Faces turned and stared as he tried to push his way through. Angry faces…, faces with questions, faces of children who mocked him, faces of people who believed. They were all just faces, and all of them were looking right through him.
Suddenly he found himself standing in front of the wall, the crowd behind him now, all standing and judging. Large angry eyes were looking at him from a short distance away. The eyes wanted help, but in the same instant recognised the futility and the animal they belonged to snorted and reared its angry head back, lifting its unsuspecting handler off his feet. A large piece of black leather cracked from the handler’s side and the elephant lowered the midget handler back to the ground and continued its performance. Carnival music was playing inside his head. What in the hell was going on. George Street was in darkness and there was no lighting coming from any of the streetlights or stores that he could see, but there were thousands of people lining the roadside. Cell phones competed against flaming torches to light up the middle of the road, and the road was adrift with animals and finery. The Carnival had come to town and all of Dunedin was here to witness it.
Moving along with the slow progression of the colourful mêlée, he tried to scan ahead and behind him. Maria would be here, it made sense she would return to her own, and they would protect her, but all he could make out were costumes and animals. Someone yelled in his ear, and he turned in time to see a stick insect of a man with long wooden legs scurry back into the middle and then over to the other side of the road to hunt for more prey to devour. The lights of cell phones kept waving out from the darkness lighting up the snaking show.
Pushing his way forward, faster than the spectre of a parade was moving; he tried to get a better view of where the head of the colourful snake was, but could not see past the larger floats up ahead. The beat of a thousand drums started to pulse at his back. He turned to see what looked like demented monkeys, writhing around in some sort of interpretive dance, followed closely by a larger than life image of a smiling Michael Wilson. Irish Mick and the dead monkeys, the legacy of Wilsons Circus.
Clowns came out of the smoke and darkness, angry sneering faces, daring the onlookers to laugh. They were surrounding the image of the dead Ringmaster, almost as if he needed protecting in death. Attached to something unseen, Irish Mick was moving in unison with the parades progress, and the Clowns moved with him. Bridger raised his eyes above the almost visible noise of the procession. There were three faces sitting in the darkened sky above the mess of the Circus below. Reece Coster sat on one side of the colourful trailer, Anthony Gonzales on the other, and in the middle, standing like a Queen between her Knaves, was Maria Staverly. He was too far away to see the expression on their faces.
He tried to move back towards the float but felt himself drawn sideways against his will. The flow of the parade had changed. It had reached the Octagon and the snakes head had split in two. He was moving down towards the lower half, where the bars and clubs had spewed patrons onto the streets. The trailer had gone right, dead Irish Mick leading the way. He watched as it moved slowly up towards the top half, where Robbie Burns sat guarding both the Town Hall and St Pauls Cathedral from the darkness. He could see them getting higher as he went lower; the crowds had grown bigger with patrons from the surrounding bars unable to stay indoors without power. The seething masses were moulding in behind the floats, closing any path forward, he could do nothing but go with the flow. Maria was disappearing from view, escaping again, and she was taking Coster with her. He needed to do something now. Both Coster and Staverly were instrumental in the death of Michael Wilson, and Maria was formally a prisoner now and needed recapturing. Looking through the trees on the other side of the central carriageway splitting the Octagon in two he could see the procession had paused, as if it had come up against opposition. It was more likely the crowds had just become too intense for further forward movement. Either way it gave him an opportunity. He could see Maria and her two Knaves still sitting in the air above the dead Irish Mick, still guarded by the ugly Clowns. They were less than one hundred meters from him. Maybe he could just fly up there and arrest them, for a short minute he though he just about could, and then the roar in his ears from the surrounding crowds brought him back to reality.
Pushing through a group of suited but intoxicated middle-aged executives, he tried to make his way towards the top. One old soak out of the group, too pissed to stand anyway, stumbled and fell backwards, landing heavily on his back. Bridger made to step over the writhing mess on the ground, intent only on his destination.
“Watch it you dumb prick,” the angry outburst came from somewhere behind him “what the fuck do you think you are doing, there are kids about.” Bridger did not want to get into any discussions about what would be appropriate for children to see with a bunch of self-righteous drunks and could not actually tell who had spoken, so tried to go around them. The fist came fast, but with drunken accuracy, glancing of his chin causing no harm. “Do you want a go mate? Uh…do you want try your luck… Fucken dickhead…”
Two of the fallen executive’s mates had moved in front of Bridger and were standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking his path but swaying like a couple of chorus girls. “Go on Spencer… Fucken have him mate… do it for Paul…” an expectation of violence written all over their faces “Yeah Spence man, fucken do’ im…” This time Bridger sensed the blow aimed at him from behind. He moved sideways and managed a smile as Spencer planted a great right hook square on the nose of his pissed friend, causing the chorus line to collapse, clearing his path. Another flash lit up the sky, followed by a crack that shook the glass in the surrounding buildings. The rain spat its fury at whatever it could.
