The Caged Bird Read online

  The rigidness of pain dissipates. When I realize I’m not going to die, I remember Lyra and look up. She’s standing at the wall of the cage, looking down at me, and she’s a normal girl instead of the ethereal creature I saw a moment ago.

  That’s not entirely true. She’s gorgeous, and I can’t turn away from her eyes, but she’s not glowing, not throwing rainbows of light in the room. She’s as human as I am. Relief washes through me as I stare into her angelic face. I want to touch her, but know I can’t. Hell, if they warned me not to talk to her, then touching her could get me killed. Instantly, I think of Big Jim.

  As I stand face to face with her, the cage starts to move and she takes her seat on the swing. Startled, I start looking around wildly, trying to figure out what’s happening. The cage is on a platform that slides toward a large wall of the tent that’s been folded back. This must be it. It’s time for her performance.

  Numbly, I follow behind the cage, keeping my distance. When the spotlight hits the cage, it comes to a stop in the middle ring under the main tent. The tent is at full capacity. There are even people standing in the walkways, but the crowd is motionless. I start to slowly patrol the outside of the ring, watching for the outrageous townies I was warned about. As I walk, I put the earplugs back in, only this time I don’t experience any pain. Just silence.

  Looking into the faces of the people in the crowd, mostly men have come to see her act. They’re already enthralled their gazes are focused on her, but there’s no emotion. Their eyes look like creepy-ass porcelain doll eyes. The whole crowd couldn’t be on drugs, but that’s exactly what comes to mind.

  Movement in the corner of my eye makes me turn, and I run over in time to stop a young man from crossing the low wall that separates the crowd from the performance space. I grab him and drag him back to the edge where I’m met by some of the other carnies who remove him from the tent. I notice the colorful earplugs the others are wearing. It strikes me as odd since I haven’t figured out the reason for them. Still, I continue watching the perimeters and the crowd.

  Lyra is performing, and the crowd seems to be on a precipice. It’s as if no one is even breathing as they lean toward her cage. Bits of sound reach me in spite of the plugs, and my heart aches to know what she’s singing. I stop my patrolling long enough to see if I can read her lips. In a few moments, I’ve identified the tune, and it plays in my head as if my mother was playing it for me back home. My mother was the pianist at church, and she often performed more secular music at home. The feeling causes a nostalgic feeling I don’t expect.

  Lyra’s voice must be enchanting because every person is hanging on the edge of their seat as if they are in some sort of suspended animation. The people standing seem to lean in her direction. I keep watching her because I can’t help it. The parts I can make out remind me of Nina Simone, and I desperately want to hear her full performance. The words “don’t be stupid” keep reminding me not to do that.

  The cage starts moving backward, and I take that as my cue to escort her back to the waiting area. I fall into step beside the cage and watch her as it goes. She looks directly at me, holding me with her gaze. My heart swells because I envision myself taking her off the perch and sweeping her away to my trailer. Where I can wrap my body around her and consume her with kisses from head to toe. All I want is to take her from that cage and run away with her. By the time the cage rests in its holding area, I feel overwhelmed. I wait to see if I need to help her exit, but she doesn’t move. I remove the earplugs and shove them into my pockets.

  Before I can offer her any assistance, Jared storms in. “Good job, boy. Here.” He holds his hand out to me, and in it is a hundred dollar bill.

  Confused, I look to his face. “I’m sorry?”

  He laughs. “It’s called a tip. Take it.”

  It feels wrong, but I take the money and slide it into my pocket.

  “Coen, you passed the test tonight. You did a good job. Did you talk to her?”

  I’m conflicted about answering because she’s standing right there, in a cage, and he’s asking about her as if she’s not there. I shake my head.

  “Good. You can keep this gig for now.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I have to have security I can trust with her. You’ve earned my trust for now. Time for you to go. And, Coen, don’t go asking questions.”

  I’m suddenly exhausted from the evening’s events, and I walk from the tent with my head in a fog of thoughts. Despite the warnings, I resolve to talk to Smitty and Bud tomorrow. I need to know what I’ve gotten myself into, and they might be the safest source of information.

