by Sarah Noffke
Finley pressed his mouth once more into Zuma’s before breaking away. “You got it, bud,” he said to Jack.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Fanny had carved a path in the overgrown field in the back lot. For over an hour she’d paced ten feet, promptly spun around where the grass was too thick, and then trudged back the other way ten steps. Again and again. Over and over for a solid sixty minutes. She hadn’t started a new exercise regimen, although that had been on her list of goals. She was pacing now for the sole purpose to expend the nervous energy in her chest. The caregiver’s charges were again being supervised by Sunshine. Fanny hadn’t asked for this much coverage in years, but right then she just couldn’t focus on the kids. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Consumed with a worry she never thought she’d have to deal with ever again.
What plagued the woman wasn’t the information that only she knew and was responsible for. That was quite the burden, but it was an easy one to bear in comparison to her other worries. Yes, she would have liked to have someone whom she could share the information with and receive counsel from, but the time for that was too late. Years ago maybe she could have come clean, but now it was too late, for too many reasons.
What plagued Fanny more than the information was the timing. It had been all wrong. She’d been so close to unveiling it to Dave. She was literally going to do it the very day she had learned of his death. She’d been waiting. Waiting until she’d made enough observations. When Fanny had started to piece together the information she now knew to be true, it was unfathomable to her. Only God could have orchestrated something so amazing and unbelievable and slightly cruel. So Fanny knew she had to confirm her suspicions before telling Dave. She waited until she had time to conduct a few tests. And when she’d completed those, it happened to be one day too late. Maybe it was for the best. The news she had to tell might have broken Dave. That’s the other reason she’d hesitated. Fanny knew the ringmaster was strong, but could he really handle this new turn of events? A retelling of his history?
And then she also worried for the other person this news would affect. Fanny was in the position to divulge news that could heal and also shatter lives. It was too much of a burden for the healer, but she knew that she must shoulder it. She, in truth, was the holder of this secret because she was responsible for it. Too many years ago she’d made decisions that led to this and she had to accept the responsibility for her actions. But now Fanny wouldn’t be divulging it to Dave. Now she’d have to do something that was so unlike her: she’d have to play a very dangerous game using this prized knowledge. Fanny was used to being loving and honest and giving, and now she’d have to be strategic if she was going to save Vagabond Circus. She would divulge the secret but not all of it at once. She’d tell the history in a way people would believe and if she did it right then she’d fix the horrible problem that was hovering over Vagabond Circus.
Her heart ached, though, for the one person whom she’d have to use to accomplish this. In one way he’d learn that he wasn’t born from a test tube and she thought that would bring him some comfort. But then Fanny would have to follow that up by telling Finley who his real parents were.
Chapter Seventy-Four
“Are you comfortable back there?” Finley asked, his eyes on the rearview mirror which was aimed at Jack.
“It’s like the Four Seasons hotel back here,” Jack said, fluffing up one of the many pillows Zuma had packed for him and sticking it behind his head. “Just don’t hit any bumps.”
“No guarantees about that, but I’ll let you know when they’re coming up. Then you can make the car levitate above them,” Finley said and spied Jack shake his head.
“Firstly, intense pain meds prevent my gift from working. Apparently they take away my ability to be real lucid,” Jack said, a bit disgruntled.
“So, I gather you’ve tried?”
“That’s how I thought I could get myself into the back of the car without your help,” Jack said and shrugged. “But that’s fine, the meds aren’t a permanent part of my routine.”
“Yeah, it’s only day four,” Finley said, sympathy in his voice.
“And secondly, I can’t levitate anyone but myself,” Jack said.
“What if I told you that there’s a possibility that you could,” Finley said. He caught the sudden attentive look Jack gave him. “I was able to teleport Zuma and myself into Knight’s compound. That’s how we bypassed the traps.”
“What? I would have thought that was impossible,” Jack said, his eyes going wide as the idea sunk in.
“You’d think so, but laws govern our gifts. Figure them out and you can usually do a lot more than you think.”
“You know, Finley, you’re a pretty sharp guy.”
Finley didn’t respond but just smiled inside.
“I wonder what the laws are that govern my levitation skill,” Jack said, his eyes on the ceiling.
“My guess is your thoughts and your proximity to something. I bet you can levitate anything that you’re touching.”
“Like this car?” Jack said, a disbelieving laugh in his voice.
Finley shrugged. “Maybe. I wouldn’t discount it. But if you can then I’m not certain for how long. It’s taxing.”
“Hmmm…” Jack pondered, staring out the window to watch smooth, rolling hills pass by. From the distance they looked silky enough to slide down but they were probably rough with dried grass and rocks.
Finley adjusted the rearview mirror momentarily to check that Zuma was still close behind them.
“Can I ask you a question about Knight?” Jack asked, his tone having shifted to one of caution.
“Yeah, but just so you know I may not answer it,” Finley said, moving the mirror back so he could see Jack.
