by Lee Goldberg
“You might want to be a little easier on the customers,” Matt said. “Let ’em win now and then.”
Jerry tossed the bear’s head aside. “Hell, he could’ve won. He had the easy rings.”
“It’s been a funny night,” Ken said as rain began to spatter down on them. “Not ha-ha funny, either.”
Matt knew what he meant. The crowd was much smaller now, and everybody was leaving the carnival. Thunder rolled across the sky like bowling balls.
“Could be a bad storm,” Ken said.
Matt was about to comment when he heard yelling. He turned and saw eight or ten men running toward them through the crowd, their arms flailing, their mouths stretched, and their eyes wide with panic.
“The snakes!” someone screamed. “They’re killing her!” “Snakes. Why’d it have to be snakes?” Ken asked nobody in particular.
Matt was already running toward the sideshow tents.
CHAPTER SIX
The Burmese rock python isn’t exactly a cuddly beast, but it’s popular with snake fanciers who want a pet that’s both easy to care for and often shocking to casual visitors, as big snakes sometimes are. It’s also attractive in its own way, with brown-and-black patterns on its skin. Even people who don’t like the snakes at all are known to buy footwear and other leather goods made from the skin of a python.
While Burmese rock pythons are not native to the United States, they’re quite adaptable serpents, as anyone familiar with the Florida Everglades knows. The snakes have become a nuisance there because some Floridians who bought them for pets became uncomfortable with them when they started to grow, as pythons tend to do. Their uncomfortable owners released them into the steamy Florida swampland, where they thrived. They grew to monstrous proportions and reproduced with unseemly abandon. As a result, they’ve become a danger to wildlife of all kinds, including alligators, formerly the rulers of the swamps and now just snake fodder. The pythons have even inspired bad made-for-television movies starring nearly forgotten pop stars.
Aside from these admittedly unpleasant drawbacks, Burmese rock pythons are nevertheless favorites of carnival sideshow snake handlers, most of whom dote on their serpent companions and treat them as valued thespic partners.
After all, while not exactly affectionate, the pythons generally behave well onstage, and they return human affection as best they can in their reptilian way, which is to say they hardly ever kill their owners as long as they’re treated with kindness and respect.
Which was how Serena of the Serpents (real name, Louise Parker) had always treated Clem and Clementine (their real names), the two Burmese rock pythons that performed with her. It wasn’t much of a performance, to tell the truth. Mostly, Serena moved lazily in time to some snaky music played over a crackly speaker system, striking an occasional semi-erotic pose while Clem and Clementine slithered around her scantily clad body.
Serena had been doing the act for six years, and Clem and Clementine had been with her the entire time. They often seemed as bored by the act as Serena was, wanting nothing more than to be able to quit slithering and get back to their cages, where they’d occasionally get a tasty snack of a nice juicy rat—or two rats, actually, one for each of them, since Clem and Clementine didn’t really grasp the concept of sharing.
They could grasp the rats, though, crushing them before ingesting and digesting them. The snakes didn’t need to eat often, as long as the rats were of generous size, and certainly they’d never entertained the idea of crushing Serena and ingesting her, as far as anyone knew.
Until tonight. The thunder and lightning outside didn’t bother the snakes, but Serena knew the carnival would be shutting down soon and she was about to end the act. Her audience consisted of exactly ten people, all of them men who were there more for Serena’s scantily clad body than for the snakes, if the truth be known, although not one of them gave any evidence of wishing the act to go on any longer.
So the tall, unnaturally blonde Serena gave one last little bump, preliminary to a final halfhearted grind. As she did, the snakes reacted as if galvanized, constricting with amazing suddenness. Clem was, at that time, wrapped partially around Serena’s bare white midriff, while Clementine was entwined around her left leg. The sudden reaction of the snakes caught Serena off guard, and she fell to the stage.
