Freakshow

Chapter Thirteen

"You're late," Orion said as I entered the performers tent. It was still messy from the previous night, but major attempts had been made to tidy it up. Orion seemed to have chased everyone away when he commandeered the area for our rehearsal.

I checked my phone and saw that it was three minutes after twelve, not exactly late. Besides, I had to clean up after the crazy night, make breakfast for Rose and take one last check through the Cirque for signs of Cara. Once again, nobody had seen her. She'd seemingly vanished in the short time Rose was in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry," I said and slid the phone back in the pocket of my jeans.

"When we work together, I expect a high degree of professionalism. Being tardy will not be tolerated. Do you understand?"

He spoke to me in a slow voice, as if I weren't mentally capable of comprehending a simple order. I hated it.

"I understand," I said and waited for his next direction.

"Next time you need to wear loose, comfortable clothing. We'll practice a little today, but you need to be more flexible," he said.

"What are we going to do?" I asked. He hadn't even mentioned the fact that I'd turned him down yesterday. He was so arrogant that he'd forgotten my stubborn protest already.

"I am going to strap you down, spin you and throw knives at you. We are going to go through a few rounds on performance night, and I will hit you. A very bad, direct hit. Lots of bleeding. You might work on screaming, making it sound like you're in pain. Play it up, and all that."

"That sounds awful," I said and shuddered, thinking of the blades sinking into my flesh. The blood, the healing, the risk of infection, it was all horrible to think about.

Orion crossed the few feet between us and pointed at my upper arm. "I will hit you here," he said, "it will bleed a lot and look dramatic. It will also heal very well."

"What if you hit something important? Like the bone or a nerve? I won't know anything is wrong unless my arm stops working or I keep bleeding."

"My aim is perfect," he said, "You will remain unharmed. Now let's do this."

I was reluctant to get up on the stage. I hesitated, weighed my options and found my only choice was to follow him. I stopped at the top of the stairs and looked at his set up. He had a rack with at least a hundred knives of all shapes and sizes lined up in order of largest to smallest. Twenty or thirty feet across the space, there was a large wheel that resembled a roulette table. Four straps were attached to it.

"You want to tie me to that?" I asked and thought again about leaving. Walking away and going back to Canada.

But Cairo. And Cara. And the emptiness that waited for me back in Vancouver.

I would stay put, even if it meant getting myself sliced up in the process.

"I will strap you in and spin you," he told me, "it's all very exciting. The crowd loves a good knife act."

"What happened to the last girl?" I asked.

"She's working in your old job, selling tickets. She was never cut out for this type of work. Now please stand in front of the wheel and let me strap you in."

Understanding very quickly that it was impossible to disobey Orion, I decided to follow his direction. I stood where he asked, spread my legs and held my hands up. I realized the wooden circle was covered in thick corkboard, and this was completely covered in knife punctures. I was beginning to feel an awful lot like a pin cushion.

He grabbed my wrist and held it tightly to the wooden circle, buckled a leather strap around it, and repeated with my other hand.

"Is she upset?" I asked as he moved to my feet.

He looked up at me, annoyed. "Who?"

"The girl who used to do this. The one I took the job from."

He strapped my foot in, then the other. He stood up, still a few inches taller than me, and looked at my face. I was unable to move, I felt immensely vulnerable. It occurred to me that he could do anything he wanted at this moment, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Why did I get myself into these situations?

"I didn't ask," he said with a slight curl to his lip, "it doesn't matter."

"Did you cut her?" I asked.

"Never."

"Why not?"

"She wasn't like you. It would hurt her if I had."

I didn't know why I asked the next question, it bubbled to my lips before I could stop myself. The moment it was out in the space between the two of us, I regretted it. I was afraid of his answer.

"Did you want to?"

He looked me in the eyes; his were a dark brown but lacked the depth and soul of his son. He was completely unreadable when he replied, "Yes."

He turned and walked to the knife rack, stepped on a foot pedal I hadn't noticed before and the wooden wheel started to spin slowly.

"You may feel a little sick at first," he said, "but you'll get used to it. Please don't vomit on your costume when you get one. If you have to throw up, warn me and I'll stop movement."

"Okay," I said, my voice a little shaky as the world tipped upside down, righted itself, and repeated over and over. I lost sight of Orion, everything becoming a blur of motion and colour until I wasn't sure which way was up anymore.

I heard the knife before I saw it. A rush of air followed by a solid thwack in the cork next to me. I twisted my head and saw at least a twelve inch blade sticking from the surface of the board near my right arm. I squeaked and continued to spin.

"Don't move your head!" Orion barked at me and threw another knife. Thwack! This one landed on the left side of me. "I am going to hit you once only, at the very end of the performance. And I don't want you disfigured by taking off an ear or hitting your eye. You are a beautiful woman, that will bring more people than a horribly scarred one."

He threw several more knives and I felt my stomach lurch. I was surprised that I'd held it in this long, given the wine I'd had the night before. Adrenaline coursing through my body didn't help and I felt it twist again as he tossed another knife, this one landing somewhere very close to the top of my head.

"Stop!" I yelled and tried to calm my roiling insides. My head was still spinning when the wheel slowed and he came to remove me.

"You were drinking last night," he stated, as though he knew the answer already. "Don't drink while you work with me, and I won't drink while I work with you. You got that?"

I was alarmed at his admission, that he was a drinker. I hadn't figured him for the type or he would have a less dangerous act, wouldn't he? I shuddered as his hand brushed my arm and he unbuckled the final strap.

Unable to hold it much longer, I jumped off the stage and found a garbage bucket near a row of chairs. I let loose the contents of my stomach with a most unattractive retching sound. I dry heaved, tears coming to my eyes and my stomach clenching over and over until I felt spent.

When I gained awareness of my surroundings, I saw Orion watching me, his face a hard mask of contempt. "Come tomorrow at ten," he said, "and we will work on this some more. Do not drink tonight, am I clear?"

I stood slowly on weak legs and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I didn't bother to wipe the tears off my face. "Yes," I said, my voice quavering with fear and self-loathing. I never got hangovers, this must have been directly from the wheel, but I couldn't protest or explain myself. Not to him, he would never buy it.

He turned and walked off the back of the stage, leaving me alone and shaking next to the garbage full of my vomit.

I just prayed the rest of my days with Orion would go better than this one.