Beautiful Freaks (15 page)

Once again the audience was on their feet applauding and shouting. Kaspian joined them,
leaning
as far forward as he could in order to search out the needlework of the seamstress. There was nothing.
It was surely as if they had just burst forth from inside of her body.

“How have they done that?” h
e asked to anybody who
might possibly
give him an answer
, but his question went unheard, amongst the many calls of,
“Fabulous, Sylvani
a!
”,
“Bravo, Bravo!”
, “Encore, Encore!”

Hugh was the only one who remained seated,
bringing his hands together in
long, languid claps. When Kaspian sat down, Hugh turned to him and said, “Time to get you home, Cinderella.”

“But there’s more to see.”

“Oh, yes, there’
s plen
ty more to see, but not tonight!” He smiled almost paternally.
“I don’t want to overload your senses.”

“But I want to stay.”

“I know you do.” Hugh reached out and placed his hand on Kaspian’s knee,
making it clear as to who was in control.
Kaspian blushed to realise
just how much like
a p
etulant child he sounded.

Hugh stood and smiled
at
the
company before whispering in a commanding voice, “Come along,
Kaspian!
”

Kaspian looked around and understood the men were waiting for him to leave so they could move their crazy merry-go round onto the next spectacle.
He went to move off of the platform but his legs trembled beneath him and he stumbled.
Hugh’s arm shot out, steadying him.

“I’m here, don’t worry. Take
my arm
.”

As they approached the
exit
curtain, a delicate female arm reached around and pulled it back for them.
Behind him Kaspian heard the call of ‘Geronimo’ and the mechanics of the metal platform spin around. He turned with longing back to the spectacle that waited but Hugh’s hand pressed the small of his back and pushed him forwards.

“W
e’ll come back
next week, if you like?
”

“I’d like that very much,
”
Kaspian replied.

Hugh cleared his throat
in preparation for
broach
ing
a delicate matter. “We’ll have to sign you up for membership first. I’m afraid you’ve used up your guest pass.”

Kaspian looked at him slightly baffled. His brain was reluctant to focus on matters of administration and then he understood that such pleasure did not come cheaply.
“No problem. Where do I sign?”

“Steady, y
ou’d better hear the terms and conditions first.”

Kaspian thought on how, only this morning, he had
turned into a rich
man on the opening of a letter. He looked at Hugh and cracked a smile, “
Whatever it costs, I’ll take it.
”

Hugh grabbed him by both shoulders and stared straight into his eyes, “Really,
whatever
it costs? Because membership to Eve’s doesn’t come without a price.”

“I have money, p
lenty of money!” Kaspian whispered between giggles.

“Oh, it’s not just money
– it might just
cost you your
heart
.”

10

THE QUEEN OF CLUBS

Steptree had
had
three nights grace in which neither the baby
n
or
Brown
had
woke
n
him. However
,
it didn’t mean
that
his sleep went undisturbed. He suffered the kind of sleep that leaves you ragged and exhausted the next morning, because whilst
the
body is sleeping, the mind is running.

Each night he had
become
lost amongst the London streets
. He had no real idea as to where he was going, but he knew he was
searching for someone
who had committed a terrible c
rime:
a crime not just against fellow man, but one against nature and God.

The dream took place i
n the early morning gloom
;
the time when all streets look
the same
. No matter how many right turns he took,
he had the sense he was trav
elling in circles – chasing
his tail. He knew the killer was out there, hiding amongst the shadows and mocking him. Sometimes he even felt the breath of the killer on his neck
,
like a long
,
slow kiss of ice.

Tonight the dream started in exactly the same way it had on all the other nights: an empty landscape except for the streets and the fog, but this time
there
came
additions – ones
which
he was certain
had been placed to
taunt him. A playing card with
the Queen of Clubs, a bright red leaf the colour of blood, a business card with
the name
‘Evangeline’s’ embossed on its expensive cream surface.
And all around him, travelling on the fog, there was a woman’s laughter. The kind of laughter that makes you chilled to the bone – the sort that belongs to a demon.

As his journey went on,
characters threaded
through his consciousness.
There was
Heartlock in his wicker wheelchair
,
the right wheel squeaking in a maddening rhythm as he
travelled along to nowhere
,
bumping over the cobbles. Around a corner, leant in the doorway of a butcher’s shop, was Kaspian Blackthorne.
His ridiculous lapel-flower
was
almost the size of hi
s face and he had a book in his hand, which he appeared to be reading.
There was something
in
the way he was stand
ing that made Steptree uneasy and he approached with caution.
When he neared, he saw the boy was made of wax and part of his face had melted so that
he
was dressed in a mask of unending sorrow.

