I forced myself to lift my chin and blinked my eyes, trying to chase away the haze over my vision.
The edges of the room pulsed as if the walls couldn’t quite decide where they ended. The mirrors lining them didn’t help. Their silver backing had blackened and peeled in jagged patches, throwing back a dozen distorted versions of me. Each piece caught me at a different angle. Eyes wide, mouth slack, hair sticking to my damp forehead. It was like looking at a mosaic of someone unraveling.
I tried to move, but leather bit into my wrists and ankles. I was bound tightly to the heavy wooden chair beneath me.
Panic flared, pumping adrenaline through my system, but even that felt dulled. The fearful surge did help clear my vision a bit, however.
That was when I saw them.
The couple who checked in before me sat a few feet away, tied to their own chairs.
Neither one of them was doing very well. The woman slumped forward with her hair hanging in her face. Blood trickled from a large gash on her right arm and scratches on her thigh.
That wasn’t what made my eyes widen in horror. She was naked from the waist down, and there was a bodily fluid marking her thighs. It was milky and thick, like cum.
The man beside her seemed to be doing better. He only had a couple of scratches and a few bruises. But like the woman, he was also naked and marked with the same fluid.
I immediately checked myself for clothing.
Thankfully, everything seemed to be on. I’d never been so happy to see my denim shorts. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t end up like them. I needed to get out of here. If only I could think.
“Hey,” the man whispered and nodded at me. “My name’s Austin Whitmore. What’s yours?”
Why did he want to know my name? Didn’t we have bigger things to worry about than introductions? Then it hit me. He wanted to know in case one of us didn’t make it out of here. So, we could tell the police or families.
“Mazie Colins,” I told him, even though I had no one for him to notify. However, it might make him feel better.
He tipped his head at the slumped-over woman beside him. “That’s my wife, Gina.”
I nodded in response.
“Where are you from?”
“Ah, the star of the evening has finally awoken.” Another voice filled the room. One I recognized.
The Ringmaster.
Austin’s eyes went wide and frantically darted from me to the left.
A shiver shot up my spine as movementpulled my gaze to the center of the room, where a familiar figure in a top hat emerged from the shadows.
The ringmaster clapped his gloved hands. “Places everyone.”
Who was he talking to?
I took a quick scan of the room. There was no one else here. Wait… Something shifted at the edge of the light. Another figure was lingering there. The Mime. And he still had the knife in his hand.
The ringmaster’s tailcoat gleamed faintly as he held his arms out wide, like he was basking in applause only he could hear. “Let the show begin.”
Crap. How was I going to get out of this? They were clearly insane, and I was in no position to fight back. That was when I remembered something my mom used to tell me.
Violence is never the answer. You can reason with everyone.
I don’t think she was referring to psychotic circus performers at the time, but it was worth a shot, right?
“Excuse me.” I cleared my throat and said, “When you say show, what do you mean?”
“Why, entertainment of course,” The ringmaster said as if I should’ve known that.
