Rescue Mission

"Ugh, gross! My popsicle's melting all over my hand! It's all sticky!"

I roll my eyes at my sister. "Well, what did you expect? It's hot out. You're the one who wanted a freakin' popsicle!"

"Well, you don't have to be so mean about it!"

She's probably right. I probably don't have to be so mean, but I'd much rather be stretched out on my bed in my nice air conditioned bedroom listening to music than here at this stupid carnival with my irritating little sister. Kayla, however, had begged and pleaded nonstop to come. Our dad,who works from home, was only too happy to drop us off with some spending money and tell us to have fun and to call him when we want a ride home. I didn't have any say in the matter.

I'm not even sure 'carnival' is the accurate word for the few questionably constructed amusement park rides and sad selection of midway games the town throws up on the boardwalk for two weekends every summer.

Kayla tosses the remainder of her liquefying orange flavored mess into the trashcan outside the brick structure that houses the boardwalk's public restrooms, then goes inside to wash her hands.

While I wait for her I gaze out over the ocean, wishing I was down there walking along the beach with my bare toes in the sand instead of on the boardwalk with the smell of artificial popcorn butter in my nostrils.

"Can we go buy tickets?" Kayla requests, bounding out of the restroom. I don't understand how she can be so excited about this shitty little second-rate fair.

We approach the ticket kiosk (which has a torn and extremely dirty awning) and I buy Kayla a roll of twenty tickets for rides and games. After deliberating for a moment or two I buy five tickets for myself. I'll probably end up giving them to her anyway. I might go on the Tilt-A-Whirl once, but that's about it. A corndog and a bag of cotton candy holds more interest for me.

"Let's go on the Ferris Wheel!"

"Uh, yeah, let's not."

"Why not? Are you scaaaaaaaaared?" Kayla jeers, squinting her eyes and wrinkling up her nose at me. I resist the urge to flick her on the tip of that wrinkled up nose.

"No. I just want to live 'til my sixteenth birthday, that's all," I reply. "Seriously, that thing's a deathtrap!"

"No it's not. You're just scared to go on it."

"Whatever. Believe what you want. But we're not going on the Ferris Wheel."

"You're no fun."

"You know what's no fun? Plummeting to your death when the freakin' thing falls apart. That's no fun."

"You're no fun," Kayla repeats.

She admits that maybe I'm a little bit fun after I win a small stuffed Brontosaurs for her by throwing darts at balloons. She doesn't even sleep with stuffed animals anymore, but she wanted it as an addition to her extensive collection of dinosaurs.

An expansive tent on the outskirts of the midway catches Kayla's attention. She grabs me by the hand, pulling me toward it.

The tent appears to be in far better condition than the rest of the carnival's attractions, and I'll admit that the gaudy red and purple stripes are eye-catching. The word 'Freakshow' is painted across the awning in glaring neon green letters. Are they even allowed to use that term anymore?

"This wasn't here last year," Kayla comments, excited. "Can we go in, Allie?"

"I'd rather not." I don't like the use of that outdated and insensitive word. It just seems tasteless.

"Come on! You never want to do anything I want!"

"Why do you want to go look at a bunch of fake stuff anyway?" I ask her, shrugging my shoulders.

"You don't know it's all fake."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"But you don't know. Mom always said there are mysteries in the world that can't be explained."

Our mom did always say that. She also claimed that there was a family of fairies living in our garden and she could see them. I have the feeling that had a lot to do with the brain tumor that took her life five years ago when I was ten and Kayla was six.

"Please?" Kayla implores. "Come on, Allie. Please?"

"Okay, fine," I give in, unable to hold back an exasperated sigh.

We hand two tickets each to the stereotypical carny standing by the entrance flap to the tent.

"Prepare to be amazed," he intones as he holds the flap open for us. I can see the flash of a gold tooth beneath his waxed mustache. Is this guy for real?

The interior of the tent is dimly lit, which is just as well. I wouldn't want to see this crap in full light.

The 'Real Chimera' is a taxidermy nightmare. The stuffed heads of a lion, a goat, and a komodo dragon have been sewed onto the moth-bitten stuffed body of a lion.

The 'Real Phoenix' is a miserable looking live peacock that has been spray painted red and yellow and shoved into a too-small gilded cage. I'm not even positive that non-toxic paint was used. Bursting into spontaneous flames would probably be a blessing for the poor thing at this point.

"You were right," Kayla mumbles, disappointed.

"But wait, young ladies, there are more wonders to see around back," the carny states as we exit the tent. The only thing I wonder about is how this sleazebag's attraction was approved in the first place.

Just to humor him, we allow him to guide us around behind the tent to where an emaciated white horse with glitter sprayed on its mane and tail and a gold painted horn affixed to its forehead (possibly with a hot glue gun) is nibbling without enthusiasm at a bale of soggy hay.

"Let's go," I say to Kayla. She nods her head silently, appearing to be on the verge of tears. I feel the same way. There is nothing entertaining about animal abuse.

"But you must gaze first at the main attraction," the carny wheedles, pointing with a flourish toward a group of spectators gathered around a five and a half foot tall tank of water.

"Should we go look?" I ask Kayla uncertainly. She doesn't say anything in response, but she looks miserable. "Okay, we'll leave."