Steptree backed away hurriedly, shielding his eyes from the disgusting
sight. He lost his footing, stumbled,
and crashed into a pool of black silk and net.
Looking up he saw the owner of the dress was monstrously tall. Auburn curls framed a pale white face and it sat on a head that bobbed back and forwards in a terrible motion like a doll.

He
found his feet and ran. He ran as fast as he could. He had no idea who the woman was. He had never seen her before. But of one thing he was certain – she was going to be his death.

*

Steptree woke to the sound of his hammering heart.
Sweat clung to his feverish skin like a coating of warm oil. 
He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. In his stomach a worm turned and he felt the urgent need
for
the
toilet
. He peeled back the cover gently, not wanting to wake Meg and made his way to the bathroom.

When he returned Meg was awake, a worried expression on her face. “Are you alright?”
she asked as she swept a loose hair from her face.

“Yes, darling. Go back to sleep and rest,” he said softly.

She smiled at him and yawned. His heart grew heavy with love. They had been married for nearly ten years. It seemed a lifetime and he couldn’t imagine a time before her.
Every day
he loved her more. When, at last, they had fallen with child, Steptree wept with gratitude for all
that
his life had become. Motherhood had changed Meg, seemed to accentuate all of her s
pirit and make her young again – almost
playful. It made him feel older somehow
,
and he couldn’t help but fear that she was moving away from him. They were irrational fears. Deep down he knew this. Nevertheless it had been his only fear … until now.

Now something darker was coming to swallow him.

*

The weak
,
autumnal dawn seemed reluctant to wake. Steptree knew just how she felt. When he had eventually fallen back asleep it had been like falling into a black pit of exhaustion. Now the sound of the London streets pulled him out of it unwillingly. Meg had already left to see to the baby. A cold space of cotton lay beside him
.
T
h
e sensation created the quiet w
isp of a thought,
‘This is how it would feel if I lost her.’

He had never been a paranoid or anxious man but these new feelings of invisible threat refused to leave.
“
There is no reason to f
ear,” he whispered to himself.
He sat upright, swung his legs out of the bed
,
and found himself grounded, as if he had been defeated in the act of getting up. He let out a groan,
pinched the bridge of his nose and stroked the contours of his face.

The distant sounds of a busy, happy household floated up the stairs.
B
aby
Elsie
was laughing as
she
made a racket with a wooden spoon
,
and Meg was singing as she cleared the dishes. He stretched and recovered his clothes from the chair. He would
have
breakfast and then take his ladies for a stroll in the park. It would be a happy day.

“Make the most of them whilst you have them.”

Steptree startled. The thought had sounded so like a voice that he had snapped his eyes around to the space behind him. There had been no one there.
He fleetingly thought whether a human could become haunted.

Once dressed, he made his
way downstairs, kissing Meg and
Elsie before sitting down to an already prepared breakfast. Elsie suddenly burst into tears as her wooden spoon took a tumble to the floor. Without thinking
,
he
bent down to recover it from under the table
. It
was slightly too
far
out of reach an
d so he was forced to do a full-
scale search and recovery operation much to Elsie’s squealing delight.

A loud thud of his head preceded the clattering of china and the up
setting of the coffee pot. D
omestic chaos erupted but Steptree’s mind had no moment to worry about that
,
for in front of him
lay
a
single
playing card, face up underneath the wooden spoon.

The card was
The Queen of Clubs.

He reached out to
the card
but his finger
s seemed reluctant to touch it, as if it were a coiled serpent that might strike. His hesitation caused Meg to lift the corner of the cloth and peer in after him.

“Are you alright?”
she
asked
.

“Fine, dear,
”
he said through a forced smile. His hand sprang out to cover the playing card with his palm.

She dropped the cloth and returned to the washing up.

His fingertips wrapped around the hard edges of the card and in one swift move he had pushed it up the sleeve of his shirt as if he were a magician.  He returned the spoon to Elsie
who had found
the whole event so funny she’
d found he
rself stuck in an unending baby-
giggle.

“Do we
own
any
playing cards?” Steptree asked as casually as he could feign.

“I don’t think so,” Meg replied, surprised by the random subject matter.

“No matter.”

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason. I thought it might be nice to play this evening. Spend some time together.”

“That would be nice.”
She moved over to him and planted a kiss on top of his head.

The corner of the card needled his skin. He stood, drained his cup of the remaining coffee and pulled on his jacket.
Their morning walk would have to wait.

“I’ve got to go. I’m meeting
Brown
at the coffeehouse to talk about a case.”