Page 31 of Sinistram
“Not sure that tells us anything new, but it helps to confirm the theory,” Travis agreed.
“Yeah, well, wait till you hear the rest.” Brent caught him up on the rest of Mark’s comments, as well as what he was able to get from Shane about CHARON.
“That’s not good.” Travis’s harried sigh told Brent that his partner wasn’t surprised, but had held out a shred of hope that he might be wrong. “And it’s more than I’d get if I called Father Liam or anyone else in Sinistram. But I think we go with our theory about them being behind everything until something proves us wrong. I just wish we could figure out the bigger plan.”
Brent knew that just thinking about making contact with Father Liam was enough to trigger Travis, so he appreciated the sacrifice implicit in the offer.
“I don’t think there’s any point in making us a bigger target to Sinistram than we already are,” Brent replied. “I can almost understand—from their perspective—getting the amateur hunters out of the way. Although the risks we take are ones they don’t have to, so we’re valuable at least as cannon fodder.”
“But regardless of how the causes of death were recorded, more monster sightings and hostile ghost reports mean thatregular people outside the hunting community are noticing,” Travis pointed out. “That stokes fear, and people react badly when they’re afraid. Hence the first rule of Fight Club.”
“Don’t talk about it,” Brent replied automatically. “Sooner or later, people are going to start talking.”
“They already are.” Travis recounted stories that several of the residents at St. Dismas had shared about more monsters on the streets, more homeless people disappearing, and evidence that the creatures were responsible. “Apparently there’s a whole new cottage industry selling amulets and reading omens. Everyone’s on edge.”
“It’s almost like part of their plan is to create the fear among regular people, and make the monsters more vulnerable as well as the hunters,” Brent mused. “Maybe we shouldn’t be looking for logic. Is it possible that someone just wants to see it all burn?”
“Wow, remind me not to give you the good drugs anymore,” Travis responded. “Gloomy much?” He paused, and Brent knew Travis was taking a moment to seriously consider the question.
“The Church has a definite ‘no one gets out alive’ slant on the best of days,” Travis replied. “And that’s the Catholics—not counting the Protestant groups that believe in the ‘End Times’ and a final Apocalypse—capital ‘A.’ I’ve never been attracted to any of those theories because when you cut through the drama, destroying everything didn’t make sense.”
“That’s because you’re not a fanatic,” Brent pointed out. “I could be totally off base. I hope I am. But when logical reasons don’t pan out, you start looking at plausibly crazy.”
“I hadn’t thought to go in that direction, but I can put out some feelers. That would go along with all the talk of signs and portents,” Travis replied. “In the meantime, get some rest. We’ve got a haunted circus wreck to handle.”
“I feel a nap coming on,” Brent replied, only partially in jest. “Let me know if you find out anything.”
“You’ll be the first person I call,” Travis promised before he ended the call.
Brent stretched, finished his cup of coffee, and ate a couple of cookies before he returned to his computer. He wasn’t ready to sleep yet, and he wanted to run down some possibilities while they were still fresh in his mind.
He dug a card out of his wallet, one that he had gathered when they had gone to the Steam and Gas show with Mark. Ed Finley owned the portable calliope, and Brent remembered him saying that it had been used in a circus long ago.
Finley picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” he answered cautiously, probably suspicious of an unfamiliar number.
“Mr. Finley, I met you at the Steam and Gas show when my friend and I were there with Mark Wojcik,” Brent spoke quickly before Finley hung up. “You gave me your card. I thought of a couple of questions, if this isn’t a bad time.”
Finley laughed. “I’m retired, so unless I’m napping, there’s not much going on. What’s on your mind?”
“Did you ever hear of the Walter Brothers Circus?”
Finley was quiet for a moment. “Yes. Terrible thing that happened. But that was a long time ago. Why’s a young guy like you interested?”
“Do you believe in circus hauntings?” Brent figured he’d just dive in.
This time, there was a longer pause. “Anyone who knows much about the circus believes in the ghosts,” Finley replied. “Circuses were big operations—lots of people, wild animals, props, tents, railcars. Plenty of things could go wrong—and they did.
“Performers got hurt, animals got sick, tents caught on fire, and sometimes trains wrecked,” he went on. “For all the ‘showmust go on’ theatrics, there was a lot of hardship, even on a good day. The only one who ever got rich on a circus was P.T. Barnum. The smaller circuses squeaked by, barely making expenses. Performers didn’t earn much, but most of them fit in better with circus folks than with civilians, so they stayed and made do.”
Brent had read enough history and lore last night when sleep was scarce to validate Finley’s less-than-glamorous description. Running away with the circus definitely wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
“Was there anything unusual about the Walter Brothers’s accident?”
“It was a bad night,” Finley said. “Rain, fog, and a winding stretch of track that had more than its share of wrecks. Circus cars weren’t always new or in the best shape, although the good outfits tried to be safe. The reports chalked it up to wet rails, going too fast, and bad luck.”
“What do you think?”
The question hung there for a moment. “I think that people look for explanations, and when they can’t find one that suits them, they make them up,” Finley said. “The Walter Brothers outfit was small potatoes, playing the second-tier cities. They weren’t competing for the big arenas, so they weren’t a threat to other operations.”
