A Fork in the Road

-1-

I hate Mrs. Beaverdick's class, don't you? I wish we could get out of here and do something fun. Anything's gotta be better than sitting here listening to her drone on about Lois & Clark or whatever. 

Liam chuckled at the misnomer in spite of himself. He took his blue pen and drew a line through the black ink of "Lois & Clark" replacing it with  "Lewis & Clark." Then, he added a few words of response and folded the paper along its pre-existing creases and passed it back to the young girl sitting next to him.

Ava slyly reached a hand down toward Liam's proffered note and snatched it back to her desk quickly; before suspicion could be roused. Her shoulders shuddered as she giggled silently, looking at Liam out of the corner of her eye. Her face flushed as he brushed light brown bangs from his brow, tucking the longest portion behind his ear. She bit her bottom lip as he winked at her. She averted her gaze before she gave her feelings away completely. After all, the whole world didn't need to know that she had a crush on Liam. Unfolding the paper she frowned at his correction, chastising herself for allowing him to think she was dumb. She glanced at his reply, trying to be as non-chalant as possible just in case he was watching.

This class is the worst. I'd love to get outta here. what did you have in mind?

Ava felt her stomach rise into her throat as the butterflies inside fought to escape. She hadn't actually been serious about getting out of the class; it had been a pretext to talk to Liam and perhaps catch his attention. Now, it seemed, he'd called her bluff and she had no Earthly idea what to do next. She looked at him, choosing to end the note passing before she got in even deeper. When he caught her gaze she shrugged at him, signaling that she didn't know what to do next. Liam smiled and raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr. Cunningham, you have a question?"

"Not exactly, Mrs. Beaverdick. I need to use the restroom."

"This is the Ninth grade, Mr. Cunningham. By this point in your life I'd like to hope you know when to use the restroom and when not to."

"So, I can go then, right?" Liam asked, feigning uncertainty.

"Yes, you can go. Though I do want to remind you that Lewis & Clark and the Louisiana Purchase will be on next week's test."

"Didn't they buy it from the French in 1803?" Liam said with a smirk, showing that he had mastered the material.

"Don't be a smartass." Mrs. Beaverdick said, though there was only friendly warmth in her voice.

"Better to be a smartass than a dumbass." he said, smiling.

"I thought you had to pee?" the teacher admonished.

Liam held up his hands in an "I surrender" gesture and retreated from the classroom. As the door shut behind him, he turned and caught Ava's eyes once again. He wagged his index finger in a come hither motion, then folded his hands together in mock prayer as the door shut.

*                    *                    *

"That was the last time I saw him, I swear." Ava said, her lips trembling, tears falling down her face,
"I already told you that. Why can't you just find him or else leave me alone?"

"That's quite enough." Mrs. Beaverdick said, placing a hand on Ava's shoulder. Her eyes, though, were on the older male in the room. His hair was thinning at his crown, light brown, but with temples that mixed silver with white. His beard was similarly marbled, with silver and white streaking through the thicker red and brown that looked uncharacteristically soft for facial hair.

"Mrs. Beaverdick, Ava," the man began,
"It's been thirty days since anyone has seen or heard from Liam. I don't know if you get what that really means. We don't have the resources to keep something like this going indefinitely. If we can't turn up a new lead in the next 24 hours then the case is going to be closed and marked as unsolved."

"No!" Ava cried,
"No, you can't give up!" she cried, sobs wracking her frame.

"I don't want to, sweetheart. But unless you or anyone else can think of something, and think of it fast then we're going to have no choice. The only way to keep this going is with a new lead. Now are you sure you can't think of anyhing else? Someplace he maybe liked to go that no one else knows about?"

Ava sobbed in response.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant." Mrs. Beaverdick said,
"At this point the school can't let you continue without the girl's parents present."

"I understand. We've talked with Mr. and Mrs. Arcola already; the first time we interviewed Ava, here."

"Has her story changed at all since then?" Mrs. Beaverdick asked.

"Not one word." the Lieutenant sighed.

"May I ask what you're hoping to gain?"

"It seemed clear from their friends that Ava and Liam had a relationship. Now, there just isn't something right about all of their classmates telling me they're inseperable and this girl is telling me He could disappear on her and she'd have no idea what's going on. It makes the hair on the back of my nick stand on end. When the hair on the back of my neck stands on end then I know there's something else going on."

"Try to remember what it was like to be that age, Lieutenant." Mrs. Beaverdick soothed,
"They might have expected to get married and run off together one week and then hated the sight of each other the next week."

"Yeah," he nodded,
"Yeah, I know you're right. It's just that ... have you ever had to tell a man and woma who's only child is missing that you're calling of the search?"

"No. I haven't." Mrs. Beaverdick said, allowing her eyes to sink to the floor,
"It will be a terrible blow to the Cunningham family, I know. And I don't mean to be indelicate, but isn't that a part of your job, Lieutenant?" there was no malice in her tone, and the Lieutenant looked at her, his eyes icy and his voice hard as steel.

"Yes it is, Mrs. Beaverdick. And if you'll excuse me, it's time I performed my duties." he turned on his heel and left the class.

"Would you like a cup of tea, dear?" Mrs. Beaverdick asked after he'd left. Ava nodded her head,

"Yes, the Lemon Ginger if you have it."

"Of course."

Ava sat still, her eyes focusing and unfocusing on what had been Liam's desk. No one knew what had happened to him. He'd left History class a month ago and for all practical purposes disappeared off the face of the planet. Mr. and Mrs. Cunningham had been given the standard trope of waiting 48 hours to file a missing persons report, even though anyone that knew Liam knew that he wouldn't have strayed far from his family. Ditching school? Maybe, but to not come home or call? That was so out of character that no one close to the family understood why they'd been forced to wait two whole days to get a search underway.

A surge of hope permeated the community on the 49th day when the search began in earnest. It seemed as if every man, woman and child had stepped forward to search for Liam. Ava and her parents working closely with the Cunninghams. Ava had gladly tole everyone everything that she knew. She'd confessed to having a crush on the boy, that she believed his feelings to be returned but had not acted on them. She'd taken them through all of the youth hangouts and secluded makeout spots. 39 kids had been busted for smoking pot. 17 had been caught in various stages of undress and sexual congress. 4 had been caught running away from home and had been reunited with their families. None of them had been Liam.

"There we are, now." Mrs. Beaverdick said jovially a she set a cup of tea in front of Ava.

"Thank you." Ava said, sipping gently.

"How are you holding up, Ava?"

"I'm okay, I guess." She said with a shrug.

"This seems to have been tough on everyone, but no one moreso than you. Losing your first boyfriend like that."

"He wasn't my boyfried." She said, guardedly.

"Oh come on now. It's just us girls, and I'm no fool. Everyone knew the two of you were an item, even if you hadn't announced it to everyone."

"But we weren't." Ava said, firmly.
"I liked him. And I think he liked me back. But the thing is, we never had a chance to ... well ...." she stammered.

"I know, dear. I know what you said in your official statement. And it may be true. But what were your true feelings? How did you label your friendship wth Liam?"

"He wasn't my boyfriend." Ava insisted. Then, when she caught sight of Mrs. Beaverdick's raised eyebrows,
"I just wanted him to be."

"I know, Ava." Mrs. Beaverdick soothed, taking sip of her tea.
"You know, I think I excused Liam to the restroom more than any of my other students. Nearly everyday. I actually tried to set my watch by it once. He wasn't so exact that I could really do that, it turns out. Still, everyday at some point around 1:30 he would ask to be excused to the restroom."

"I didn't realize it was every day." Ava said, shyly. Mrs. Beaverdick looked at the girl as if only now realizing she was there.

"Oh yes, every day." She continued,
"I always wondered where he was really going, but I didn't push it. He had good grades and worked hard. As long as he kept that up, I guess I felt I could look the other way."

"Mrs.Beaverdick?" Ava asked,
"Are you okay?" Her voice sounded anxious.

"Yes, I'm fine, dear. You should probably run along home."

Ava hesitated at the dismissal. She wanted to leave; she wanted to be alone more than anything. There was something about the way Mrs. Beaverdick was acting, though.

"I'm actually not done with my tea." She deflected.

"Ava, why did you lie to the Police?" Mrs. Beaverdick asked bluntly.

"What do you mean?" Ava went pale.

"Liam was excused from class for the restroom more than any other class. Do you know who was next on that list? Who had cramps so often that there is no way mathematically possible for her to be on a 28 day cycle?"

"Who's that?" Ava asked, sardonically.

"Why you, dear." another sip of tea.

"I didn't realize."

"Of course you didn't. If you had, then you'd know to change up your story, to come up with some other excuse or to vary which teacher you cut out on."

"Mrs. Beaverdick, I'm done with my tea now. I think I'd better go."

"Of course dear, I'll walk you. It'll be getting dark soon. Us ladies must stick together, safety in numbers you know."

Ava allowed the teacher to lead her out, stopping only to flip off the light switch as they left.

-2-

"What do you mean you've got to close the case?" Richard Cunningham rose to his feet, his face flushed with anger as he fairly towered over the Lieutenant. He ran his fingers through his thinning light hair before shoving his hands into the pocket of his cardigan. If he hadn't been so flushed with rage, there would be nothing intimidating about this man.

"Mr. Cunningham, I'm so sorry. You'll never know how sorry I am. I won't condescend as to cry about tax cuts and budgets; I just want you to know that if it were up to me I'd keep this investigation going indefinitely."

"So you do think Liam is still alive?" Joan Cunningham asked, wiping fresh tears and smeared mascara from here face.

