Clowns, Crimes and Case Numbers

Chapter One

Everyone is normal in their own abnormal way. Then, as always, is the exception-- Whitford’s Great Traveling Circus.

The woman ran down the deserted street, each streetlamp flickering out as she passed, leaving her follower in the dark.

At the very same time that night, Olivia looked absently through a colorful brochure for Whitford’s Great Traveling Circus, conveniently not noticing a small line of text at the bottom. The woman on the street trips over a crack in the sidewalk, a crack just as miniscule as the consequences were major.

Her pursuer catches up easily with a brisk walk, the streetlamp above her starting to flicker.

“Dammit, Carl”, the man looks up at the streetlamp in annoyance, “How do you expect me to kill her if I can’t see her? I know I said melodramatic--”

“Sorry, Scott”, a speaker across the road momentarily came to life, the voice hardly heard over the crackle of the microphone.

The streetlamp stopped flickering, acting as a steady spotlight over the woman, who was fretting over being killed by a psychopath who talks to streetlamps that answer.

Meanwhile, Olivia put down the brochure and started to read the official looking paper on her desk in front of her, mouthing the words soundlessly as she did to grind it into understanding. The well dressed man took an old fashioned revolver out of his blazer’s inner pocket and spun it on his index finger, looking amused. The woman was speechless and motionless as Olivia turned the page.

“Streetlamps flickering out, check”, the man said, still twirling the gun in his hand, “Dramatic running, check. Deserted, dark street, check”, he pointed the gun to his chest, “Psychopath, check. At least you didn’t throw frantic looks over your shoulder. One cliche at a time, I suppose”

Olivia put her pen to paper as he shot, “Though not so much time left”

And then Olivia signed the paper that bound her to the official title of the PR Manager of Whitford’s Great Traveling Circus.