The fall didn’t disturb the snakes in the least. Clem continued to crush her midsection, while Clementine unwound herself from the leg, coiled so that her mouth was near Serena’s head, and opened her mouth alarmingly wide.
Serena screamed and the audience leapt to its feet, not to cheer and certainly not to make any attempt to rescue her. At first they watched in horror, and then all of them turned at almost the same instant, which happened to be the instant Clementine opened her mouth. The audience ran from the tent in panic. At the sight of them in full flight, other people panicked too, even if they weren’t sure why, but Matt managed to make his way through them without getting knocked down and trampled.
He knew where the trouble was because Clem and Clementine were the only snakes in the carnival. Serena hadn’t had any trouble with them since Matt had arrived, but so many unsettling things had been happening that Matt figured anything was possible.
Rain washed over the garish paintings outside Serena’s tent, and the snakes in the pictures almost seemed to move under the sliding water.
When Matt entered the tent, he was stunned to see that the pythons had turned on Serena, attacking her savagely. One of them was even trying to get the top of her head in its mouth.
“God a’mighty,” Ken said.
Matt didn’t think God entered into it.
Thunder crashed overhead and rain pounded the canvas tent roof.
“What’re we gonna do?” Ken asked. He had to speak up to be heard over the sound of the pouring rain.
“See if you can pull them off,” Matt told him. “I’ll be right back.”
Ken didn’t move, but Matt couldn’t afford to stick around any longer. He left the tent and made a run for the trailer that he shared with Ken. He was soaked when he reached the trailer. He flung open the door, went dripping to his bed, and dragged the duffel bag from beneath it. He unzipped the bag and took hold of the handle of the ax.
The smooth wood felt natural in his grip. It almost tingled, as if the handle and his hand had been formed for each other in some cosmic scheme.
Matt didn’t stop to contemplate the cosmic scheme of things. He went back out with the ax and sloshed toward Serena’s tent.
Ken was still inside, not having moved, and no one else had come to help.
“Where are the other guys?” Matt asked.
“Damn if I know,” Ken said. He sounded dazed. “Crowd control?”
Matt rushed to the stage. Serena’s mouth gaped open in a soundless scream. Matt didn’t know if she was alive or dead.
He also didn’t know which snake to attack first, the one crushing Serena’s midsection or the one trying to inhale her head. He decided on the crusher.
The snake seemed as thick as some of the trees that Matt had once chopped down with his ax, and its skin seemed to glisten in the dimly lit tent. Matt aimed for the space in back of the head. It was near Serena’s body, but not so near that Matt thought he might miss and hurt her.
The ax came down and sliced through the snake cleanly, easily, dividing the head from the body. Blood sprayed. The head hit the floor with a dull thunk. The coils around Serena’s body didn’t loosen, however. If anything, they seemed to constrict a bit more.
Matt was about to drop the ax and try to release Serena when someone appeared beside him. He thought at first it was Ken, but a second glance told him that it wasn’t.
It was Madame Zora. She was as wet from the rain as Matt, though she didn’t have blood on her as he did.
“Get the other one,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do here.”
Matt didn’t question her sudden appearance. He moved behind Serena, one foot slipping in the
blood of the first snake. The second one was going to be more of a problem, considering that it now had a good bit of Serena’s head in its mouth.
It didn’t really matter, though. Separate the head from the body and the serpent died. Matt raised the ax and struck.
This time the reaction was different. The head remained attached to Serena’s head, but the body flopped and thudded wildly about the stage, spraying blood everywhere—on Matt, on the stage, on the sides of the tent. It jerked and floundered off the stage and landed on the dirt in front of the stage. The flow of blood stopped, and it lay there twitching.
Matt ignored it and dropped the ax. He knelt down and got one hand on the top of the snake’s distended mouth and another on the bottom. He exerted all his strength as he tried to pry apart the powerful jaws.
As he struggled with the snake’s head, he watched Madame Zora try to get the other snake uncoiled. She was having more luck than Matt was, and the coils had definitely loosened.