"Yes I do. In fact, I believe that his girlfriend-"

"Liam wasn't seeing anyone. We told you that." Richard spat in disgust. The Lieutenant continued, unfazed.

"Friend, then. At any rate, I believe that Ava knows more than she's letting on. I think their involvement was more than a mere friendship and more than 'puppy love.'"

"What makes you think so?" Joan asked.
"She seems as broken up about this as anyone."

"Well, it's an instinct mostly. The thing is, she's not done anything ... not acted in any way other than exactly how we'd expect a young girl in this situation to act. Now, I'm not a psychologist, but it's damn peculiar to me. The 'textbook' cases are there to establish a pattern and tell us what to look for but there's not really any such thing as a 'textbook case' of anything. There are always little variations. Personality traits that are unique to the individual and makes their response close to the textbook but still slightly off. Ava? She's an exact textbook case. She cries when I expect her to cry. She says what I expect her to say. She's even insolent when I expect her to be insolent. It's like she's reading a script."

"Wait a minute, what are you saying? The Arcola girl knows where my boy is?" Richard was beginning to shake with rage.

"Richard, please sit down. The Lieutenant will explain, won't you Lieutenant?"

"I, uh, I don't know if I'd go as far as to say she knows where he is. But I do think she knows something and isn't telling. I don't think the teacher," he consulted his notes,
"Mrs. Beaverdick, is convinced as to the bone fideness of the girl's story, either."

"Well, get her to tell you." Richard nearly screamed.

"It isn't that simple, Mr. Cunningham. Ava is a minor and therefore protected. I can't question her without her parents present. I was allowed to talk to her with her teacher present today as a courtesy. Nothing more. Unfortunately, my conversation didn't turn up anything new; now here we are."

"You said we had twenty-four hours, right?" Richard asked, calmly.

"I'll be the one closing the case if I haven't turned up anything new before I go off duty at seven tomorrow morning. I just felt I owed you the respect of looking in your eye."

"And we appreciate that, Lieutenant." Joan said, softly. Tears ran down her face, though it was impossible to tell if she wept for her missing child, her unstable husband or for herself,
"But I think you'd better go, now."

"Yes," the Lieutenant stood,
"Yes. I'll give you some privacy. Just before I go, let me ask you, is there anything else you can think of? Any place Liam may have gone? Something he said that seemed innocent at the time but now ...." he trailed off.

"There's nothing, Lieuenant." Richard spat.
"There's nothing at all. And my boy is gone. And you're telling us to get over it."

"Mr. Cunningham, I wish there were more that I could do. I promise you we'll keep looking until the last possible second."

"No you won't." Joan said, her voice eerily cheery.
"You'll close the case long before the last possible second." She looked the Lieutenat in the eye coldly, though her tone remained upbeat and civil,
"Honestly, Lieutenant, I do understand that you can't keep up the search. I, that is, we, knew that it would happen eventually. It's just that I must insist that you be honest with us, and honest with yourself when you say it. You will not look until the last possible second."

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it."

"I want you to say it." Joan said, maintaining her calm demeanor,
"I want to hear you say that you won't look until the last possible second."

"Joan, come on, that's enough." Richard said, shooting a glare toward the Lieutenant,
"We're all upset. I'm angry too."

"He isn't. He's closing the case. The least he can do is be honest about it."

"Mr and Mrs. Cunningham, it is true I will have to close the case if I can't turn up a new lead by tomorrow morning. I realize this is upsetting news, and I want you to know that you have my deepest sympathies." Before they could reply, he turned and left; finding that he couldn't stand to look at them for another second.

Joan Cunningham crumpled to the floor. Richard caught her as she wailed. Sounds of pure pain and despair filled the hall as the Lieutenant walked away as quickly as he could while still being considered polite.

*               *               *

"Thank you for coming." Richard stood, and gestured for the seat across from him. Ava pulled the chair out and accepted his invitation.

"Of course, Mr. Cunningham. I was surprised to hear from you. Is everything okay? I heard about Liam's case being closed."

"Yes, the uh," Richard poured a glass of water for each of them from a pitcher that doubled as a centerpiece,
"The Lieutenant told us he'd talked to you."

"I wish I could help more." Ava said, concentrating on her glass of water, which was now sweating.

"The Lieutenant seemed to think you could." Richard said, his voice only shaking slightly.

"I don't understand." Ava said hesitantly.

"You don't understand," Richard mocked,
"You don't understand."

"Mr. Cunningham, are you okay?" Ava asked.

"You listen to me you little bitch," Richard grabbed her arms in his hands and pinned her to the table,
"I'm not the police and I don't follow anyone's rules but mine. And right now, when it comes to my son, to getting Liam back; I don't have any rules."

"Mr. Cunningham, you're hurting me." Ava whimpered.

"Good. That's how you can tell I'm serious. Ava. The Lieutenant believes you know more than you're telling. That your teacher believes you know more than you're telling. So I'm going to tell you what's going to happen. You're going to tell me what you know. Then you're going to go home and get ready for school tomorrow."

"Mr. Cunningham, I promise I don't know anything."

"Then why does everyone think you do?" Richard's voice rose and drew the attention of other nearby diners. He relaxed his grip on the girl's arms, allowing her to yank them free.

"I don't know, Mr. Cunningham. I don't. I don't know what happened. I wish to God I did but I don't.' she began to sob. Richard watched her intently, remembering the Lieutenant's words that she appeared to be following a script.

"Ava, what do you know? Please. Please just tell me. I need to understand." He pleaded with her.

"Mr. Cunningham, like I said I just don't know what happened." She replied.

"And I don't believe you." Richard said. Ava followed him out, but the two didn't share another word.

-3-

"It's just up here." Ava said, motioning for the Lieutenant to follow her.

"What is?" He asked.

"I have to show you. I can't wait for you to see it. Maybe then you'll believe me. Believe that I don't know what happened."

"Ava, I do believe you." the Lieutenant insisted.

"That's not what Mr. Cunningham said. He said you thought I knew more than I was telling."

"He shouldn't have spoken with you. I'm sorry that happened." The Lieutenant inwardly seethed. He should have seen this coming. The Cunninghams had both shown evidence of instability; it should have been obvious that one or both of them would do something stupid. He forced himself to put those thoughts aside for now, concentrating on following Ava.

He had met her at the school as she'd asked. Ava had called him and simply said that she had something to show him and that it was about Liam. She had led him from the school to a storm drain that ran behind the length of the school and its neighborhood. They'd followed the drain for a quarter of a mile, Ava insisting that their destination was "Just up ahead," before she began the climb out of the drain. The Lieutenant was now perched on the top of a runoff tunnel, his right hand holding onto a rock as he waited for Ava to climb ahead and make space for him to follow. She climbed to a point about five feet above him before turning around and motioning for him to follow.

"Quickly, Lieutenant. You need to see it! I need you to see that I don't know what happened."

"Ava, honey, I know you don't know what happened. Can't you tell me where we're going?"

"It's just up ahead. Near the Quarry."

"Ava, stop. I'm not going another step until you tell me where we're going." the Lieutenant stood up straight, allowing his height to intimidate the girl.

"Lieutenant, please. It's just up ahead."

"You need give me a little more to go on, young lady." He admonished.

"Walk with me and I'll tell you." She compromised. The Lieutenant followed her, reluctantly.

"Mrs. Beaverdick, you met her right? Her class really is the worst. Liam and I both hated it. We used to come up with any excuse we could think of to get out of it. He would have to use the bathroom, I'd fake cramps. Stuff like that. We've been friends for a really long time so it was really just a bit of fun. I promise. It was nothing more than a little fun. Do you believe me?"

"Ava, if you mean do I believe that you didn't do anything on purpose, then yes. I do believe you. But what did happen? Was there some sort of an accident?"

"You're not listening." Ava said, exasperated.

"We found this tunnel leading of from the Quarry. We started to explore it."

"Tunnel? Ava is Liam in this tunnel?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you Lieutenant. I don't know what happened."

"Okay Ava," he soothed,
"Just start from the beginning."

*               *               *

Ava watched the door close on Liam's "come hither" finger wag and smiled. Today was the day. She knew it. Today was the day she would tell him how she really felt. Today was the day of their first kiss. She looked at her planner and drew a heart next to the date where she had already written: "First kiss with Liam. Remember for anniversary purposes."

"Mrs. Beaverdick?" She called, raising her hand.

"Yes, Ava? I suppose you have to go to the bathroom too?"

"No, ma'am. I need to go to the nurse."

"You're not feeling well?" Mrs. Beaverdick asked.

"Not exactly. I sort of, um, forgot to bring ... you know ...." she silently hoped her teacher got the hint.

"I see. Yes, of course you may visit the Nurse."

Ava left as quickly as she could. She made sure the door shut before she moved again; not wanting anyone in the class to see her heading in the opposite direction. She bolted through the gymnasium exit, sprinting across the field to the hole in the fence that everyone complained about but that no one ever fixed. Once she was in the storm drain, she hurried to the Quarry. She'd half expected to catch up to Liam on her way, but there was no sign of the boy. Reaching the Quarry she made her way to the tunnel and found Liam waiting for her inside.

"Hey," she said, as casually as she could muster,
"How's it going?" There was no response. She looked at him, trying to tell if he was playing a game with her.
"I think Mrs. Beaverdick suspects something. I think we should make today count and take a break for a while and let things cool off. What do you think?'

There was again, no response.

