by George Right
"I don't know. It's not our problem," they finally went through the gate and it seemed to Mike that the air became fresher, which was, of course, total nonsense. "Listen, enough of this idiotic 'cave' for me. I don't want either to speak or think about it anymore. Let's not ruin the rest of our evening."
Jane, it seemed, obeyed and didn't return to the subject again, but during the evening Mike noticed more than once that the girl's thoughts wandered away somewhere. As for himself, the damned "cave" left him a nasty emotional aftertaste which was much harder to get rid of than the sourness in his mouth. He was angry both with himself and with Jane–who had dragged him to this devil's attraction and now was falling into thoughtfulness when it was time just to carelessly relax. As a result, he brought her home even before the10 p.m. curfew set by her strict mother.
They sat in his car in front of Jane's house. The girl didn't hurry to say goodbye, but kept silent. The pause lingered.
"Listen," Mike suddenly said, "you didn't answer my question."
"Which one?"
"You aren't going to go back to that damned 'cave?'"
"Why do you think I am? " Jane asked
"You said yourself–we supposedly didn't see everything there. Though as for me, we saw more than enough. And also you were annoyed when I threw out your ticket."
"Well, and if I did want to get a better view of everything there, so what? The first time around, all that was so unexpected... but now, knowing what to look at, where there should be seams or mirrors as you said..."
"Don't even think about it!"
"Why? You said yourself–none of that can be real?"
"Of course it can't."
"So why not go back?"
"And why do it? Why do you need it?"
"Just curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat..." Mike grumbled.
"But I am not Cat, I am Jane," the girl tried to laugh the matter off. "Well, really. Admit, you also suspect something screwy there?"
"I don't suspect anything! And if I did, I would tell the police, instead of trying to investigate it myself."
"So there is something to investigate?"
"No! That is, nothing in the criminal sense. But magicians don't like it when people try to learn their secrets. There's a reason it's forbidden to photograph and so on there... And," Mike smiled, "I don't want to think that my girlfriend is a pervert who likes such nasty things."
"Afffraid? " hissed Jane in an eerie voice; however, though she also tried to joke, she didn't sound careless. "All right, all right, calm down. I won't go there to sniff anything out. It's just a carnival ride with actors and dummies. Are you satisfied?"
Mike muttered something in reply. To tell the truth, he wasn't completely satisfied with her words.
They spent Sunday together, too, and this time everything went much better, including the weather. They went to a lake and, though the water was still too cold to bathe, they could luxuriate in sunshine ashore all day long. The "cave" and the day before, as if by a silent arrangement, were not mentioned again.
During the weekdays of the next week they didn't meet–only exchanged few short evening phone calls. In the cafe where Jane had a summer job, one of the waitresses fell ill and the other girls had to split her shifts among themselves; Jane wasn't against earning some extra money, but came home late and completely exhausted. Mike, in turn, spent days in his father's auto repair shop where a 1967 Thunderbird had been brought; the car was in very poor condition–the last owner got it almost at a junkyard and the young man was busy with restoring it to life, as enthusiastic as when he assembled glue-together models in his childhood. He didn't think about the carnival any more and thought about his girlfriend much less than she would have liked. Therefore, when late Friday night his phone rang and on its screen the familiar number appeared, Mike's first thought was "Oh shit, we didn't agree on any weekend plans!" Jane always called either from home or from her work phone–she had no cellphone.
But it was not Jane but her mother.
"Mike? Is my daughter with you?"
"N-no, Mrs. Trenton."
"Are you sure? Perhaps she doesn't want me to know that she is with you so late? Tell me the truth, Mike, I'm very worried. It's almost midnight already..."
"No, I really don't know where she is. The last time we talked was Wednesday and she said nothing about Friday plans... Maybe she's still at the cafe? The night shift? You know, they currently..."
"No, I phoned there already. Clare was back to work again today, so Jane had no additional hours anymore. She finished work at six o'clock."
