17. Anastasia
Anastasia
W hen we arrive at the carnival I don’t expect the cameras to target me so soon. I haven’t left the car and we’ve only been parked for five minutes. I don’t know if I can get out when my hands are trembling and my throat has seized tight.
“Are you ready, Miss Kinsley?” my temporary guard, Weston, asks.
I swallow hard. Get yourself together, Ana. When I nod, he gives an encouraging smile before slipping out and coming around to my side.
Voices erupt. Clicks happen in succession. I don’t know where to look, but I stay close to Weston, who forces them out of my way.
“Anastasia, what do you think of your father’s views on tax breaks for the middle/lower class?”
“Miss Kinsley, are you aware your father supports the shift of ? —”
Most questions become a blur. I’m not obligated to answer any of them. I won’t. My role here is just to smile, be present, and be captured participating in the mundane.
Weston escorts me to the stall plastered with my father’s face. It’s unnerving. Slightly creepy, actually. I’ve seen his setups before, but this is the first time I’ve been around it all without him, and his team begins looking at me like I’m supposed to lead something.
“Ana, we’re so glad you could join us here,” an older woman I know, Delores, says warmly.
She pulls me into an embrace and my nerves from the parking lot begin to ease.
The photographers aren’t allowed past the carnival entrance en masse.
Apparently, they need a special badge, so there are far less lingering cameras this deep in.
“Would you like a cookie, dear?” Delores asks, holding out a plate of sugar cookies with “President Kinsley” written on them.
“No, thank you. Do you want me to give these out? I could use a walk,” I say.
She beams brightly. “That would be wonderful!”
And so off I go, circling the fairground with a bunch of small American flags in one hand while I clutch the cookie plate in the other.
It isn’t as awkward as I thought it would be.
People are so welcoming, stopping me and engaging in pleasant chatter that isn’t like the pressure-filled questions from the paparazzi.
I crouch to a young girl after speaking to her father. “I love your bear,” I say, nodding to the pink bear she’s clutching. It makes a smile break on her face.
“Daddy won it for me!”
Flicking my gaze up, I see her father doting on his daughter with loving eyes. I hold the cookies out to her and she swipes two eagerly.
“Just one, Mary,” her father scolds playfully.
“One for Mommy! She loves cookies.”
When I straighten, her father’s face turns pained.
“We lost her mother just over a year ago,” he explains quietly.
My stomach sinks deeply. “I’m so sorry to hear.”
“It’s not been easy. No loss is, of course. But single parenthood has been particularly difficult.”
My heart cracks for the beautiful small family.
“Hey, Dad, can I hang out at Trevor’s tonight?” An older teen boy comes up to us.
“Sure, son. I’ll pick you up tomorrow?”
I smile at Mary as they finish talking and the boy leaves excitedly. “You have beautiful children,” I say.
“Thank you,” he says proudly, scooping up his daughter.
“Is there anything you need?” I feel the sudden urge to ask.
“Unless you can change the underfunding of schools,” he muses.
“What do you mean?” I ask, genuinely curious as guilt grows that I have no insight.
He smiles as if he understands the divide between us, but it doesn’t make me any less ignorant.
“If I didn’t have to work so much to keep a roof over our heads, I’d homeschool.
There aren’t enough resources and teachers are underpaid.
I don’t even know what I’ll do for Nicolas’s college fund. He’s a bright kid.”
“I’m so sorry to hear. Thank you for sharing with me.”
I can’t make promises, but meeting this humble and bright family ignites something within me.
It doesn’t feel right that parents should have to worry about the quality of their children’s schooling.
I stare after them until I lose them through the bustling crowds, unsure of why a new spark of purpose is awakening inside me or what I’ll do with it yet.
Smiling, I head back to the campaign stall.
After an hour of playing carnival games with kids, chatting to more parents, and meeting people from school, I check my phone and realize it’s already five o’clock.
My heart sinks at the blank notification screen.
Rhett hasn’t even texted once. Gritting my teeth, I banish him from my thoughts since it was so easy for him to abandon me in his.
