Freak Show

Widower

    Stevie leaned back against a tree, watching the scene in front of her. It was surreal to her, seeing the people in black, weeping or acting somber. This wasn't, and never had been, a situation she did well with. And knowing that she was the cause of the arrangement in front of her; it made her sick to her stomach.

   A hand lay subconsciously on her abdomen, lost in thought. She didn't jump when she felt a hand on her shoulder, already knowing who it was.

   "Are you ok?" Lindsey whispered in her ear, trying not to stand too close. The last thing they wanted to do was to draw suspicion or knowing eyes.

   Stevie shook her head, taking a deep breath. "The baby is distressed, she doesn't like the energy surrounding us right now."

    "Should we leave?" He wanted to hold her terribly at this moment, refraining himself.

   "No, we can't do that. It will look too suspicious."

   Lindsey nodded in understanding, trying to focus on the memorial service.

   Wilkes stood at the front of everyone, besides the wooden crate that held Mick's body. It had been tastefully decorated in dark velvet material and flowers. "Mr. Fleetwood was an extraordinary man."

   Stevie bit her tongue.

     "He always made sure we were all joyous and well taken care of."

   Sobs and cries of despair could be heard among the crowd, Stevie wanted to be sick.

   "His pride and joy has always resided in Cirque De Fleetwood...."

    Stevie zoned out, her mind far away from the moment she was in. She was trying so hard to focus. To not look guilty, and tried more to look like the grieving lover that she was supposed to be.  Wilkes carried on and on and she wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was going by slowly.

   "Mr. Fleetwood has left everything in his will to one of our very own, Stephanie."

   Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. She could feel everyone starring at her, her palms sweating.

   "His fortune, his belongings, the rights to the show and the show it's self, all belong to you Stephanie."

    Stevie could feel each stare as the people looked at her in a mixture of sympathy and envy. She could hear the hushed whispers and the gasps of shock.

   The memorial flashed past her after that, too stunned to even properly move.

   She watched as they buried his coffin, counting the seconds in her head as she waited for the appropriate time to leave.

      After he was in the ground and the  plaque placed atop of his grave, she practically ran. She didn't go far, just behind the stone wall that stood twenty feet from where the service was held. Her breathing was coming in quick gasps, laying a hand across her stomach for her own security.

    "You know she only got everything because she was sleeping with him."

   Stevie frowned, hearing a voice. She moved closer to the edge of the wall, listening from the other side.

   "I hear she used some sort of black magic to make him fall in love with her."

   "It wouldn't surprise me."

   Stevie gritted her teeth, knowing that voice anywhere. It was Carol Ann, the other woman she wasn't quite too sure of; probably one of the dancers.

    "Do you think he knows of all the men she's lain with?" Carol Ann spoke again.

     "Oh certainly not, he would have never touched her to begin with if he'd had."