Midnight Moonlight

by Chambers, V. J.

  If she’d been an optimist, Calla might have reassured herself that everything would go smoothly regardless.

  Calla wasn’t an optimist. She fully believed that things could—and would—go badly. She also thought that when things did go badly, there was likely only one person to blame—herself.

  So if she wanted to find the perfect man and have the perfect baby, she needed to get started on making that happen.

  Chad hadn’t been perfect. Not exactly. He hadn’t quite fit her requirements. For one thing, he hadn’t really liked to read. For another thing, he hadn’t really been inquisitive. But he’d been intelligent enough, and he’d agreed with her on their schedule. He too wanted a perfect marriage with two children, and he wanted to make sure that things worked out impeccably.

  He was quite willing to go along with her plans—in fact her plans were his plans.

  Calla had thought that was more important than anything else. And he was taller than her, and he had a great job, and she was sure he’d be ideal.

  But then things didn’t go according to plan.

  Even though Calla had made allowances for things to go wrong, she hadn’t made enough allowances.

  And she couldn’t figure it out. She really couldn’t. If things were going badly, it was likely her fault. She kept that thought closer than anything. But she couldn’t see how. Because she’d done her best to do everything right.

  She inched down the wall in the dark room, feeling the sadness weigh down on her.

  Maybe it was time to stop doing the right thing.

  Maybe it was time to throw her requirements out the window. She wasn’t young and thin anymore, and she now knew that she wasn’t in possession of a fertile womb. Things hadn’t gone according to plan. Things weren’t perfect.

  Hell, she was in a room with a crazy man who thought he was an animal. She wasn’t sure that there even was a “right” thing to do in this situation.

  She drew in a shaky breath, trying to clear her head as she moved down the wall.

  She heard the Beast Man take a breath too.

  And she was startled to realize that he was closer than she thought.

  Maybe she hadn’t been careful. She hadn’t been quiet, after all, making all kinds of noises. Laughing and sighing and letting her stomach growl.

  But now she stopped breathing entirely. She stopped moving too, frozen there against the wall. She waited to see if the Beast Man would breathe again.

  Seconds passed.

  He melted out of the darkness. She felt as if she could see him more clearly now. Maybe her eyes had adjusted even further.

  He crouched, moving around her. His eyes flitted from side to side, looking from her and then away, as if checking all his surroundings.

  She let out a breath. He wasn’t striking at her, wasn’t attempting to touch her.

  And last time, he hadn’t hurt her.

  Maybe he was only confused. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt her after all.

  Carefully, she stretched out her hand to him.

  He jumped back, away from her.

  She froze in place, not moving her hand.

  Slowly, he crept back closer again, closer to her hand. He put his head under it, like the way he’d done earlier in the tent, as if he wanted her to pet him. As if he was a dog.

  She swallowed. Her heart was thrumming. She was touching him now, and he wasn’t hurting her. She tentatively moved her hand down over his head.

  He didn’t stop her.

  She stroked his head, one long touch from the crown of his head over the back of him.

  He closed his eyes and let out a humming noise, something satisfied.

  She did it again. She was petting him now, stroking his hair. He had a short cut, but his hair looked as if it had been hacked off rather than cut by someone skilled. The Beast Man also had a few day’s worth of stubble on his chin. She didn’t think he was shaving himself, so that must mean that someone else was doing it for him.

  The Beast Man came closer to her.

  She kept stroking him, unsure of what else to do.

  Someone was taking care of him—probably the people from the carnival. After all, he was an attraction there. That must mean that the people from the carnival had captured her then.

  Unless she and The Beast Man had both been captured by someone else entirely. But that seemed unlikely. She couldn’t figure out why anyone would associate them.

  When it came down to it, though, she couldn’t figure out a reason why the carnival would capture her either.

  Her earlier ideas about being a sacrifice were clearly ludicrous. Why else did people capture women?