I get to the maze at 5:10 p.m., but Riley is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the next group have been ushered inside to start. I pull out my cell again, swiftly dialing Riley. It only gives two rings before it cuts off, and I groan, glaring at the signal bar that keeps dipping in and out.
“Are you going to try to escape the maze?” A man approaches me suddenly and I jump with a squeal at his clown makeup.
Night is falling, and he holds up a flashlight and a map for me. I take it despite my anxiety growing at his widening smile. He’s just an actor. This is all part of the thrill. Usually I’d be giddy, but I’ve always had Riley or someone else with me.
“Have you seen a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes go in? She was probably wearing brown and white and might have had her hair in a braid with a bow?” I ask him.
He ponders for a moment. “I think so. With two other women and one guy.”
That sounds like them. I smile with new confidence, muttering my thanks before taking the map and flashlight and heading to the entrance.
Weston stops me. “I’m under very firm orders to make you wait here until Agent Kaiser comes.”
I turn bitter at the name. “Well, he’s late. Perhaps not even coming since it doesn’t seem to be important to him. And I’m not missing out. My friends are inside and I’m not having a guard trailing me in there when it’s supposed to be scary and fun.”
“Miss Kinsley, please.”
I stop at the genuine nerves in his tone.
Weston is likely more than ten years older than Rhett, yet the poor guy seems frightened by the authority Rhett imposed on him tonight.
“You won’t get in trouble with him or my father, I promise. Thank you, Weston,” I assure him.
He doesn’t believe me, but he gives a pained smile and a reluctant wave like I’ve just ended his career before I turn and enter the maze.
I keep my phone out, trying Riley a couple more times, and she even tries me back, but our call never fully connects.
The deeper through the tall corn maze I get, the less the damn signal bar makes an appearance.
I groan, giving up and stuffing my phone into my pocket.
If they haven’t gotten lost yet I can catch up. So I focus on my map instead.
The picture is a giant clown holding a balloon, and I decide this year is my least favorite theme. It’s beginning to freak me out. I turn on my flashlight when it becomes too eerily dark. I’m gaining some distance from the main fair—the music sounds far-off.
A rustling makes me jump with a gasp, but I find no one. I press on quicker, sure I’m following the map correctly. Every year I’m always put in charge of leading as I usually get us all out without any wrong turns. But I come to a dead end. In front of me are thick, tall rows of corn.
I take a few breaths to calm myself, knowing there are actors throughout the maze that could surge my fright any moment. I turn around and scream at the figure a few feet away. A clown holding a balloon.
“A little mouse in my little trap,” they sing.
I back up slowly. They have to let me pass when I’m at the end of a path. Yet they don’t move. When they take a step toward me my heart starts to thunder.
They’re supposed to scare you. Just go past him and he won’t harm you.
“Wanna play, Ana?”
I stop advancing. Many people know my name here, but it seems highly inappropriate for one of the actors to use it.
They jerk forward suddenly as if they’ll run and grab me, and I whirl, having no other choice than to veer off the trail and escape in a run through the tight stalks. Creeping, sinister laughter follows me and my eyes prick with fear. I’m all alone. What if I never make it out?
The laughter fades away, but I can’t stop running. Finally, I break through onto a path again, unaware of the cuts over my hands from shielding my face against the crops.
I can’t breathe fast enough. I’m scanning around helplessly and I’ve dropped my map.
You’re fine. You’re going to get out in no time. Someone has to cross paths with me soon, and I’ll join them.
Focusing on reeling back some calm, I walk carefully, my senses on high alert, jerking at any small sound. Down the next path I whimper at the figure at the end. Another clown.
“Please, I don’t want to play anymore,” I say pathetically.
They’re supposed to stop. If you ask them for help they should take you out of the maze safely. But this person stalks toward me in slow, predatory strides, and a tear escapes me.
I turn to run again, but another clown rounds the corner.
“Please,” I whisper. I’ve never known this kind of helpless entrapment before.
“All alone she wanders, toward the hanging tree,” one sings.
