"Well, well, well." I heard the nauseating tone a mile off; I could've recognized it anywhere. "If it isn't Mystique's newest trapeze star."
The moment I looked up, my suspicions were confirmed. Rhona was heading towards me, her pointed toes transforming her stride into a cat-like prowl. Though an amused smirk curled her lips, the rest of her expression remained partially hidden underneath a thick layer of stage make-up. The same was required of all of us; it had taken me a while to become accustomed to the extraordinary transformations undergone by the cast once they were in full costume. Still, Rhona took this to a whole other level. The blonde was barely recognizable underneath the matte mask plastered over her face: the falsely flawless skin tone; the smoky black lids; the dark red pout. No one could deny she was striking, but in a mildly unnerving sense of the word.
The two of us, along with the rest of the cast, were backstage, the show already in full swing on the other side of the wall. Sound effects carried easily through the flimsy material, and I could hear every word of Grayson's performance from my seat in front of the mirror. He was a main act: the resident magician, specializing in the dark side of illusion. He'd be onstage for another ten minutes yet, meaning that Silver, Kendra and I would be taking the stage in just under twenty. We'd all sat through the show with countless repetitions, each one refining our knowledge of the timings until they were accurate to the nearest second. Even my emotions ran on a schedule; fifteen minutes beforehand, the nerves would start up, but they'd be taken care of by the time we were called at the five-minute mark. The circus was nothing if not precise.
"To be honest," she continued, once she'd reached the table I was sat in front of, leaning tauntingly onto the wood, "I'm surprised Silver even let you have the lead spot. I was beginning to think she'd never give it up. She's always been a little too attached, if you ask me."
Glancing over her shoulder, she caught the eye of a redheaded girl in the cluster that stood a few feet away. Of course, it was her permanent backup: the group that were always ready to jump in, should the situation get too much for their precious leader. The girl smirked, her expression mirrored by the other three, as if all wordlessly sharing a private joke that I was very pointedly excluded from.
"I wasn't asking you, actually," I shot back, unable to resist letting the venom leak into my tone. With a silent challenge, my gaze met hers, though I could barely make out the color of her eyes beneath the heavy black kohl. "Have you got anything worthwhile to say, Rhona? Because unless you have, you're better off biding your time with someone who'll actually listen to your drivel."
"Alright, alright." She leaned back, removing her hands from the tabletop to raise them in mock surrender. "There's no need to get touchy."
"I'm not touchy." I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself as Rhona circled me. She stopped behind my chair, looking into the mirror that now presented both our expressions. This wasn't the time to be getting riled up, but it was a difficult feat to avoid when a particular blonde was breathing down my neck. I knew it was exactly what she wanted: to slither her way inside my head moments before I stepped out into the ring, screwing with my confidence and sending my entire performance off balance. I was determined not to give her the satisfaction.
"I only wanted to wish you good luck," she said sweetly. "You are due on after us, of course, and that's a daunting prospect for anybody."
Had it been any other night, I probably could've lashed out with a comeback to shut Rhona up for good. She was never usually one to faze me, or any of us, especially with Silver on hand to provide a daily reminder that she was hopelessly childish and would never grow up. But not only was I closing in on the fifteen minute mark, this was also set to be one of the biggest nights of my life.
That first moment on lead could be practiced over and over, repeated until it was drilled into the inside of my skull, but it all came down to this night. Whatever happened out there - whether I smashed it, like Silver had requested, or fell flat on my face - would be remembered for a long time. It was Corey Ryder's defining moment. It'd be picked apart, assessed, analyzed to within an inch of its life. It'd be caught on tape, sucked into digital form and stored forever. It would make or break me.
Needless to say, I was feeling the pressure.
I could already see Rhona smirking when I failed to deflect her digging remark, her pointed features hovering above mine in the mirror. Every fiber of my being ached with hatred for her - so much so that I longed to wipe the smug expression off her face by whatever means necessary.
But the weight on my shoulders was growing by the minute, slowly extracting the confidence I'd spent so long building up. It forced me to remain in my seat, slumping my physical posture, pressing down whatever words would've been lodged in my throat on any other night. I couldn't do anything but sit there and take it.
It must've been desperately needed luck that sent Silver in at that moment, descending upon us with elegant speed, already in full costume. Her tight black leotard was identical to mine, its dark sleeves finishing at the wrists, while her eye mask dangled by its elastic in her hand.
"Well, you know what they say, Rhona," she cut in, staring back at her opponent with easy confidence. "They save the best 'til last."
Rhona snorted. "How original."
"I think it's time for you to leave," Silver pressed firmly. "Your group are looking a little lost over there without you, anyway. You better get back to them and carry on feeding them orders."
