The Snake

Book 1 Story 6 – Rowan deals with an unwelcome guest

A little bit more about Rowan before things start heating up

Rowan approached the little trailer, unbuttoning his jacket, noting that one of the appliques over his shoulder had come loose. A minor casualty of months of tours. He sighed, letting it drift from his mind. He would sew it back on in the morning. Right now, he just wanted to collapse on the cot and simmer for a while.

The show had been more trying than usual. Some bleary-eyed thug with a mohawk hadn’t cared much for the act. Verbal abuse he could take, he even welcomed it. It could easily be twisted to his advantage. He drew the line at projectiles, though, especially the kind that smashed into pieces, like the beer bottle the man had smuggled in.

The troupe didn’t have its own security, but it wasn’t usually needed. Daryl was surprisingly good with that ornamental cane which he toted around. He was also bad-tempered enough to use it. The four-foot something dwarf may be a prick, but even pricks had their uses.

He put his foot on the small step and inserted the key, momentarily confused at the lack of resistance. Had he forgotten to lock it? He cautiously opened the door, relieved to see it was still dark inside. There was no one there after all. He had nothing of value to steal, save for the satchel of knives in his hand, but the loss of any of his memorabilia would have been devastating.

Rowan flicked on the light and pulled the door shut as the first of dozens of photos caught his eye. A circus tent. It wasn’t a great image, but it meant the world to him. He was born there and spent most of his life under its canopy as an acrobat, just like his mother. He would eventually try other roles, but the red and white striped canvas was where he’d always feel welcome. He had affixed the image to a cupboard opposite the door so it would always be the first thing he saw.

He placed the satchel in a cupboard designed solely for it, then closed the door, spinning the combination lock. Tonight was the last show before moving on, might as well get a head start on the packing.

He then closed his eyes for a moment, trying to force the thought of fonder days out of his mind. On nights like this the photographs that surrounded him were more haunting than comforting. They were all reminders of the life he had left. For this. A cheap little sideshow. Night after night of questionable content, most definitely not suitable for all ages. It was lewd, it was crass, it was disturbing and it was dangerous. Thanks to Jeff, the obnoxious gross-out artist, it was also revolting. While Rowan himself would never stoop to the level of fart jokes and crunching down live cockroaches, he wasn’t prudish or innocent either. He contributed his fair share to the show’s adults-only reputation. Young eyes didn’t need to see him grinding his groin into some audience member’s lap. 

He sighed quietly, absently hanging his jacket on a hook by the door before removing the black sleeveless shirt beneath, glad to be rid of it. The still drying sweat was smelling a bit ripe.

He’d only just made it past his jutting ribs when he caught sight of her, perched on the small dressing table. Her slender legs were tightly wrapped in black PVC, dangling off the edge.

“Don’t stop undressing on my account,” she purred, her silky-smooth voice entering his ear like a slithering snake.

He cried out in alarm, snapping his shirt back down to bony hips. The trailer was barely big enough to accommodate him. How the hell had he not seen her? Startled, he backed right into the small booth behind him, jarring his poorly cushioned backside against the table.

“How the fuck did you get in here!?” he shouted, at once remembering the door had been locked.

“Lock pick,” she replied casually, dangling the tool from her index finger.

“GET OUT!!”     

She lifted a hand to blow on her black polished nails, as if casually drying them. She clearly wasn’t interested in going anywhere.

He tried to recall if she’d been in the audience, only he was certain he would have remembered her. She was completely bald, apart from long green bangs that parted in the middle, styled to frame her face. A large gauge septum ring dangled from her nose. She wore a tight black corseted top perfectly suited to the PVC leggings he’d noticed first. Even in her cramped position he could see she had a knockout figure. If it wasn’t for the cold, calculating eyes and smug expression, he might have considered her quite attractive. 

Unimpressed by his anger and disgust, she rolled her eyes dramatically and then hopped off her perch. “You’re a hard man to get close to.”

“Yeah, I know,” he hissed, not daring to take his eyes off of her. “It’s on PURPOSE.” 

“I figured it would take an extraordinary gesture to capture your attention.”

Those eyes, he was thinking. She was wearing colored contacts in brilliant blue steel. They were the same shining silver of his blades, cold and, he suspected, just as dangerous.

“Please tell me you’re considering ritual suicide,” he said with a low growl.

Ignoring the remark, she pulled a photograph from her back pocket. “I have a little gift for you that will most certainly change your attitude.”

Uninterested in her games, he lunged forward to snatch it from her hand.

“A-a-ah!” she chided, yanking it out of reach. “I want something in return.”

Rowan gritted his teeth, his patience wearing thin.

“Don’t blow your top yet. All I want is a photo. You. And me. Nice and simple.”

Simple. Suspiciously so. He wasn’t averse to posing with fans now and then, it was free advertising. If it really was that simple, though, why break in? 

“Can I at least see what it is I’m paying for?” he asked sweetly, his overly chipper tone and flat-line grin doing little to hide the irritation inside. 

Thrilled by something akin to a positive response at last, she let him have a quick peek then pulled it back. It was a child, a familiar one. Covered in paint?