"Speaking of making things count, Liam, there's something I've been wanting to give you for a long time. I've just been waiting for the right time. I think it's today." She leaned forward and boldly kissed him. She pressed her mouth firmly to his, allowing her passion to dictate the ferocity of the kiss. Her hands went from his chest to the sides of his face. For his part, Liam stood stock still. His arms remained at his sides.

"Liam?" Ava asked, pulling away,
"Liam, don't you like me?"

Liam didn't respond. He didn't move. In fact there was no change at all in his demeanor aside from a low growl in his throat.

"Liam, I don't understand. What's happening?"

*               *               *

"What happened next, Ava?" The Lieutenant prodded. The girl had trailed off and been silent for two minutes.

"I've been telling you, Lieutenant. I don't know what happened."

"Well, we're at the Quarry now, can you show me this tunnel?" He tried.

"It's just over here." Ava motioned.

"Ava, why didn't you tell anyone about this before?"

"Oh, I did." She replied simply.

"You did?" He asked,
"Who?"

"Just the other day I told Mrs. Beaverdick." Seeing his surprised look, she continued,
"She asked me why I had lied to you when you'd asked me if I knew anything else about where Liam was. I told her I didn't know what happened. She didn't believe me so I had to bring her here to show her."

"I wonder why she didn't call me?" The Lieutenant muttered to himself.

"I think she might still be talking to Liam."

"To Liam? What the hell is going on Ava?"

"Oh, I also showed Mr. Cunningham. Though to be honest I didn't want to. He hurt me. And he's mean."

"He hurt you? Ava, we need to stop right now, and I need to take you in to make a formal statement."

"Well that'll be up to Liam, won't it?  I mean if he isn't really missing then why do I have to make a statement?"

"Where's Liam, Ava?"

The girl didn't respond. Instead, the Lieutenant felt a tug on his right arm. He looked at the source and found the lifeless eyes of Mrs. Beaverdick. The deathmask she wore betrayed the fact that she'd been terrified when she died. She lumbered on a broken right ankle, pulling the Lieutenant behind her. Ava smiled,

"I told you she was still down here. That's why she didn't call you."

"What is this? What's going on?" The Lieutenant asked.

This time the response came as a tug on his left leg. He looked down to find Mr. Cunningham's arms wrapped around his ankle. Looking closer he realized that it was only Mr. Cunningham's torso that had hold of him. The man's body seeemed to stop at the waist; his legs were missing or had been replaced by a trail of his intestines and digestive system that he dragged behind him. Ava's grin became even broader.

"Mr. Cunningham was so happy to see Liam that he rushed right up to him and gave him a hug. Liam missed his dad too. He hugged him so hard he pulled him right off his legs!"

"Ava, you've got to listen to me. Please. Help me. Get them off of me. We've got to get out of here."

"Not yet, Lieutenant. You need to see that Liam's okay. That I don't know what happened but he's okay."

The Lieutenant heard another low growl from in front of him. He turned his gaze to the source of the sound and found Liam moving toward him from the darkness. Ava walked around the Lieutenant and took the boy's arm, kissing him on the cheek. Liam made no move against the girl, instead moving toward the Lieutenant as if the man were all he could see. The boy was in the best shape of all of them, but was still obviously a corpse. His skin was pale, as if his body had been drained of blood. The Lieutenant could see the trace lines of veins as if the boy's skin was transluscent. Ava wrapped her arm around Liam and helped him toward the Lieutenant.

"See Lieutenant. He's okay. Just a little different now. I told you I don't know what happened and I don't. I kissed him and then he was like this. I don't think it was my fault,but I can't think of anything else it could be. I don't know what to do, now because everyone thinks Liam is missing and when they see him like this they'll all know it was my fault." She hung her head in embarrassment.

"Ava, you've got to get me out of here. I can help you. We can get a team here, like I heard they had in North Carolina. We can figure it out."

"You're not listening, Lieutenant. I don't know what happened. I don't know what happened to Liam. I don't know what happened to Mrs. Beaverdick. I don't know what happened to Mr. Cunningham, and when they come asking me I'll be sure to tell them I don't know what happened to you, either, Lieutenant." she looked at Liam, kissing him on the cheek again,
"I've got to get home, honey. Mom will be worrying if I'm not back soon. I'll be by in the morning to see you again." Another kiss, this time on his mouth, which was in mid-snarl when her lips made contact.

"Ava, don't do this. Please. We can figure this out."

As last words go, they weren't the best. Ava wished that he'd had something more poignant or inspirational to say. Something about love beating the odds and how to make a relationship work. She found it immensely disappointing that he'd been about as useful as the others. So focused on how Liam had changed. None of them seemed to care that she'd changed to. That Liam had made her a woman.

"There's nothing to figure out, Lieutenant. I love him. We'll find a way to make it work. Somehow." With a final kiss blown to Liam, Ava left; the Lieutenant's screams playing a recessional to her exit.

Weep Not for Roads Untravelled

-1-

"Officer? ... O-officer?"

"Yes? How can I help you?"

The voices couldn't have been more opposite. The first, asking for the officer's help was frantic, and gave an almost nasal whine to the words; the second, a deeper voice with a gravelly quality, oozed confidence. 

"My name's Jonny. Jonny Kalamata ... like the Olives. I, uh ... I need some help I think." 

"What sort of help?" the officer asked, his tag gleamed the name Ford and he held his hands close to the buckle of his belt as Jonny approached him. 

"Well, that's just it. I can't really explain, it's more like I have to show you." and he stepped into the light. Officer Ford could see clearly that he wore a black t-shirt that was sticking to his wiry, muscular frame; the boy was clearly soaked.

"That's close enough," Ford said, easing one hand to the flashlight in his belt. 

"What's that all over your shirt?"

"It's part of the reason I need help. See I was with my ex and-"

"Is that blood on your shirt?" Ford asked, shining the light on the young man. 

"Yes sir, it is." Jonny said.

"I think you'd better just stand right there and start at the beginning, son." Ford said, gently moving his other hand to his firearm.

"Yes sir." Jonny said, almost dutifully, and began talking almost immediately.

I broke up with my girlfriend about six months ago. It wasn't anything bad, just time to move on, ya know? Well, we tried to be friends and still hang out but that wasn't going to well. I went over to her house on a Monday night, right after the break up and had dinner. That's when it really started. Dinner was pretty normal, I guess. Spaghetti, but I didn't eat much because I had this weird paranoia that she was going to poison me. Anyway, we ate dinner and then sat down to watch the news; just like we did when we were together. The news was filled with all these stories about zombies in North Carolina. I thought it was just the bath salts thing happening again, but she was always scared of zombies and watching the tv that night she was white as a sheet.

"Didn't you live in North Carlina?" I asked her.

"Yeah for just under a year." she said, still ashen.

"I wonder what caused it," I said, kind of absently.

"Mind if I get a drink?" 

"No. Not at all." she said.

I walked into the kitchen and made myself a mojito. 

"Would you like a drink?" I asked, and because I wasn't paying attention I cut my hand open on the lime I was putting in the drink.

"Ow! Shit!" I wasn't really hurt, mind you, I was just more like, pissed off because I'd been stupid. And because blood was dripping on my ex's floor. 

 "You have any paper towels?" I yelled. No answer though. I didn't care, really, I was used to her not talking to me. I found the paper towels, made my drink and got back to the news. She was still white as a sheet when I sat down.

"You okay?" I asked. I was feeling awkward so I was ready to use this as an excuse to leave. She didn't answer me though. She actually didn't move besides her eyes blinking every so often while she watched the news. 

"I bet this is all a hoax." I said. It just seemed too surreal, ya know? Zombies? In North Carolina of all places? What the fuck? Anyway, it was around then that I noticed a sort of growling. I looked over at my ex, and she had turned and was looking at my hand where the cut was, and the growling was coming from her.

Before I knew it she lunged at me and she was on top of me. I was surprised because we were broken up and I didn't expect her to come on to me. Then she got really close to my face and that's when I noticed something was wrong. Her eyes weren't right, they were all sort of white and glazed over, and her mouth, she almost seemed feral. I looked at he TV and saw dozens of other people, dragging themselves all over the street. Some were crawling and some were growling like my ex, but all of them looked scarier than shit! I didn't know what to do so I shoved my knee into her chest, like right between her tits and pushed her back hard. She flew backwards into the television and the screen went dark and the room got quiet.  I still didn't know what to do, but I didn't really get time to make a plan. I didn't even have time to ask her if she was okay. She pulled herself up and looked at me. Still growling and still angrier than hell. I walked backwards into the ktchen. Not taking my eyes off her. She followed me, her face a grimace, and I really couldn't tell you she was the same person I'd dated for the last few years. 

When I got to the kitchen I grabbed her cast iron skillet off the stove and waited. I let her get close and then I hit her. As hard as I could across the face with the skillet. Her head flew back far as she was knocked into the wall. But she didn't stop. She kept coming at me and I stood there letting her get close and hitting her every time. Her face was covered in blood and I now for a fact her nose and cheeks were broken. Her face was sinking in a little bit and I just kept hitting her. Over and over. But she just kept coming. I didn't know what to do. So I just kept hitting her. 

That's not the really messed up part, though. 

The really messed up part happened about an hour later when she was still coming at me and I was still hitting her. By that point I had gotten the point that it wasn't going to end and that I would have to try something else in order to stop her. I looked around the kitchen and found what I was looking for, the knife block. I reached over and grabbed a carving knife. The next time she got close to me, I grabbed at her hair with my free hand and yanked her back. She was growling at me and snapping her jaws, but before she could do anything I pulled the knife across her throat and watched the blood spill out. I remember a sort of laughing sound. I laughed out loud, I think, when there were bubbles in the blood because she was still growling at me. She never really stopped trying to get at me, but when I threw her on the floor a few moments later she had stopped moving and the blood was just pooling on the floor under her.