She scowled, but seemed to sense that Silver was not to be messed with, particularly on an evening like this one. Still, she couldn't bring herself to resist hissing at me as she passed, making sure I heard the words, "Just make sure you don't screw it up for the rest of us tonight."
I watched her back as she retreated, eventually being swallowed from view by her four cronies. The loathing on Silver's expression matched my own.
"God, and every time I fool myself into thinking she can't get any more pathetic." She shook her head. "You'd think she'd have better things to do than go round terrorizing the other cast members."
My silence seemed to serve as some kind of response, because her head quickly snapped back to me. "Corey, please don't tell me anything that just came out of her pathetic little mouth is going to bother you," she said, looking on warily. "Because I swear to God, if she does anything to get inside your head tonight and try to screw you up, she'll be getting a slap."
"I'm fine," I assured her. "It's not Rhona. I'm just... I'm nervous, I guess. There's a lot riding on tonight."
I'd barely finished my sentence before Silver spun my chair around, forcing the two of us to come face to face. "Listen to me," she began sternly. My eyes, reluctant to lock directly with hers, swept over her expression instead. Like the rest of the cast, she was covered in make-up, her entire appearance preened and powdered in readiness for the spotlights' harsh glares. Nonetheless, her look was significantly more understated. Shades of gray replaced harsh black around her eyes, and her pixie cut had been slicked into a neat style only ever seen on stage. Her familiarity was reassuring - at least, enough to steer me into a calmer state of mind.
"Don't, and don't ever, listen to a word Rhona says. All she's trying to do is get into your head, and you can't let her. I saw you do the routine in practice this afternoon and you rocked it. You're perfectly capable, and even you know that. You're going to be one hundred percent outstanding tonight, and everybody knows you'll show her up completely."
I did know that, of course. It'd always been there, buried in the back of my head, lying somewhere underneath the layers of dust. All I had to do was brush it off, but that was easier said than done.
"You know she's just jealous," Silver carried on, "because she saw you in practice and you're going to blow her out of the water. Right?"
"I know."
"You're going to be incredible out there," she assured me, and her tone was suddenly so level and sincere that I found myself beginning to trust it. "Not to mention, have you heard that crowd? It's freaking huge, and they're loving it so far. I'm telling you: one of the best shows we've had in a long time. And now it's your time to shine."
She was right. She was always right. So I found myself managing to smile, the corners of my mouth lifted by Silver's words of encouragement. "Thank you."
"No problem, kid. I'm not worried in the slightest. I mean, I taught you everything you know, right? Of course you're going to kick ass." She grinned, her green eyes twinkling, coming to life beneath the make-up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really have to pee. This pregnancy thing is so not sitting well with my bladder."
I grimaced. "Too much info, Silv."
"Sorry. I'll catch up with you in a sec."
Moments later she'd dashed off, twisting her mask around her wrist as she disappeared from view around the corner. Left alone, my attention swiveled back to the pale face that stared back at me from the mirror, its last traces of apprehensiveness concealed by Silver's pep talk. Rhona and her entourage had already vacated the dressing room, preparing for their mount to the stage. Their absence left enough space for me to breathe a sigh of relief.
I watched my face in the mirror, examining the way it slipped back into a neutral expression. I'd always been somewhat pale, but this trait seemed to have been exaggerated by the harsh lights around the mirror, not to mention the torrent of nerves churning inside me. My skin seemed paper-white, and as delicate and fragile as the material it had been likened to. The layer of make-up I'd applied was almost identical to Silver's; we'd both had so much practice I was sure we had it nailed down to each stroke of the brush.
It had taken some getting used to, seeing myself like this. At first, I'd found it difficult to make the connection between the two images: the first of plain old Corey, someone nobody would ever pick out in a crowd; the second of the dazzling trapeze artist that'd turn any head. The make-up was the real mask - even more so than the one that lay on the table in front of me, ready to be slipped over my eyes. Safely hidden behind it, I was invincible. I felt as if I could do anything.
And on a night like this, that was exactly what I needed.
Silver returned several minutes later, Kendra in tow. Her usual mop of blonde curls was slicked back into a neat bun, secured by what I knew had to be a vat of hairspray. She shot me an encouraging smile as they both approached, coming to a stop either side of my chair.
"So," Kendra began, "you ready to rock this?"
One last stolen glance in the mirror had my lip curling into the most undetectable of smiles, and I snatched up the mask, pulling its elastic over the back of my head. It snapped into place, sitting neatly over my eyes. It was well-trained in obscuring my features; nobody but those who'd witnessed its application would know it was me that lay underneath. With it came a dose of confidence, a spring in my step that I only realized had been absent when it appeared.
Perhaps it was the mask that forced the words out of my mouth. "I'm ready."