His eyes flew wide open. He knew that boy well. It was him. Startled, he cried “Where the hell did you get that!?”

She backed off, disapproving. “Oh no no! Not until you hold up your share of the bargain!”

He tensed his fists growling under his breath before snapping, “Fine! What EXACTLY do you want?”

“I want to show off on the fan site. Queen Bitch, all cozy with her prize.” she smirked, holding up her phone.

Rowan grimaced.

“Grouch,” she said, shaking the photo. 

“Fine, if it’ll get rid of you faster.” He grabbed the phone, found the camera, and motioned her towards the only seat behind her, the cot. A picture of the two on the bed should be one hell of a prize.

She squealed shrilly, shaking her elated fists then planted herself down, shuffling a bit to accommodate him. Fortunately for her, she couldn’t move that far. At least half of the bed’s length was tucked in behind the walls of a cabinet and the neighboring privy. He would have no choice but to nestle in close. 

He’d noticed that too, expressing his apprehension with a slightly curled lip. He swallowed his pride as he sat down next to her. A few moments of discomfort would be worthwhile if she left soon after. Plastering on a seductive smile, he lifted the phone and gave it smoldering eyes, pressing his cheek against hers. She took full advantage of the situation, thrusting herself again him, flinging her arm around his neck and shoulders to pull him close. The shutter clicked a few times, then the phone was hers again, snatched right out of his hand.

He then jerked sideways, endeavoring to put what distance he could between them while she examined the images with a wild grin. 

“The girls in the fan club are going to go MENTAL!! I’m going to shove this in their faces!!”

As repugnant as her proximity was, he couldn’t leave quite yet. She had something he desperately wanted. “Photo, NOW!” he snarled.

She tossed it over to him, almost as an afterthought, yet she made no indication of leaving his side.

He lifted it from his lap, dumbfounded. It really was him, at about 5 or 6 years old, but it wasn’t a photo he recognized. It must have been taken without his knowledge and he could see why. This long-ago version was completely immersed in his task of raiding a clown’s makeup kit, oblivious to any watcher. Every inch of him seemed covered in bright rainbow hues, from a crudely drawn red smile on his face to swatches on an arm where he’d tested each shade. His clothes, the floor and the box from which they’d come were similarly coated. It was a horrendous mess, for which he surely would have been scolded for later.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, much gentler this time.

She tucked away her phone in some unseen back pocket and leaned in. “A friend of a friend of a friend was cleaning out his uncle’s storage. He had quite a collection of circus memorabilia.”

“How did you know this is me?”

She flipped the photo. “Your name’s on the back.”

He looked at her, astonished, the distastefulness of her nearness almost forgotten. “You’re giving me this? Just for a selfie with me?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind the story behind it,” she said with a slight smile.

He eyed her cautiously. Anything he said was bound to wind up in a forum or blog, but was it anything worth hiding? He sighed. “I guess I can give you that.”

As he turned back to the picture, she retrieved her phone, leaned in again and grinned. He heard three clicks of the shutter in rapid succession.

“Do you have to do that?” he snapped, his eyes flashing a warning.

“Sorry,” she said, all sugary sweet, putting the phone away. “So. The picture. The friend’s uncle went by the name of Jingo. Ring a bell?”

“Jingo!” he exclaimed, stunned again. “I haven’t heard that name in years.”

His eyes returned to the image. Was that his kit? “I’ve never seen this photo. He must have taken it during one of my raids.”

“Raids?”

He let out a soft laugh. “I used to sneak into his trailer to play with his grease paint.”

Memories came flooding back to him. Good memories. “He was like a father to me. A clown. A good one too,” he added with notable appreciation. “I wanted to be just like him. He must have tried to catch me in the act.”

Her hip and leg, still brushing against him was soon joined by a wandering hand against his thigh. “You grew up in the circus, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah,” he replied, looking at her, his anger long forgotten, even with the daring move. “It was just me and my mom back then. The performers were my family. They were my world, my school.”    

Rowan ran a finger across the photo, lost in a flood of memories. “This is unbelievably precious to me.”

She leaned in until he could feel her breath on his neck. “Worth more than a snapshot?” she put forward, placing the errant hand on his groin. 

He snapped out of his reverie and leapt to his feet, causing her to tumble sideways. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he shouted.

“Getting my reward!” she yelled back.

“I’ll pay you for the photo, but I’m not prostituting myself for it!”

“It’s just sex! God knows you’re known for it!”

“My body! My choice!” he roared. He might have once had that reputation, but those days had been put behind him.

She picked herself up, seething. “Do you have any idea how much trouble I had to go through to get that? YOU OWE ME.”

Before he could realize his error, his eyes snapped to the cabinet next to her. His backup satchel was mere inches from her greedy hands. He’d been sharpening the old set earlier that day and had foolishly left them unsecured. Tucked away in a shadow, the open bag lie within easy reach, but perhaps hadn’t been noticed. With luck, he could get to it first. 

