Faces On a Clock

The Circus continued

Taking slow, hesitant steps closer to Harold, you keep your eye on the unmoving blanket. Only a few feet away, Harold steps to remove the blanket. Your racing pulse screams to stop him but the high, desperate wail still echoes in your ears. The poor child must be scared out of its mind. The fat, Americans scolding eyes relax as he comforts the forgotten child. "Shh... it's alright," he mumbles, placing a hand on what appears to be its shoulder, "We won't hurt you..."

Harolds voice fades until he suddenly takes a chunk of the heavy blanket in his hand and whips it away. The blanket claps together like the sails on a boat on a windy day as it soars to the ground. Next to the fallen blanket lay a figure much than was previously thought; around the size of a grown man now. He's tucked into a ball, his face hidden in the shadows.

Nobody around you moves to touch the man again. As much as the leader inside you may love to take the next step, something deep inside you whispers run.

Suddenly the body begins the shake. Your slight fear is replaced with annoyance, here comes the screaming again. But it's not shaking with tears or even fear. But with laughter. The deep, wild laugh only gets louder by the second. Harold takes quick steps back, away from the chilling laughter. Beside you, Miley pushes against your side, as close as she can get.

With no warning, the man swings up from his crouch. Painted white face, leaking black mascara running from bloodshot eyes, and terrible bright red lips. The wild look that reflects in his eyes captures you. The spell is broken when he tilts his head upward toward the ceiling in wild laughter. Around you, everyone is frozen, too shocked and scared to move.

The laughter stops, his head tilts down and the crazy look is shot straight to Harold. He then reaches behind his back and grasps at something hanging from a large, bright yellow belt.

"Run!" You yell our, before seeing what you already believe to be there. But Harold sees it; a large butcher knife, glinting in the ever dancing beam of the spot light. Turning in place, the fat father follows as you and the group sprint away. Taking a quick glance back, you see he holds the knife in front of him with his red lips curled into a haunting smile.

Much to your dismay, Miley drags behind you. Stopping for a moment, you pick up her small frame and command her to hold on tight. She does so; wrapping her legs around your waist and arms around your neck. The extra weight slows you down but you don't need to be the fastest. Just faster than Harold.

The old couple, Jack and Isabelle begin to slow but the constant threat and falling behind keeps their old hearts going. Sam leads the terrified group, running blind in the darkness. Fear and adrenaline make you almost forget the burning muscles in your legs. Almost.

Laughter again, close behind you. Harold breathes deeply and you know he is struggling. Miley watches over your shoulder as her father nearly falls. She cries for him and tells for you to stop and help but you can't. The horrifying threat of death runs closely behind him.

A spotlight flashes not far ahead of you. Roger and Amelia run hand in hand when Roger sees the edge of the stairway and motions for you to follow.

"Sam!" you scream for him, his short brown hair dark with sweat. "Sam, this way!"

The small group runs around you with Harold still behind. His wife doesn't look back and you fear for her failing strength. Your breath comes out in pants and the pounding heartbeat in your ears nearly blocks out the deranged laughter

The steps leading to the stands are close. Miley cries on your shoulder and the wet tears bleed not only into your T-shirt but also into your heart. Her own life and her father's life hang by a dwindling thread.

Other than the shallow memory of concrete stairs somewhere ahead, you run blindly. All you can think of is how tired you are, find the stairs, and run.

Out of any luck you've ever had, a yellow circle of light goes over the stairs once more. You ran out of energy and long while ago and have been running on fear alone. Now a burst of hope bursts in your chest. Something you never thought possible the second after seeing the butcher knife comes to life. Hope of living.

The poor old Jack and Isabelle reach the stairs first behind Sam. Roger and Amelia run up next. You feel terribly weighed down but keep on sprinting got the stairs. They all breathe deeply and you watch as Sam struggles to find what to do next. To choose between waiting for us and saving his life. He chooses the latter and stands gripping the bright red railing separating the stands and the arena floor. Sam's deep green eyes flash to find the horrifying clown behind you. He tries to yell for you, the still struggling Felicia, and her husband that is all too close to the knife held in front of the clown.

Same tries but fails to scream, his breath still not fully returned. So he whispers, his chest rising sharply, staring right into your eyes... "Run."

Sand slides underneath you from the pressure and weight of your feet. Finally, the hard feel of concrete and you have reached solid ground. A few steps up the stairs and Miley jumps out of your arms only to run into her mother's warm embrace. Taking a quick glance around you see everyone is here, except two. Harold and the killer.

Harold clearly struggles; his breath heavy, lopsided run, and eyes fading from sincere exhaustion. Everyone lines the rail, Sam to your right and Felicia to your left. She cries with her daughter but smiles with what can only be hope. Hope for the life of the man she loves. Their love story plays in her mind again and she won't let her last hope die. Miley tucks her head into Felicia's pant leg, knowing better than her mother of her father's chances. Maybe you should look away too because you know what's coming. Harold won't make it.

As quick as you thought it, the clown catches him and throws him into the sand. Amazing strength for anyone, regardless their intentions, after a long sprint like that.

Felicia gasps beside you and begins to turn to the stairs before you stop her with the tight grip on her forearm. The look in her eyes is a wild, desperate look; wide, staring eyes. Her hard breathe blows against you. Merely seconds pass and her brown eyes glance at Harold lying on the ground then travel slowly to the floor at her feet. She's accepted it.

He will die.