Matt’s knees slipped on the bloody stage. He skidded backward, but he kept his grip on the snake’s jaws and continued to keep the pressure on them. He felt them relax somewhat and strained with all he had. Something in the jaws cracked, and the snake’s head came away so swiftly that Matt fell forward. As he did so, he threw the head away from him. It landed on a chair in the first row, bounced, and hit the dirt.
Madame Zora finished uncoiling the other snake and started to give Serena CPR. Matt got back to his knees and watched. It didn’t take long. Serena coughed and started to breathe. Madame Zora helped her sit up, and just as she did, Cap’n Bob and the other two security men, Fred and Lonnie, came into the tent. Rainwater dripped from their drenched clothes. They stopped beside Ken, who still stood exactly where he’d stopped when he’d come in earlier.
“Holy shit,” Fred said.
“You can say that again,” Lonnie told him.
“Holy shit,” Fred said.
Rain drummed on the tent and wind whipped the sides. The men had to yell over the tumult.
“Cut out the goddamned comedy,” Cap’n Bob said. His wet uniform stuck to him now in a way that was hardly flattering. “What the hell happened here?” he asked.
“Snakes,” Ken said. “Why’d it have to be snakes?”
Cap’n Bob ignored him. “Tell me what happened, Axton.”
Matt stood up and wiped his bloody hands on his soaked pants. “I don’t know. Ken and I came in, and the snakes were trying to kill Serena.”
“What about you, Madame Zora?”
Madame Zora sat by Serena, her arm around her shoulders. “I heard the shouting and came to see if I could help.”
“Serena?”
Serena’s voice was strained. Matt could hardly hear her above the sounds of the wind and the rain. “Clem and Clementine went crazy. That’s all I know. Now they’re dead.” She started to cry.
“You can get some new snakes,” the cap’n said. “I’ll even pay for them.”
“It won’t be the same,” Serena said between sobs.
Matt picked up his ax and got off the stage. He sat in a chair and slumped forward. Something was happening here, and not just in this tent. The attempted rape, the berserk man at the ringtoss booth, the tent stake that had appeared and disappeared, and now this. Could it be Mr. Dark at work? Matt didn’t see how. The signs weren’t there.
Mr. Dark always had a goal, and Matt couldn’t see what it could be in this case.
“Did anybody call the cops?” Cap’n Bob asked.
“None of us did,” Lonnie said. “I don’t know about the rubes.”
“They were too busy running,” Fred said. “Every one of them was hoping somebody else would make the call because all they wanted to do was get off the grounds before those snakes got after them.” He took a look at the remains of Clem and Clementine. “Not that there’s any danger of that.”
“So no cops?” Cap’n Bob said.
Fred shook his head. “I don’t think so. People will just be happy they got in their cars or to their homes before the rain.”
The cap’n seemed satisfied. “Good. Let’s get this mess cleaned up.”
Matt thought he’d done his share already, so he got up to go back to the trailer to do his own cleaning up. Nobody tried to stop him.
Madame Zora caught up with him at the entrance to the tent. Like Matt, she was covered in blood.
“You and I need to have a talk,” she said when she reached his side.
She didn’t sound happy about it, and Matt turned his head to look at her.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I know who you are.”
The words were like a blow to the heart. Matt glanced toward the others, but none of them appeared to have heard her.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
Gloria looked at his ax. “Axton. Pretty funny. But it’s really Cahill.”
“How do you know?”
“Never mind how. I just do. There’s more. I know you can see things others can’t.”
Matt started to sweat. “Tell me.”
“Not now. Come to my trailer when you get cleaned up. We can talk there.”
Matt thought it over and decided he didn’t really think he had much of a choice.
“Half an hour,” he said. “Maybe the rain will have stopped by then.”