-2-

"Now wait just a minute son," Officer Ford interjected.

"Are you trying to tell me that you killed someone? That this happened six months ago and that for some reason tonight you're covered in blood and you need police assistance."

Jonny scratched his head and looked at Officer Ford sheepishly.

"That's about the size of it, I suppose." he said. 

"She wasn't really dead though. I mean, she kept coming at me."

Officer Ford scratched his chin.

"It's true, things have been kind of up in the air since these Zombies showed up. Let's stick with tonight. How did you get covered in blood tonight?"

"Officer Ford, you'd better come with me for that one."

"I don't think so son, I think you'd better just tell me right now."

"I don't really know where to begin." Jonny said, and launched into more of his tale.

I felt bad leaving her there, but I couldn't just take her with me either. I watched her twitch for about an hour before she stopped moving. The creepy part, though, is that she didn't die. She should have. I mean, I sliced her throat and everything. But she didn't. The creepier part was that I felt so detached from it. She came at me like a zombie and I dropped her. The woman I'd loved for years and I dropped her like that, like it was nothing. I watched her bleed out, twitch until all the blood was gone and I just stood there like it was nothing. I couldn't tell you then and I can't tell you now if that was because of the adrenaline of having no choice, or if it was because I had genuinely come to hate that woman for what she'd done to me in our "relationship." It didn't really matter though, she was dead and that's really all I cared about. She was dead and I was standing.

I stepped around the blood, being careful not to get my shoes in it and noticed that when I moved her eyes moved with me. I got a bit closer to her and waited. She moved incredibly fast but incredibly clumsy. Her arm snaked out and her hand wrapped around my ankle. I didn't think, I brought the knife down hard and sliced into it. The knife wasn't sharp like you see in the movies, so I brought it down again. And again. Over and over, hacking and hacking until her arm came off. Then I backed away again, she followed me with those dead eyes and I watched her. 

I left her there. I didn't really know what else to do. I went back to the couch where the news was on and I finished my drink. The news was full of stories about these zombies. The whole thing was surreal. I looked at my clothes and realized I was covered in blood. I walked to the bathroom to clean myself off and catch my breath. What else was I going to do? I wasn't gone for more than five minutes but it was that five minutes that really counted.

When I went back downstairs, still covered in blood but none of it on my skin anymore I heard a sort of sickening crunching sound. After what had already happened I couldn't imagine things getting worse, that is until I went downstairs. The sounds were all I had to guide me as I walked into the kitchen, as slowly as I could. The crunching was louder and more defined and there was also a crying sound, but what was most disturbing, was the absence of other sounds. The growling had stopped, there were no sounds of movement and when I rounded the corner into the kitchen I understood why.

While I had been upstairs, the kids . . . my ex's two kids had gotten up and made their way down the stairs. More than anything else that happened that night or since then, I wish I could save them. They are 8 and 5 and I loved them like they were my own. I mean, I stayed as long as I did mostly because of them, but that . . . that's another story. The important thing is the sight that greeted me because it will stay with me until I die. The youngest was laying on the ground in the pool of blood, curled up next to what used to be his mother in a sickening parody of cuddling. She silently ate his face, tearing the flesh from his skull with her teeth and using her tongue to lap up the blood. Her eyes were empty and her silence betrayed that there was nothing left inside her of this boy's mother. She silently and ravenously ate him. The whimpering came from the corner where the other boy cowered. I called to him but he didn't respond, whether in shock or frightened beyond belief.

-3-

"Are you trying to get arrested son?" Officer Ford once again interjected.

"No sir. I told you I need help. You asked for the details."

"Son, you're telling me a story that happened six months ago. A story that, by rights, I should arrest you for. The thing is, though, the story, if you're telling the truth, seems like just wrong place wrong time. No matter what, though, I'm going to have to take you in." he approached Jonny with his handcuffs out.

"Wait!" Jonny exclaimed,

"Don't you want to know what happened tonight? How I got covered in blood?"

"Son, I've asked you twice to tell me that and you gave me this cock and bull nonsense about zombies from six months ago. Now, I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure that it doesn't take blood longer than six months to dry."

"You're right, sir, it doesn't. I tried to tell you that I need to show you but you wouldn't let me. That's why I told you the story. I figured that you'd either see that I needed police help or that you'd think I was crazy and want to follow me to the bodies."

"Bodies? What bodies?"

"I told you. My ex. And the baby she killed. They're just around the corner and I need help."

Officer Ford considered the other man for a moment before deciding. He drew his firearm and pointed it at Jonny's chest. Jonny reflexively put his hands in the air.

"Lead on, boy. But you keep those eyes in front and no funny business."

"No sir, officer." Jonny said, dutifully.

He began walking and, true to his word, after rounding the corner and walking less than two blocks a gray/blue house clearly became their destination. Jonny walked up to the front door and pulled a key from his pocket. He deftly opened the door, as if he'd lived there for years. Officer Ford brought up the rear, pausing slightly before entering behind Jonny.

The first thing that happened was the wretching. He hadn't been prepared for the stench that made its way through the house and into his nostrils. Doubling over, he vomited on a large area rug that was in the living room. To his right he noticed the television, broken as Jonny had described. Glancing to the kitchen, he thought he smelled the faint metallic odor of blood. Forcing himself up and toward the kitchen he realized that Jonny was no longer in his line of sight. He trained his gun toward the room in front of him, and as he approached, he identified the source of the smell.

Sprawled on the floor, covered in dried blood and quite obviously decomposing, was the body of a woman. Jonny's ex, Officer Ford assumed. Remarkably, she moved as he entered the room, her head straining to get closer to him. He swallowed back a wretch along with bile and more vomit and without thinking fired one shot into the creature's head. 

"Whoa!" Jonny said, appearing in a nearby doorway.

"Was that really necessary?"

"I don't know what's going on here, son, but you need to come out of there nice and easy and we'll get this sorted out."

"There's nothing to sort out." Jonny said, taking a step out of the doorway.

"No?" 

"No sir. See, that night, the end of the story was that I realized they wouldn't eat me. I don't even think they knew why because they kept getting close, but even when I gave up and decided to let them, all they did was get close enough to sniff me, run their teeth against my skin but they never bit, not once."

"They?" Officer Ford asked.

It was then that Jonny came out of the door fully. Behind him came a small form, a shock of red hair on his head. The boy had deadened, empty eyes and from his throat came a guttural growl.

"She only got to eat one of them. I wouldn't let her get the other. The problem was, he was already gone. I'm not really sure what caused all this. I just knew that with his mother gone I would have to look after him."

"What did you do?" Officer Ford breathed. 

"I've been feeding him. I didn't really know what else to do." 

"Son, you need to get down on your knees and put your head on your hands." 

Jonny complied, getting on his knees.

"Don't you want to see the bodies?" Jonny asked.

"Could get you a promotion I bet, taking out a scumbag like me."

"You stay right there." 

Jonny moved so swiftly that Officer Ford couldn't have seen it coming if he'd been fully prepared. Jonny threw one hand out from behind his head and from his jacket sleeve a small piece of metal glinted in the overhead light. The knife caught Officer Ford in the belly and stuck there. He immediately dropped the gun and fell forward, within reaching distance of the animated corpse on the floor. 

"Just a one inch blade. I just had to stop you shooting me. The rest will come in time. See, I couldn't leave him here. Not with her. I couldn't seem to kill her so I did the next best thing. I brought him food and let him eat."

Jonny moved the boy close enough to Officer Ford, then backed away as the boy and his undead mother devoured the man. Jonny winced slightly at the screams but he'd long since been desensitized to the sounds of death. He watched with pride until there was nothing left of Officer Ford but bone, then the cold panic hit him again. The feeling that accompanied the realization that he didn't know what to do. He ushered the boy back into the doorway where he'd been hidden and said softly,

"I'll be right back." before shutting the door on him. 

Then retrieving his knife and tucking it once more into his sleeve he walked back out into the night.

"I wonder who can help me now?" he said to himself. 

In the distance he saw headlights heading toward him. With a smile he moved into the middle of the road and waited.

The Fate of the World Depends on This Kiss

-1-

"The fate of your world depends on this kiss."

Arthur started at the voice, mentally demanding that the fog of his consciousness lift so that he might see it's source. The fog persisted, however, and the most he could manage was a dry croak.

"What? Who's there?"

No response came, though, and Arthur fought against the urge to drift into unconsciousness. Instead he focused on his surroundings. A spartan hospital room, with a television mounted to the wall; it played a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show and Arthur inwardly scoffed at young Opie's heartbreak at killing a bird with his slingshot. The curtains were drawn across the window and this was another source of annoyance for Arthur. He had lost track of his time there, not knowing if it was night or day or even how many days had passed while he wasted away in bed.

"No one wants to kiss me anyway. Daft old man." he laughed to himself.

He fought the shaking in his hand and eventually succeeded in controlling it enough to change the channel on the remote control to the television. He'd found that there was nothing to do between the myriad of visitors that feigned concern over him, besides find mind numbing droll in the flickering lights of the screen. It had offered him solace at times, but also a sort of manic depression. It was the only thing to look at, the only thing to talk to and his only companion.

"I'm going loopy with this idiot lantern as my only friend. I'd better look out before I start talking to myself." he mumbled. Then, as if realizing the absurdity of his statement he choked out a sob, screamed and threw the remote with all the strength he could muster. It turned out that was only far enough to hit his foot.