"And she told nobody where she was going?"
"No, she didn't. Mike, have you two quarreled?"
"Quarreled? Not at all. Why did you think so, Mrs. Trenton?"
"Jane was, well, strange this week. I thought that's because she was tired at work... but now it seems to me she was thinking about something that disturbed her. Do you know what it could be? " The last sentence seemed accusatory to Mike.
"No..." he answered, feeling cold spread in his belly. Mrs. Trenton caught at once the uncertainty in his voice.
"Are you sure, Mike? " she asked again, this time in a threatening tone.
"If you suspect that she is pregnant or something like that, my answer is 'no'. At least, not by me," he answered more harshly than he wanted, and right then reflected: what if Jane indeed had someone else? But instead of natural (while unsupported by any facts) jealous rage, he suddenly felt that it wouldn't be the worst option. But, alas–alas!–the matter was not at all a mythical rival. Because actually...
No. It cannot be. It is simply a silly carnival ride, that's all. Not to mention that he threw out her ticket... but why couldn't she have spent ten dollars for a new one?
"Carnival", Mike said, surprised himself by the hoarse sound of his voice.
"What?" Mrs. Trenton, who was expatiating how much she was worrying because Jane never dared to disappear this way, without having warned her mother, and actually there was nobody with whom... –interrupted herself in the middle of a sentence. "What did you say? What carnival?"
"Last Saturday we visited the traveling carnival. There is an attraction there, 'Cave of Horror...' Didn't Jane tell you anything about it?"
"No... and where does it concern...?"
"It seems to me that she went there again. I told her not to do it, but..."
"Went to get some rides? And has not returned till now? When does this carnival close?"
"I don't know. It seems to me that it's not just an attraction. I think you should call the police."
"You don't know those policemen! They won't move a finger until several days pass! Phooey–a girl doesn't come home at night, big deal! They don't realize that Jane never before... What do you mean by 'not just an attraction?'" Mrs. Trenton interrupted herself again. "Is there anything... dangerous? Illegal?"
"Hmm..." Mike was confused, having thought how his story would sound to police officers. Indeed, like a child, he had been frightened by some actors and dummies and imagined devil knows what without any proof... pure nonsense!
But Jane had really disappeared!
"Wait for me," he told the scared woman. "I'll come in a few minutes and we'll go together to the police."
Since Mrs. Trenton's divorce nine years ago, her opinion of men hadn't undergone any noticeable improvement. And though she reconciled, as with an inevitable evil, with the fact that her daughter had a boyfriend, Mike in her company always felt himself under suspicion, like a recidivist thief who looks for a bank security guard job. But now she was subdued by his resolute tone and look and met him as a savior who definitely knew what to do in order to find her daughter safe and sound in the shortest time.
However, the resolute spirit of the young man apparently made no impression on Sgt. Hopkins. The sergeant looked tired and unfriendly, as though all his years of serving law and order weighed as a heavy burden on his shoulders this evening. Having listened at first to Mrs. Tre
nton who, naturally, couldn't report anything certain, he asked her to wait behind the door and invited Mike to his desk.
"You should hear yourself," Hopkins muttered after listening to the story till the end. “Read too many comics? Are you saying some gang abducts and kills people in a carnival, right before the very eyes of hundreds of visitors?"
"First, not of hundreds," the young man objected. "I've said, most people don't even guess this building is there. And second, that's just the point–nobody would ever think that such things can really happen!"
"What you described indeed can't be real. You know what the term 'fatal injuries' means?"
"Of course. What we saw is certainly a fake. But Jane thought that we didn't see everything. Cars can go by different routes. There may be some special rooms... for special clients... you know, the perverts for whom movies with real murders and rapes are made. There could be something like that! And while we're wasting time here talking..."
"I've heard only your fantasies so far. This carnival has all its proper licenses. All their rides have the corresponding certificates of safety..."
