Page 68 of Scythe & Sparrow
I use the only advantage I have now—my knowledge of this cramped space. I drop to the floor and crawl to the back edge of the tent as Matt thrashes around the darkness, destroying everything he touches in his search for me. I stay crouched and quiet,tearing at the canvas until the pins loosen from the grass. Wooden seat still clutched in my grip, I slide free of the tent andrun.
An unhinged, dirt-streaked, grass-stained clown running through the fairgrounds attracts only yelps of surprise and delight from the patrons. No one notices the panic in my eyes. The way I stop and spin around and scan my surroundings for the man who wants to kill me. No one hears the heartbeats that roar in my ears.
No one knows the realization that blares through my mind, obliterating all other thoughts.
If I don’t kill Matt Cranwell, hewillkill me. And he will take Fionn down too.
I cannot let that happen.
I look left and right but there’s no sign of Matt Cranwell.
“Why does this shit never go right?” I ask out loud as I pivot on my heel and scour the crowd. The scent of donuts and churros and burgers swirls around me on the cool breeze. Aside from the occasional staff costume I recognize, it’s impossible to pinpoint a familiar face beneath masks and makeup. A little surge of panic ripples through my heart. Maybe Matt has taken off like any sane person would do. Maybe he’ll bring in the cops after all. There’s no reason to entirely bank on his narcissism and misogyny and fondness for physical violence to get the better of him. And Christ, what if he does think rationally and take this to the police? Fionn will definitely be dragged down into the thick of this mess with me. My imagination threatens to run wild with images of red and blue lights, courtrooms and lawyers and metal bars that slide closed and never open.
But I can’t get caught up in all that now. I’ve got a job to do. “Get your shit together, Rose Evans.”
I start another turn when a quick burst of movement catches my eye. I spot Matt next to the hot dog stand. He’s peering around the corner of the glass display. Then Matt spots me, and unfortunately, he’s picked up a second weapon, his knife clutched in one hand, and a hot dog skewer in the other. He straightens and comes out from behind the cart, creeping another step in my direction. “It’s on, you fuckin’ clown,” he snarls through a feral grin.
I take off running.
Matt roars a threat of vengeance behind me as I weave through groups of teenagers with their popcorn and cotton candy, and staff dressed as zombies and witches and deranged clowns. I dart between stands and through narrow passageways. My heart riots in my chest. My stomach threatens a revolt. But I still keep Matt just close enough that he can find me. Just far enough that he can’t catch me. And I keep my eye on the target I spot through the crowd.
The haunted house.
I run for the staff-only side door, tossing a glance over my shoulder as I scramble to pull the keys from my pocket and unlock it. Matt is in the distance but lasered onto me. He has a limp in his step that slows him down, but not by much. He snarls when I give him my best psycho clown grin. I push the door open and leave it ajar, and then I plunge into the darkness, ducking into the shadows.
A moment later, Matt bursts through the door.
“Fucking bitch.” He starts limping down the corridor where performers can travel behind the walls to scare visitors from behind hidden panels and trapdoors. Screams and laughter and the dusty aroma of glycerin fog linger in the air. His head swings side to side as he looks for any sign of me, a weapon still clutched ineach hand. I step from the shadows, pulling the door shut with a quietsnick.
I sneak behind Matt, the flat seat clutched between my hands.
“Where the fuck are you,” he whispers.
I smile.
Ta-da, motherfucker.
I use all my force as I swing the wooden seat and hit Matt in the back of the head. He stumbles and screams. His weapons clatter into the shadows. He drops to his knees, his head clutched between his hands, a mess of rage and chaos. I set the chair down and slink past him as he writhes in the dark. I start feeling for the knife so I can fucking finish this, once and for all. And just as I think I’ve felt the sharp tip of something metal, a hand clamps around my ankle and yanks me back across the floor.
When I roll over to fight him off, his glass eye is gone, leaving his lid half closed. But that’s not the one I’m focused on. My shocked gaze is caught on the other eye, bulging much too far beyond the confines of its socket.
“Holy fucking shit, it’s true. I hit you so hard your eyeball popped out.” I retch, barely managing to swallow down a swell of nausea. The lids are pulled back across the bloodshot globe, making him look both surprised and cartoonishly angry. I retch again. “Put it back in, for the love of God.”
“I’m going to fuckingkill you,” he snarls. He pitches toward me, his hands tensed into claws that I’m sure he’s desperate to clamp around my neck. With a sharp kick to his chest, I manage to keep him at bay long enough that I can scramble to my feet and take off running down the corridor. With a momentary glance over my shoulder, I see Matt staggering to his feet, the knife gripped in hishand. He stalks toward me, and I dart through a curtain at the end of the hall to enter the ground floor of the visitor’s section of the haunted house.
I slip past a group of teens huddled together in a corner of the creepy kitchen display, giving them an extra scare as a worker dressed as a bloodied butcher frightens them with a plastic knife. I keep going past a couple who clutches each other when a staff member drops from a hidden platform near the ceiling. I head past the smoke machine and lasers that obscure a clown crouched beneath white tendrils of mist. Matt is still behind me, and I pick up the pace through the displays and jump scares and terrified visitors. Then I head up the stairs to the second level.
The labyrinthine second story is filled with narrow rooms and screams from the floor below. I back up into a shadowed space and crouch between a china cupboard filled with decapitated doll heads and a blood-spattered sheet, trying to slow my breathing and listen for Matt’s work boots thudding across the floorboards. But he doesn’t come. A couple passes. Then a group of four teens. But still no Matt.
I wait. Try to sense the presence of anyone in the dark beyond the manufactured screams and the haunting music that play through the hidden speakers. Maybe he’s left. Come to his senses. Decided to seek treatment for his very fucked-up ocular situation. Or maybe he’s off to call the police, the thing he should have done in the first place.
I need to find him before he does.
There’s a quiet scuff of shoes against the wooden floorboards. This might be my best chance to face him. I stand and peer around the edge of the cupboard. But it’s not Matt that I see.
It’s Dr. Fionn Kane.
I’m not sure how he knows it’s me, even in the dark, even with my horror clown costume when there are clowns all over this fucking fairground. But he does.