Bridger blinked and suddenly he was standing face to face with the dead Irish Mick. His massive head was smiling at him from above the white oversized collar of his chiffon shirt, making him look like a decoration on a particularly nasty cake. He was at the front of the trailer that he had seen Maria on top of, a minute of his life missing. The crowds had thinned and the music had stopped playing in his head. Irish Mick winked at him from the large poster, lips curling at the sides. Rain ran from his made up cheeks as if he was crying and then a lion’s roar erupted from his mouth.
Bridger shook the image from his head. This could not be real. He looked up, but could not see the top of the trailer. Moving backwards to get a better view, he remembered the guards. No one stood in his way though, there were no Clowns… where were the Clowns? He moved to the side of the trailer to look on top but already knew what he would see. Maria and her two Knaves were no longer there. Shit.
He blinked again and found himself standing at the top of the stone steps of the Cathedral, the large wooden doors in front of him, flapping slightly in the wind. He had never actually been inside there before but felt compelled to enter, something unseen drawing him in. Pushing open the door, a gust of wind thrust from behind pushing him towards the inside. He stumbled through and another gust slammed the door behind him, sealing him inside the unfamiliar place of worship and locking the storm outside. It was eerily quiet; he half expected to see God standing in welcome, but all he saw was black empty mass. The sound of the storm was humming quietly around the vaulted wooden ceiling unseen in the darkness high above his head. Lightning scorched the sky outside sending little coloured rays of light through the stained glass lining the walls. He could make out rows of pews lined up facing the front lit up by the shards of light. He knew enough about churches to know the pews would all be facing the altar, the place where all the answers spewed forth every Sunday. He needed answers.
Moving slowly forward he felt the hardness under his feet of the slate tiles, the light flashing outside was enough to show him the way. As he neared the front, a salty odour teased his nostrils.
“Sit…” The voice boomed out of the darkness, bouncing off the walls and coming back at him from every direction. Was this God?
More light flashed in from outside, coming through the very t
op arched windows it was shining directly onto a spiral stone staircase leading to a small pulpit above the altar stone. He thought he saw movement at the top… more a shadow standing above him and looking down, stained glass reflecting colour onto the dark shape. God or Clowns?
Feeling the air pressure change slightly beside him, something pushed at his chest from the darkness, his legs connecting with something hard, bending them in the middle. He did not fight the movement and sat heavily on the wooden pew behind him. Reaching out into the blackness, he could feel nothing. His head started spinning again and he closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He was feeling faint, like stepping out into the fresh air after a heavy session on the Malts.
“Are you ready to listen…? Are you really open to hearing more than your own assumption?” The voice was all-commanding, coming from all around him it was making him confused. He opened his mouth but could not speak, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. “I will tell you… but you have to listen… then you will know that the one you seek is not the one you want, she is the reason.” Changing in pitch, as if there were more speaking as one, he did not know where to look. “Give me a sign. Let me know you will listen.” Putting his hands up in the darkness towards the pulpit, he hoped that they would see it. “Good… now open the Book.”
Bridger found a book sitting on his lap, he had no idea how it had appeared there. He could not see what it was but it felt big and old. The weight of it was pressing on his thighs. He opened it, and the voice came from within.
“The book of Daniel… I’m sure you’re not familiar with it, but it holds dear to us… it is the story of Daniel and the Lion’s Den as told in the Old Testament. The Old Testament is the birthplace of our faith. Daniel had to have faith in order to survive the Lions after being condemned to the Den for praying to his God. If what you believe is right and just then your faith will spare you. You see, the hating masses had tricked the King, Darius the Mede, into making the unjust law against praying and so God stepped in… We don’t need any God… we look after our own.”
A deep rumble came from all corners of the darkened room making the hairs on his neck stand on end. It was more animalistic than anything nature produced. The voice continued, outside of the books constraints now, it was all around him again.
“The book of Daniel is where it all started… our world. Throwing people to the Lions has been a form of Circus from the very beginning. In the beginning, they used it to control the masses, but it has evolved throughout the ages and now humans control the animals, there is no bloodlust. It is only to entertain, but in some ways, that is the same thing. Our Daniel was once one of us, but now he seeks to destroy us.”
Bridger felt like he had no control over the sermon he was being given. His attention drawn to the pulpit, flashes of light were revealing a human shape, but the voice continued to bounce around the stone pillars lining the walls, ducking up into the vaulted ceiling before rushing right back at him.
“Our Daniel is our Judas. He had a responsibility once, even if it had come to him by deceitful means, but the way he bore that responsibility showed his true character to be lacking. Love is not always what it seems, it can give, it can hurt, and it can deceive. His love deceived and bore the fruits of responsibility, but he could not take the thought of that deceit and so she bore the brunt. We could not tolerate that in the end and so he had to go, but he did not go far.
She was so young, which was a blessing in a way, for she does not know. Now she is older she has a legacy, whatever her past, but our Judas seeks to stop her. He came to us with an unspoken ambition and now he seeks to fulfil his desire…, he wants it all.
Bridger heard a flurry of movement behind him as another flash of light came through the windows to his right, hitting the pulpit like a spotlight. The painted smile looking down at him made the marrow inside his bones shudder. As soon as he had seen it, it was gone, swallowed up by the darkness once more. The salty smell of brine returned. There was no more to the sermon; the changing voice had disappeared with the smile. He had no idea what it all meant, but felt too faint to care. His head was heavy and the muscles in his neck were struggling to keep it upright. He felt himself tipping forward, and then felt nothing.
