Mariah spent hours on the computer, searching for every traveling circus still in existence. Once she had what she felt was a comprehensive list, she confirmed their itinerary—where they had been, where they were going. Each time she traced the route of the large ones that crisscrossed the country using railroad lines, she waited for a sign, a feeling that this was the one in which the clown hid. But nothing happened. And there were no more nightmares, asleep or awake, since the last encounter with her nemesis.
Thank heavens for the Internet. She was able to view newspapers in all the major cities visited by every circus. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but her sixth sense told her to read the obituaries. But nothing clicked. Her fear was that the clown might have traveled some distance from the large metropolises, and that whatever he had done wouldn’t be noteworthy enough to make it to the large papers.
It was time to ramp up her psychic training. Not even the prospect of losing Thomas could stand in her way.
The sun was just a memory, its light long extinguished by the darkness of pre-dawn. Even so, the figure standing in the yard, dressed in a white tee shirt and white Dockers, was clearly visible to the two men that stood at the sliding glass doors, watching from the living room.
One unconsciously assumed a military stance: legs hip-width apart, hands joined behind his back, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet. The only aspect that gave away his outward indifference was the speculative look in his slightly narrowed eyes.
The other man was not as practiced in hiding his emotions. His arms were wrapped around his chest, hands buried under his armpits, and his breathing was shallow. He stared at the figure in the yard, fear and longing in his eyes, the corners of his mouth drawn down in anger.
They had stood thus for fifteen minutes, watching Mariah’s back since she had informed them that she wanted to be alone. Her hands were jammed into her pants pockets. She was as immobile as a lawn sculpture.
“What are you not telling me?” Gabriel Winters said, his voice pitched low, meant only to reach the ears of the one beside him.
“For the last time, I’m not hiding anything from you. All she said was she needed to be alone. Period.”
Winters said, “We aren’t paying you to leave her alone. In case you’ve forgotten, we are compensating you rather well to watch everything she does, remember everything she says, especially when I’m not around. And to provide me every minute detail, even if you don’t think it’s relevant. She must have said something else.”
Thomas’ voice was edged with anger that hinted at his despair. “I know exactly what you’re paying me. And why.
“Oh, forgive me, I’m wrong. I did leave something out. We tried out a new sex position last night. She’s become very athletic.”
“If you attained heights of ecstasy heretofore unknown to your current libido, she might have employed some type of psychic power previously unused, and I would be greatly interested,” Winters said. “If not, then you can keep your gymnastic proclivities to yourself.”
He knew how much Thomas hated his “fifty dollar words” which, he assumed, made him feel inferior. Without taking his eyes off Mariah, he felt Thomas’ face twist in hatred.
“Fuck you,” Thomas said.
“How eloquent.” Before Thomas could retort, Winters said, “You should never have allowed yourself to get so emotionally involved, any more than you already had. No one coerced you into accepting the government’s money for providing information. If it will salve your beleaguered conscience, consider your act one of patriotism.”
There was nothing Thomas could say. In the beginning, he thought of it only as a way to earn extra cash; that he wasn’t giving away anything Mariah wanted to keep secret. At least she hadn’t told him not to tell anyone. And besides, he rationalized, when Winters had approached him, it was after the incident with the Finding of Anthony Santatoro and he had been conflicted over his feelings about their future.
But no matter how hard he tried to justify what he was doing, he felt miserable. Too late, he realized his feelings for Mariah Carpenter had not changed. He was still in love with her. More so once she told him about her discussion with Michael Jenkins.
He knew what would happen if he backed out now. The prick would find a way to get him out of the house, even to go so far as to tell Mariah that her lover was spying on her. So he continued feeding information to the bastard, although he managed to hold back several things, just out of spite. But Winters was uncanny. It was like he could tell when Thomas was deliberately withholding information.
He watched Mariah in anguish, wanting desperately to tell her everything, knowing how badly she would be hurt. She would never forgive him, and he would lose her. So he stayed, hoping his betrayal would remain a secret until he could figure out a way to end it.
Time passed without Mariah’s being aware. She wasn’t sure if she had been standing in the yard for ten minutes or ten hours. Common noises of everyday life were now sequestered in her honeycomb. The silence gave her the ability to listen to her heart beat, her lungs inhaling and expelling air, and her mind to quest beyond the limits of her body.
She was unaware when the soft lavender light surrounding her body darkened to purple. The breeze, which began when the haze intensified, encouraged rocks and twigs to play ring-around-the-rosy. Tree branches bent, some of the less hardy one snapping off as the wind velocity increased. Wildflowers and weeds were uprooted, joining the other objects as they pirouetted around Mariah’s still figure.
Her mind stretched, expanded, seeking the circus in which the clown hid. But nothing came. She felt certain that he was psychically blocking her, that he was unlike any person she had dealt with so far. Her dread of him deepened.
Anger, simmering on low, began to swell. Fanned by frustration, it grew. Fear, like kindling, fed it.
Why don’t you help me when I need you the most? She shouted silently. You gave me the ability to increase what psychic abilities I had so I could find kidnapped children. But it’s not enough. Where are you when I need you?
From memory, she called forth the image of her bedroom the night she attempted to commit suicide. The moonlight shining through the vertical blinds, the tissue box lying innocently next to the glass of water, the M&M’s she wished she now had, and the bottle of sleeping pills she swallowed, gagging as she shoveled them down her throat to have done with her mental anguish.
She relived the Visitation: the man she had seen, the liquid spreading quickly through her bloodstream, his arms around her ... and her fury boiled over, erupting like lava.
Is that it? You give me enough to do something miraculous, but now that I need more, need to break down the barrier this demented clown has erected, you decide not to help me?
Her anger dissolved, replaced by hopelessness. She had no more to give. The clown would win.
Hostilities temporarily forgotten, Gabriel and Thomas watched in amazement as the lavender glow surrounding Mariah deepened and became more viable. No longer just wisps of ephemeral color, the purple hue seemed to have weight and texture. Wind whipping Mariah’s hair until it nearly stood straight up, threatened to rip the clothes off her body. Everything not anchored down in the yard took flight.
They were glad to be inside, protected by the walls of the house. Besides loose dirt, rocks, twigs, leaves, and flowers, the patio furniture became airborne. The aluminum legs and arms of the chaise lounge twisted like a doughnut cruller. The table top buckled, collapsing nearly in half, the four legs beneath splaying out like cardinal points.
The air in front of Mariah began to darken further as iridescent blue light illuminated the sky in a flash that caused both men to cover their eyes.