The Circus

A quiet jungle somewhere underneath him began to ring. He stirred in his sleep, groaning slightly as the jangle grew too loud and he was forced to shift around and lift the covers to find where it was coming from. Unsurprisingly, it was his phone, which he'd fallen asleep with in hand the night before, and the well-known jangle only meant one thing - it was time to get up. As he pulled out his phone from the tangle of blanket, it suddenly lit up and his eyes tried to focus on the blurred white lettering at the top of the screen: 'Saturday 23rd April'.

He shook himself and let out a quiet cry. "It's today!" 

Scrambling out and rushing over to the computer to turn it on, he frantically logged in and typed 'Spring Circus Fête' into Google; he clicked onto the first webpage to check the announcements and sure enough, it was today. The parade. The party. The Circus. He'd checked the same page every day this April to make sure it hadn't changed, with the thick purple writing and small photos taken at the events years before now integrated into his mind. This circus was what he waited for every spring, and when spring was over, every summer, autumn and winter. He walked downstairs into the kitchen to be greeted by his rather sad looking mother.

"Morning Jacob. Sleep well?"

"Uh yeah, I did mum. Did you know it's-"

"Today? Yes I know." She replied with a quiet, sad chuckle. "I shouldn't expect you until late then?"

"Yeah. Thanks mum." He gave her a small smile and then went back upstairs to change. His mum - although she had managed to move on in some respects over the years - always slipped back into her hazy state on the day the circus came. She couldn't not. As he walked into his room and sat down on the bed quietly, his eyes moved over to the small wooden frame on the desk: a slightly faded photograph of a rather good looking boy with dark hair falling over his brown eyes, clutching another boy happily, almost a younger version of himself. His brother. Peter. Small, happy little Peter, looking like his twin but with grey eyes instead of brown. Peter. Little Peter who had disappeared 4 years ago, on the 23rd of April, 2017. Who was last seen at the place that Jacob was going to visit this evening: the Spring Circus Fete.

***

The unusually humid spring air had cooled down to something more pleasant for the evening, and Jacob was lapping it up like it was the only air he'd had access to for a while. Home was...a strange place to be on days like today. Mother didn't have work on Saturdays, so instead she chose to sit in her old kitchen chair for hours at a time, slowly sipping on bitter tea and flicking through any magazine, book and newspaper that would provide at least some distraction to her. As he'd sat at his desk before and tried to plow through some of the work that was given for the weekend, the absolute silence that was occasionally joined by the quiet buzz of the heater or click of the mother's cup downstairs was unbearable - even music didn't help, as the silence seemed to leak even into the pounding sound streaming into his ears. The sun was just about to set off on it's way down, leaving behind a sky of grey-blue with streaks of rose and yellow. It was peaceful. But quiet. Too quiet. The cars and patters of shoes on the ground and rolls of bus wheels were all too 'everyday' and 'usual' to be distracting or happy, and he desperately needed something different. Something loud and exciting. Something soft and warm. Like the giggle of a small boy as he heads to Croft Park for the fete, or his nimble hand as he slips it into that of his older brother. Jacob glanced down at the empty space beside him. Suddenly the air didn't feel quite as cool and refreshing as it had before, the grey of the sky looking rather black now and the dashes of rose now looking more like streaks of blood. He increased his pace and speed-walked over to the nearest bench that didn't face the streets. He bent over and let his hands trail across the dusty pathway; flicking around little stones and scratching the dry dirt with his nails, he breathed out quietly.

"He's okay. He's happy. He was always happy. He loved us and he knew that we loved him. He left while knowing that we loved him and would never forget him. He left at a time when he was happy and excited and...happy. He knew - he- he knew he always knew that we loved him. He wouldn't forget. He knew."

His cheeks felt wet. Water was sliding down his cheeks slowly: he was crying.

***

The house was silent. Jacob had left about a half hour ago and the sky was beginning to darken. Amelia got up and flicked the lights on, only just realizing what time it was - after glancing into the fridge, a quick macaroni with spinach proved to be the option that required minimal effort and focus. However, after unpacking the cheese and pulling out a box of pasta, her eyes slid over to the phone she'd left charging on the counter.

No. No calling. I don't need him, and he doesn't need me, otherwise he wouldn’t have left me a month after it happened. He doesn't care anymore.

She turned to the box of pasta once more. Pasta. Beautiful stuff. Now this is something I should think about. Not callin- no I'm not going to say that. Wow what a...splendid design on this pasta box, a really just nice woman holding that hay bale. She looks lovely. Pasta. Lovely.