Chapter Twenty Two
The Clown was right on top of him now, inches from his face, he could smell sour breath mixed with a slightly fruity odour. The Clown was trying to say something but he could not make out what it was over the sound of his putrid breath. It was like a steam train, slow and steady, but building in rhythm. He wanted to say something about Maria, ask the Clown where she was, but the weight of the Clown was putting pressure on his chest, making it hard to talk. He could feel sawdust beneath him, and could just about make out bleachers surrounding them. Voices began to call his name from the darkness. Was he their performance, was he thrown into the ring to satisfy a bloodlust? He started to feel a little panicked
“Mike…? Mike, are you okay?” The voice sounded familiar, but he did not know why. The Clown kept on pushing at his chest. A spotlight cast its hot glow from somewhere above and the Clown exhaled deeply, a disturbing and mournful sigh, before vanishing, leaving only the light in his eyes. “Mike…Wake up… its Grant.”
Bridger opened his eyes; someone was holding a torch in his face. “Mike…? What happened, you’ve been gone over an hour. How did you end up here?” Grants voice was questioning but concerned. A few things started coming back to him, costumes, and music, and people, lots of people.
“The parade, Grant, the bloody Clown parade, the one from the posters, Maria, Reece Coster, and Anthony Gonzales, were all there. They were on top of Irish Mick, protected by the Clowns. I followed them up here but they had gone…” Bridger looked around the room, some of the lights had come back on along the walls, and a few of the emergency exit lights were glowing in the darkness. There were no Clowns.
“What parade Mike? With the weather out there, they canned it. There was no parade tonight.”
“I saw it with my own eyes Grant, it was happening. The trailer they were on is parked right out the front. There were people everywhere…” Bridger saw the confusion in Grants eyes as he spoke and he began to doubt himself. He felt like he had just surfaced from a blackout after a heavy drinking session to find out he was not where he thought he was. The difference was he remembered his actions. “Never mind…, how did you find me?”
“The power has been out all over the City. People have been standing on the streets outside, turned out by managers scared of the fire risk while the electricity was out... Someone called in an assault outside one of the Bars on the lower Octagon, They said a middle-aged male had pushed one of their friends over and then scarpered up into the Cathedral calling out the name Maria. Everyone else is flat out dealing with weather related jobs and could not deal with it. I was down in the station gym as it was too wet for a proper ride, so I offered to help, but I didn’t expect to find you here Mike. Do you know anything about that assault?”
Bridger cut him off, the last thing he needed was another assault to answer for, and Keith Joyce would no doubt revel in his continued indiscretions. “Is Maria still missing?”
“It seems that way; we don’t have any spare staff to coordinate a proper search. I rang Brian and he was going to come in and pick Becky up on the way. Jo is still at work, but I’m not sure if she is in a very good state of mind.”
“Right… let’s get back to work then.” Bridger started walking, a little unsteadily, towards the door, not sure exactly what had just happened. The storm was still battling against the buildings in the octagon as he stood at the top of the stone stairs. Trees were tearing at each other, the debris of a busy city was tumbling across the pavement, wet intoxicated revellers were filtering back into the now lit up bars, but there were no Clowns, and no parade…
Brain and Becky were in the office as Bridger walked in with Grant close behind him. He could see that they were both very interested with whate
ver was on the computer screen in front of them. Kate Atkinson was standing off to one side talking on her phone.
“Where is Jo?” Bridger queried.
Brian looked back at Bridger and took in the wet shirt stuck to his body like plastic wrap. “Where have you been?” There was no judgement in his voice, only interest. “We’ve been trying to call you on your phone but you were not answering.” Bridger stayed silent and Brian took the hint not to ask further. “How did your interview with Keith Joyce go?” again Bridger did not answer, his head was still somewhere else and he was not sure if he actually knew the answers to either question.
Kate Atkinson put her phone away in her pocket. “Hi Mike. Looks like I’ve come along at the right moment. The parade I was supposed to report on was cancelled tonight so I called in here, just as the lights went out and everything started to kick off. I here you even lost Maria, is that right?”
“It’s all go tonight Kate” was all Bridger could manage, he needed to get back on top of things and the last little while had freaked him out slightly. He was positive he had seen the parade happening, along with thousands of other people, but now two people had told him otherwise. The drunken executives were real, they had actually made a complaint and if they were real then the Clowns at the Cathedral were as well, he was sure of that, but what did that mean? He was not actually sure they had Maria or the other two. He decided to keep quiet about what had happened. “Where are we at Brian?” Bridger looked at the screen over Brian’s shoulder. He could see the P.A.A.I.N website sitting idle on the screen.
“Maria’s still missing Mike, but John called and said he had found something interesting on the website. We were just going to have a look before you came in. Brian moved the cursor over to a link on the bottom of the page and clicked on it. Another window popped up smaller than the first. It looked like it had some sort of scanned document on it.
Send in the Clowns, a Detective Mike Bridger novel Page 16
