Mr. Blackrose repeats it, annoyance edging into his words.
“N-no,” she says. “We can’t. There isn’t time. We have to break camp, and Ginny needs help packing and?—”
“—and if I say there’s time, then there’s time. Take Esmerelda?—”
“No.” Annabelle whirls on me. “Go. Just…go.”
She’s about to say more when Mr. Blackrose’s hand grips her shoulder hard enough for her to flinch.
“Please excuse my daughter, Miss Esmerelda. She’s overtired and being unspeakably rude. She can rest a moment to recover herself while you try on a dress. I think I know exactly the right one for you.”
He takes us inside where Charlie waits, and he passes Annabelle to the carnie. The girl has slumped, not fighting or even looking my way. Charlie propels her through the door on the right, the one beside the dressing room. Mr. Blackrose follows them. Low murmurs sound, the two men speaking, Annabelle starting to say something only to be cut short.
Mr. Blackrose appears with a princess dress, high waisted and elegant. “This doesn’t seem to contain any polyester. Why don’t you try it on, and we’ll go back out to the stage for a photograph. Perhaps by then my daughter will feel more herself.”
I carry the gown into the dressing room. I’m examining the dress when someone raps hard on the trailer door. A carnie tells Mr. Blackrose that a guest is demanding to see the man in charge.
“Esmerelda?” Mr. Blackrose calls. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Don’t rush,” I call back. “It’ll take me a while to do up all these buttons.”
The carnie says, “The lady claims Charlie picked her pocket. She wants to see him, too.”
Mr. Blackrose’s sigh ripples through the trailer, but he gets Charlie. Once they’re gone, the trailer goes silent. Or so it seems until I pick up that hum again.
I ease open my door and creep to the one they took Annabelle through. It’s locked. I fix that and step into an office with a desk, a chair and a fax machine. There’s no sign of the girl.
I look around, keeping one ear tuned for the sound of the door. A window covers the interior wall, which is weird. Then I look closer. Through the “window” I see the dressing room. The dressing room mirror is one-way glass.
The whirring noise comes from in here, and I track it to a mounted video camera pointed at the one-way glass. Beside it, a regular camera is hooked up to some kind of timer. It clicks, that insect mandible sound I heard earlier, as it takes a picture of whoever is on the other side of the glass. Videos and photos of me when I was supposed to be changing into the dress. I eye the cameras, not quite sure what I’ve discovered.
I turn to the desk. Two of the drawers are locked. I break one open to find typed sheets with mailing addresses. The second drawer contains photographs and video cassette tapes. I pick up one of the photos, glance at the picture and drop it as if scorched.
I blink and give my head a sharp shake. Then I have to pick up the photo again. I don’t want to, but I need to be sure of what I’m seeing.
I was not mistaken. It’s a photo of Annabelle without her carnival gown. Without any gown at all. I take two sharp breaths and then force myself to sift through the photographs. Most are Annabelle. A few are other girls our age in their underwear as they pull on dresses.
I close the drawer and look around. Did Charlie take Annabelle with them? He must have.
I’m standing at the rear wall when I hear stifled crying. I move aside a wall hanging to reveal a narrow door. I snap the lock and open it.
A metallic clink comes from the darkness within. I squint until my eyes adjust to the windowless room. Then I see Annabelle. She’s sitting upright on a metal cot, and when she moves, a chain whirs against the metal. That chain binds her like a dog, and she’s gagged with a dirty cloth.
I hold up a finger and slip out. I’d seen a key in the drawer with the mailing list. Sure enough, it fits the lock securing Annabelle’s chains.
As I free Annabelle, voices sound out outside the tent, and she gives a stifled yelp.
“Stay in here,” I whisper. “Wait until I tell you it’s safe to go.” I take a wad of bills from my pocket and put them on the bed. “There’s a bus stop in town.”
I hurry out, closing doors as I go, and I barely get back into my dressing room before the door opens.
“You done yet, girl?” Charlie calls.
“I was unbuttoning the dress so I can get into it,” I say.
“Well, hurry it up.”
I give him time to take up his position on the other side of the mirror. He expects me to be undressing, so I pull my dress off. Then I drape it over the mirror and smile at his grunt of frustration as I back into the corner to change.
