Free Hang Wire by Adam Christopher Page A
Authors: Adam Christopher
forward, grabbing Joel’s gun arm and forcing it up. Joel slid his finger from the trigger for safety. Harrison was strong – he’d hammered most of the carnival into shape himself – and he growled like the lions that slept in the cages on the opposite side of the Big Top.
Joel hit the ground on his back, Harrison on top of him. There was a light in Harrison’s eyes, something red and bright that might have just been a reflection of one of the lights on a carnival ride, if the lights had been on. But they weren’t – the carnival was dark – the only light a flare like a falling star from the black center of the carousel, from where the monkey with the gemmed eyes sat, watching in silence. A moment later the light was gone.
They scuffled on the ground, grunting, kicking up dirt and dust. Joel brought his gun arm in, sticking the barrel into Harrison’s stomach. Harrison was already grabbing Joel’s wrist, twisting his body sideways, out of the way. Joel screamed with the effort; then his wrist cracked. The gun was pulled from his hand, and Harrison scrambled backward in a crawl, then stood.
Joel stood, held his hand out.
“I know the power, friend. I know what it is you feel, what it is you hear. I hear it too. I feel it in my very bones. And I know what that power wants.” He took a step forward. “I know what you–”
Harrison fired. The bullet entered Joel’s head through his left eye and removed most of the back of his skull. Joel toppled to the ground. In his dead hand was the gold coin, burning cold, humming like something electric.
The second gunshot brought him back. Joel coughed and opened his eyes. He took a breath that was cold, cold. The world looked different. Brighter, like there was a light shining to his left. Unsure of where he was, he turned his head, and the light moved with it. He closed one eye, opened it, closed the other. Something was wrong with his left eye. The world looked different through it.
He uncurled his outstretched hand. The Double Eagle felt as heavy as a boulder. Clenching his teeth, Joel lifted his hand, but suddenly the coin was just that, a large gold coin, heavy but ordinarily so.
He pulled himself to his feet, dusted himself down. People were coming – he could hear running, muted chatter. They were coming toward the gunshot. The second gunshot. Joel remembered the first, remembered spinning white light and pain, hot and exquisite. He fingered the back of his head, felt something wet and sticky. He looked at his hand. It was covered in something that looked black in the moonlight.
Joel followed the sounds. Out of the carnival, toward the Big Top. People were huddled around something. Barnett was there. As Joel approached, Barnett directed a couple of workers clad only in nightshirts to fetch the police.
Joel made his way to the front. People drew away from him, fear and confusion rippling around the crowd.
On the ground lay Alexander Harrison. He was face down, the top of his head was missing, and in one hand he held Joel’s gun. It was pointed in such a way as to make the cause of death clear. Suicide by gunshot wound. He’d blown his own brains out.
Joel eyed the gun, his gun, his daddy’s gun. He reached down to pick it up, but Barnett’s hand closed around his wrist.
“I don’t think you should touch it. Not until the police get here.”
Joel stood back and looked at Barnett.
Barnett frowned. “What happened to your eye?” he asked.
Joel smiled and said nothing. In his fist the coin grew cold, as cold as the abyssal black of the ocean, and he saw a light, bright, like the glint of gold on a distant hilltop.
Joel walked away. He could feel the eyes of the others on him, but he didn’t care. Barnett would close the circus.
It was a setback, true, but now that Joel could see the light shining, he knew what he had to do. Barnett could destroy the machines, the carnival, Joel knew that, but he also knew that Barnett wouldn’t. That
Joel hit the ground on his back, Harrison on top of him. There was a light in Harrison’s eyes, something red and bright that might have just been a reflection of one of the lights on a carnival ride, if the lights had been on. But they weren’t – the carnival was dark – the only light a flare like a falling star from the black center of the carousel, from where the monkey with the gemmed eyes sat, watching in silence. A moment later the light was gone.
They scuffled on the ground, grunting, kicking up dirt and dust. Joel brought his gun arm in, sticking the barrel into Harrison’s stomach. Harrison was already grabbing Joel’s wrist, twisting his body sideways, out of the way. Joel screamed with the effort; then his wrist cracked. The gun was pulled from his hand, and Harrison scrambled backward in a crawl, then stood.
Joel stood, held his hand out.
“I know the power, friend. I know what it is you feel, what it is you hear. I hear it too. I feel it in my very bones. And I know what that power wants.” He took a step forward. “I know what you–”
Harrison fired. The bullet entered Joel’s head through his left eye and removed most of the back of his skull. Joel toppled to the ground. In his dead hand was the gold coin, burning cold, humming like something electric.
The second gunshot brought him back. Joel coughed and opened his eyes. He took a breath that was cold, cold. The world looked different. Brighter, like there was a light shining to his left. Unsure of where he was, he turned his head, and the light moved with it. He closed one eye, opened it, closed the other. Something was wrong with his left eye. The world looked different through it.
He uncurled his outstretched hand. The Double Eagle felt as heavy as a boulder. Clenching his teeth, Joel lifted his hand, but suddenly the coin was just that, a large gold coin, heavy but ordinarily so.
He pulled himself to his feet, dusted himself down. People were coming – he could hear running, muted chatter. They were coming toward the gunshot. The second gunshot. Joel remembered the first, remembered spinning white light and pain, hot and exquisite. He fingered the back of his head, felt something wet and sticky. He looked at his hand. It was covered in something that looked black in the moonlight.
Joel followed the sounds. Out of the carnival, toward the Big Top. People were huddled around something. Barnett was there. As Joel approached, Barnett directed a couple of workers clad only in nightshirts to fetch the police.
Joel made his way to the front. People drew away from him, fear and confusion rippling around the crowd.
On the ground lay Alexander Harrison. He was face down, the top of his head was missing, and in one hand he held Joel’s gun. It was pointed in such a way as to make the cause of death clear. Suicide by gunshot wound. He’d blown his own brains out.
Joel eyed the gun, his gun, his daddy’s gun. He reached down to pick it up, but Barnett’s hand closed around his wrist.
“I don’t think you should touch it. Not until the police get here.”
Joel stood back and looked at Barnett.
Barnett frowned. “What happened to your eye?” he asked.
Joel smiled and said nothing. In his fist the coin grew cold, as cold as the abyssal black of the ocean, and he saw a light, bright, like the glint of gold on a distant hilltop.
Joel walked away. He could feel the eyes of the others on him, but he didn’t care. Barnett would close the circus.
It was a setback, true, but now that Joel could see the light shining, he knew what he had to do. Barnett could destroy the machines, the carnival, Joel knew that, but he also knew that Barnett wouldn’t. That