By now, the adrenaline had begun its course, wading through enough of my body to dissipate the nerves, leaving in their place a pulsating sense of anticipation. Though this evening stood different against all those before it, I had been wrong to assume its timings would stray from the precise schedule carved into the back of my mind. Fifteen minutes saw the nerves arriving. Five, and they were gone. Just like that.
"The crowd out there sounds amazing," Silver declared, as if we couldn't hear the roar of applause for ourselves on the other side of the wall. "When Grayson came out he said he'd never seen anything like it. Ladies, we're in for one incredible show."
She wasn't wrong. There was no reason for her to be.
We edged through the crowd that had gathered backstage. Made up of previous performers hyped up on the sound of their applause, acts waiting for their turn and hyped up on anticipation, and everybody in between, it had become a swirling mass of energy, drawing in everything around it. We pushed through the mob, aiming for the entrance to the ring.
From there, we had a clear view of the show; we were able to catch the main sequence of the aerial silk performance. Rhona had taken her natural position in the center, her four co-stars' scarlet ribbons arranged around her. Dressed entirely in black, the figures contrasted sharply against the silk, likening them to mere silhouettes curling themselves around the fabric, as if the two had become passionate lovers. I swallowed as I watched, drinking in the details of the movements as they twirled effortlessly in synchronization, trying my best to keep hold of the knowledge that I was, as Silver put it, going to 'blow them out of the water'.
The music swelled, meaning the end was near. I'd stood by through this routine more times than I could count; I was sure I knew it as well as my own. Rhona would break into her end position - an excruciating version of the splits with each foot wrapped around a piece of the ribbon - and the accompaniment would finish at its climax, retreating to make room for the sound of the applause that consumed the entire big top.
The lights were cut as the performers swiftly disentangled themselves from their props, the darkness too overpowering to allow the audience to catch any sight of it. It was all part of the illusion, the effortless transition between acts, as if by magic. My breathing had become ragged; I knew we were down to the last few seconds before we were set to dash on, making a desperate grab for the trapeze that would've been lowered sometime in the changeover.
And then suddenly it came: the gentle pressure on my back from Silver's palm, sending me stumbling forward, dashing across the ring with what had to be silent elegance. The sliver of light that remained in the tent allowed me to spot the center trapeze on the approach, and I took a running leap, launching myself up onto it.
I briefly wondered if Dave was one of the guys in charge of the equipment tonight as I felt the trapeze being pulled up into the air, carrying me with it. By now, we were floating above the spectators, though this was visible to neither yet. Any second now the lights would make their flickering return, the music would start, and my moment would begin.
And all at once it did - with remarkably little fanfare, compared to what I had been expecting. Had I allowed myself to close my eyes and escape the present for a heartbeat, I doubted I'd have been able to distinguish it from the beginning of any other show we'd presented in the past twelve months. The routine may have been tweaked, primed for the benefit of its ever-changing audience, but its essence remained consistent. I knew its every intricate detail as well as the back of my hand.
Maybe I'd expected fireworks, or something of the sort, but the deafening applause was just as loud. We were bathed in a dim red glow as the lights flickered on, the crowd's wild noise washing over us like a warm wave. Seated on the trapeze, my hands gripping either string of rope, my gaze swept across it for a moment. The collective sound of fervent encouragement from every corner of the tent tugged my lips upward, sending an involuntary smile breaking out across my face.
This, right here, was what I craved: the awe; the looks of curiosity painted across the features of every one of those people in the stalls. They were here to watch us, to stare with wonder as we waltzed across their vision, drawing remarks such as "Isn't it beautiful?" and "How do they do that?" from within. Their energy was electric: something my muscles could feed off, keeping the impending aching fatigue at bay.
Any second now the music would start; I knew I should've been preparing myself. Yet somehow I'd let myself get distracted, my eyes catching on what they'd been skimming over a moment ago. A familiar, yet still remarkably unfamiliar, face in the crowd. A head of blonde hair, deliberately messy. That charming smile, noticeable from a mile away.
My heart lurched inexplicably.
He'd come to see me. Luke had. The charming boy from the diner had come, hoping to be charmed in return.
Our eyes locked for a fraction of a second, and he smiled. I didn't have time to return the favor.
The routine had already begun; I'd heard the drop of the beat, my cue lingering for a millisecond and brandishing my opportunity to grab hold of it. I kicked my legs upward, remembering to keep my toes pointed, before curling myself into the rope.
A sequence of moves, strung together. That's how I thought of it as I transitioned through the routine, one trick morphing into the next. Exactly as I'd done it this afternoon. If I could just replicate the past perfectly, everything would be okay. Mind over matter.
