Page 24 of Dust Bowl Magic (Carnival of Mysteries)

Chapter

Twenty-Four

Dr. Lucas Hamilton

There’s only one way out now, and that’s to go through the rest of the Fun House. If that’s not a de-motivational poster slogan in waiting, I don’t know what is.

I step through the next door, and it’s a literal jungle in there. The scent of fecund earth, the plant canopy, and the slithering, chittering, and rumble of low growling noises are as realistic as those in the small part of rainforest I toured while on an aid mission in the DRC.

I was frightened then, and I’m frightened now, because—as I observed before—this Fun House isn’t the Tardis, but it is way, way bigger than it should on in the inside.

I keep telling myself I’m not outside. The path is well-marked. Nothing is jumping out at me. All is well. Mist gathers at the end of this leg of the adventure, and when I step through, I drop down, and down, and down into a soft, pillowy inflatable expanse of vinyl. It’s dark here. I get up and stagger, bounce house-style, in a circle to orient myself to this fresh hell when I see a pointing hand sign that says, This Way Out.

I follow it. A pneumatic door wheezes open, and—I’m outside the Fun House. Still at the carnival. I have a view of the carousel from here. A view of the food court.

Where was the emergency exit?

I turn back, but the door only goes one way. I try stepping closer, but it won’t open. What if I go back to the front? But why would I? I hate that place.

What if I’m home, and taking the emergency exit was what screwed up time in the first place? Is this the new millennium or is this the 1930’s? I can’t judge by the carnies. They’re all the same.

I can’t just stand here, gawking either. I start walking toward the food court. A glowing fairy steps into my path and offers me a bag of kettle corn.

I hold my hands up and say, “I’m sorry. I don’t have any money.”

From behind me, a disembodied basso profundo intones, “Friend, you have everything you need if only you look for it.”

I look to see who said that but there’s no one there. Frustrated, I dip my hand into my pocket and find Sumner’s coin purse. Inside, there are silver dollars, half-dollars, quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies. There are far more of each than I had before. Okay. I’ll play along with the leprechaun gold.

“How much?” I ask.

The fairy’s voice is in stereo. One fairy. Two voices. “One thin dime.”

Ten cents for a big bag of kettle corn? I must be in 1935.

This is agonizing on so many levels. I was counting on the Fun House to work the way it did before but in reverse. This is cartoon thinking at its finest. Like, when someone has amnesia from a blow to the head, and they get another concussion and their memory returns. It seems silly to believe it now, but time travel seems silly too, and that’s real.

I don’t want to leave Sumner. The loss will tear me apart. If I return to my own time and Sophie, I wouldn’t feel like an ignorant vagrant anymore, and I want that. I want to be myself again.

God, this hurts.

I sit on a bench and eat kettle corn while I watch other fairgoers frolic and play in their depression era dungarees and dresses made of flour sacks.

I see now why people eat their emotions. The kettle corn is better than anything I’ve ever tasted, so I eat an equally amazing corn dog, an ear of roasted corn, and a basket of fries smothered with chili, cheese, and pastrami that taste exactly like the CCF and P they serve at The Hat in Pasadena.

Hope is so weird.

It’s like that little spark of light I didn’t find in the Fun House. It’s still out there somewhere winking at me. Hope hides in my heart, my bones, my very human DNA. I believe in hope, even though what I tried didn’t work the first time.

I’m fool enough to go through that fun house a few more times because I hope.

It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t.

I probably shouldn’t have done it after eating all that food either, but after the sixth or seventh time I try, I stumble away crying because I still hope .

I know that both the things I want exist in the balance, and I still hope fate will decide for me. It probably has decided, but I’m still not sure I accept its decision.

That’s me being a control freak again, though I promised myself I would work on that. I have worked on that. I knew enough to accept my fate when I thought I’d never leave the 1930’s, so I need to sack up and accept that despite trying to go back, I’m still here.

I leave the Fun House for the eighth and last time, going out the real exit again, not the emergency exit. My cheeks are wet with tears. Nobody knows me here, so I couldn’t care less what they think about me. I’m crying because my heart is broken. My daughter is lost to me. My career, my home.

It’s not news, but because I had hope, the pain feels fresh.

I’m also crying because I know that when I leave the carnival, I’ll be able to find a ride, and Sumner will welcome me with open arms. My love. My soulmate.

I’m ugly-crying with gratitude now.

Fuck, I hate this. It’s all pleasure, and pain, and loss, and gratitude, served ice cold with a piquant side of hope sauce. That dish should be written explicitly on the food court menu in this mad place.

I bumble through the crowd of people staring at me and make my way to the exit. There’s nothing more for me here except empty calories and heart failure.

My heart feels lighter because whether I choose it or not, soon I’ll be home with Sumner. I want that. I do. It’s a decision of sorts, to want something you’ll get whether you ask for it or not.

I pass by the ringmaster, who tips his top hat to me. I pass the games of chance and skill. As I approach the exit, I see the ticket taker with the fathomless eyes. He chills me with a smile.

“Ah, Doctor.” He takes the hand I didn’t realize I was holding out and shakes it heartily. “I see you found what you were looking for.”

“But what good is finding it if I can’t keep it?”

He looks beyond me and walks past.

“Shit!” I stomp my foot.

“Don’t curse in front of the children.” Disapproval comes from a woman in a hat with a bird on it.

“No, ma’am.” Hot tears roll down my cheeks. “We can’t have that.”

The exit looms before me. Leaving will seal my fate. I want Sumner. I love him. We could have a good future together as long as I learn to act like someone else.

I take a deep breath, scrub my tears away with my sleeve, and push through the gate.