"It is possible to kill and torture even with quite safe objects! Not to mention that documents may mean one thing, while actually something else..."
"Who told you that anyone was killed or tortured there?"
"But Jane went there and disappeared!"
"For now she is only late in returning home. Formally I don't have sufficient grounds to declare her missing. Informally... yes, when a girl for the first time in her life doesn't come home on time, and not only her mother and female friends, but also her boyfriend knows nothing about it–most often it does mean something. And, alas, frequently it means something bad. But even if so–there are no grounds to conclude that it's connected with the carnival. You said yourself that she promised not to go there again?"
"Yes, but..."
"But what? It's eighteen minutes past midnight now. The carnival is already closed. Give me the slightest reason to enter and search private property without a warrant."
"The guy," Mike said. "With long black hair. About twenty five years old. Looked a bit like an Indian. Is he registered as missing? We saw him ride into the 'cave,' but what returned was only an empty car splashed by something red."
"No, he's not", Hopkins immediately answered.
"Are you sure? You didn't even check any records."
"Mike, don't teach me to do my work. Our town isn't very big. Any disappearance here is a rare event."
"So what–during the time when the carnival is here, nobody disappeared in the town? Except for Jane."
"I am not obliged to discuss confidential information with you ."
"So someone is missing! Sergeant, I'm just trying to help!"
Hopkins skeptically looked at Mike for some seconds. Then unwillingly muttered:
"Don't even think of repeating this. If the press kicks up dust, it can spoil the case. Yes, we are investigating one disappearance, but it doesn't fit your description. It's a child."
"A boy of eleven?"
"How did you know?"
"Is his name Cyril Parker?"
"No."
"Is he black?"
"No, white. So you guessed right only the age."
"When did he disappear?"
"No more, that's enough! I told you more than I should as it is. Go home and go to bed. Maybe your girlfriend will show up in the morning. She could even be at home right now."
"And if she isn't?!"
"Then in the morning I'll visit the carnival as soon as it opens and I'll check out what this 'cave' of yours looks like, though I'm absolutely sure that it's a false trail. Are you happy?"
Mike brought the weeping Mrs. Trenton home (her house, of course, was still dark and empty), but didn't intend at all to go to bed himself. He drove back home only to take the auto repair shop keys. In the shop he also didn't stay long and left it with tin snips and impressive-looking sledge hammer. His father had a pistol, but, alas, it was in the locked safe. Having told himself once again that this idiotic heroism was either nonsense if his suspicions were foolish or suicide if they were justified, Mike threw the tools on the right seat and drove to the suburb, to the infamous grounds where the carnival was now settled.
Having exited from the highway, he parked the car on the empty lot in front of the closed gate. The light of a lonely lamp which remained behind still reached here, but the carnival was sunk in the darkness of a moonless night; all multicolored illumination which brightly shone here in the evening was off, and behind the chain link fence, the silhouettes of motionless attractions only vaguely loomed. Symbolizing careless fun in the afternoon, now they caused an uncomfortable feeling of something hostile and ominous. All these metal bars and arms of swings and whirligigs resembled either huge spider legs or monsters' tentacles spread waiting for a victim.
Mike stood for some time in front of the gate, allowing his eyes to get used to darkness. He had a small flashlight in the pocket of his jeans jacket, but he wasn't going to turn it on without an urgency in order not to betray himself. From the darkness behind the gate not a single sound reached; the carnival seemed completely died out. Did the workers live in their trailers or pay for rooms in a local motel? Mike remembered that he saw standing trailers near the "cave"...
He didn't try to cleave through the locked entrance. If there was any alarm or surveillance system, it was for certain exactly here. On the other hand, by cutting the metal fence from the side of the "cave" he would risk drawing attention by noise; moreover, it would be hard to reach the fence in that place, as everything was overgrown with bushes there both inside and outside... so the best option was to break into the carnival somewhere in the middle of the fence. With this thought, carrying the tin snips in one hand and the hammer in another, he went along the fence, trying to step through dry grass as quietly as possible.
