Chapter 4
IV. LIAR
People say everything happens for a reason, and they were damn right, because she was here. They also say that, at some point in time, two people from different worlds are meant to meet. Even if they are divided by lifetimes, that moment still comes. This was ours.
I tried not to look at her too much. I didn’t want her to recognize this face, the face of my brother.
Identical twins. I had seen him, I knew him, but I barely remembered him now.
The only difference between us was a small mole above my lip.
Because of that, I dyed my hair black to cover the ice-blonde, and I painted my face so no one would start asking questions.
Now I understand why Rio hid behind the mask. It wasn’t to keep people from seeing his face. It was to hide the truth. And I was no different. If that made me a liar, then maybe I was the best one in the game.
I sat on the grave of an old man named Gerald, who probably died alone, since his was the only grave without flowers. For a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Two clowns sat beside me. I had met them only yesterday, but I needed someone to drink with, so I brought them along. They were new, and I didn’t even know their names. I would probably forget them by morning anyway.
When I saw the girl slowly walking, I got to my feet and I followed her toward the trees that led into the woods. The clowns didn’t notice. Maybe they didn’t care, or maybe they were too drunk to see.
Her face was wet with tears, her green eyes glossy, and her loose curls had fallen from her bun. She looked like a doll, but not the happy kind. She looked like the kind of rag doll you could pull apart and stitch back together whenever you wanted.
Even though I had promised Rio she was off-limits, I couldn’t help myself. I had always wanted the things I couldn’t have. And growing up spoiled and rich, I always found a way to get them, one way or another.
She left her friend and was all alone.
Thank God you’re beautiful, I thought. Because you’re not the brightest.
She wiped her tears and paused in the middle of the dirt path.
Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone, dialing again and again.
Each call brought nothing but silence. No one answered.
Her jaw tightened, and then she threw the phone at a rock.
She stomped on it until shards scattered in the dirt.
Should I tell her the phone’s no longer with us? No. That’s stupid. She doesn’t even know I’m here.
I crossed my arms, my right hand twitching as if it could think for me, gesturing at her in disbelief.
I leaned against a tree, watching her tantrum. Her small foot slammed against the broken phone while she shouted. I tried to hold back a laugh, but a short squeak slipped out. My hands flew to my mouth, and I dropped to the ground.
She gasped. And instead of asking who’s there, she ran.
Of course she did. She wanted me to chase her. So I pushed off the ground and ran with her.
Damn, she was fast. I didn’t think those little legs could take such big strides. Every day’s a surprise, I guess.
I took the shortcut. I knew she’d be heading home. I had been there plenty of times, leaving roses like Rio told me to. Never saw her, though. Maybe she hid. Maybe she slept. Maybe she pretended none of it existed.
And just as I expected, she appeared at the end of the road. She was gasping for air, slowing down now but walking quickly toward her house.
The place wasn’t much. Stone walls, two floors, and not a single light on. Perfect. Maybe I could even sneak in later.
Oh, doll.
Yeah, you’re mine now.
Only mine.
I stayed back, waiting for her to reach the yard. I would wait a little longer, just to be sure she was alone. After all, I wasn’t stalking her. I was just making sure she got home safe. Per my brother’s orders, of course.
Rest his poor soul. Dumb idiot. Who dies for a girl?
My brother was in love, and love makes us do stupid things.
A year earlier
All I got were instructions on how to reach the House of Clowns. It was supposed to be simple. Wait for the train to La Maddalena, jump on, ask for Rocco, and get there in one piece. But that’s not how it went.
I waited at the empty railway station with two other men, each holding their clothes stuffed into black trash bags. Before I even turned around, they noticed how well-dressed I was, and they did what they knew best.
They dropped their bags and ran toward me.
I stood my ground, ready to throw a punch, but before I could even land one, one of them stabbed me low in the abdomen. Pain ripped through me as the other pulled the gold watch from my wrist and tore the chain from my neck.
Then came another stab, this time just below my collarbone. With that single strike, my body went limp. I gurgled in pain, watching as they took not only what I had but what was left of my life.
It is true what they say; life really does pass fast when it flashes before your eyes.
All I could see were the two of them running away, their old sneakers slapping against the ground as they disappeared into the distance. I tried to speak, to move, but my body would not listen. My vision dimmed.
Just before my eyes closed completely, I saw the train arriving. Metal roared and lights blurred, and across its side were big red letters that read Casa dei Clowns (House of Clowns).
I don’t remember much. Just that I woke up in a wagon with two donkeys breathing beside me. A man was leaning over me, patching my wounds. He was tall, muscular, and his face said he wasn’t happy I was there.
He jabbed a finger at me, then at his chest. 1“Ja, Branimir. Croatia. You?”
My throat worked, but no sound came out, only a wet gurgle.
