If you tried, you' d never find us before we disappeared.
"I could try," Davenport said. His eyes had gone cold as a stony beach in winter. "How are you talking to me in my head?"
Never mind that. You should be used to voices, Davenport. You've followed so many for so long. They helped you escape the loony bin, after all.
"Mental facility," Davenport corrected.
Have it your way. The voices helped you do the research necessary and they taught you the techniques of faking medical degrees so that you could pass yourself off as a physician. Quite an intelligent accomplishment for a mad man, Davenport!
"Who told you all this?"
"He knows everything." The smiling man grinned idiotically.
Davenport didn't even spare him a glance at the interruption. He kept his attention on the slobb ering, blind head.
"Answer me, who told you these things?"
God? The Devil? Fairies under the fairy bridge? What do you care? I know you, that is what's important here. I know about the syringes of air you give to sick patients of other doctors on staff at Bradbury Hospital. I know all about the satisfaction you get from your death-dealing. It enlarges your madness, it feeds it, and it makes you, day by day, year by year, into a proper monster.
"I'm not listening to more of this rubbish." Davenport turned an d began to trot away. He heard the laughter mocking him and turned back in a flash. He rushed to the window and beat on the glass with both fists. "I'll kill you, you two-headed freak bastard! I'll find you and kill you both!"
The laughter rang now outward ly and inside Davenport ’ s mind. Both brothers emitted gales of laughter that forced Davenport to cover his ears and run for the exit before his eardrums burst.
#
The assistant held the flap for the last paid patron for the show, smiling gently at the scraw ny girl who ducked to keep her hair from being mussed as she sailed under the flap and into the hallway. She walked slowly, hands held together at her waist, elbows jutting. She wore a stalwart look, her eyes frosty and unfathomable, just as if she owned t he sideshow, the carnival, as if she owned the whole world.
When she reached the glass, she stood still, her expression unchanging. "Hello, freak," she said, sarcasm dripping from her tinny voice.
"Hello, dear." The smiling man inclined his fine head.
Who are you calling a freak, you skinny, mean, murderous freak of a girl!
The girl stiffened even more, her spine rigid. Her lips turned down and her eyes blazed. "What did you just say to me?"
I called you a skinny. Mean. Murderous. FREAK.
Now she knew for certain the voice was in her head and yet it was not her own. She stared at the lolling head and watched the saliva leak out and drip like white honey to the man's gray suit jacket that was already splotched with it.
"Who are you?"
I'm you r worst nightmare, MaryBeth. I can read your blackened and pitted mind. I know you're fourteen years old. I know when you were twelve, you pushed your older brother off the edge of the subway into the path of a coming train. I know it was ruled an acciden t . It was the same with your older sister when you were thirteen and she was seventeen. They said she had a weak constitution. They said she had allergies to foods. They never did an autopsy, lucky for you, wasn't it, MaryBeth? She loved mushrooms, didn't s he? So you found some yellow caps in the woods behind that looming mansion you live in and fed them to her. All to be sure you'd inherit the family fortune. All for your ambition, your greed, your...rage.
"I'm leaving now." MaryBeth's checks were as rose r ed as if she were a rouged doll. She twisted away from the glass, but before she could hurry from the exhibit, the voice in her head shouted at her.
You should wait. You're the one I mean to tell the future.
She froze and turned her head on her skinny neck to stare through the glass. The smiling man moved closer to the window, but she refused to be intimidated. She stood her
"I could try," Davenport said. His eyes had gone cold as a stony beach in winter. "How are you talking to me in my head?"
Never mind that. You should be used to voices, Davenport. You've followed so many for so long. They helped you escape the loony bin, after all.
"Mental facility," Davenport corrected.
Have it your way. The voices helped you do the research necessary and they taught you the techniques of faking medical degrees so that you could pass yourself off as a physician. Quite an intelligent accomplishment for a mad man, Davenport!
"Who told you all this?"
"He knows everything." The smiling man grinned idiotically.
Davenport didn't even spare him a glance at the interruption. He kept his attention on the slobb ering, blind head.
"Answer me, who told you these things?"
God? The Devil? Fairies under the fairy bridge? What do you care? I know you, that is what's important here. I know about the syringes of air you give to sick patients of other doctors on staff at Bradbury Hospital. I know all about the satisfaction you get from your death-dealing. It enlarges your madness, it feeds it, and it makes you, day by day, year by year, into a proper monster.
"I'm not listening to more of this rubbish." Davenport turned an d began to trot away. He heard the laughter mocking him and turned back in a flash. He rushed to the window and beat on the glass with both fists. "I'll kill you, you two-headed freak bastard! I'll find you and kill you both!"
The laughter rang now outward ly and inside Davenport ’ s mind. Both brothers emitted gales of laughter that forced Davenport to cover his ears and run for the exit before his eardrums burst.
#
The assistant held the flap for the last paid patron for the show, smiling gently at the scraw ny girl who ducked to keep her hair from being mussed as she sailed under the flap and into the hallway. She walked slowly, hands held together at her waist, elbows jutting. She wore a stalwart look, her eyes frosty and unfathomable, just as if she owned t he sideshow, the carnival, as if she owned the whole world.
When she reached the glass, she stood still, her expression unchanging. "Hello, freak," she said, sarcasm dripping from her tinny voice.
"Hello, dear." The smiling man inclined his fine head.
Who are you calling a freak, you skinny, mean, murderous freak of a girl!
The girl stiffened even more, her spine rigid. Her lips turned down and her eyes blazed. "What did you just say to me?"
I called you a skinny. Mean. Murderous. FREAK.
Now she knew for certain the voice was in her head and yet it was not her own. She stared at the lolling head and watched the saliva leak out and drip like white honey to the man's gray suit jacket that was already splotched with it.
"Who are you?"
I'm you r worst nightmare, MaryBeth. I can read your blackened and pitted mind. I know you're fourteen years old. I know when you were twelve, you pushed your older brother off the edge of the subway into the path of a coming train. I know it was ruled an acciden t . It was the same with your older sister when you were thirteen and she was seventeen. They said she had a weak constitution. They said she had allergies to foods. They never did an autopsy, lucky for you, wasn't it, MaryBeth? She loved mushrooms, didn't s he? So you found some yellow caps in the woods behind that looming mansion you live in and fed them to her. All to be sure you'd inherit the family fortune. All for your ambition, your greed, your...rage.
"I'm leaving now." MaryBeth's checks were as rose r ed as if she were a rouged doll. She twisted away from the glass, but before she could hurry from the exhibit, the voice in her head shouted at her.
You should wait. You're the one I mean to tell the future.
She froze and turned her head on her skinny neck to stare through the glass. The smiling man moved closer to the window, but she refused to be intimidated. She stood her
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