Having turned a corner, he started moving away from the road. After passing several dozen yards he stopped. No light reached here, and Mike suddenly felt himself shivering. It would be the simplest to write it off to a cool night, but Mike didn't try to lie to himself–he understood that he was scared... actually, damned scared to meddle here, especially alone and with so imperfect weapons. But if Jane was indeed there and those police goofs weren't going to get off their asses...
He only vaguely imagined what to do when he reached the bloody “cave.” The best would be to find evidence for the police and to call for help... But what if he gets inside and finds out that the dummies are really just dummies? What then? Will it prove that all his suspicions are nonsense or will it mean only that what he is looking for is hidden too well?
He put the sledge hammer on the ground, took the snips handles with both hands and started to cut through the steel fence. The snips clicked, sounding like a shot in the night silence.
And almost immediately a bright light flashed and a grating voice ordered: "Don't move!"
Mike stiffened with a furiously beating heart; only in the next moment he realized that the light beam came not from within the fence but from the right.
"Drop that thing and hold your hands so that I can see them. Now slowly turn to me."
The flashlight now shone directly in the young man's face, blinding him, but Mike still distinguished a silhouette of a man in the uniform and a police peak-cap. However, anyone can put on a uniform...
"Sergeant was right," a voice stated with satisfaction from the darkness. "He was sure that you would imagine yourself Rambo and would go play hero. All right, boy, you are under arrest for attempted trespassing. You have the right to remain silent..."
"Not me! " Mike exclaimed, not even trying to constrain irritation. "Arrest them!"
"Okay, okay", the officer said in a conciliatory tone, unfastening handcuffs from his belt. "I hope, you have enough brains not to resist? And, if you have a gun, you'd better say so right now."
"No gun," Mike muttered. "And are handcuffs necessary? I'll go with
you anyway."
"Of course you will. Put your hands here."
Twenty minutes later the young man sat again in front of Hopkins. The handcuffs, at last, were removed .
"Well, what should I do with you? " the sergeant sighed. "Initiate legal proceedings? Or hope that Mr. Dobbins won't find out anything?"
"Dobbins? " this name seemed vaguely familiar to Mike.
"Sure. Robin Dobbins, the owner of the carnival."
"Rob Dobbins! Of course!" Mike exclaimed, shaken. "Sergeant, don't you remember?! The boy who was mutilated by rats in the slaughterhouse cellar! In the very same place! His name was Bob Robins! And don't tell me that's an urban legend!"
"No, it's not," Hopkins slowly said. "I remember that nasty story. So what?"
"What do you mean by 'so what?' Don't you understand? His friends left him there helpless while rats were eating him alive... no wonder, if it blew his mind! And now he's back to take revenge on our town!"
"I repeat–you've watched too many stupid horror films," the sergeant shook his head. "First, his name is Dobbins, not Robins..."
"He slightly changed it, that's all. Have you ever seen him? Or have any of your people?"
"No, we didn't need to. But..."
"I think nobody here saw him!" Mike triumphantly exclaimed. "He is too disfigured to show himself, and besides he can't walk. All contact with the town authorities go through his deputy..."
"And this all, of course, again is not supported by anything except your rampant imagination. All right, boy. You'll sit in the cell until morning and that's for your own good. I understand that you're off your nut because of your girl. But you should chill out if you don't want to spend serious time in jail."
When the heavy cell door slammed behind Mike, he unwillingly stretched himself on a narrow jail bed. He didn't think that he would manage to fall asleep, but the young healthy organism soon prevailed over all ruefulness.
When he was awakened, however, it was still dark in the cell; dawn was just breaking. At first Mike stared with muddy sleepy eyes at Hopkins who stood over him, then jumped up from the bed:
"Has she been found?"