After a moment of his screaming, a nurse entered the room, young, handsome and muscular. Arthur did not stop his howling, but he did notice the young man's handsome features and continued looking at the man, enjoying the beauty he brought into the room.

"Arthur!" he said sternly,

"Arthur! Stop screaming this instant! I have other patients and I can't have you waking everyone up."

"Wake them up! I don't care! I've had enough of this prison." Arthur barked.

"Arthur! That's no way for a man of your years to speak. You know we all love you here. We're here to help."

"Help? You want to help then get me out of this bed and off this floor. I have to get home. It's late. My missus will have my ass for this!"

"Your missus? Arthur . . . you're missus, she left. Remember?" the nurse said softly.

"Left? What do you mean 'left'?"

"She left you here with us. Remember?"

"Hell no I don't remember gettin' left nowhere. I don't even remember what's wrong with me or how many days I been here."

"Oh dear." the nurse sighed.

"Arthur, how about we make a deal. Why don't you calm down and we'll have a bit of a chat. You and me. Now, I'll answer any questions you have, but you've got to promise me you'll stay calm and talk to me man to man. Is that a deal?" 

Arthur considered this and stroked the stubble on his chin thoughtfully.

"I used to have a beard." he said flatly.

"Arthur, is that a deal?" the nurse pressed. His name tag came into focus and Arthur saw that it read 'Jim'.

"I guess you got yourself a deal, Jimmy. Seems to me I had a best friend named Jimmy once. Followed me everywhere that fella. Still, I'd have been lost without him." Arthur positioned himself in his bed, managing to scramble into a sitting position.

"Now then, why don't you start by telling me what the fuck is wrong with me?"

Jim looked at the old man and sighed, his eyes watering slightly.

"You've uh," he choked.

"You've got mid-stage Alzheimer's." he managed.

Arthur considered the other man for a moment, his eyes going glassy.

"Ain't that about a bitch." he said finally, laughing.

"You think this is funny?" Jim asked.

"Course it's funny. Goddamn hysterical. So is that why I can't remember how long I've been in here?"

"It could be. It could also be that the days and nights have begun to run together and you're perfectly normal in that respect."

"What have I forgotten?" Arthur said, then began laughing again.

"What a dumb question to ask. How would you know what I've forgotten?"

"I can't tell you specific memories. But, well, you don't remember getting here. At least you didn't a moment ago."

"I do now. Damn bitch locked me up in here to die. I always suspected she never gave a damn. Still, I did and I guess now I know what giving a damn gets you. What about visitors? Do I get any visitors?"

"Here and there. More than some patients and less than others."

"My son? Does my son visit me?"

"Everyday." Jim said.

"I wish he wouldn't. I don't want him to see me like this." Arthur said. His eyes had gone from glassy to glazed and now tears dripped out of them.

"Do I still wipe my own ass?" Arthur barked, staring at the television just beyond Jim's head.

"Yeah. You still wipe your own ass." Jim chuckled.

"How are you feeling now Arthur? Do you need anything?"

"I'm tired. Worn out. It's not everyday you get told you're losing your mind. Wait, is that even true? How many times have we had this discussion Jimmy boy?" Arthur asked.

"More than once. Not everyday though." Jim answered, simply.

Arthur considered the man and then looked away.

"I guess I'm tired. I'm an old man I'm allowed to be tired."

"Yes, you are."

"How old am I anyway?"

"87 next month. Would you like something to help you sleep?"

"Yes, I believe that would help." Arthur said thoughtfully.

Jim stood and walked out of the room, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts, which were scattered. In truth he wasn't tired, he just couldn't think of a better way to shut off his own mind than to yield to unconsciousness. He awaited Jim's return with agitation, but did not have to wait long. The young man returned with a small cup that held two pills, and a small glass of water. Arthur swallowed them dutifully and laid down, closing his eyes right away.

"That's better, isn't it?" Jim said.

"Of course it is."

Jim smiled pulling the blanket up around the old man.

"There now," he said.

"The fate of your world depends on this kiss."

Arthur was feeling the effects of the medication already but his eyes darted open at the younger man's words.

"What did you say?" he demanded.

Jim continued tucking him in without reply and soon, the younger man was gone.

Arthur's mind whirled. Quite a coincidence to hear such a strange turn of phrase twice in the same hour. Had he heard it right? He must have been mistaken.  He wasn't kissing anyone. In fact he couldn't remember the last time he did kiss anyone. As he drifted off to sleep, wondering about this kiss that the fate of his world hinged on, he did recall a kiss. Just for a moment  . . . then it was gone and the darkness took him.

-2-

Arthur opened his eyes as a cool night breeze brushed across his face. It felt good, renewing his spirit and he drew strength from it while giving thanks. Looking up at the night sky he saw nothing but stars, then a shooting star. He made a wish and stood up smiling. He vaguely recalled the dream he'd been having. An old man in a hospital bed and something about a kiss. It was fading fast and he sped it along; his blood running cold at the image of himself in a hospital bed. He quickened his pace and fairly jaunted down the street. He felt as if he hadn't been here in years, though he knew it had only been a matter of days. Deciding the dream must have really affected him more than he'd realized, he walked into the nearest building, a bar, content to get a drink and calm his nerves. 

Sitting at the bar, he waited patiently until the bartender, a muscular man, bearded with crystal blue eyes, walked up to him. 

"What'll it be?" he asked, jovially.

"Whiskey, neat." Arthur said.  

A moment later, a short glass that was two thirds filled with amber liquid appeared in front of him. 

"That'll be $3.50 unless you want to run a tab." the bartender said.

"I'll run a tab . . . " Arthur trailed off waiting for the other man's name.

"Aaron." he smiled. 

"Aaron. I'll run a tab if you don't mind." 

"Sure. You meeting anyone here?" 

"Not that I know of. But I'll keep it in mind." Arthur said, taking a long drink of his whiskey. He took his drink and moved to the back of the bar, observing. There was a pool game in the corner and various men at the bar drinking a variety of drinks. Arthur breathed deeply and reveled in the smell of hops, barley and liquor. 

"How long since you've been in a bar?" came a voice.

"It's been a while." Arthur admitted.

"You falling off the wagon?" 

"What?" Arthur asked, puzzled.

"Sorry, I'm Jim. I was being funny. Like, are you here instead of an AA meeting or something."

Arthur took Jim's proffered hand and looked the man up and down.

"Nothing like that. It's just been a while since I've gone to a bar."

"How long since you've been in a gay bar?" Jim pressed.

Arthur went pale. He hadn't realized, but he supposed he should have.

"Um. Never." he admitted.

"Ooh! A straight boy. Well, that's okay. We're cool with you if you're cool with us."

"Yes. Of course I am. I just . . . I, uh, didn't know." Arthur stammered.

"So you're straight then?" Jim asked.

"I guess."  

"You guess? What does that mean? Wait, let me. You're bi curious and you worked up the nerve to come in and get a drink and get laid by a guy for the first time."

"Not at all." Arthur replied, recovering his composure. 

"I just never thought too much about it to be honest."

"Interesting. So you sleep with women because, what, it's convenient?" 

"Well, I'm not sleeping with anyone at the moment." Arthur pointed out.

"I'm drinking whiskey with a gay guy I just met, who I admit, I believe is flirting with me."

"What if I am?" Jim asked, smiling.

"Mind if I sit down?" Arthur said, raising his glass and pointing at it so that the bartender could see he wanted another.

"Not at all." Jim said, still smiling.

Arthur sat down as a fresh glass of whiskey appeared at the table.

"I am, you know." Jim said, taking a drink of the beer he'd been nursing.

"You're what?" Arthur asked, oblivious.

"Flirting with you. Just thought I should get that out there in case you're uncomfortable. with it."

"I don't guess I'd be too uncomfortable with it, being that I decided to grab a drink at a gay bar."

"I don't guess you would be." Jim said, mockingly.

"So what's your story? Really. Bi curious?"

"Not really, no." Arthur said,

"I really haven't given much thought to it. It's always seemed to me that people will be attracted to what they're attracted to."

"So what are you attracted to?" Jim asked.

"Are you asking if I'm attracted to you?" Arthur asked, deflecting.

"What if I am?" Jim was openly coy in his response.

"I don't know. I've never really been the flirtee. I've always been the flirter. I gotta admit. I sorta like it."

The two sat in silence for a moment, finishing their drinks. Arthur looked at Jim and began to feel the stirrings of something at the edge of his consciousness. He couldn't pin it down, and his thoughts had begun to swim in the whiskey. He silently willed himself to focus and was disappointed to learn that he couldn't.

"I think I'd better go." Arthur said.

"I was just thinking the same thing." Jim said.

"Let's get out of here."

Arthur didn't remember much about leaving or even consenting to go to Jim's house. He was focused on the nebulous feeling at the edge of his consciousness, trying to pinpoint its source. He wasn't surprised when they entered Jim's apartment and he found himself kissing, soft but intimately, feeling the tickle of Jim's beard against his face. Things progressed intensely, passionately. Arthur maneuvered on top of Jim, pulling his shirt off in a smooth motion before returning his lips to the waiting mouth of his lover. Gone was any thought of the nebulous feeling he'd been preoccupied with as the two of them danced their dance, casting shadows on the wall that gave the illusion one man existed where two could be seen.When Jim forcefully threw Arthur to the bed, facedown and breathless, Arthur knew something real was growing between him and this man. When Jim entered him with a soft grunt he thought,

"Can you read my mind?”