She couldn't help but glance at the phone for a brief second. Clearing her throat, she thought, He doesn't care. Otherwise he wouldn't have left me. Or maybe he does? Maybe he think that by me not calling I don't care anymore and that I've just completely forgotten about how happy our whole little family used to be with him and Jacob and me and my baby Peter, maybe -

She dashed over to the counter, picked up the phone, scrolled down to one of the very bottom contacts, and called.

A ring tone. A few seconds passed. No answer. And then all of a sudden: "Amelia?"

She didn't speak for a minute, just quick, short breaths. The caller on the other end of the line waited patiently, as if this was all part of the routine. 

"Nathan?" She said hoarsely. 

"Amelia. Is he out?"

"Yes." Her voice was shaking.

"Amelia, you call me every year this one time for one thing. When are you going to stop?"

"Stop?" She croaked out. "Stop? You're asking me when I'm going to stop and forget about my dead son? Really, Nathan, that's what you're asking me right now?"

Nathan sighed at the other end of the line. He'd heard it all before. He didn't expect her to forget - it had been the only thing he'd thought of for the past 4 years. "No Amelia, I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you when you're going to let me try to."

She paused, her eyes blurring rapidly. "I can't Nathan. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I always do this but I just -" She stopped to look down at her shirt, now stained with droplets. "I can't do it Nathan. Why did it have to be him? There were all those children there, so many, so so many, and it was him out of - out of all of them. Why him?! Why my little boy?"

She started crying. Slow, painful sobs that made Nathan close his eyes and sigh deeply as he tried to refrain from falling into the same despair.

"It happens, Ames, it happens everywhere across the world. In the States, in Germany, in Korea, in Brazil, everywhere. They just grabbed the first they saw. I - I wish it wasn't him. I really wish it wasn't, every day."

She'd stopped sobbing, instead leaning against the wall and letting the water stream freely over her cheeks and drip onto her clothes. "They said it was a kidnapping." She said bluntly. "Said it was a simple abduction. Some disturbed individuals they couldn’t find. A rare occurrence. But definitely a kidnapping.” She paused. “He's dead now."

"You don't know that, Ames, he could be-"

"No, no, don't try your talk again Nathan. He's dead. He is very dead. Dead, dead, dead."

"Ames, listen you don't know-"

"No I do. I do. I would know if he was still alive. I would feel it in my heart. I'd feel his little heart beating in mine. I clutch it every day and desperately try to feel a second little pounding coming through, but I never do Nathan. I haven't since then. I just feel Jacob's. His pounding is the only one keeping mine going. Otherwise I would've ended it myself long ago." She placed her shaking hand over her chest. "We both know you wouldn't have been there to stop me either. Left the month after it happened. But I don't care about that anymore."

He flinched at the last words - 'I don't care about that anymore'. He did. He always would. And although leaving was something he knew he would live to regret, he knew that staying in that house, walking by the empty bedroom, seeing his elder son's expressionless face as he stared at the empty seat, would be something that would haunt him forever. He needed to leave.

"I have a feeling, Nathan."

"What kind of feeling?" He asked quietly.

"A bad one. I didn't want to let him go tonight. I don’t want to let him go anywhere by himself ever again. I don't know why I do. I just feel like some part of me needs him to go, just so that I can feel that my child is still a child. That things are still normal. And I know I can't stop him. He needs this. He has memories in that place, memories of his brother and he needs to go there. But I have a feeling."

"It's probably just you being scared of letting him go, more than before today."

"No, I know it's a bad feeling. I can't help it. There's something so strange about it all. The police said it was just some one-off kidnapping, remember? That these things don't happen here. But it just seemed so dark the way they told it, and they seemed so uneasy. Like they were hiding something."

"Listen, Amelia. They're police. They know the list of the crimes that happened and they wouldn't lie to you about kidnappings. You're just feeling scared for Jacob and overthinking things. I have to go. Tell Jacob I love him." With that he put the phone down. He didn't want to hear about the police - he'd resented them ever since they didn't find his little boy. He didn't want to be dragged back into those times. He wanted to live on, at least partially happy. And to do that, he needed to stop talking to Amelia.