  When I wake the next morning for my regular shift with animal duty, my head feels like an overfilled balloon. My head is heavy and throbbing. How can I be seasick on land? It reminds me of a night of drinking in college and what that hangover felt like, except I didn’t drink anything last night. I don’t take drugs like some of the other guys.

  I close my eyes and protect them from the thin bits of early morning light filtering in through the makeshift curtains on the windows. All I know for sure is that today is going to be rough.

  I dress in my usual coveralls, pack myself a small lunch, and fill a gallon jug with enough water to see me through the shift. As I do every morning, I step out of the trailer and lock the door behind me. When I turn around, Bud is standing right in front of me at the bottom of the stairs.

  I jump and dumbly say, “Hey. What’s up?”

  His face is grim. “Coen, we need to talk.”

  “Good. I was hoping to talk to you today, too.”

  His mouth presses into a firm line. “Come on.”

  Bud leads me toward the RV he and Smitty share. I’ve only been in here once when Old Man Lucas found me on the side of the road and offered me a job. I’d left all money and means of obtaining money behind. He found me when I’d run out of everything and hadn’t eaten for days. Still, being a drifter was better than what I’d left behind.

  He brought me to Smitty to figure out where I could be of use. Smitty remains irritated at having to add me to his extremely capable crew. I’m a college boy who has never done manual labor before this. I never built, maintained, or managed anything. And he’s stuck with me. I feel bad, but I need a place to live and a way to make some money that’s off the record. I never want to be found, and the anonymous nature of the Carnivale Mystique is exactly what I need. They don’t ask, and I don’t tell.

  We find Smitty sitting down at the table with three cups of coffee. He’s ready for whatever is about to happen. Bud motions for me to sit. Bud and Smitty are men of few words, so the fact they want to talk to me is monumental. The two men share a look before beginning. Bud nods at Smitty, who clears his throat.

  “Uh, Coen, Bud tells me that you are fully aware of what this place is. Is that true?”

  Mulling over his opening statement, I answer, “I know this is a freak show; although, I’m not sure you can categorize my level of knowledge as fully aware.” Verbal sleight of hand. I’ve still got it.

  Smitty nods. “We thought we had better have a conversation with you about last night. There are…things. Things you need to know.”

  I don’t respond because he obviously has something important to get through, and anything I say or ask will derail him. I nod to encourage him to go on.

  “Lyra and Jared,” he starts, and then pauses. “They’re the moneymakers around here. They draw the biggest crowd. Bigger than all the other acts combined. Lucas charges twice as much to see Lyra as he does for any other attraction. I’m sure you’ve put together that she’s gorgeous, but why would a pretty girl who sings be such a high-ticket item? That’s where this is going to get weird.”

  I’m worried about what he might say and start to feel protective of Lyra. The word love keeps floating through my mind. I can’t love her, can I? I haven’t even been formally introduced to her. The confusion from last night clouds my thought process, and I talk myself down from feeling
like I need to react in her defense.

  Don’t assume. Listen to what he has to say.

  Smitty goes on, saying, “We’ve all read stories and heard about things that exist in this world that we may think are fake. Vampires, werewolves, zombies, djinn. As crazy as it sounds, I’m here to tell you that some of the stories are real. There are things in this show that you wouldn’t believe. Lucas isn’t just a good business man at selecting talented acts. He has a talent for finding the real freaks, too.”

  Understanding starts to dawn on me. “So Lyra?” I ask.

  Bud, who’s been silently drinking his coffee, answers, “Siren.”

  “Siren? Greek mythology? Like the women who lured sailors to their death?” I’m mocking them, but I can’t help the incredulous feeling when I consider it.

  Bud nods. “Siren.”

  Although I think they’re making this up, I go through the events of last night. Analytically, I walk myself back through everything I felt: the nausea, the foggy drugged feeling, the piercing pain when I had the earplugs in, and Lyra’s glowing eyes when she stared at me. It did seem like she worked a spell on the crowd. Men and women alike were taken with her. I didn’t get to hear her fully sing, but I’ve never seen anyone react to any singer that way. Something is definitely inhuman about her, but do I believe she’s a siren? That’s nonsense.

  “What happened to Big Jim?” I ask.