The two of them passed away what seemed like hours in this fashion. Only the moans, grunts and low growls of men making love filled the room. Arthur, in utter ecstacy felt a pang of disappointment at the knowledge that their coupling would soon end. He allowed himself to sink into the pleasure and lose himself beneath the power, sweat and sheer command that his lover held over him. At last, it did end and their urgent movements slowed, their bodies moving in time with one another as if connected like the gears of a machine. Jim lay next to Arthur, who was out of breath but still softly kissing Arthur's chest.

They lay there for a while, each of them aglow with the embers of their passion. Their fingers played light imaginary songs on each other's bodies; each seeming to intuitively know what the next note would be. It was Jim that broke the silence.

"Thank you." he said, breathlessly.

"This is what happy feels like." Arthur offered in reply, nuzzling closer to Jim's chest.

His mind wandered through the plethora of memories that had led him here, to this night, with this man in his bed. The images danced before him like the fast moving still images of an old-style Nickolodeon. He watched them float by until he saw Jim's smile in a memory of the dinner they'd shared earlier that evening. Lazily, he opened his eyes to be greeted by that same smile in reality.

"I think there's long term potential here." Jim said.

Arthur struggled for only a moment to mask the excitement on his face before he decided it was a futile struggle and he let his crooked grin take over his face. Jim pulled him in for another kiss. 

"The fate of your world depends on this kiss." he said, and they kissed again, tenderly and lingered in each other's breath.

The feeling that Arthur had been preoccupied with exploded behind his eyes and he looked at Jim in shock.

"Wh-why did you say that just now?" he asked.

He never received his answer. Sinking back to the pillows he was once again overtaken by darkness. He could feel everything around him becoming fuzzy. The warmth of the body next to him faded and the bed melted away. He couldn't remember where he was or the name of the man that had been laying next to him.

-3-

Arthur opened his eyes slowly. He sighed as the semi-familiar surroundings of the hospital room. He wondered how reliable his memory was, given his condition. The dream he'd had felt like a memory, but he knew that he'd also been in a drug induced sleep. 

"Awake again?" a voice called.

"How long was I asleep?" Arthur asked, his voice raspy; the result of a dry throat.

"About an hour." Jim said. Arthur could now recall that Jim was the name of the man from his dream, though a different Jim than the one who spoke to him now. Still, there was something familiar in the nurse's voice, and in his gait. It was as if he could be the son of the man Arthur had dreamt about.

Struggling into a sitting position, Arthur looked the man up and down.

"Jim?" he said, as if uncertain of the younger man's name.

"Yes. I'm Jim. That's good Arthur." the younger man's tone was gentle.

"Oh don't patronize me. I have alzheimer's I'm not stupid." Arthur said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Okay then. Tell me how you got here." Jim's reply had a hint of playful challenge. Arthur did not back down.

"My wife put me in here. Married for 37 years and at the first sign of trouble he carts me off to this godforsaken hellhole-"

"We prefer 'assisted living facility.'" Jim interrupted.

"Godforsaken hellole," Arthur repeated,

"And left me to rot. She hasn't been to see me in . . . in . . . ." he struggled with the memory.

"She hasn't been to see me. Stupid cunt. I gave her everything. Beautiful children. A home. Worked my fingers to the bone. Just so she could abandon in this place." Arthur's eyes became glassy and the tears began to spill.

"Arthur. It's okay." Jim soothed,

"It doesn't have to be that way." 

"Course it does. You can't change the past."

"Every choice, Arthur. Everything we do changes things. The fate of the whole world can depend on a kiss. Kiss the girl and," Jim motioned around the room.

"But kiss the boy . . . ." he trailed off. 

"Who are you?" Arthur whispered.

"Who do you think I am?" Jim smiled.

"How the hell should I know? I'm a crazy old man, remember?" Arthur said.

"Are you?" 

"Why are you doing this? Why all these goddamned questions? I want to go home."

"Where is home, Arthur? Do you remember?"

Arthur closed his eyes and struggled to remember. He was dismayed to realize that he couldn't remember his home. He couldn't picture the place he'd spent 37 years of his life with a wife and family. He couldn't remember if he'd had a dog, cat or any other pets. He couldn't remember his children's first steps or what schools they'd graduated from. He couldn't remember their names or if they'd come to visit him. He choked back a sob at the indignity of it all. He refused to accept that he didn't remember his life. He refused to let Jim see him this way. In defiance he described the only place he could remember as feeling anything like home. The apartment he'd spent the night in from his dream.

"Are you sure that's home Arthur?" 

"Course I'm sure. I know my own house. Now you take me there. This whole thing has been some misunderstanding."

"What if it was Arthur?" Jim put his hand on the other man's face and stroked his unshaven chin gently.

"What if it was all a misunderstanding?"

"What do you mean?"

"What if your life had been different? What if you could go there?" 

"Can you take me there?" 

"Maybe. Want to find out?" Jim asked. Arthur only nodded as tears flowed from his cheeks.

"The fate of the world depends on this kiss." Jim said. Then, slowly, tenderly, he leaned in and kissed Arthur with all the hunger of a starving man. Arthur yielded to the kiss, breathing deeply.

It was one night. It was decades ago. In a bar on my own I found you. A lifetime later, you saved me.

The thought passed between them, as if conducted by the kiss. Arthur didn't know if he'd thought it or if he'd somehow read the other man's mind. He felt darkness close in on him once again and this time he welcomed it. The fabrication of dementia, a dream, or an altered state of reality; it didn't matter. He knew that his fate was irrevocably altered by one simple kiss; from decades ago to the current moment in time. Everything changed around him, everything changed inside him and he knew that no matter what his mental condition was, he was finally whole. 

A Walk Up the Midway

-1-

She stood before the mirror; soft light from overused dimming bulbs that lined her reflection creating radiant beauty while lacking all function for the task at hand. She patted her face with powder, creating a cloud that gave the illusion of an otherworldly origin. The analogy was fitting for the setting, though she paid it no mind; her ritual was practiced with ease and grace borne of habit. She bent low and pulled dark stockings over her feet and up shaped calves onto her thighs where she clipped them to a garter, hidden under a black skirt. She stood before the mirror, topless, taking in her body's shape and allowing time to appreciate the curves that had taken so long for her to accept. She knew now that her acceptance didn't matter, not here, in this place; which was ironic since this very fact made it easier to appreciate. The image in the second mirror, behind her, was more difficult. Thanks to the juxtaposition of the companion mirror made her back visible and was a necessity, though it made her uncomfortable. She did not appreciate what she saw. Damaged, scarred flesh, made her shudder and curse her misfortune as she always did. She knew the scars were a necessary evil and to some, their symmetrical pattern would appear artistic, maybe even beautiful. To her mind, though, they were a reminder of the hardships that had led her here, to this place; and what had created the scarring she so despised. After a sigh she picked up her bodice and slipped her arms through it easily. She pulled it around her breasts tightly and began to fasten silver clasps in a regular pattern. With each gesture, the bodice tightened and she inhaled sharply in slight pain. Her back became more rigid as small wires inserted themselves into her skin at strategic points along her spine; these were the cause of the scarring, she knew, but she had no choice. Completing her task she stood before the mirror once more and gave herself a winning stage smile, spreading six arms before the mirror as if she were presenting a new car on a game show.

"Timothy!" the sharp voice cut the boy like a knife and he immediately blushes and quickly retracted his head from the tent, where he'd been watching.

"Timothy Clark Duncan! What in sam hell are you doing there?" Tim cursed silently to himself as he joined the fuming woman several feet from the tent.

"I'm sorry Ma," he said, "I was just watching."

"I know what you were watching, young man and you know God will strike you blind for peeping!" his mother said judgmentally. Tim ran a hand through his mop of dark hair with one hand while shoving his other into his pocket. He was handsome for his sixteen years, looking closer to twenty, with only his eyes and his smile betraying his innocence. 

"I'd rather be blind than a virgin." he quipped.

"Keep talking smart. You'll see. I bet all them monsters down in Charlotte were smart too. Look what's happening to them." In response Tim rolled his eyes.

Mother and son resumed their walk and Tim took in the sights and smells almost gleefully. He'd never been to a circus before, and had been pleasantly surprised when his mother had agreed to the trip. The midway was a bustle of activity and everything Tim had hoped it would be. A juggling clown on a unicycle rode in front of them and was rewarded with an awed stare from Tim. In spite of this, though, he wasn't deterred from his destination.

The sign read "World's Greatest Freaks!" followed by "100% Authentic! 100% Alive! 100% Creepy!" painted on the image of a ribbon wrapping around the rest of the text. Tim felt his heart begin pumping as they reached the entrance.

"Honestly Tim, I don't know why you want to go in there, those poor people."

"It's all fake, ma. Don't worry. I just saw Spider-Girl putting on fake arms." 

"I'll just bet that's what you saw." his mother said reprovingly.

"Jesus ma! Would you let it go?" he said, and instantly regretted it.

"Don't you dare take the Lord's name in vain! Now, I raise you better'n that, didn't I? Brought you to this place and that's the thanks you have?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just excited." he said.

"Well, excited about what?" his mother asked impatiently.

"That." Tim said, pointing.

