THE ANGEL PART 2
Spook looked back at Fredo, clicking his tongue and tapping his left foot on the ground.
"I don’t think a little face paint and a flying knife makes him the right guy for this..." the bald man growled, glaring at me.
I reached into the pocket of my jacket and pulled out the red cloth in which my knives were wrapped. I lifted it with my fingers, sliding it along the side of my face without taking my eyes off Spook.
"If you think the makeup isn’t good enough, I can go without it," I snarled, lowering my hand and exposing the disfigured side of my face.
"God!" he laughed nervously, shaking his head and raising his hands in the air. "We want them to remember, not to be haunted forever by that horrible view of your ugly face."
He clapped his hands, then placed his fingers behind his back and tapped his foot harder, staring at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Your eyes look so familiar, but I don’t know where I know you from... Still, I think I’d never forget such a hideous face, yet there’s something about you..." He took another step forward, and I moved my arm behind me, under my jacket, gripping a knife in my hand. "Where do I know you from, Mr. Clown?"
From hell, my mind screamed, as I tightened my grip on the knife.
One move would be enough to slit his throat open, his blood spraying like a busted faucet—just as quickly as I could bury the blade into the head of the bald guy beside him.
"MOLINA!" Fredo practically shouted through a laugh. "He worked with Circo Molina, but they closed after the owner died, and Clown was left unemployed. The guy was out of work for a long time and had to take a bunch of odd jobs... When he heard we were in town, he came looking for a job..."
"Right!" Spook clicked his tongue, pointing at me and stepping back. "Must’ve been from there. Molina loved anything bizarre and grotesque in his shows."
I watched him walk to the wooden pillar and retrieve my knife. I released the one I was holding behind my back and adjusted my jacket, hiding it again.
"You’re good." Spook twirled the knife in his hand and came back toward me. "But what I want to know is—what do you want in return?"
Your death, I thought, while forcing a mild smile, shrugging, and shaking my head. I kept a humble posture before him—anything to secure the damn job.
"My home..." I murmured. "I’ve always belonged in the circus, and when I was forced to leave, I grieved. I just want to return to my true world..."
"People love freaks in the circus, my friend," he said stiffly. "Outside of it, you're just a horrid creature. I can offer you fifty bucks a week, food, and a roof. There’s an open spot in your wagon, isn’t there, Fredo?"
"There is, sir," Fredo answered quickly.
"Good, that’s it then. Food, shelter, and work—plenty of work—to earn your keep. That’s what I can offer." He tilted his head, flipping my knife in his hand. "What do you say?"
I lowered my gaze to his left hand as he extended it to me for a handshake, and I felt my body fibers inflame, as if hellfire was burning through me. I stretched out my arm and gripped the hand of the bastard who had stolen everything from me—turning me into a demon—as I smiled at him, wishing for his death more than I ever wished for air.
"I accept, sir," I said, laughing, nodding my head, showing him gratitude, even though all I felt inside was disgust, rage, and death.
"Excellent! Fredo will explain how everything works, and you’ll have time to get used to the house of horrors I plan to open in the next city. You’ll be in charge of it, and everything must be perfect by the time we get to Louisiana." He laughed, letting go of my hand and extending the knife to me. "Come on, Chester."
He snapped his fingers, calling for the big bald guy, who followed as he turned away. I stayed silent, watching him leave, the smile still on my face slowly fading into a scowl, hatred carved into my expression once Spook disappeared completely from view. I rubbed my hand on my jacket, furious, once my eyes lost sight of him.
"Christ, for a second I thought we were both gonna die in here!" Fredo exhaled shakily.
"I'm already dead, my friend," I said, lowering my face to Fredo’s, watching him stare at me. "And you will never suffer or get hurt in this hell again—neither you, nor anyone else."
I lifted my gaze, eyes locking onto the still fabrics above—the ones that had lost their glow, reduced to simple cloth in my eyes after she left. And I was confused, not understanding why I sought her image there—danc
ing like an angel—the one who had hypnotized me.