He smiled. “Good night, girls.”
He watched them as they walked out of the room and closed the door behind them. The light of the candles was barely enough for him to finish his book, which he put back on the shelf.
The girls seemed unusually well-behaved this evening. In fact, he hadn’t remembered seeing them this focused and calm for a long time. Perhaps, Miss. Blake really had the magic touch this household was lacking.
He gazed outside the dark window. It was as black as the depths of a fathomless hole, one he believed he had been trying to climb out of for many years. Now, he could see light. It was burning low, and the smallest breeze could extinguish it, but it was there. It was burning.
All he had to do was reach it.
Chapter 12
Broderick Loveless was seated in his wagon, on a chair which would squeal underneath his weight every time he moved. But he wasn’t listening to that. He was, instead, focused on the sound the coins were making, as he was counting them in his grimy hands.
“One, two three, four…” He was counting the pennies.
Tonight’s show was not nearly as lucrative as he had hoped. The reasonable part of his mind, small though it was, endeavored to explain that it was mostly because his wonders were not doing their goddamn jobs properly.
He had done everything. He had announced them as he usually did. He made sure to name them all individually, but he saw the look of disappointment on his audiences faces when he failed to mention Rosalie, the white angel.
“Where’s the whitey?” they shouted. “Show us the ghost!”
“I’d love ta, ladies and gents, but she be feelin’ a little sick,” he tried to explain, grinding his teeth at the realization that they wouldn’t be paying up.
He needed Rosalie. He needed her desperately.
“But fer now, ladies and gents, feast yer eyes on the rest of ‘em! Ye won’t be sorry ye did!”
But he already knew that he had lost them. They wanted to see the ghost. If his business was to remain afloat, then he needed the ghost, too.
“Goddammit!” he shouted inside the empty wagon, slamming his fists against the table.
A few wandering coins rolled down onto the floor. He didn’t even bother to pick them up. He was seething. And the worst part of it all was that there was nothing he could do. Nothing until Ewing sent for him.
He kicked the door open, and walked outside, marching like a lieutenant who was about to bring justice upon a deserter. For, he indeed wanted to bring justice. Only, his own kind of justice.
His heavy boots slammed against the dirt, as he walked over to the small fire and the huddled group around it. Everyone immediately turned towards him upon hearing the sound of his dense footsteps. A barely audible gasp was heard.
“Ya bunch of nitwits!” he shouted kicking a bucket that happened to be in his way. “I clothe ya, I feed ya, and this is how ya repay me!”
“What is it, boss?” the strong man asked, getting up.
He cut quite an amazing figure, especially standing next to Broderick. His slumping shoulders, one leaning more to the left than the other, made all the kids call him hunchback. He used to run away and hide. But, one day, he punched the kid’s face with his entire fist. Blood spattered all around him. The kid lost a few teeth. But he never called him a hunchback again. And Broderick vowed that day, if he couldn’t get respect the proper way, he would get it any other way he could.
It was early on he found out that people would pay good money to see weird things, weird people. And there was good money in there. All he had to do was scavenge the face of the earth for those misfits and bring them back to his newly established House of Wonders.
And scour the world he did. Some came out of their own volition. Others not so much. But they ended up in the same place, nonetheless.
Every new face brought more shiny nickels and pennies, more to fill his insatiable need for not only wealth, but also respect. These people belonged to him. He was their God. Their lives were his to keep or lose, and this filled him with awe.
But, on this particular night, what Broderick felt was nowhere near awe. It wasn’t even satisfaction. It was pure discontentment. Irritation. Anger.
“Ya bring me no money!” Broderick hissed, as the fire crackled wildly, separating him and his wonders. “What am I keepin’ ya fer?”
Everyone else stood up, with the strong man standing in front of them, for protection. Broderick knew that he was outnumbered, should they rebel against him. But he also knew something else. Something crucial.
He didn’t rule them with an iron fist. He ruled them with fear. Fear for their future. Fear for their well-being. Fear for their very lives.
The world was no place for a freak. People like them would never fit in, no matter how much they wanted to. In a way, he knew what that felt like, being stuck somewhere between the freaks and normal people himself. Even when he had money, people thought him less, because of his slumped shoulders, his left eye that slightly drooped downward, and his speech that he knew well would never be up to the standard.