The sign that read "World's Greatest Freaks" was centered above 4 painted portraits, each about ten feet tall.  The first was a smiling woman with six arms and read "The only living human arachnid! SPIDER-GIRL!" Next to this was a normal enough looking man, painted in a profile shot, wearing a black suit with a bowler hat on his head. His sign read "What cruel twist of fate can make a man become what he became? John Smith." Tim, wondered at this for a moment but shook his head, assuming there would be some gimmick. The third sign had been painted black with a banner that simply read "Removed by order of the state of Louisiana! Write your Congressman!" The fourth, though, was what had Tim's attention. The image was a man with the palest of pale skin, which appeared to be decaying; the eyes were glassy and white, lifeless and his clothes were torn and there were pieces of his body that had been worn down almost to bone. His mother gasped at seeing it but there seemed to be little surprise in her reaction. The sign read "FIRST APPEARANCE! GENUINE! CAPTURED IN CHARLOTTE! THE ONLY UNDEAD SPECIMEN IN EXISTENCE!" Tim didn't care that they hadn't bothered to name it, he intended to see it for himself, nonetheless.

"My God!" his mother breathed, "How awful!"

"If by awful, you mean amazing," Tim replied, "I agree."

-2-

"Step right up, step right up my young man!" the voice was boisterous and attached to a man who looked to be the inverse of a stereotypical ringmaster. He wore a black tuxedo, complete with tophat and tails on his jacket, his shirt was blood red with a white tie, and over his feet he wore red and white spats. His plump face was red and his bushy mustache was sculpted at the ends, rising into a curl on each side.

"Who are you supposed to be, Ringling?" Tim asked, incredulously. He made a mental note to point out on his blog that this man's appearance was so out of date that it passed nostalgic and served to take away from the ambiance of the attraction.

"If you like, good sir." Ringling replied with a smile, "We don't stand on ceremony here." 

"Whatever," Tim said, then before he could finish,

"Timothy! You're being rude!" his mother said with a smack on his head. 

"It's quite alright, madam! The boy is right to bring skepticism into the tent with him. A show like ours hasn't been seen in years and, as you can see some aspects of it have fallen before the more sensitive appetites of the modern world." he said, gesturing to the third sign on the panel before them.

"Look," Tim said, losing patience and waiting to get inside, "I already know this is all fake. There's no way you could get away with putting "genuine" freaks on display in a sideshow. Not these days. You'd get sued! It's not PC!"

"Quite so!" Ringling said with a chuckle, "Quite so, indeed. And yet, here we are. I assure you all of the attractions are guaranteed."

"Or our money back, right?" Tim scoffed.

"Not exactly. You see, you've already paid to enter and the entry fee is non-refundable. Our guarantee is something different entirely."

"Oh?" this from Tim's mother, she had moved closer to Ringling, and if Tim didn't know better, he'd think she was flirting.

"Indeed madam!" Ringling said with a flourish. "Why, if you aren't one hundred per cent assured of the bona fides of the attractions we will grant ownership of the entire show to your good selves."

Tim scoffed again, "Come on! That's hardly worth anything! If they're fake, why would we want them?"

Ringling was still undaunted, "As I pointed out, young sir, you have already paid the entry fee." he gestured to the tent. Tim admitted he had a a point. Even if the attractions were fake, a person could make money taking the act on the road.

"There's a sucker born every minute." he said walking into the tent. 

Tim blinked hard in an attempt to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness, though it didn't help. As soon as the tent flap closed all the light as well as the sounds from the Midway had vanished, and this unsettled Tim, though he assumed it was part of the show.  

"I shall be your guide on this tour of the grotesque," Ringling's voice came, more somber than before, "Please don't move until directed to do so. This is a safety precaution for yourselves. 

As if on cue, soft lights came up and Tim was able to see his mother next to him, as well as Ringling standing before a stage, cordoned off with a velvet rope, similar to a museum exhibit. Behind the rope, Tim could make out a velvet chair next to a simple wooden table. The table held several items, a pipe, a carafe of what Tim assumed was Brandy, a book of matches, and a lipstick. On a nearby wall there was a mirror, though there wasn't enough light to see a reflection.

"What we have here is the sitting area for John Smith." 

"Yeah, what's the deal with him?" Tim asked, "He isn't scary or a freak at all. He's just some guy in a bowler hat."

From further into the tent, Tim thought he could hear a low growl, and abruptly remembered why he'd been so eager. He felt fear for a moment, and wondered if the undead specimen was as genuine as promised. 

"Please, hold all your questions until the end, young sir." Ringling admonished. 

"John Smith was found north of the American border and welcomed the chance to make a home here with us. It seems that the residents where he'd come from were a bit unsettled by his countenance." Tim though Ringling had chuckled at the end of that sentence. 

As if on cue, a man appeared. He was clearly the man that had been pictured outside, he walked up to the chair and sat down, though he appeared to carefully position his back so that it wasn't pressed into the chair. He reached for the pipe and matches and deftly lit it and began puffing away.

"What's the lipstick for? Is he some kind of transvestite?" Tim asked, straining to make the normal character seem a bit weirder than he appeared.

"Certainly not!" came the appalled reply. John stood up, grabbing the lipstick from the table and began walking toward the mirror. He arrived, still facing the observers, and bent toward the mirror, backward. His back moved at an unnatural angle as he tilted toward the mirror, though what appeared as the reflection was anything but the back of his head. A blonde woman, reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe in her looks (though quite obviously not the famous actress) appeared in the mirror and began applying the lipstick.

"Oh my!" Tim's mother cried out in surprise.

"Come on! That's just a trick with the mirror! Anyone who took theater in high school knows how to do that!" Tim didn't bother to hide his disdain over the obvious forgery.

"Young man," John himself spoke now, "I appreciate a skeptical mind indeed, though I must protest at your lack of faith. Perhaps you'd like a closer look?" 

John moved up to the velvet rope, close enough that Tim could reach out and touch him. He locked eyes with the young man and began to slowly turn. The move was practiced, and he paused for just a few seconds in profile view and then completed his turn. Tim took an involuntary step back and inhaled sharply. The blonde woman from the mirror stood before him, lipstick freshly applied. She leaned over, and Tim noticed the curve of her breast in spite of himself, and swallowed hard.

"How did . . . " he stammered, "Uh, how did you do that?" 

"We didn't do anything, sugar." the woman stated, her voice soft and with a hint of sultry seduction.

"What happened to you?" Tim's mother asked.

The woman looked at Ringling, "Now, I just hate that question, don't you?" she said, "Nothing 'happened' this is how I was born."

"You were born as two people? Or as the front of two people?" Tim asked narrowing his eyes.

"Yes." came John's male voice.

John sauntered back to the chair, the female face remaining visible, and sat down, a bit more daintily than before. Tim winced at the motion, wondering how the being's knees were able to bend so flexibly in either direction. 

"It's some kind of trick." Tim said, though his voice lacked conviction.

"I assure you there is no trick. Shall we continue to the next, ahem, exhibit?" Ringling asked. His question was answered by another low growl and what sounded like a small scream. Tim looked past Ringling into the tent and took a hesitant step forward.

"What's next?" he asked, "Spider-Girl?" 

"Quite." Ringling said, ushering his charges forward.

As the trio moved forward, the lights dimmed once more, preventing Tim from looking back at John Smith and his curious "twin." He felt disoriented again as he was veiled in a darkness that was somehow thicker than any other darkness Tim could think of. his disorientation passed as pale light returned, slightly to his right, and he looked at what he knew to be the "lair" of Spider-Girl. He thought breifly of watching the woman prepare for the show and his disappointment that she was a fake subsided when he recalled her full breasts and curved hips. Before his thoughts had a chance to turn too erotic, however, Ringling spoke again.

"What you've surmised is correct, young sir. We have arrived at the Web of Spider-Girl. Now, she is not an arachnid per se, of course."

"Right," Tim said, "Let me guess. Some type of human-spider hybrid?" 

"Nothing so droll, I assure you," Ringling said, his tone indicating that he was beginning to lose patience with the boy, "No, Spider-Girl was involved in horrific accident a number of years ago. There was damage to her nervous system and she lost much of the mobility of her arms and legs. She joined our family, originally, as "The Living Dead Girl" but the effects of her appearance on the crowd was simply too catastrophic. Through a series of bizarre accidents we discovered that a prosthetic allows her to regain 100% use of her legs."

"So you admit she's a fake?" Tim asked, suspicious, "I thought you guaranteed everything was genuine."

"You'll now, I'm sure, that the chief characteristic of spiders is that they have 8 limbs. I'm sure you were expecting that Spider-Girl will as well. There are, however, other characteristics of the spider. We'll let you decide, young sir, if Spider-Girl can indeed live up to her name."

From the back of the web, Tim's eyes caught movement, and he saw Spider-Girl emerge. She did have the requisite 8 limbs, though Tim had to admit he was surprised to see her using all of them. She fairly crawled on her web, almost as a real spider would have. As she got closer, Tim was distracted by the light glinting from the web. The material was thick, but appeared fragile. No doubt it was some type of fiberglass, but it did seem odd that it bore her weight.

"She can use all 8 limbs," he began, "I'll grant you that but what-" 

He was cut off by a roar and what was unmistakably a scream this time, and he jumped back, startled.

"Pay of no mind, young sir, I'll tend to it while Spider-Girl regales you with her talents." Ringling said, disappearing into the darkness so quickly it was like he'd vanished.

"Your legs are impressive." Tim said, conversationally.

"I've never had any complaints," the arachnis replied, "You don't believe I'm genuine, I take it."

"Well, I mean, come on. How can you be?" Tim said. Spider-Girl moved closer and his mother drew back, not bothering to mask her fear. Tim knew this was due to her great fear of spiders.

"You heard the story of my accident. The legs may be prostheses but I assure you, I'm quite the Spider." her voice dripped with confidence in what she was saying. There was no question she believed every word.

"You see, when I was "The Living Dead Girl" the crowd reaction was fierce. Children screamed. Women cried. Men fainted." she said, the memory clearly drawing menace from her. Tim, was hypnotized by her gaze as she spoke.

