Katherine Dunn - Nightmare Carnival

She rocks back and forth, roaring with laughter that dies in her throat as fast as it starts.

“I might have known that he’d do for all of us in the end. He was the one with the light fingers.”

“What do you mean?” This rapid revisionism makes Henry weak. “Leo trusted Rollo. He was going to make him a partner.”

“Leo was going to make Rollo and Christos partners. It was a mark of the man that he overlooked Rollo’s thieving and treated him like a brother. Where did you get the information for your book? Rollo? He was an inveterate liar and crook.” Her derision’s on her face. “You should’ve known better, professor.”

“I don’t understand. The bullet was fired from the gun they found on the floor.”

“Did you know there was a second set of guns?” Rebecca doesn’t give him time to digest this. “Rollo was backstage. He could have fired his gun in time with Leo and then swapped it in the confusion.”

“Rollo?”

Rollo. He thinks of the interviews.

Leo and I were both crack shots .

Rollo. With his insinuations about the Saunders brothers. That one was a thief and the other a lecher and a murderer. And Henry’s believed Rollo, who’s always on the make, always touching him for money, because there was no other way to get close to Rebecca.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Did Rollo buy you a dog?”

“No,” she looks perplexed. “Leo did.”

She’s telling the truth. She has no reason to lie to him; she doesn’t care one iota for what he thinks. Henry can feel the mocking weight of his book in his pocket. He’s not recorded history. Not even memory. He’s been a scribe for lies. Rollo’s not just a liar. He’s a killer.

“He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

Henry can’t meet Rebecca’s eyes.

“How are you still alive?”

“I’ll show you.”

He follows her into the hall. There’s a door beneath the stairs.

“Stay,” she wags a finger at Sam. Then to Henry, “Shut the door behind you. I don’t want Sam down here. He’ll get upset.”

A bare bulb lights their descent. The basement’s bare. She turns to face him.

“That’s quite a birthmark to carry around.”

Rebecca’s direct. The statement carries expectation. She expects something in return for what she’s about to show him.

“When I was a child my father took me to a specialist about my face. I remember how Dad looked when the doctor told him that nothing could be done.” Henry’s surprised that of all his memories this is the one he’s seized upon. It’s been just beneath the surface all this time. “The only time he ever touched it was when one of his friends made a wisecrack. Dad took me home and scrubbed my face as though it was an ink stain that could come off.”

The words rush out of him. “When my daughter was born and I held her in my arms, I was so overwhelmed by her that I couldn’t imagine anything that would make her seem less than perfect to me.”

After the divorce, things between them had become difficult. Henry can’t recall the last time he spoke to his daughter. He wishes he’d tried harder.

“The first time I saw you, Rebecca, you reached out and touched it.” He puts his fingertips on the stained side of his face, recalling the moment.

“I don’t remember. You’re afraid, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“So you should be. I’ve not brought many people luck.” She snaps her fingers and a single flame appears. “I’ve never talked to anyone like this. Not even Chris or Leo. I wish I had.”

Her whole fist’s burning. She lifts it like a torch. The light reflects in her eyes. “Fire’s a funny thing. People think we’ve tamed it but they have no idea. It turns on you when you least expect it. When I saw Christos lying there, it got out. I was so shocked that I couldn’t stop it. Leo must’ve thought something had gone wrong.”

“What are you?”

Small flames gutter around her like a cloak.

“I don’t know. The first time, I burnt up my lover in a fit of lust. When I woke up I was entwined with his corpse. I had to crack my charred skin off the new flesh beneath. Every time I allow myself to fully burn up, I’m a woman of twenty again. I’ve survived cancer and two heart attacks this way. And being fireproof saved me at Salem. I was the corpse that wouldn’t burn down to bone. I clawed my way out of a mass grave.”

She’s eternal, elemental. Henry steps back. She’s roaring now. He can feel the heat on his face.

“The real trick’s not being a human bonfire. It’s what I do with myself afterward.” He thinks he can see a smile within this pillar of fire. “I always leave my effects to my cousin and I’m never in my coffin when it’s buried.”

The light bulb shatters. She’s the only light in the darkness. Then the flames die as if she’s sucked them back inside herself.

“Rebecca?” He’s scared she’ll answer.

“Take Sam with you,” she says in the lull before the sudden flare that fills the room. The blast blows Henry off his feet. He turns his face away. The flames pass overhead and then recede. He can smell his own singeing hair. She’s an inferno. He crawls to the stairs. Fire’s licking the walls and creeping along the ceiling beams. He can hear Sam, barking and flinging his stocky body at the door.

Henry snatches at Sam’s collar and heaves the snapping, straining animal outside into the quiet dusk of the suburban street. It takes all his strength to keep hold of Sam as he collapses on the tarmac, arms around the dog’s chest. The fire is fast. Henry can see the warm glow through the windows as it feeds, then something inside the lounge explodes. The window shatters.

Henry has to leave now, while he can. People are coming out of their houses. He goes, dragging Sam into the coming darkness and silence, back to feeling like he always has, alone, waiting for her light.

Henry’s already awake to hear Sam barking. He doesn’t sleep well anymore.

Life’s nothing but silence and darkness.

He turns on the bedside lamp. The newspaper is still on the nightstand, folded at the page that carries Betty Marlin’s obituary, the final flourish of Rebecca’s preparations for her latest death.

His body creaks and groans as he goes to the front door and opens it, letting Sam run out into the black woods away from him. Henry sits on the step and waits, worrying that Sam won’t come back. He does, eventually, sniffing and pawing at him.

“Hey.” He rubs the loose skin on Sam’s neck.

When Henry peers out between the trunks there’s nothing. Not a glow or a flicker to betray her. She’s not coming for him after all. He realizes the worst of it. That he’s just a footnote and Rebecca has turned the page.

The leaves are coming in, good and green. Henry likes this time of year. He’s decided to stay in the house at the end of the lane, with its view of the trees. Sam likes it here.

He’s been on the verge of making the call so many times. Today , he tells himself, I’ll do it today .

He picks up the phone.

“The Gramercy.”

“Roland Henrikson, please. 136.”

The man clears his throat.

“I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Henrikson’s dead.”

“What?” He thinks of Rollo’s face filling the screen.

“I’m sorry to give you such terrible news.” The man waits. All Henry can think is that he’s courteous despite the seedy hotel where he works.

“Can I ask how?”

The man clears his throat.

“Please tell me.”

“I’m sorry. His body was found on a building site. Someone set him on fire.”

Leo can’t move fast enough. Christos’s legs have stopped twitching.