ready to leave.
Scanning the waiting crowd, I look for a sign with my name on it.
As it starts to thin, I find an older gentleman waiting patiently for me dressed in a dark suit, with sunglasses tucked into a jacket pocket.
He has a polite professional smile on his ruby-cheeked face as he greets me with an accented, “Welcome to the U.K., Miss Jenson. Let me take that for you.” He grabs my case from my hands. “If you’ll just follow me.”
He turns, heading in the opposite direction at a brisk pace, and I have no choice but to scramble to catch up to him.
Parked in a waiting bay outside is a long black limo, and after stowing my bag in the trunk, he opens the door for me, another polite smile gracing his face.
Thanking him, I slide onto the waiting seat while he gently closes the door behind me.
He goes around to the driver’s side, the opposite to what I am used to.
Looking around the fancy interior, I start to poke around, but the same accented voice suddenly flows through a speaker.
“It’s an almost three-hour drive to Somerset, miss.
Sit back and relax. There’s breakfast in the warmer next to you.
They weren’t sure what you would like, so they went with pancakes with berries, maple syrup, and cream.
If that is not to your liking, I am sure we can find somewhere to stop.
There is also your choice of tea or coffee.
If you want to speak to me, just push the button in the armrest.”
“This is wonderful, thank you. I’m looking forward to watching the countryside on the drive.” I’m totally lying my ass off right now since I’m pretty sure my eyes won’t stay open, but I don’t want to seem rude. “Do you work for my grandfathers?” I ask curiously.
“No, miss, I’ve just been hired to take you to them.” With that, he starts the limo and pulls out into the traffic with a smooth glide.
Okay then, doesn’t want to chat. Well, that’s ok by me.
The traffic is quite heavy as we leave the airport and move into the city.
I enjoy the breakfast spread that has been left for me before pouring a cup of coffee and sitting back with it cupped in my hands, enjoying watching the world quietly go by.
As we start to move away from the airport and onto a highway, it thins out considerably.
It’s summer in England, same as back home, but everything is so green.
We make one short stop in Bristol for a bathroom break, but other than that, we keep going.
The morning had started out bright and clear when we first left London, but by the time we get close to the Somerset area, it’s become overcast. There’s a fine layer of fog on the ground, quite eerie.
I press the button to lower the privacy screen.
“Wow, the weather sure is strange. I thought it would be a beautiful day. Is it often like this?” I ask the driver.
“No, miss,” he says, a hint of disdain in his tone.
“It happens every time that godforsaken circus comes to town. They pitch that ruddy demon dome tent in the Glastonbury festival field. Some say it’s other-worldly and interferes with the ley lines in the area.
Others say it has to do with the small megalith circle, similar to Stonehenge, that is nearby.
Who knows?” He shrugs, keeping his eyes on the road.
“They stay for a couple of weeks, and we get crowds and crowds of people that come and visit until they disappear overnight and pop up somewhere else in the world a couple of days later. We get all sorts of strange people coming around. The surrounding villages do a roaring trade while the circus is in town, but we’re never sorry to see it go.
There’s something not quite right about it.
The performers are polite enough, but they’re strange and tend to keep to themselves.
When they do show up in town, the youngins get a bit frantic and silly. ”
He slows the limo down as we go over a small hill, giving me the perfect opportunity to see the black futuristic dome in the distance. There seems to be movement all around it, but from this far away I can’t make out any details. For now, it looks like a bunch of ants scurrying around.
As the limo continues driving toward the dome, the driver looks in the rearview mirror at me.
“So did you say something about a grandfather? Is he one of the performers? I would have put my money on you being a groupie, hoping to get lucky with one of the performers. They do seem quite popular. Or are you one of those investigative reporters, trying to get the scoop on how they do their tricks? There are always a few each year who try to get hired on as merchandise or concession stand vendors, and they always end up kicked to the curb for poking their noses where they’re not wanted.
But an actual relative… That’s certainly interesting.