***

It was all hues of blue, navy and some deep purple now. Jacob wiped his face of tears and stood up. He needed to come here. The circus was the last time he'd seen him, and they'd gone here so many times prior, when Peter was 7 and 6 and 5 and even 4 - that was the first time. He needed to come here, to remember that. He started walking towards the centre of the park, and already he could hear some combination of jazz and the typical bouncy circus music drifting over. After passing the massive oak trees that bordered the centre of the park, it came into view: the Circus. A great structure spread itself across the area of park, iron poles jammed deep into the ground and a thick, water-proof, bright purple and blue sheet pulled over and tied to the entire thing. It was slightly faded in places, but the diagonal patterns of triangles, diamonds and white squares that stretched across its body never failed to bring the corners of his mouth up into a smile. The roof was decorated with thin purple extensions all over, each sporting a yellow flag that was flapping madly in the wind. His walk sped up to a jog as he came closer and closer, the familiar and lively music drawing him in, almost pulling aside the curtain door and guiding him over to a spot in the front. Children and parents were spewing in from all sides, lining up in front of the one entrance and quickly fishing around in their bags and pockets for notes and coins: it was 15 pounds for parents, and 10 for kids, a small price to pay for a night that would be remembered  for the rest of the year 

Jacob moved in and found himself a spot at the front: there were no seats, as the circus would come and go with spring, but only raised levels of metal floors. After the tent could not fit another person, the music came louder, flowers came spurting out from hidden pistols in the ceiling, and his eyes gleamed over with the small figures of two contortionists and a portable trampoline.

***

The cheese was on the counter. The pasta box remained unopened. And Amelia was sitting at the kitchen table, unable to get her mind off of Jacob and the night the police came to tell her about her son. Suddenly she reached for the laptop beside her, opened it, and began to type. Belbrot kidnappings. Some kidnappings dating back to the 1970s came up, but nothing recent enough. Belbrot child kidnappings. Something about inter-family abduction, cases of the 2000s, a scandal about a school teacher trying to kidnap children from work, but that was it. She paused, then started typing again rapidly. Belbrot kidnappings in spring. Her eyes widened slowly as result after result on kidnappings of young children done in spring over the years came up.

***

It was the fifth act now and there were about eight each year: he'd seen contortionists, balancing acts, a hilarious clown scene, magic tricks and now it was his favourite, the acrobats. One by one they spun out onto the stage, one in a fiery red costume with gold fringe, one in a deep mauve with lilac ribbon, another in a velvety green with ivy leaf embroidery, and each one in a tall cone hat. They began spinning and jumping over one another, dancing and cartwheeling, and Jacob could almost hear his little brother screaming in delight and giggling. He started laughing himself at the idea, thinking of how funny and sweet it was the way how Peter got all giddy. He missed it, so so much. He missed him. He was beginning to fall into that dreamy state, where his mind went hazy and mixed the colorful thoughts of acrobats and his brother together: there was something so mesmerizing about them, how they seemed to hypnotize you into losing thought and sense of coordination. He needed it. Abruptly, 5 more people squeezed into the row Jacob was standing in, pulling him out of the haze as he was forced to move along until he was practically at the edge of the row, his arms touching the cold railing. He glanced down and saw that to his left, there was just the railing and then a narrow path that separated his section from the next, and that too was fenced off by a falling curtain of purple. Another person squeezed in, and he was pushed right against the side.

Where are these people all coming from? I thought they closed off the entrance.

He turned round to stare at them, and then he noticed that the one closest had a smear of something white across his check, half-hidden by his hair. Paint? Jacob stared at him and the ones behind. It was then that he realised that they were all performers from the last acts: the clowns, the magicians. The one with paint then slowly turned his head to look directly at Jacob. His eyes were cold, sharp. Then he tilted his head to the side, and a small grin crept onto his face. Jacob felt chills running through him. He desperately started looking for the exit. He wanted to run but just as he was about to take a step forward, he felt hands snake over his legs. He looked behind him: the contortionists. They yanked him, pulled him out through the railing and from the row just and quickly carried him away through the narrow pathway, away from the stage, away from the people before - they were all too absorbed in the performance to notice.

***

Back in the kitchen, Amelia had begun to notice a disturbing and terrifying connection between each of the kidnappings: they were all good-looking young children between the ages of 7 and 16. But more horrifyingly, each was last seen on the 23rd of April, all in the centre Croft Park, and all were attending the Spring Circus Fete when they disappeared.

"Oh good lord." Amelia whispered as the  vile realisation fell over her.

***

As he was dragged through the tunnel, a firm hand clamped over his mouth and another three grasping him, Jacob too had a moment of realisation. He was brought into a dimly lit room where the performers changed into costume and make-up, his arms and legs bound tightly with rope and mouth stuffed with cloth, he realised where his brother went. And who took him. The Circus.