My skin crawls.
“Here come the singing clowns, not one, not two, but?—”
“Three.”
I scream when someone grabs me from behind out of nowhere.
Spun in their grip, my body seizes in stilling terror at the close glint of a blade at my face.
He wears a mask, not face paint, and lets me go only to grab a fistful of my hair.
The knife slices below my nape. I cry out, but he lets me go, and the laughter from all of them drums in my ears as I turn and sprint.
I don’t know where to go, not on any path again, but I don’t stop.
I’ve dropped my flashlight and can hardly see in the dark with my blurry vision.
I can’t stop sobbing, desperate to be free, and I only want one person.
Rhett. The only thing that feels like true safety right now, and he didn’t come.
Breaking through the tight rows of corn again, I slam into something that grabs me tightly, but I fight harder this time. With everything I am. I sob loudly and frantically, but they’re too big, too tall. Arms clamp around me to prevent my struggle, and then we’re both falling.
“I’m here, baby. Fuck. It’s me and I’m right here.”
When the ringing in my ears stops and I finally recognize the voice I only cry harder. Rhett holds me straddled over his knees, smoothing his hand over my nape. I don’t know how long we stay like that before my heart calms enough to let me breathe right and I stop being a silly, blubbering mess.
“Rhett.”
“I’ve got you.”
“You left me,” I croak.
“I’m so sorry, Ana. I should have been here. I wanted to fucking be here.”
“Where were you?”
His pause of silence slices through me. Rhett has secrets and I don’t mean enough to him to know about them. Yet I can’t be upset right now when his stroking along my spine and the blanket of his warmth are the only things keeping me grounded.
“What happened?” he asks tightly.
“I don’t know. It was a stupid prank, I think. Someone who doesn’t like my father, perhaps. I don’t know, Rhett.”
My tears are flowing again, and I hate being this vulnerable in front of him. He’s fierce and brave, and I want to be that too. Yet one scare too far and here I am, unable to handle myself.
“This isn’t a fucking prank,” he snarls. “I’m going to find out who did this to you.”
His heart is beating so fast against mine, his hold so tight and promising that I don’t want to get up, but I can’t be seen like this.
“I want to go home,” I whisper.
He presses his lips to the top of my head. “Let’s go home, baby.”
He stands, cradling me to him, and I’m too exhausted to protest. Far too comfortable to want to let go. When we finally come near to the end of the maze that exposes the fair, he sets me down.
I sniff hard to rally composure and lift a shaky hand to the back of my head. Only a few full lengths remain from where they didn’t cut right through, and I bite my lip against breaking again.
Rhett pulls my hat off gently. “You look sexy as hell with short hair,” he murmurs.
I try to smile, but it feels hollow. I let him help twist what’s left of the lengths up before fitting my hat back on to hide the hacked mess. He takes my face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over my wet cheeks, and gives me a slow assessment all over.
“Do I look hideous?” I huff a laugh. I can’t be photographed like this.
“You’re the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.”
My brow crumples. I’m trying not to cry, but these are tears of such gratitude from the sincerity he’s holding me with.
Now there’s a little carnival light flooding over to us, my gaze catches on his cheek.
“What happened to you?” I gasp. There’s a bruising cut along his cheekbone.
“Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but you right now.”
Rhett pulls out his phone, tapping fast before he slips it back into his pocket. “The path to the car should be clear,” he says, hooking an arm around my waist and guiding me tightly by his side.
He uses his whole body as a shield from any wandering eyes, and I keep my eyes glued to my steps in shame. I don’t want to feel this way, but I can’t help it.
In the car I curl into myself on the seat, pulling nervously at my hat. It doesn’t matter that it’s just hair—it was taken from me. I feel violated and disgusted, and my tears fall silently, but I don’t want Rhett to see them as I watch the passing streetlights.
I keep my hands tucked to my chest and he strokes along my leg while he drives. I’m grateful for the silence since my throat is too tight to speak. I’m so damn tired, slipping my eyes closed and feeling exhaustion lap its slow waves over me.