House of Clowns (HUNT Trilogy #1)

19. NINETEEN

NINETEEN

JOKER

I watched her fly tonight, no bigger than an angel, hovering over the crowd, yet not quite anchored. She'd been a vision, flying in direct defiance of gravity and everything I thought I knew about reality. In a heartbeat, she'd gotten me to believe in magic. And knowing I was going to have to let her go again broke something deep in me. But I had no option. Not yet.

Her brother, Christian, was my "friend" since school but we never really liked each other, but in times of need we turned to each other, bartering for information or favors. I'd asked him once to dig into my past at this orphanage, and he did. He found that on November 13th, 1990 , I wasn't the only one born. I came first, then Oscar, Silvio, and Enzo. Enzo, they said, was stillborn. So that left just three of us, triplets, each flung into a different destiny.

I was sent to Orphanage Santa Vittoria , a part of the monastery. My white hair and poor health made me an oddity, the child no one wanted. So I stayed, under the care of the sisters. Perfect, they said, was Oscar, a "golden child" with a tiny beauty mark beside his lips. That same night, he joined the Russi family, known as the son of Rome's mayor.

Then there was Silvio, a case of oversight by mistake or perhaps because it was meant to be so. The driver, who was to carry him to Santa Vittoria , forgot him and took him home. Rather than owning up to his mistake, he turned Silvio over to his brother, a locksmith.

Three lives, bound together by blood, yet separated because of, some may say cursed by chance. Our family line, Romanov, ran like a stain through our veins, binding us to a woman named Rose Romanov and to her father, Alessandro. We were bastards in every sense, carrying the mark of her sins.

If I ever met her, I'd spit in her face for what she'd done to us. She deserved a place in the deepest, darkest pit of hell, and even then, I think she'd make the devil run. But no one knew the truth, not even the woman I cared most about in this world.

Only three of us knew what had happened, and it gnawed in my gut, this living a life unworthy, weighted by my mother's sins.

All my life, I wanted to know why. Why she did do what she did, threw us away like nothing. I knew now, though, that her reasons were probably that she couldn't stand the reminders of her transgressions. Even thinking about it made me ill.

So here I was back again, within the House of Clowns, trying to atone for sins not even of my doing. Rocco had called me back and told me he wanted to break away from the Family, from the Circle. He had this sort of plan, though he refused to say what precisely. I had to come. I had to see her again.

There had not been a single day when I had not thought of her, of that night that we shared. She was the only thing that made me whole, the thing that made me more than a clown. To her, I was hers, the broken pieces and all.

I eased inside the tent, keeping myself well out of sight, and watched her from behind the shadows. She was dressed in red; an Ace of Hearts was stitched on it. I knew it was a message from and for me. She'd sewn it for me.

She was talking to him, his hand resting on her shoulder. Anger flared through me as his fingers brushed her skin, a touch so familiar that it clenched my fists. Every bone in my body screamed to hurt him, rip his hands off her, but I knew that would only end up hurting her too.

Hypno's face leaned in, his voice slick with suggestion. "You were great tonight. We should celebrate.

She shrugged but her smile was soft. "Actually, that doesn't sound like a bad idea."

"Pick you up at eight?" he asked, and she nodded, looking around as if she somehow knew I was watching her.

A shudder rolled through me, a hot wildness that shook my hands. I wanted to break him and make him pay for the way he touched her. But instead, I turned and walked away, leaving her in his orbit. She whirled quickly, sensing my movement as the fabric of the tent billowed in the wind, and I heard her sharp intake of breath. It was better this way, I told myself now, making myself continue walking.

I walked up to the House of Clowns, and saw her in the window; she was getting ready for the date. She put on her makeup, looking at herself in the mirror. I wished she did the same to me. I put the hood on my head and leaned against the house wall, waiting. Did not know who—her or Hypno—but I just wanted to see her tonight.

I actually heard Victor and Hypno laughing as they walked down the stairs when I fired the cigarette up. I took a deep smoke, hiding behind the stairs, and when I saw Victor leave, I came closer to Hypno.

He took the path beside the house leading to the woods, and I waited for a few minutes just before I walked behind him. He didn't notice; I guess he was happy, smiling, preparing for his date.

Clown.

Indeed, even when I wore the face of a clown, he was the true clown. As we walked further into the woods, I walked faster towards the woods, closing up on him when I saw him stop. I grabbed him from behind, his neck against my knife, slowly touching his skin.

"Hypno," I whispered, "hello, my friend."

His voice shook with a stuttering "R-R-Rio."

TSK TSK TSK

"It's Joker for you," I said, pushing him to the ground.

Ever since he had hypnotized me that day, Hypno had been controlling my every move, making me do terrible things—that I only now started to recall through my dreams. He was part of the Circle, masterminding it all along—the disappearances of the clowns—using me to carry out his wish and pushing me to take the blame in its wake. But he had underestimated me. And as his words uttered a demand not to think of any person associated with the circus, my mind was right there with her—my Ace of Hearts . She was the one who kept me grounded, anchored here but turned me loose in ways he would never understand. And thinking of her, clarity was what I got even when things in my world flickered at their darkest.

“No,” he stammered, his voice quivering with disbelief, “it can’t be.”

I pulled a rope from my jacket and headed to him with cold precision, securing him tightly against a tree.