  For ransom, maybe, but Calla wasn’t rich, and no one who cared about her was either. Chad had done well for himself, but not that well. Maybe they’d confused her with someone else who was rich. She’d seen a movie like that once, she thought. The kidnappers had gotten the wrong girl. It had been a comedy, though. Hilarity had ensued.

  Calla stroked the Beast Man’s hair, hoping that if she kept at that, she’d soothe him. And she didn’t much feel like laughing.

  But if she’d been kidnapped for ransom, then why involve the Beast Man? That didn’t make any sense.

  Nothing made sense. She was in some senseless situation. Trapped in the dark with a man who belonged in a fairy tale—cursed by a wicked witch or something.

  She didn’t even know how she’d ended up here. She remembered that she’d run to the rest rooms after seeing the Beast Man in his tent. She’d gone to the sink and splashed water over her face, trying to calm herself down.

  Shh, she thought to herself, it was only a man in a costume. Only an actor. You’re okay. You’re okay.

  She stared in the mirror for some time, trying to calm herself by looking at her own face.

  Eventually, she felt better and she went back to the carnival. She rode rides and played games until her tickets were all gone. Then she bought a chili dog smothered in cheesy sauce, ate it at a picnic table with a tall Pepsi, and kept her mind as blank as she possibly could.

  It was only after all of that she allowed herself to go home. Sometimes, she had to prove to herself that she could handle things. If she gave in to the fear too quickly, she lost. If she forced herself through the discomfort to prove to herself that it didn’t actually bother her, she won. That was bullshit, of course. She wouldn’t be uncomfortable if she weren’t bothered. But it was ridiculous to worry so much about the past. Whatever had happened when she was four years old, it was over. Had been over for a long time, and she wasn’t about to let it get to her anymore.

  Anyway, then she went back to her car, parked in the carnival parking lot.

  That was the last thing she remembered.

  They must have grabbed me from the car, she thought, continuing to stroke the Beast Man’s hair.

  He seemed content. He was still crouched down, but there was a smile on his face—something innocent and happy, almost childlike.

  She kept petting him, but she began to speak to him in a soft voice. “Hi there,” she murmured. She used a soothing tone, the kind she’d use for a small child or a pet. “I was wrong to be afraid of you, wasn’t I? There’s nothing scary about you at all, is there?”

  The Beast Man let out a tiny whine, as if he agreed with her that he was utterly harmless.

  Calla thought about her first thought when she was in the tent—the idea that it would be perverse to use an animal in an attraction like that. The Beast Man was little better than an animal, she realized. And like an animal, he’d lashed out in the tent because he’d been chained and confined. She remembered watching him put his costumed head to his chains.

  She felt a surge of pity. He’d wanted to get himself free, but he couldn’t.

  Calla knelt down so that she was eye-level with him. “You’re not the scary one, are you? It’s the men who keep you locked up that are scary.”

  She let her hand fall after she stroked him that last time.

  He
cocked his head to one side, looking confused. He made a noise, a mewling inquiry. Why had she stopped?

  She laughed a little. He was just like a puppy, wasn’t he? She reached up to begin petting him again. “Sorry about that.” She continued to rub him now. “You aren’t very hard to make friends with, are you?”

  He didn’t say anything, but he gazed at her with adoring eyes.

  “We’re friends, Beast Man, don’t worry,” she said. “And together, we’re going to figure out how to get out of here. I’m going to get you away from those horrible men, and I’m going to get you help.” She felt very sorry for this man now, and her protective instinct had kicked in. Calla couldn’t stand seeing helpless beings being exploited. The Beast Man seemed ferocious and frightening, but he was obviously only a confused creature. He was starved for kindness and compassion.

  That was the way with most creatures, Calla knew. Even many teenagers were only awful because they were lacking any kindness in their lives. If you were good to some teens, you won them over.

