The Rigger—or just “Rigger,” no “the,” whatever—stammered in shock for a moment before he finally sputtered out his words. “He Sponsored you. Not the other way around.” Jack was staring at her in complete surprise. And maybe a little bit of awe. He laughed once in astonishment.
“You broke my nose!” Simon sat on the ground with his back against the cabinets. His glasses were shattered and laying on the wood floor next to him. He held his face in his hand. “You broke my damn nose.”
“Get up.” She held the skillet tightly in her hand.
“Why, so you can hit me again?” He shot her a glare through his fingers, the freakish color of his eyes shining in the sunlight of the room.
She smiled. “Yes.”
“Then I’m fine staying right here on the floor, thank you very much.” He shifted his hand, crunching his nose back into place, and groaned again in pain.
She lifted the pan to hit him again anyway. He threw his arms over his head to protect himself, pulling his knees into his chest. For someone who was so terrifying—so cruel—it still felt wrong to bash him when he wasn’t willing to fight back. With a beleaguered sigh, she threw the skillet onto the counter with a loud clang. She went over to the bed and slumped back down onto it.
“I’ve never seen anybody hit him like that before,” Jack murmured to her. “I’m a little jealous.”
“Please, go away. I need some time to think. I’m sorry.”
Jack stood from the bed and patted her on the shoulder. “I understand. I’ll see you later.” He headed down the train car toward the door and stopped at Simon. “You. Out.”
“No.” Simon glared up at Jack. “I do what I like, Rigger. And she’s my responsibility.”
“So act like it.” Jack stepped over him and opened the door. “You better not hurt her again.”
“I think she can handle herself.” Simon rubbed his nose. He touched his finger to it to see if it was bleeding, but since it came away dry, he reached down and picked up the broken remains of his glasses and tucked them into his coat pocket.
Shaking his head, Jack left and shut the door behind him. Cora was left sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at the man in the red and black suit on the floor some ten feet away from her. They sat in silence for a long time, just looking at each other.
“Get out, Simon.” She glared at him.
He smiled. “Make me.”
She figured she could try to drag him out of the boxcar, but he had a foot of height on her and at least eighty pounds. She also knew for a fact he was stronger than he looked.
They went back into silence for a long time, just watching each other.
Finally, she said the four words she dreaded. She didn’t want to admit it. It felt like she was giving something up—accepting defeat. But there wasn’t any way around it that she could see. “I’m one of you.”
He smiled. It wasn’t cruel, it wasn’t manic. It was just a simple, normal expression. He rested his head back against the cabinets. A few curls of his wild, dark hair had fallen over his forehead and across his freakishly colored eyes. If it weren’t for his eyes, he really would be quite pretty. “Yes, Cora.”
She put her hand over her mouth and looked out the window. She didn’t know if she wanted to scream, to cry, to beat him up some more, or just throw herself off the tower in the center of the park. Then again, it wouldn’t matter if she did, would it? She’d just hit the ground, die, and come back.
Biting back the tears, she put her hand back down. She shifted on the bed, pressing against the window that ran along the side of the mattress, and pulled her knees up to her chin. She felt small, so she made herself that way. “People will notice I’m missing. My work. My family. They’ll call the cops. They’ll come looking for me.” She didn’t realize she’d spoken out loud until Simon responded.
“No, cupcake, they won’t.” Simon stood from the floor, brushed himself off, and straightened his clothing. He went to the fridge, pulled out two brown glass bottles, and popped the caps off using a hook on the wall. Heading to the bed, he offered one to her. “Cora Glass was erased from that world yesterday. You only exist here.”
With a trembling hand, she took the bottle. Sniffing it, she determined it was beer. She couldn’t tell what type, and she honestly didn’t care. She took a swig anyway. Simon sat down on the edge of the bed, turned to face her, and was watching her with an uncharacteristic amount of sympathy. He scratched at his chest over his heart.
“Still hurting from before?” She was hopeful he was.
“Not from the gunshot, no. It’s like when you were in the rain. It itches, and I don’t like it.” He frowned.
“Wait. The only reason you’re being nice to me is because you don’t like feeling my pain?” She narrowed an eye at him.
“Yes?”
She put her hand over her eyes and sighed.
“Would it help if I said I’d like to do dark and sinful sexual acts to you, as well?”
She groaned.
“Was I not supposed to say that?”
“Points for honesty, I guess.” She put her hand back down and took a swig from the bottle. The beer was pretty good. She could use some alcohol. “My poor fish. What happened to them?”
“They either don’t exist anymore, or they are living out their little fishy lives in whatever alternate path that would have occurred without you in it. It’s all very existential. I’m afraid none of us really know for sure.”
“I liked my fish.” It was a stupid thing to complain about, but she felt the need to bitch about something.
Simon chuckled. “We can get you more fish.”
“How do you get anything around here, anyway?” She held up the bottle.
“The Faire provides anything we need to be happy. It wants us to survive as long as possible. We lure in more people for it to feed on.” He sipped his own beer and then rubbed his face. “You hit me hard.”
“You deserved it.”
“Are we even, then?”
“For what part? Terrorizing me, trying to turn me into a doll, or shooting me?”
He thought about it for a long moment before smiling hopefully. It was a bad attempt at innocence. A very bad one. “Is it too much to ask for all of it?”
She chuckled despite her mood and shook her head. “What do you want from me, Simon?”
“A few things. I want back the thing inside you that Ringmaster stole from me. But I don’t know how to do that. Not yet, anyway. If I can’t be whole, then I’ll keep that part of me under close watch. Technically, by our ‘laws,’ I’m responsible for you. Not that I give a rat’s ass for what their rules say.” He took a drink. “Other than that? I think I’ve made myself quite clear on the topic of what I would like to do to you.”
“No.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Maybe you will let me show you the ropes. Teach you how to perform. You could be a part of my act.”
“I’m not performing.”
“Of course not. Not yet. You’ll need to train. Just because you have the raw talent now doesn’t mean you have the discipline required to be the Contortionist.” He fiddled with the bottle as he talked, leaning his back against the jamb of the door that led to the bed.