"No, no, you must see!" The carny insists. He glances over his shoulder then hurries back around to the front of the tent to stop a group of fairgoers from entering without handing their tickets over.

Kayla and I start to walk away when we hear a gasp of 'It's real!' from one of the people standing by the tank.

Despite ourselves, my sister and I wander over in that direction.

Sitting at the bottom of the tank is a young woman wearing nothing but a faded moss-green mermaid tail. Her small round breasts are bare and her nipples aren't even covered by pasties or anything. Her long hair, floating around her face in the water, is purple at the roots growing out to kelp green at the tips. Her eyes are such a deep brown they appear almost black, and their expression of misery and despair is more than I can take.

"Come on, Kayla, we're getting the hell out of here!" I can't control the tremor in my voice.

"Wait, Allie," she whispers. "Don't you see? She's not wearing scuba gear or anything. There aren't any air hoses or tubes in the tank."

Fan-freakin'-tastic. Not only is this dick mistreating animals, but he's also putting human lives in danger for the sake of 'entertainment'?!

"I'm calling the cops." I fumble my phone out of the pocket of my shorts. I should have called them immediately when we saw the 'unicorn'.

"Wait." Kayla puts her hand on my arm. "She's not drowning. She's breathing. Look."

"The kid's right," one of the observers throws his two cents in. "I'm not denying that that thing looks unhappy, but it looks like it's breathing just fine."

"I think she's real," Kayla states, clutching her stuffed Brontosaurs to her chest.

Inside the tank, the young woman presses one hand against the glass. Kayla presses her hand to the outside of the tank, tears shimmering in her soft grey eyes.

I round on my sister, forgetting my call to the police for the moment.

"What in the actual hell, Kayla?! You're too old to believe in mermaids! This whole shitshow is a nightmare and this asshole needs to go to ja..."

"Oh, she's real, all right," a voice interrupts me.

Spinning about on my heel, I find myself facing a young man who appears to be a few years older than myself, maybe seventeen or eighteen. He is wearing the same hideous pink and orange striped jacket that the sleazebag carny is wearing.

"She's my uncle's newest acquisition," he continues in a bitter tone before I have the chance to say anything. "We found her sunbathing on the beach a few days ago, while we were setting up for the carnival. My uncle kidnapped her and threw her in the tank instead of his mermaid mannequin."

"And you let him do that?!" I take a step toward him and he takes an automatic step back away from me, his face red with either shame or embarrassment.

"No. No, I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen to me. He just said I don't understand how the world works. You're absolutely right, my uncle's an asshole and he needs to go to jail."

"We need to help her," Kayla declares with a tearful tremor in her voice, turning her attention back to the woman in the tank.

"Yeah, we do," I agree. I still have my doubts that she's anything more than a woman in a costume, but that doesn't matter. She needs to be rescued from this horrible situation.

"I'll get her out of the tank," a tall man volunteers, stepping forward. He walks over to the tank and reaches down into the water with one hand.

The woman presses herself into the corner, staring up at his hand with fear in her eyes.

"It's all right. We're trying to help you," he assures her, reaching down as far as he can. "We're going to get you out of here."

After several long moments she floats up to the top of the tank and grabs hold of the edge, pulling herself up enough to allow the man to grasp her about the waist and haul her out of the tank.

"Okay," he says as he lays her down on the ground, "let's get this thing off you." He runs his hands up and down her tail, feeling for a zipper or some sort of fastener. His expression grows increasingly perplexed as he is unable to find anything. "I, um...how do you take this thing off?" She shakes her head silently.

"I told you, she's the real deal," the carny's nephew states in an impatient tone. "Come on, we need to get her back to the ocean."

The man who had lifted her out of the tank nods his had once and scoops her up into his arms.

"What is going on here?!" The whole group of us turn as one as the livid carny steams toward us, his face deep red and twisted in rage. "Landon, what is this?!"

"We're taking your main attraction back to the ocean," his nephew answers.

"You can't..."

"We can, and we are." Landon pulls his jacket off and throws it in a heap at his uncle's feet. "And once I talk to the county sheriff you'll never work with the carnival again. You might even be looking at some jail time."

His uncle emits an ugly laugh. "They'd never believe you."

"Oh, I wasn't going to mention the mermaid. But they'll believe me about the peacock and the horse." His grin is closer to a snarl. "And if they don't, I have pictures on my phone to prove it."

"You're done for," a rotund middle-aged woman declares, pointing one chubby finger at the carny.

"Come on." The man cradling the mermaid in his arms turns and heads off down the boardwalk toward the pier.

The whole group, twelve or thirteen of us, troop along after him.

Kayla grabs my hand and smiles at me.

"You're free now," Landon tells the mermaid when we reach the end of the pier.

The man holding her gives her a gentle toss into the waves and a cheer rises up from the small crowd.

After a second or two the mermaid leaps clear out of the water and executes a backflip out of sheer elation. Her tail is no longer a listless green hue, but iridescent turquoise-silver. I'm pretty sure the high pitced dolphin-like sound she emits is joyous laughter.

As she splashes down again she flashes her tail at those of us on the pier in gratitude before disappearing among the waves.