” I can hear the curiosity in his voice, but I don't owe him an explanation. Not to mention, if my bestie didn’t get any extra details, they’re sure not being shared with this guy who’s made his judgment on the circus pretty clear.
I laugh as I vaguely answer, “Something like that. So, tell me, as a local man, what do you think of the rumors? There must be some sort of gossip floating around the villages.”
“Who knows,” he says. “Some people say they’re fairies or witches, and some people say aliens.
Goodness knows that dome has an alien look about it.
I took the Mrs. once. Some of the things those acts do are quite unbelievable.
But then again, David Copperfield managed to make the space shuttle disappear, so who knows?
” He shrugs. I smile inwardly, knowing that act had all been set up and the people there were in on it.
We pull up to a gate with a couple of very serious-looking security guards standing at attention.
Both are close to seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and pecs you could bounce a quarter off.
They’re wearing black cargo pants with the requisite tight black security shirt.
As one turns around and walks to the gate, it looks like he may have a gun concealed in his waistband.
My eyebrows raise at this; they mean business.
Why would a circus need armed guards? The other one, this guy holding a clipboard, steps up to the limo and gestures for the driver to wind down the window.
“Name, please,” he grunts. Not very chatty, but at least he takes his job seriously.
“Miss Lila Jenson,” the driver says to the guard. “Mr. John Adams is expecting her.” The guard looks down at his clipboard before giving a curt nod and gesturing to the gate.
“Drive to the door just there at the side of the dome. Unload her luggage, get back in, and drive straight out, please. Someone will come to find you if you take your time, and they won’t be happy.”
The driver nods to the security guard, winds the window up, and puts the car into gear, driving toward the gate where the other security guard has opened it up.
The car slowly inches forward, and my driver is far from the relaxed and more social man he was before.
He looks so tense, his face in the rearview mirror is wrinkled, frowny, and definitely stressed.
I don’t think there will be any issue with him taking his time.
I think if he could, he would floor the accelerator, yank the hand brake, slide the limo sideways toward the door, and kick me out on the way past.
When he does stop, I quickly make my way out of the car before the driver jumps out to help to pull my luggage out of the trunk. I’m all ready to go by the time he reaches me, and when he holds out his hand, I grasp it.
“Good luck,” he says. “I think you’re going to need it.” He pushes a business card into my hand. “You look like a nice girl. Don’t think it didn’t escape my attention that you never told me what you were doing with this lot. If you need a lift or anything, call me.”
He looks up at the dome with a shudder before he quickly gets back into the limo and drives off, the limo disappearing in a cloud of dust. One minute, it’s there, and then it’s through the gate and gone.
My neck stretches as I tip my head back to look all the way to the top of the dome.
It really is a sight to see. I walk over to it, reaching out to feel the side, but my hand is stopped by some kind of invisible barrier.
What the fuck? When I push a little harder, the barrier warms up until my hand is able to pass through it.
At the unexpected feel of the material, I pull my hand back, looking between it and the dome in shock.
It’s weird; it looks like a fabric or canvas tent, like any other circus, but it’s not.
It’s almost as if it’s made of a type of metal.
Smooth and cold and almost like there’s a slight electrical current running through it.
It’s so strange, and I’m a little wary about what to make of it.
To make the situation even odder, there’s now no one around.
What happened to all the little ants that I’d seen running around in the distance?
Blowing out a breath, I step back from the dome, pacing back and forth while rubbing my hands against my pants.
Well, this is it, I’m standing here, expectations high, just like the kids in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
My very own Willy Wonka should be appearing any minute.
My heart is beating a million miles an hour, and my breathing has quickened.
I cannot wait to start the next part of my big adventure, but taking that final step is hard… freaking hard.
Suddenly, the door in the dome flies open, slamming back against the building.
“Well, what are you waiting for, girly? A marching band or a parade?” The gruff voice sounds out from the darkness inside the doorway, surprising me with its normalcy.
“Well, you’re flat out of luck. Get your ass in gear.
We ain’t got all day, and the Misters Adams are waiting for you. ”