  It wasn’t true of all teenagers, however. Some teenagers were just… evil. Calla didn’t know how else to explain it. She knew that the teenage mind was not completely developed, and that teenagers weren’t really as empathetic as adults. Some of them just seemed to be crazed and awful for no reason. She hoped they’d grow out of it, but she couldn’t be sure they always did. Sometimes, it seemed they made such bad decisions as teens that their mistakes haunted them for the rest of their lives.

  She was a good person, and she wanted to be good and kind to everyone, but some of those crazy evil kids made it incredibly hard.

  The Beast Man, though, he was easy to be good to.

  “Do you know a way out of here?” she asked him.

  He didn’t say anything. Of course he didn’t say anything.

  “What happened to you?” she whispered. “Were you raised by animals in the wild, like Mowgli in The Jungle Book? Were you cursed by an evil witch? Are you really a dog trapped in a man’s body?”

  The Beast Man simply stared at her.

  She peered into his eyes, hoping to find the answers buried somewhere in the depths there. But she saw nothing, only contentment. He seemed very happy to be close to her.

  She stopped petting him again.

  He made another noise.

  “I know,” she said, getting to her feet. “But we have to try to find a door, okay?” She pressed her back into the wall, and she began to inch down it again.

  The Beast Man moved with her, still crouched down, but gazing up at her.

  She smiled at him. “Gonna keep me company?”

  Of course, he didn’t respond. She rubbed his head. He was exactly like a dog.

  Slowly, she continued moving around the perimeter of the room. It took a very long time to reach the far wall, confirming her thought that the room was a rectangle, but indicating that it was an even longer, thinner rectangle than she’d originally thought.

  She felt around the short side at the end of the rectangle.

  No door.

  And then she made her way back up the next wall, aware that she was headed back to the place where she’d started.

  It was slow going, but she was happy enough to have the Beast Man next to her, because she could talk to him as they moved around the room. It made her feel less lonely, like she had a companion and an ally.

  She babbled aloud to him, telling him that she’d thought about getting a dog, but that Chad had been allergic, so they never had. She’d always liked dogs, especially ones with long, fluffy fur. Of course the Beast Man wasn’t a furry dog. He wasn’t a dog at all. But he seemed so much like one. She kept expecting to look down and see him panting, his tongue sticking out.

  Eventually, she reached the opposite short wall, and she knew that she had made a complete circuit of the room.

  No door.

  How was that possible?

  There had to be a way into this room.

  She sank down to the floor. “I don’t get it, Beast Man. They didn’t build this room around us.” She let out a helpless laugh. “Maybe they trapped us underneath it. Someone smashed it down over us the way children trap insects. Isn’t that what happened in that Stephen King book? Only it wasn’t a child that did it but some monster or alien or something?”

  She shook herself. “Listen to me. I’ve gone bonkers. All I can think of are things that happened in stories. Evil spells, Mowgli, Stephen King… I guess nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened to me.”

  Her stomach was growling even louder now, but there wasn’t any food. And she realized that she was exhausted. She hadn’t expelled a lot of physical effort walking around the room, but the emotional twists and turns of the day had taken their toll.

  She yawned.

  The Beast Man’s body came closer.

  She let her eyelids fall. Not that it mattered. It was just as dark behind her lids as it was with her eyes open.

  But then the Beast Man suddenly wrapped his body around hers.

  His strong arms around her waist, his bare chest pressing into her.

  Oh, she thought. He’s really not a dog at all.

  * * *

  The Beast Man was wearing a pair of jeans, but he wasn’t wearing anything else, and that meant that whenever Calla tried to move to push him away, she brushed some part of his bare anatomy. His muscled arms, his hard chest, his taut stomach.

  He was close, and he was warm, and there was something that felt right about being wrapped up in his arms.

  His head rested on her shoulder. One arm was behind her, resting on her waist. The other arm was flung over the front of her body. His body curved around hers.