“Come on, man. I met the guy. I looked into his cold dark eyes. Watched as he stared down at me with contempt before leaving me to die,” Jack said.
Finley’s posture relaxed, but only slightly. “What’s the question?”
“He can hurt people’s minds, and Zuma tells me he can curse people too. Can he do anything else?” Jack asked.
“He can manipulate objects.”
“Like telekinesis? Like the triplets’ gift?” Jack asked.
“No, he can’t move objects, he can manipulate them. Like he can tear a warehouse wall in two, making it tumble to the ground. He can bend metal with his mind. Shatter glass. Splinter a wooden board in two. He can’t move anything, but he can manipulate it.” Jack noticed a cold haunting spring into Finley’s eyes which he saw reflected in the rearview mirror.
“He did that, didn’t he? And you witnessed it? He tore down a wall in his compound? Were kids hurt?”
Finley shrugged, the memory of little bodies being crushed etched in his forever memory.
“Why does he use kids?” Jack asked. “He could control adults, right?”
“I think kids are just easier to control. However, I’m certain he’s smart enough to figure out how to leverage control on anyone. And he does control the surrogates, who are adults,” Finley said.
“Surrogates?”
“The ones who carried the babies. And then they manage them after that.”
Jack shivered. “It’s so bizarre that he harvests babies to create a Dream Traveler army of thieves.”
“I don’t think any babies have been created in a few years,” Finley said, scrunching up his eyes as he tried to think if he’d encountered any babies or toddlers in recent years at the compound.
“I wonder why.”
Finley shrugged. “Maybe Knight has as many kids as he needs with the right skill sets. Maybe he doesn’t need any more right now.”
“What happened if a child didn’t have a useful skill set?” Jack asked, the question popping into his head.
Finley didn’t answer the question, but Jack read the answer in his eyes.
“So how does he control the adults? The surrogates?”
Finley hesitated. He didn’t like talking ab
out this. Didn’t like that this knowledge was a part of his history. He had been one of those babies born from a surrogate. And he hoped that now that he was away from Knight and his compound he could finally stop carrying the shame. In truth, Finley knew the way he came into this world wasn’t his fault, but it still made him feel dirty. He blew out a long breath and decided that he’d answer this and maybe one more question. “I think one of the surrogates is actually infatuated with Knight. The others are afraid of him. They don’t know freedom, or how to survive on their own. When a person can’t fully care for themselves they will suffer abuse to avoid the fear of the unknown. That one thing, the unknown, is worse than anything else for prisoners. They’d rather have the certainty of pain and neglect than the uncertainty of a new life.”
Jack shivered from this idea and the eloquence of it all. “That’s what keeps able bodies with gifts like that girl with the red hair under Knight’s control, isn’t it?”
“Power-Stopper, that’s her names. And yes. But also the fact that if you go against Knight he’ll punish you with a curse,” Finley said.
“But not you. You’re not afraid of Knight. You escaped.”
Finley went silent, his eyes intensely pinned on the road.
After a long few minutes of silence Jack said, “So you and Zuma, huh?”
Again Finley didn’t respond.
“I’m not surprised you’re in love with her. Everyone is,” Jack said. “What astonishes me is that she actually seems to be into you.”
Finley allowed a laugh to escape his mouth. “Excuse me. Why is that so astonishing? I’m amazing.”
“You’re all right,” Jack said. “But it’s astonishing because Zuma is pretty indifferent about most people. I’ve never seen her affected by anyone. Not like with you. It’s like you have her under a spell,” Jack said with a laugh.
Finley didn’t laugh. That one sentence hit too close to home for him, but he wasn’t about to share with Jack that Zuma was in fact cursed. “Well, I don’t get it either, but I’d do anything to protect her. It’s been like that since the beginning. Differently than most who are infatuated with her, I’m not just drawn to Zuma. I feel responsible for her like we are connected by something.”
“That’s beautiful,” Jack said, a joke in his tone. “Are there barf bags back here?”
The car suddenly swerved a few feet, the tires running over the reflectors dividing the lane, jolting the car slightly.
“Hey, man!” Jack said, reaching for his bandaged legs.
“Oops,” Finley said with a clever grin on his face.
Jack rolled his eyes, not looking too peeved. “Well, seriously, man,” he said, the laugh fading from his voice. “I think you might actually be able to make Zuma happy.”
“Believe me, Jack, it’s my greatest mission to do so.” I’ll die trying, he thought to himself and meant it.
Another long silence passed and then Jack said, “Uh, hey?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I got to take a leak.”
“No problem,” Finley said, turning on his blinker to give Zuma in the car behind them plenty of notice that he was about to exit.
“But…uh…” Jack said.
“What’s up?” Finley asked.
“I think I might need your help…you know, in the bathroom.”
“Oh,” Finley said, realizing at once what all that would involve. He kept his face neutral and nodded. “Not a problem,” he said, realizing how much Jack was having to sacrifice at this point in his life.
“Thanks,” Jack said with a quiet breath of relief, his face now a light shade of pink.
