Silas glanced over his shoulder, taking one last look at the Herman Fuller Circus Headquarters. Despite everything, he considered it home. But in the light of the new moon, as he felt its shadow looming over him, he could see it for what it truly was: a prison of freaks, kept isolated on a mountain. A mountain he thought he'd never have to descend from alone.
Turning back toward the cliffside, he gripped the leather strap of his satchel, just trying to muster up… something. Anything. After a moment, he found it, and he reached into the bag, pulling out a rope. Silas didn't know any knots, but that didn't matter— it was already tied into a noose.
Kneeling down, he slipped it over a tall stump and cinched it tight. The other end was about fifty meters long, hopefully enough. He sighed, staring at the noose, and put his hands together in something like a prayer. "Thank you, Kayla. I'm sorry you can't be here with me."
Then, he wrapped the rope around his hand a few times, just to make sure he wouldn't plunge to his death first thing, and began his descent.
The first stretch was a bit rough, but eventually, Silas got into a rhythm. Get a little slack in the rope gripped in your left hand, and use the rest of your limbs to slowly inch down… simple. Even if it hurt.
After an hour or so, he looked down, and could just barely see the earth below. A little smile bubbled up— which he chuckled at, surprised with himself. Even after everything… he could still laugh. And now he was so, so close to—
Tick. Tock.
A glint of light came from above, snapping him out of his happy little funk.
The rope went loose. And Silas went plummeting down.
There was a bit of screeching feedback as Herman Fuller approached the microphone overlooking the dining hall, where all of his performers were happily eating their breakfast. Even though it was a bit more expensive to serve, bacon was on the menu that morning— one must always boost morale after knocking it down a peg, after all!
Fuller sighed, then tapped the mic, waiting for the crowd to slowly fizzle into silence. "Hello all. I have an announcement to make, one that is going to be a bit… sad. I'm sorry to— to disturb your morning, but…"
He stopped for a moment, then forced out a minuscule tear. "I'm sorry to announce that our beloved Silas, also known as Sandbender, has ended his own life."
The audience gasped, but quickly quieted down. "I know that this news may be sad after the recent suicide of Kayla… but I need you all to know that you are cared for here. So, for your safety, I'm going to be personally meeting each of you throughout the day for a quick conversation, and if you need it, I'm also offering my acclaimed therapy services. For your own protection, your rooms will also be searched today, for any hazardous objects or materials." He sighed, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket, which dabbed at his cheeks.
"I'll leave you to your breakfast, then. I hope you're enjoying the bacon."
Fuller sat in his office, preparing himself for the next few hours. He loosened the tie around his neck, holding in a breath.
He'd have to work through twenty performers— no, eighteen! An unsatisfying number— but at least now it was an even one.
Fuller pulled a pocketwatch from his trousers, letting it hang in the air for a moment as he drew himself out of his body, closing his eyes. Hold your breath. Escape.
He saw through his eyelids. For a moment, he watched himself, his watch, harmonizing with each of them. Centering in, feeling each and every mechanism, every beat of his heart, every movement of every gear. And eventually…
Tick. Tock.
It spoke back to him. It was time to begin.
He grazed the mind of his secretary, and she began sending in the performers.
Tick. Tock.
But it still hadn't gotten easier, all of the brainwashing. Each and every nerve had to be accounted for in the maintenance of the fog.
Tick. Tock.
And with Kayla dead, he had nobody to fix all the watches he'd break. They were his medium for reaching others, and the spiritual stress just wasn't enough for material objects.
Tick. Tock.
Eventually, they snap. An uneven tick. A tock that never comes.
Tick. Tock.
The replacements were a strain on the budget, of course, but they were wholly necessary… and still cheaper than handing out wages.
Tick. Tock.
So the trance continued. He wormed his way in, over and over, slowly rewriting each and every command, holding their hearts in his hands.
Tick. Tock.
He had to.
Tick. Tock.
He had to.
Tick.
He—
Tock.
Fuller opened his eyes, feeling his sweat-stained undershirt sticking to his skin. His hands trembled as they reached up towards his tie, fidgeting with the knot, trying to get it undone. "Come on…" Something bubbled up as his fingers slipped away. "Get—" His entire arm went limp, falling to his side.