  It was very intimate, and it wasn’t anything like a dog might do. Dogs didn’t have limbs, and they didn’t know how to put their arms around people. It wasn’t animalistic at all, except for the fact that most animals—mammals, anyway—did seem to like to curl up together for warmth when they slept. And, she supposed, if she was honest, there was nothing sexual about what the Beast Man was doing. He was holding onto her, but he wasn’t trying anything.

  It was her. She was the one that was making this sexual.

  Because from the moment the Beast Man’s body had touched hers, she’d felt like something inside her had been woken up, like a spark of flame was growing deep in her core. Every place they touched sizzled. She felt feverish, a little out of breath—as if in breathless anticipation for something that was going to happen.

  But nothing was going to happen.

  It was wrong for her to feel this way about him. He wasn’t all there in the head, quite obviously. If she were to allow anything to happen between them, she’d be taking advantage of him. He was innocent and sweet and pure. It was her thoughts which were deviant and wrong.

  And she wasn’t going to be able to keep from having them if they were close like this. Which was why she was trying to push him away.

  She wriggled in his grasp, turning to face him, and she placed both of her hands on his chest and pushed.

  Oh, she thought. I’ve never felt a man’s chest that felt like this. It’s warm. It’s flesh. But it’s so solid, like stone.

  He didn’t let go of her, but he did lift his head and give her a puzzled expression.

  Damn it. Why was he holding onto her? He wasn’t totally an animal, was he? There was some part of him that was a man. She remembered the way he’d punched the wall beside her head, the way he’d struggled to make noise, almost as if he was struggling to speak.

  “What are you?” she whispered to him.

  He cocked his head.

  He furrowed his brow. And then licked his lips. He opened his mouth. He made a sound. It was a low “errrrrrr” noise, half strangled. He sounded even more mentally challenged than she’d first thought.

  She held up her hand, shaking her head. “It’s okay.”

  He stopped the sound, storm clouds gathering in his eyes. He was angry with himself.

 
She patted his forearm. Geez, it was like hot granite too. “It’s okay. Really.”

  His shoulders slumped. He moved his head back to lay it on her shoulder.

  “No,” she said, pulling back.

  He recoiled quizzically.

  “It isn’t right,” she tried to explain. She pointed out away from herself. “You sleep there.”

  His brow furrowed again, and his grip tightened on her body.

  A tiny jolt of fear went through her again. What if he wouldn’t let go of her? This man seemed gentle and innocent, but he was clearly a full grown man, and he probably still had male hormones running all through him.

  Maybe she wasn’t the only person making it sexual. Maybe he wanted her too.

  In fact, maybe she had been right before, when she’d speculated she was here for the Beast Man’s pleasure. Maybe the carnival workers had to keep their Beast Man satisfied in order for him to perform. Maybe they nabbed women and locked them up with him here so that he could have his way with them…

  She shuddered, the tiny bit of fear growing stronger.

  And his grip on her loosened. He yipped at her, butting his head against her shoulder.

  She understood it as a reassuring gesture. She smiled at him.

  He laid his head on her shoulder again and snuggled against her body.

  She sighed. Maybe there was no avoiding it. As long as it went no further than innocent physical closeness, she supposed it wasn’t wrong, no matter what forbidden desires his nearness wrung from her body.

  She shut her eyes.

  The Beast Man shifted, getting more comfortable.

  And that was when she felt him… poke her.

  With his…

  She stiffened. All right, so he was aroused. They were both aroused, and they were lying in each other’s arms.

  She gulped. Would it really be so horrible a thing to give in to a willing man, even if he wasn’t strictly all-there in the brains department? It wouldn’t hurt him, would it? He’d probably enjoy himself, and he had such a glorious body. She wanted it stretched out against her, wanted to be able to run her fingers over all of his bare, muscled flesh. It had been quite a long time since she’d made love. She and Chad had been anorexic in the bedroom for months and months before he left. She longed for the feeling of a man inside her, a man filling her up. And from the way that poke felt, the Beast Man would do a pretty good job of it.