"One day, a little girl screamed and wouldn't stop. I laid still, not wanting to scare her any further, but her mother, so appalled by my, began hitting me with her handbag. My benefactor," she gestured to where Ringling had disappeared, "Did his best to stop it. In the end, though, it was a good thing. Because I learned how to do this." she leaned in, mere inches from Tim's face, and he leaned back, so hypnotized was he, that he welcomed what appeared to be a kiss. At the last moment, however, Spider-Girl opened her mouth and a thick substance shot out and sealed itself over Tim's mouth. He reflexively reached up and pulled it away. It was sticky, but pliable and after a moment he was completely free. For her part, Spider-Girl crawled back to the top of her web.

"What the hell?" Tim's mother smacked his arm reprovingly as he swore. "What is this stuff? Spider's web?" the only response he got was the shrug of six arms.

"Ah, I see, Spider-Girl has let you in on her true nature." Ringling said, suddenly reappearing. His face was ashen, and sweat beaded his brow. 

"She caught me in her web, if that's what you mean." Tim said, then, "What's wrong with you, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"Nothing like that, young sir. It's been tended to and we are now ready to continue our tour. Shall we proceed?"

-3-

"Finally!" Tim exclaimed, no longer to contain his excitement. The other "exhibits had been cool enough, and he was intrigued about what a woman with six arms could do, but that didn't change the fact that what he'd really come here for was  the undead specimen they would now see. 

"Has the young sir not been happy with what we've seen so far?"

"Why do you keep calling me 'young sir'?" Tim asked, evading the question. The truth was he was convinced that nothing was being faked, but he could never let Ringling know that after being so certain it was. After all, for all he knew it could have been and was just far more elaborate than he had at first guessed. Either way, he had no intention of challenging the authenticity. If he lost the challenge he'd lose face in a public setting and if he won the challenge he'd win a Circus he didn't really want.

"My apologies. My intent is not to offend; we simply stand on a certain  . . . propriety."

"You can call me Tim." Tim offered carefully.

"No, young sir, I don't believe I can." Ringling said after a pause.

"Whatever." Tim rolled his eyes.

"Before we go any further, sir, madam; I must warn you that this next, er, specimen, is quite violent. You will need to stay back for your own safety."

"Is it safe?" Tim's mother asked.

Ringling met her gaze, his face still ashen. By way of reply he made a sweeping gesture.

"Shall we continue?" this time, instead of leading them on; he dropped behind them, ushering them forward. 

"He didn't answer my question." she murmured, moving forward.

"What's that smell?" Tim asked as they entered the next room. They were once again shrouded in blackness and a faint metallic smell had touched his nostrils.

"That is the smell of iron." Ringling said, "Now remember, stand perfectly still where you are and-" he was interrupted by a low growl. 

"What's that?" Tim's mother asked.

The growling increased in intensity and volume. It seemed urgent, feral, as if the source was a threatened animal backed into a corner. Tim stood still, and began shaking, suddenly afraid. He wasn't sure what was going but he knew that he wished the lights would come back up. He recalled, with the most vivid of mental images, the painting of the undead specimen he'd seen right before entering. He recalled the other times he'd heard the growl and later what he'd thought was a scream. Then, Ringling had disappeared and . . . . the thought clicked in his mind.

"Wait, is that-" 

His mother's scream was preceded by a guttural roar. Tim cried out in terror,

"NO!" 

But it was no use. Her scream was long and loud, and eventually dwindled to a wail that sounded wet and strangled. The metallic smell from before became stronger and Tim sobbed, knowing what had happened.

"You asshole!" he screamed, at no one in particular. He wasn't sure where Ringling was due to the darkness, but he knew their guide could hear him, "You killed her!"

"I am sorry to stand on semantics, young sir." Ringling said, his voice barely above a whisper, "but I assure you I did not kill your mother."

As if on cue, the lights came up and Tim saw his mother's body, limp and lifeless; hanging over the velvet rope before the undead creature they'd come to see. The creature's mouth dripped with her blood and it's lifeless gaze turned to Tim as it growled once more. It was bound by chains, unable to move its arms and had limited motion from legs that were chained to the floor. Tim forced himself to look at his mother's body; at the damage that had been done. 

"That smell you said was iron? That was blood wasn't it?" Tim asked, softly.

"It is accurate to say that it was iron, young sir. Though I believe what you are referring to is the high concentration of iron in human blood that gives it a metallic odor."

"I'll kill you." Tim said. Either to the pathetic, chained, undead creature before him; or to Ringling, he wasn't sure.

He started at his mother's form once again and committed her wounds to memory. She'd likely strayed just close enough to the velvet rope for the creature to lunge. The bite was on her neck and her entire throat was torn out. She would have died in seconds from blood loss and oxygen deprivation, Tim knew that much to be certain. Her blood dripped from the gaping hole in her throat and onto the floor creating a pool beneath her. He breathed sharply as her finger twitched but sobbed in grief and anger as he realized he must have imagined this.

"I am sorry, young sir." Ringling said, moving between Tim and his mothers form. Tim eyes him suspiciously as the undead creature loomed behind him. He observed silently, waiting, willing the thing to lunge again. To destroy the demented tour guide that had led his mother to oblivion, but the creature only growled.

"You're sorry?" Tim said, anger overtaking him, "Sorry!?" he lunged himself, pushing Ringling back toward the velvet rope. The man stumbled and fell into the creature with a cry of alarm. The creature leaned over him menacingly, blood and saliva dripping from its open mouth as if it were taking stock of what the man was. Then, without ceremony, it stood and looked at Tim, snarling again. Ringling scurried to safety and stood before Tim.

"Young sir, I'll have to ask you to leave the premises." 

"Oh I will," Tim warned, "And I'll be back with the police." 

Ringling was on him in a flash, so fast that Tim barely had time to register the glint of metal that he next felt pressed to his throat.

"Listen to me, you sniveling shit," Ringling said, his voice suddenly a stark contrast to what it had been before, "You'll leave this place now or you'll become food just like your bitch of a mother. Savvy?" 

"I'll kill you." Tim responded, his voice choked as Ringling's hand closed around his throat.

"You'll leave us alone you bastard." Ringling chided, digging the knife in deeper. Tim winced as the blade broke the skin on his throat and he felt a trickle of blood down his neck. The undead creature jerked against its bonds, straining to break free at the smell of new blood.

"Or you'll kill me," Tim said, "Either way, one of us is dying today." and he brought his knee sharply into Ringling's groin causing the older man to jerk his arm upward, slashing Tim's cheek from chin to eye. Blood spurted from the wound and soaked half of Tim's face instantly. Ringling for his part doubled over, clutching his injured crotch. He wasn't felled for long; he fell and rolled into Tim's braced legs the motion causing Tim to stumble and trip.

Directly into the monster.

As it had done to his mother before him, the creature sank its teeth into Tim's flesh at the junction of neck and shoulder. His vision blurred and he let out a strangled cry as he fell to the floor. He thought he could see his mother, just out of the corner of his eye. Had she fallen from the rope? How had that happened? Was she crawling away? Blackness surrounded him again and as he lost himself within it, he faintly wondered what was left to see in this den of horrors.

Ringling stood over the boy, watching in fascination as gouts of blood gathered in a pool at the boys feet. He moved closer, to draw the boy closer to the undead creature, pausing long enough for the chained beast to move away from him. A second growl joined the first, guttural moans, and he heaved a sigh as the lifeless body of the young man's mother crawled toward him, a grotesque analogy of a newborn rooting for the breast.

"I'm sorry madam." he said, his voice once again proper, "But we've got no more space for new attractions." and he brought his knife down into the back of her head sharply, burying it through hair and skull into the brain underneath. He pressed it into her cranium as firmly as he could until she'd stopped convulsing and then pulled it out in one smooth, deft motion.

He turned his attention back to the boy and stopped cold. Blood was dripping from the gash he'd opened in the boy's face, but impossibly; the bite wound was getting smaller! Ringling watched, mouth agape as the hole in the boys neck slowly, steadily closed. Where the wound was spilling blood only a moment ago, there was now only fresh, pale flesh. Ringling kicked the boy experimentally, and was satisfied when he didn't move.

"Seems dead enough, anyway." he murmured, bringing his knife to bear.

In a move as sudden as it was unexpected, Tim swept his leg into Ringling's ankles causing the man to fall on his back, hard. He gasped, trying to recover the wind that was knocked out of him but before he could move, Tim stood over him holding a knife that had been Ringling's only a moment earlier.

"Victims." Tim said. He shoved the knife between the eyes of the undead creature that had killed his mother, and pulled it out again not bothering to watch the creature fall to the floor. He slowly knelt down next to Ringling,

"Aren't we all?" he asked, slicing the man's throat.

He watched silently as the blood poured out of Ringling; though it was the man's eyes that he watched closely. He gurgled and struggled for oxygen that would never come, and reached out toward Tim in a supplicating gesture. Tim didn't respond. He simply stood there watching until Ringling's eyes faded into nothing and his breath stopped. Satisfied, he dropped the knife and found his way out of the tent. He never looked back, never registered the glances of other circus goers that gasped in concern or gave him a wide berth as he walked by them, covered in blood. Some of it was his own, coming from the gash in his face, and he was thankful for that; it would be far easier if he could convince people that the blood was from his own injury; at least he could distract them from the fact that he'd just killed a man. He knew that the sheer amounts of blood didn't add up, but he forced himself to keep a steady pace; strolling up the midway as if nothing had happened. There would be plenty of time to figure things out later.

He hoped.