“You know, Jack,” Finley said, taking the exit. “You’re handling all of this incredibly well and I just want you to know it’s impressive.”
So much had shifted between these two guys in a few days. It was weird and wonderful and right. And it had made it easy for Finley to relay that compliment to Jack.
The paralyzed acrobat allowed a small smile on his face. “You know I used to pity myself,” Jack said. “Because of my parents’ treatment. Because I didn’t measure up to my brothers. Because I thought I wanted Zuma and couldn’t have her.” He stared out the window a moment, his eyes soft. Then he brought his gaze back to Finley, who was watching him from the rearview mirror.
“Not until I broke my legs did I realize I never had a good reason before to actually pity myself. And now that I do have a fantastic reason, I finally realize I don’t have time for it. Self-loathing doesn’t benefit those who want to persevere and that’s all I’m interested in doing,” Jack said, a thoughtful finality in his tone.
Finley was careful in how he negotiated the car off the road. To him, there were few people as innately good as the guy who sat in the backseat. Jack didn’t appear to be good because that was expected of him. He was good because that’s who he was, deep in his core. Right then Finley made a solemn silent promise to himself: One day he’d make Knight pay for what he did to his friend. One day.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Zuma knew as soon as she pulled into the Vagabond Circus grounds that something was wrong. It obviously looked different with the black semi-trucks surrounding it like a wall. There were four. However, it was the deserted sense that gave her that feeling of foreboding. Usually crew members were milling around the back lot or performers were somewhere in the distance. It felt abandoned, but maybe that was just because of the late hour. Most would be getting ready for bed or asleep. Still, the energy felt different, she noticed as she parked the car next to Ian’s truck. He was here somewhere. That was a relief to her. Finley was already busy loading Jack into his wheelchair. It had tightened her heart to watch the care Finley took picking up Jack and depositing him into his chair. And the way Jack went along with this process with only a grimace on his face from the pain made her grateful she was his friend. He was a true inspiration to her.
“What do you make of the trucks?” Zuma asked the guys.
Jack didn’t answer, too busy holding in the pain as he adjusted. To most it would have seemed unfair that he could feel the pain from the cuts surgically sealed on his legs, but couldn’t use them to walk. Weren’t paralyzed people unable to feel any sensations? But Jack’s paralysis was due to the complications of too many broken bones. And he wasn’t one of those people who thought this was unfair. He was grateful for the pain, because each sensation would direct him on how to proceed so one day he’d learn how to walk again.
Finley connected Jack’s legs with the holders on the wheelchair and then looked up at Zuma and shook his head. “I don’t know what’s up with these trucks,” he said.
After the long drive she wanted to walk into his arms but she didn’t allow herself. He looked so inviting to her, as he always had, but now finally accessible. She shook off this urge. They had to get Jack to Fanny. Someone would need to call Dr. Chang. And then they’d have to tell Titus about everything. This wasn’t the opportunity for the comfort that only Finley could provide her. Later.
“Well, let’s go and get Fanny,” Zuma said and walked ahead. Maybe the trucks were new equipment. The first new show would be tomorrow and Titus would have had to reassigned performers and rearranged the circus show, especially if the acrobats weren’t back in time.
Who will be the ringmaster now? she wondered. Now that Zuma was back at Vagabond Circus all these questions and concerns she’d been able to keep at bay came surging to the surface. Yes, she’d been grieving Dave’s death before, but to be at Vagabond Circus and see it without him made the reality feel more permanent.
Behind her Finley pushed the wheelchair over patches of grass and rock as they moved to the center of the campgrounds. There wasn’t one light on in any of the trailers. Even the crew in sleeper row seemed to all be tucked in for the night in each of their compartments in the white semis. Usually they were the last group to go to sleep as much of their work was done in evening hours. They’re probably getting an early start by dream traveling to d
o last minute checks on the big top, Zuma thought.
Relief washed over Zuma when she spied the first light on. It was the most important light in the most important place. The miniature big top. What would now be Titus’s office. Just his.
“Come on, guys,” Zuma said, picking up her pace. “Titus is awake.”
Finley kept his pace slow, knowing that the trip over the bumpy ground wasn’t going unnoticed by Jack’s injuries. Zuma still ran ahead. Needing to see Titus. To offer him her support. To let him know that they were all right and ready to help. That they would be able to perform in tomorrow’s show. She was longing to be in the big top. To perform alongside Finley. The girl burst through the flap of the tent, and then worried at once that she’d spooked Titus from her sudden presence. The man at the table didn’t budge though. Titus had his head bent down resting in his hands. His elbows pinned on the table top. Zuma thought that he must be asleep.
“Titus,” she said, her voice careful, not wanting to jostle him awake.
Slowly he brought his head up and she realized by the wide-eyed look on his face that he hadn’t been sleeping. Grieving maybe. His face was red, his eyes too. His hair greasy and unwashed. He flicked his gaze up at her and then heartbreak slid over his face. “Oh, Zuma,” he said, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