Gloria nodded. “I’ll be waiting.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The rain was still coming down, but lightly now. It was more like a fine mist that hung in the air. The thunder was a dim sound in the distance, and the occasional lightning flash was too far away to give any light to the carnival grounds. Matt wiped the mud that had accumulated on his shoes on the side of the steps leading to the door of Madame Zora’s trailer. Then he knocked.
“Just a second,” Madame Zora said from inside, and then Matt heard the unlocking of the door.
“Come on in,” Madame Zora said, and Matt entered the trailer. It was much nicer than the one he shared with Ken, but then, the fortune-teller had been with the carnival for a long time and had earned enough to have something a little upscale. Not that it was fancy. It was just bigger, cleaner, and better furnished than most of the others. There were even a couple of comfortable chairs in the small living area, along with a forty-two-inch flatscreen TV and a bookcase overflowing with paperbacks. The place smelled of apples and whiskey. Not a bad combination.
“You watch a lot of TV?” Matt said, just to get the conversation started.
“Not to speak of, but I have a satellite dish, and I can pick up just about anything I care to watch.” She paused.
“Not that there’s much to watch. You know the old joke. Five hundred channels and nothing worth looking at.”
Matt nodded. He sat in one of the chairs and Madame Zora sat in the other. She had changed from her faux gypsy outfit into jeans and a men’s blue work shirt. Her dark hair, still wet from her shower, hung down to her shoulders. Her eyes were as dark as her hair.
“You want something to drink?” she asked Matt.
“What do you have?” Matt asked, though he thought he knew the answer.
“Ezra Brooks.”
He’d expected something a little more refined, but that was close enough.
“Not exactly sippin’ whiskey,” Matt said.
“It gets the job done.”
“Yeah. Sure, I’d like a drink.”
The little kitchen was only a couple of steps away. Madame Zora poured a stiff drink in one glass and a smaller one in another. She handed the stiff one to Matt.
“You’re not a drinker?” he said.
“I’ve had a couple already.” Gloria raised her glass. “To better days.”
“Better days,” Matt said, and took a drink. The raw whiskey burned its way down to his stomach, where there was a small explosion. Warmth spread over him like a thin blanket.
“Look,” he said after a couple of seconds, “I don’t know what your real name is, but I’m pretty
sure it’s not Madame Zora.”
“Gloria,” she said.
“It almost rhymes.”
“That wasn’t the intention. I think I saw it in a book somewhere.”
Matt took another drink and found that the whiskey was almost gone. It hadn’t affected him other than the first rush of warmth. “You mentioned that you knew my real name.”
“Matthew Cahill,” Gloria said. “And you’re dead.”
Matt held up a hand to stop her. “All right, fine. You know who I am. I don’t want to hear all that. You could get it from Google.”
“I don’t think Google could tell me about the things you see, the rot in people’s souls.”
Matt felt a chill.
“How did you know that?”
Gloria took a sip of her drink. “I just knew. I don’t know what’s happened to me. It’s strange. It’s scary. I could never really tell fortunes before, but now, all of a sudden, I…know things.”
That pretty much confirmed the rumors Matt had heard about her. The talk among the carnies was that she’d been telling some real fortunes for a good while now. It had them spooked a little. Matt didn’t doubt it was true. He’d experienced too much to question the possibility.
Under the current circumstances, her newly acquired ability just added to the weirdness of the other things that had happened that night. What he needed to know was whether whatever had suddenly given her the power to see the future was connected with Mr. Dark. And if it wasn’t, was there anything she could tell him about Mr. Dark or about his own future?
Matt looked at Gloria again. She was probably in her early thirties, but her skin was smooth and clear. She wore no makeup now, and she really didn’t need it. She usually hid herself beneath the gypsy garb of robes and scarves but had no reason to hide that Matt could see. She was an attractive woman with no sign of the corruption that would have told him she was somehow associated with Mr. Dark.
Matt knocked back the rest of his drink and asked Gloria what else she knew about him.