"You know," I said, wrapping rope around his body, "for a long time, I thought it was me who was the fool." I laughed bitterly. "But you—ho, ho, ho—you're the real idiot here."

He swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "Wh-what are you going to do? You can't—I'm your master!"

My voice was hard, cold, steady. "I'm no one's slave," I breathed, my knife gliding down his cheek, close enough for him to feel the edge of its blade. "All those souls you had me flay down in that basement…"

TSK TSK TSK

"They didn't suffer half of what's comin' for you." I pressed a thumb over his eyelid, prying his eye wide open. He thrashed, but the knife was steady as I dug in, and his scream pierced the night, sending startled birds into flight from the treetops.

"You will not be needing this anymore, will you?" I snarled, continuing to the other eye as he screamed, raw, as his voice broke, slumping as he passed out due to the pain.

"Pathetically overly sweet," I said loud, letting his purple eyes fall into a small pouch, that grotesque present I would deliver to her. My Ace of Hearts would understand I had kept him away from her.

I stepped back, calling to him mockingly. "Hellooo?" His head hung limp, his mouth slack.

I rolled my eyes, striding over and slapping his cheek a few times. His body was slack, lifeless.

"Dead already," I muttered to myself. "Perfect."

I turned my back on him and, keeping his body bound to the tree, made my way along that meandering path in the direction of the House of Clowns . My hands plunged into my pockets; my fingers brushed against the small, heavy pouch hanging from my belt, heavy with all those sins weighing, their darkness settling in my chest. No, I didn't deserve her. But even if I was damned, even if I couldn't have her, I'd make sure that nobody else would, either.

Every step up to the House of Clowns was heavier than the last like the weight of everything I'd done was pressing down on me. But it was something that needed to be done, had to be said, even if it meant she'd never forgive me. My hand grasped the door handle, slowly pushing it open. I went up the stairs, creaking at almost every step. It felt like my breathing was burning inside of me as I neared her room. The door was open, a crack, enough to tell she wasn't inside.

I could hear the soft cadence of water hitting the tile—she was in the shower. The sound brought back a torrent of memories, especially that first night she spent with me in this room.

I saw that a pen and paper had been left on the bedside table, and something just seized inside of me—a pulse of impulse I couldn't resist. I scrawled a message in handwriting that looked foreign to me: I am watching you. Then I pulled the small bag from my pocket and watched as Hypno's purple eyes rolled onto the bed sheets beside the note.

A door clicked, and instantly I felt panic race through my veins. I looked frantically around for somewhere to hide and then slid down onto the floor and under the bed like some monster lurking in the shadows.

I heard the soft patter of her bare feet on the floor as she dried herself with a towel, and then the pad toward the bed. A shrill scream came forth as the towel fell to the floor, and I heard the dull thud of a body falling in shock.

"Pussy," I whispered to myself—the word was phony, even as I was uttering it—and wriggled out from beneath the bed. She lay very still, her face waxen, the shock frozen in her face. I just took the eyeballs and tucked them in her drawer along with the note so that they weren't visible. Then I gathered her up and back onto the bed, yanking the blanket up and tucking it in around her.

Her eyes fluttered open and took in my form. They screwed up in horror and another scream ripped free of her mouth. Her hand shot up, and before I could react, her palm cracked across my cheek with all the force she could muster.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she shouted, her voice thick with incredulity. "Was that Hypno?"

"What's left of him," I said, my tone even.

A tear had escaped down her cheek, catching the shine from off her skin. "What have you become?" she whispered. "A monster?"

I climbed over her, my hands pinning her wrists above her head. "I was always a monster," I said, my voice dark. "You were the one who saw me as human."

The pull was just too strong, the urge that had haunted me for six long months. My lips pressed against hers—hard, rough. She didn't resist; her lips parted, allowing me deeper, but then her teeth bit down, the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth.

I leaned back, wiping my lip with a smile. "It's still me, Chiara," I whispered, my voice low. "Just this time, you're seeing all of me."

"By showing me you can kill people?" she snapped, her voice cracking with emotion. "Congratulations, Rio. You did it."

"I only took his eyes," I growled. "He stole years of my life, my humanity when he controlled my mind."

"What are you talking about?" Her eyes searched mine, confusion and anger swirling. "You killed him. That was your choice, not his."

"He made me kill others," I spat, my anger rising; "made me do things I never wanted to do. I did the world a favor."

"You disgust me." She turned her face away. Her voice was cold and brittle. "Just let go."

"No, you want me," I whispered, holding her gaze, my face very near. "Pretty good memories of the big cat, woods, first night?"

"I want to forget." Her voice was a whisper; her tears slid down her face.

I let her loose, straightening up, something acrid settling in my chest. "I never thought you'd care more for him than me."

She sat up and started hitting my back with her fists. "No, you idiot, I want to forget the eyeballs you left on my bed."

A low, dark laugh escaped me. "Didn't like the gift?" I said, raising one eyebrow in a smirk.

She shook her head, but something in her eyes, when they met mine, shifted it. There was a reciprocal tension to our face-to-face proximity that seemed almost palpable—a pull neither of us could explain or resist. Slowly, the anger softened in her eyes, and as I moved in—close breaths mingling—the chaos between us faded away into nothing else but the silence holding us together.