It was fine. Everything seemed to be going to plan. Tonight was to be yet another success for my restaurant superstition; Joe's fries had redeemed themselves. I was feeding off the crowd's raw, throbbing energy, injecting it into my muscles, riding out the buzz that seemed to vibrate through every fiber of my body.
This was what I lived for. Trapeze. The final piece of my own jigsaw, the only thing with the power to make me feel complete. It was everything.
Until it wasn't.
The routine had come easily up until that point - almost too easily. My fingers curled around the scratchy rope, feeling more at home than ever, while my body seemed oddly content to remain suspended fifteen feet above the ground. I didn't even need Silver in my line of vision to calm me, which I'd always assumed necessary. This was my natural habitat: the most permanent home I'd ever have. And as I bent forward into the leg extension, once again coiling my foot around the rope for security, I was struck by the realization that in that split second, everything was perfect.
At least it was until I saw the flames.
Initially, it was nothing more than a flicker in the corner of my eye. I was frozen in position, my legs split into a continuous line along the rope, my gaze roaming the view behind me for a fragment of a second. I told myself it was a trick of the light, the misdirected glare from a spotlight as it circled the ring. I had to ensure I remained undistracted, after all. A beat later and I'd leap into the next trick, and that was where my full concentration needed to be focused.
I believed it until I heard the screaming.
It had come from the far side of the circus tent: a place in the stalls furthest from the backstage door. There, it was a single sound, an ear-splitting shriek, alone amidst the thumping beat and wild applause. But as quickly as it had died out, it had returned, proliferating, the collective noise rising through the entire tent. As soon as I'd righted myself, head finally above my feet once more, I spotted the source of the distress. It took all I had not to let out a scream of my own.
The flames were faster than anything I'd ever seen before. What had started out as a single patch of fire was spreading by the second, morphing into a burning slab of heat that was quickly creeping up one of the walls of the tent. The flimsy material crumpled like paper as it was consumed, disintegrating into blackened remains.
There was something about them that seemed strange. The flames seemed already too high, leaping from one place to another with incredible ferocity. They carried an almost unnatural quality, almost as if they'd been tampered with, like they were burning through straight gasoline. Surely it was not possible for a tent to catch alight with such speed without interference?
There was no time to think about it. The shock had turned my muscles to stone; I was clinging to the trapeze, dangling helplessly above the panicking crowd with absolutely no means to lower myself. All it had taken was a split second for the audience to flip, tainted by a fear strong enough to transform them into a swelling riot. Figures were scrambling for the exits in all directions, some even running onto the ring itself, the chaos burning all resolve. The flames were advancing, closing in on the very top of the tent, leaping onto the adjacent walls and threatening to consume the entire outer shell of the structure.
A glance to my left saw Silver and Kendra in exactly the same position, staring dumbstruck at the disaster that was rapidly unfolding beneath our feet. Another particularly loud scream hit my ears as the smoke began billowing through the vicinity, its black musk obscuring view of anything and everything in its path. Combined with the darkness of the evening, it was a lethal combination. Mere seconds had me surrounded, the sooty fumes already forcing their way into my lungs. The violent urge to cough was already growing unbearable.
And then, suddenly, I snapped into action. Nothing was to come of hanging paralyzed above the calamity. Every second I paused only increased the chances of the fire reaching the supports above, sending me toppling to the ground as it burnt through the rope. I'd been left with no choice. To escape, I had to jump.
The fearless elation of several minutes ago had been entirely vanquished, destroyed by the smoke that had forged a path into my lungs. Utter terror was now all I had left. A tangible fear was gripping me from all directions, squeezing the movement right out of my muscles. But I had to push past it. Unless I wanted to die here, to pass out from the toxic smoke already writhing inside me, I had to make an attempt to escape. So I lowered myself underneath the trapeze, shutting my eyes tightly to seal out the sting of the smoke.
And I dropped.
I hit the ground with a violent thud: a sound that seemed to resonate through every bone in my body. My odd landing was sure to have injured something, but I didn't have time to think about it. A clatter next to my head confirmed the trapeze had suffered the same fate, the fire ripping through the supports at the tent's pointed top. Though every muscle in my body was protesting furiously, aching with a strangling combination of fatigue and unadulterated terror, I gathered to my feet. A dark mass of figures seemed to be heading in a direction that resembled an exit, so I stumbled after them. Anything. Anything to get out of there.
The fire was ruthless, tearing through anything that dared to stand in its way. It didn't matter whether it was the wall of the tent, the wood of the benches, or the skin of a human being. None of that was relevant. Not here. By that point, only one comprehensible thought remained, hurtling through the foggy depths of my mind with such speed that it ached to think of anything else.
I just can't let it be me.
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I don't even know what to say here. I know you guys were expecting Corey to have some kind of accident, but... I tricked you, haha. Drop me a comment, I love you guys! :)