He sighed, muttering something that sounded like a curse in Croatian. “Gdje mene na?e ba? danas, u pi?ku materinu?!”2
Before my eyes could close again, he was on his knees, slapping my cheeks to keep me awake. The stink of the animals and his sweat mixed in my nose until I could taste it.
“Hmm… 3za?to? Why? You? Here?”
Pain rolled through me when I tried to laugh, twisting in my gut and crawling up to my head. Every nerve lit up. I pointed at my throat, trying to explain I couldn’t speak.
He reached for a bottle filled with clear liquid and shoved it toward me. “Drink. Ehh… good.” He lifted his thumb, hit his chest. “For heart.” Then pointed to his mouth. “4For grlo… ehmm… throat.”
I nodded. He tilted the bottle to my lips, and the liquid burned down until my throat screamed. My eyes snapped open, and my brows pulled tight against the pain.
The man chuckled. “Good, good,” he said.
I didn’t know if it was healing me or killing me. Either way, it felt right, just until everything went dark again.
I heard shouting somewhere beyond the walls. Then a sound reached me.
When I saw the painted clown face and those icy blue eyes, I knew it was Rio.
I was in a bedroom now. From the smell and the look of it, I had already made it to the House of Clowns. I lay on a low bed with white sheets. They smelled clean, but everything else reeked of rot, alcohol, and cigarettes. I would have bet this was Branimir’s room, the Croatian’s.
Rio moved closer, whispering, “They’re coming.”
Before the footsteps reached the door, he pulled a knife from his pocket.
The metal caught the light for a second before he pressed it against my cheek.
He sliced from the middle of my lip to the corner.
Heat flared under my skin, and I tasted blood before I even felt it.
He clamped his palm over my mouth, holding me silent while pain pulsed through my face.
“This is for your own good,” he breathed. Then he wrapped a bandage around my head, covering half my face.
The door slammed open. A man stepped in wearing a black suit and a cherry-red coat. His boots struck the floor as he crossed the room.
“Who is this?” he asked.
Rio didn’t flinch. “We found him on the train track. He was robbed. Needs work. I think he would do well in the stables.”
The man bent closer. “His face is scarred. He’ll need paint.” He turned to Rio. “Clowns?”
Rio shook his head. “No space left on our floor. Others might complain.”
“Freaks, then.” The man laughed and tapped his stick against the wooden boards. “When he heals, take him to the attic.”
When he left, Rio leaned down and said in his low voice. “Clowns have been disappearing for the past two weeks. You’ll be safer with the freaks. And not a word to the Croatian. We don’t trust him.”
I nodded. My throat still refused to work, and pain spread evenly through every part of me. I didn’t know what to think, or if I even could anymore. I had thought life at home was miserable. But this place was worse.
The House of Clowns would eat my mind and soul. And I would not be the only one it swallowed.
Present day
She came inside the house, shutting the lights off one by one until only a single bulb stayed on. It flickered three times, like a signal. I don’t know why she did it or who she was signaling to, but it was for sure a dumb move, as now I knew exactly where she was.
“Bingo, Doll,” I chuckled. “I know where you are.”
No one else was around. Her house sat farther back from the street than the others, swallowed by the trees that surrounded it. I moved closer. I had done this before. I already knew the perfect way in.
The roses climbed a wooden trellis that reached up to the second floor, their branches thick enough to hold my weight. The window in the hallway never closed properly. I would slip through there, and her brothers were never home, which made her even more vulnerable. Perfect for someone like me.
“Let’s play, Doll,” I said, staring up at the window.
My left foot found the wooden trellis, and I climbed until I reached the second floor. The edge creaked under my weight as I lifted the glass and slid inside. I heard her footsteps below. She was walking, frantic, pacing back and forth.
I rolled my eyes.
Should I tell her I’m here? Save her step count, or let her stay scared?
Fuck it. Let her be scared. A racing heart only makes me harder.
“Oh, Dolly,” I called out, my voice lilting. “Where are you?”
Her footsteps sped up.
“I want to play,” I said, quieter now. “Do you want to play with me?”
A door slammed downstairs.
“You’re no fun,” I muttered, moving fast down the stairs toward the sound.
I knocked twice. “Doll,” I whispered. “I can hear you.”
Her breathing came heavy through the door.
“Oh, Dolly, I can see you,” I said as I leaned forward, peering through the keyhole.
She screamed.
The doorknob turned beneath my hand. The door gave way, swinging open. She was pressed against the wall, her wide eyes locked on me. Fear painted her face.
“What do you want?” she whispered, voice trembling.
A slow smirk spread across my lips. I leaned against the frame, watching her.
“You.”
1. I am Branimir, from Croatia.
2. Why did he have to find me today, for fuck’s sake?!
3. Why?
4. throat