Joel Arnold - Fetal Bait Apocalypse - 3 Collections in 1

William reached the platform.

Razor wire stretched out long and sharp and cold before him. He was no longer in Riverbend.

“Ladies and gents, raise your eyes to the skies — “

A calm settled over him like a morning fog.

William Farini was now part of the circus.

They traveled by train, by truck and bus, over endless valleys, plains, mountain passes. Images came to him like bits of remembered dream, images of meals shared with the other performers, sitting in somnambulistic circles, chanting in fevered monotones. But every time he became aware of himself — fully aware — he was on the platform high above the middle ring of the Big Top. The pain he felt as he stepped onto the razor wire was a balm to the guilt he felt for betraying his family.

The woman from his dreams had helped him, all right; helped him ignore reality and turn away from the pain that life brought. But to never face the hardships was to never live. So he welcomed the sharp pain of the wire, the razor blades, because that was something that reminded him of what it was to be alive.

Soon, he felt a new weight on the balance pole.

“John? Frank?” His tears blinded him. He struggled not to fall.

“Father?” his sons said in unison.

Months, years later, Connie waited on the opposite platform, a beckoning mist that solidified bit by agonizing bit with each performance.

Maybe this is the way, he thought, to get my family back.

Maybe this is my penance.

He had yet to fall.

Was it even possible to fall?

He looked down at the net.

Faces swirled hungrily in the sinewy threads, weaving and reweaving, an undulating sea. Connie waited on the far platform, standing the way she used to stand on their front porch.

And now, so many years later…

His sons inched closer, their weight on the balance pole intense on his palms. Razors sliced into his feet. Blood dripped through the net into the open mouths of the clowns below.

He was so close.

John and Frank crept toward him, their bodies shaking, eyes wide with fright.

“That’s it,” William said. “Steady now. Steady.”

The last of the sun blazed through the Big Top’s entrance like a fire dying in a bed of ash.

He took another step. A razor sliced through his middle toe.

So close.

“William.”

Connie looked whole. Solid.

Was this the night to end thousands of such nights?

How long had it been since he’d seen her like this? So whole. So real. If only he could reach her. He’d never been able to reach her before. She always disappeared like a moth into a flame.

But tonight.

Tonight.

He prayed silently to the Ringmaster.

You can have my feet, my flesh. Just give me my family.

At last, his sons inches away, Connie a mere step away. Joy replaced the pain surging through him.

One more step.

Her touch was electric. The first time he’d felt her fingers on his face in decades.

His sons draped their arms around his shoulders and clung fast to him. He stepped into Connie’s arms.

He let the pole drop. It shattered on the ground like an icicle.

He stepped firmly onto the platform.

At last.

At last.

He closed his eyes. His family clung to him, their lips kissing him, their tears wet on his skin.

When he lost his balance, they dropped as one mass into the writhing net below.

The audience rose like a great beast and roared.

Traffic crawled, an endless line of chrome and glass. Jill glanced in the mirror. Jesus! She slammed on the brakes. A horn sounded behind her. She examined her face. How could she have forgotten? She’d been in such a hurry to get to the interview, she neglected to put on her make-up. She grimaced at the wrinkles, the crow’s feet, the black bags beneath her eyes. No way could she go into an interview like this. Not without her Esteem .

The Esteem lady, Betty Briar, had assured her it made her look ten years younger. “Just look at you,” she beamed, holding up the mirror for Jill to admire herself.

Jill turned her head this way and that. She did look younger. The dark circles that hung around her eyes like permanently tattooed shadows were gone, or at least covered up. And her crow’s feet had disappeared, the skin at the corners of her eyes supple and fresh. The hi-lighting pen that the Esteem lady applied forced attention away from her saggy jowls and gave the impression of strong cheekbones and full lips.

Hell, she looked great! And looking great gave her that boost of confidence she needed to make it through the day. When she was laid off two weeks earlier, the loss only stung temporarily until she studied her face in the mirror. A fresh layer of Esteem, and nothing mattered any more; the mortgage, the outstanding loans, the high cost of insurance, the daycare…

She looked fantastic!

Besides, she’d been getting some great interviews — this was her fourth this week. If only she could nail this one, the pay would be even higher than her previous job, and the company was known for its great benefits. Getting laid off was the best thing that ever happened to her.

The traffic inched forward. Not far to go, but—

Damn it, how could she have forgotten her Esteem?

She looked at the dashboard clock. Did she have time to race back home and throw on a fresh application?

She’d been in such a hurry to leave. Her husband had a meeting and couldn’t take Allison to daycare, couldn’t even get her ready, and Jill forgot that four-year olds weren’t always the most compliant creatures in the world. How many times did she have to ask her to finish her Froot Loops? Then she noticed a typo on her resume, so she had to correct that and print out a couple fresh copies, and—

Dang it, Allison, finish your Froot Loops!

So it was a rush to daycare, Allison crying and needing to be held and reassured that she’d have a fun day, then rushing into busy traffic…

She hadn’t even grabbed her extra make-up bag!

Maybe she could talk Betty into making an emergency run. They were tight, weren’t they? Tight enough to do each other a favor once in a while? She really wanted this job.

She checked traffic. Barely moving, but her exit was in sight. She dialed Betty on her cell phone. No answer. She left a message. “Betty, this is Jill. Jill Carole. I need a huge favor. It’s an emergency, actually. I’m on my way to an interview — remember how I told you about losing my job? Well, everything was so hectic this morning — I left without my Esteem . I need some foundation, eyeliner, lipstick—” She glanced in the mirror. “Oh, geez. I need the whole shebang. Can you meet me in the parking lot of the Johnson Building off I-94? I’ll pay double, plus throw in a few bucks for gas. I’ve got a half hour before the interview — if there’s any way you can get here before nine — I’ll be waiting in the parking lot. Please. It’s critical.”

She hadn’t been without her Esteem since she’d met Betty three months ago at her neighborhood block party.

Traffic eased forward. By the time she arrived at the Johnson Building parking lot, it was only twenty minutes to nine. Still — even if Betty got the message and raced here, it would be cutting it close.

She turned off the engine, leaned back and closed her eyes. Come on, Betty .

There was a sharp knock on the car’s window. Jill’s eyes flew open. It was a young man, twenty-something, creamy dress shirt, smart maroon tie. Jill sat up and rolled the window down a crack.

The man looked worried. “You okay in there?”

“Yes,” Jill said. “Just gearing up for an interview.”