His brief change of focus proved a stupid mistake, alerting her that his weapons of choice were within her grasp. She tore the well-worn satchel from the shelf, grabbing a blade from the carefully fitted sheaths. He sprung forward but she was impossibly quick, shooting out her hand and holding a razor tip to his throat.

“Back off hot stuff!” she snarled, drawing a bead of blood. He quickly obeyed, having no doubt she’d slash him open if threatened, long before he could get to the others he’d locked away.

Once suitably distanced, she pulled out a few others, admiring their elegant design. “I bet these’ll fetch a nice price,” she said with a hideous grin before putting them back. Keeping the one, still pointed in his direction, she threw closed the flap and grabbed it by the handle.

Rowan made a quick survey of his immediate surroundings, looking for anything that might give him an advantage, but the trailer was as sparsely furnished as always. It was designed to be easily packed and moved. Aside from the photos, all that was lying around was a single orange and a cup full of eyeliner pencils in various states of sharpness.

He considered backing up against the dressing table he first found her on, to leave her room to pass but refused to stand impotent while she left with half his knife collection. The ones in her hand were the oldest of the lot and the dearest. Some were from his very first set. 

He had to fight. Just then he remembered one thing that could give him an edge. He shot out his arm blindly just behind him, for the broom he’d left propped next to the door. His aim was true. He’d spent enough time in his little home away from home to know the place blindfolded.

He grasped it firmly, holding it horizontally with both hands in a defensive posture, hoping to ward off any further attack. 

“There’s only one way out, and you’ll have to go through me!”

She erupted in a horrific cackle, the piercing, grating sound giving him the shudders. “What are you going to do?” she screeched with hilarity. “Rap me on the knuckles?”

He responded by switching his grip and swung the stick end as hard as he could against her hip.

“HEY!” she shouted, her eyes ablaze with fury. She made no attempt to retaliate but the sudden change in her expression chilled him. What was cold and calculated before had become vengeful and merciless. He knew he had erred. There was worse yet in her than the blade in her hand. 

“There’s more than one way out of here!” she laughed, slashing her corseted top across her belly. “Oh no…!” she pretended to cry, loud enough to be heard from outside. “He’s trying to rape me!” 

He abruptly dropped the broom, kicking it aside in horror.

She cut her top again, from sternum to center, revealing a breast. “No, STOP!” she howled, her volume increasing.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT!?” he shouted, horrified.

She halted her torment with a triumphant smirk. “You’re going to lie on that bed and I’m going to sit on top and ride you like a show pony! At knifepoint now, as you can probably understand! All captured for posterity on THIS.” She reached behind to find nothing. 

“What the hell?” she exclaimed, panicking.

“You looking for this?” he glowered, holding her precious little phone in his hand.

She froze, dumbstruck.

“I picked your pocket when you tried to feel me up,” he said deep and even, with eyes as cold as hers. “Figured I might need it.”

“You still had your camera open. I switched it to video. Can’t see anything really, but I’m betting you can hear every word.”

“Give that back!”

Back on the offense he slowly stepped towards her, bristling with rage. “You coerced me, you assaulted me, and you tried to blackmail me!”

Suddenly, the door opened, revealing his partner’s friendly face. She bolted, grabbing the phone from Rowan’s hand. She shoved him aside, nicking him in the forearm with the tip of the knife. She nearly sliced him wide open, but his natural agility got him out of the way just in time. 

“Gideon grab her!”     

She threw all of her weight into the confused visitor, aiming to knock him clear of the door but had badly misjudged him. He may have looked and sounded like a sweet, harmless marshmallow but he was as strong and single-minded as a mother defending her own.

Gideon grabbed her by the wrist, letting the knife tumble from her hand. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to his chest. She struggled furiously, but he just buried her deeper into his meaty folds, nearly smothering her in his substantial girth. 

Rowan stepped over, snatching the phone from her hand.

“That picture means a lot to me,” he said with an emotionless calm that was almost unnerving.

He busied himself on the phone, then brought up the damning video. He held the device up to her and with a few swift taps, deleted it, ensuring his actions were seen. 

“I thank you for your generous gift.” 

He placed it back in her pocket and gave her a last look. “If you’d come to me with honest intentions, you would have gotten a better response. Now get the hell out of here before I call the police!”

Unwilling to be beaten she opened her eyes wide and laughed. ”Ooo! Oh! I get it! The rumors are true aren’t they! You’re GAY!”

She looked at both her captors and shrieked, “Wait until I spread this around! Stick man and his FAT BOTTOM!”

Gideon looked at her with disgust before hoisting her into the air. She started kicking and screaming. Gideon, unfazed, turned to face outside and threw her hard onto the grass. “Get OUT!” he bellowed.

She tumbled to the ground, her torn top falling open to reveal her braless chest. The unfortunate passing Jeff received the brunt of her frustration. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STARING AT!?”

Rowan curled his lip in disgust and looked at his friend, exasperated. “Why do I get all the psychos?”

“Luck, I guess…  Should I ask?”

“Later,” he sighed, grabbing his wallet. “I gotta change my phone number. It’s going to end up all over the internet as soon as she notices I sent that video to myself first!”