He waited a moment, feeling his lungs twitch, his eyes pounding in his skull. Every beat of his heart sent something coarse scraping through his veins, scratching every inch of his body. It was easy for him to leave— but coming back was harder every time.
His hands eventually went still.
Then, in a flash, he grabbed a pair of scissors from his desk and snapped them, using a blade to saw through his tie, which he threw at his closed window. Again, he began to tremble, but for a different reason this time.
Fuller rose from his chair, letting out a deep growl. He stumbled for a moment, but quickly regained his footing, stomping over to a drawer embedded in his wall. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a key, then unlocked it.
There were dozens of them, of souls, inside of their little glass balls of light. He squinted at one, spotting the little wireframe of a human inside— curled up in the fetal position. It was Silas. He grabbed it, then tossed it onto his desk.
"You."
He looked at Silas' soul, at where his eyes would be.
"You."
His lungs tightened in anticipation.
"HOW COULD YOU?!"
Tears began to flow from his eyes. He couldn't stop— he knew he couldn't. So he gave in.
"You pathetic little slime. Do you know, do you know how much I just went through? Because of you? Because of your foolish little excuse for a mind?"
"Why!? Why did I even bother with you? Sodium manifestation? Salt bending? What a fucking spectacle you were! I don't even know why I bothered!"
He slammed his desk, splintering the wood.
"I have people here that can split OCEANS! They can FLY! You're a joke in comparison— a JOKE!"
The blade of the scissors drew his eye as he ranted. "You may as well have killed yourself. It would've been better! It would've been what you deserved! But instead of hanging yourself with the same noose as Kayla… you… you try and escape me? You try and escape me…"
"You try and escape ME"
Fuller couldn't help but laugh as the exhaustion caught up to him. "I can't believe it. I can't believe you, Silas. I can't believe you were the one to break free of me. Kayla, sure, I could expect her to, but even she offed herself right away. But you? For the first time in my life, my expectations have been exceeded. You somehow break free, find the only rope on this whole mountain, and you almost get away with it!"
"But you still couldn't escape, could you?" He picked up the ball of light, feeling its warmth. "I killed you, and you couldn't get away, even in death."
"Maybe— maybe when I die, I'll have you buried alongside me. And while my soul leaves, to do whatever we do after all of this… you'll be stuck here. For years. Decades. Centuries. You'll feel what I had to feel today. Forever."
A sudden ache spread across Fuller's body. But his throat, dry and strained, was pushed once more: "You didn't deserve to die like Kayla. You didn't deserve her elegance, her freedom. You deserved to die on that cliffside, impaled on a rock, your bones cracked and your body maimed, left for the maggots. Perhaps you knew that— perhaps this was destined to be."
Fuller looked at Silas again, at the poor little baby curled up in the ball, and felt a tang of pity for the boy. He raised the orb above his head, ready to slam it into the side of his desk, to free the soul… but then he stopped. He stepped back over to the drawer, locked him away, then looked back at his office.
His tie was on the ground by the window, and cut edges were frayed and unrepairable. "Drats. I liked that tie." Sighing, he made a mental note of it. "Another business expense…" Then, he looked at the splintered desk— not quite broken, but definitely in need of some kind of repair. "And they just keep adding up, don't they? And all the pocket watches… I don't even remember where I used to buy them."
He took a deep breath as he retrieved another tie from a nearby cupboard. As he wound it around his neck, he called out to his assistant, who cracked open the door. "Yes, Mr. Fuller?"
"Our next show is soon. Start setting up a schedule. I want the performers to be strictly trained— there's no room for mistakes."
"Yes, Mr. Fuller."
"It'll be our best performance yet."
"I'm sure it will, Mr. Fuller."
"I don't need your reassurance," he grumbled. "Just go do your job already. Don't make me rethink your position, I'm sure the others would kill for it."
The assistant closed the door noiselessly, leaving Fuller alone.
"It'll be our best performance yet," he whispered to himself.
"It has to be."