  Bud sighs before answering, “That brother of hers, Jared, is a bastard. He keeps her locked in that cage day and night. Far as I know, she’s never seen the outside of that tent or even that cage. She’s not allowed friends. If he catches her talking to any man, he loses his mind. Big Jim made the mistake of defending her against one of Jared’s fits. What happened to him involved Jared and a baseball bat. Nearly killed him. Hell, we still aren’t sure it didn’t. There’s been no update from the hospital.”

  A cold chill runs down my back. “Jared wouldn’t hurt her, right?” Again the word love floats through my mind, and I see her staring at me, unsmiling, as I look up from the ground beside her cage. He couldn’t.

  This time, Smitty answers me, “Wouldn’t he? Without her he’s nothing. She’s a goldmine and he keeps her like a valuable toy. There is no pay day without her.”

  Bud adds, “She’s all Jared has; they ain’t got no family. I don’t know the real story, but word around the crew is that Jared killed their parents. Lyra couldn’t have been more than three years old when Old Man Lucas hired them.”

  Smitty agrees and builds onto Bud’s story. “Lucas said that girl doesn’t remember a time in her life that she didn’t live inside that cage. She’s scared of everyone, and since none of us are allowed to talk to her…” he drifts off.

  “Big Jim made the mistake of talking to her,” I observe.

  “He did more than talk to her. We think he was trying to rescue her even though we warned him not to do it. Jared is downright unstable,” Bud elaborates. “He’ll kill anyone who gets too close.”

  “But Lucas needs her as much as Jared does. Surely, he wouldn’t let Jared treat her that way. Keep her locked in a cage.”

  Bud deadpans, “Wouldn’t he? As long as she’s bringing in the crowds, what does he care? She could sing like a bullfrog in the middle of a swamp and the crowds would still pack the house. It’s not her singing abilities they come to see. They come because she commands them to be here. It’s a sickness she implants in their brains. They become so obsessed that they bring others. All it takes is one moment in her presence, and they’re addicted, too.”

  My mind becomes a swirl of thoughts and questions. I take a moment to consider what they’re saying. Applying my analytical mind, I start to sort through what I know to be real and try to balance it against what these men are telling me. Like any good skeptic, I think there must be a rational explanation. “If I could believe what you’re telling me, how do you know she didn’t affect me last night?”

  Bud answers, “We don’t. But it’s why we gave you the earplugs. You don’t believe it?”

  I shrug. “I have a serious hangover, even though I didn’t drink or take anything last night. Feels I drank a bottle of whiskey and ran a marathon right after. My whole body is miserable, and I can’t shake this headache.”

  Smitty nods. “That’s the reduced effects of her song. She influenced you enough to pull the earplugs out. She likes to do that when someone new is assigned to her. She’s testing your limits. You should be flattered. She liked you enough not to hurt you.”

  I scoff, “It hurt!”

  Bud shakes his head. “Not like it could’ve.”

  Something occurs to me. “If she’s a siren, what does that make Jared? I mean if they are siblings, he has to be something.”

  Smitty shrugs. “He doesn’t appear to have his sister’s talents. Could be something that only passes to the females of the family. We’ve seen that with a couple of different freaks around here over the years.”

  I’m still not sure I fully buy what they’re telling me. “Why didn’t you just tell me all of this yesterday before putting my life in danger?”

  The men exchange a look, and Smitty answers for the two of them. “We took a chance that she would like you. Turns out we were right. Good thing it worked out, huh?” He finishes with a smile.

  I release a nervous chuckle. “Yeah. Good thing.” I finish my coffee then ask what my assignment will be from now on—do I return to animal duty or keep working security for Lyra? Smitty confirms that I’m on permanent Lyra duty. I’m not sure I bargained on a night shift for the rest of my time here, but I accept it for what it is and return to my trailer to sleep off the hangover from hell.

  My thoughts are too consumed with the information Bud and Smitty gave me this morning to return to sleep. I spend the rest of the day obsessing over all of the new information imparted to me.

  I show up for my shift exhausted but with an eye for the details of the situation. Cautious and circumspect, I step into the tent where I now know Jared and Lyra live. This tent is Lyra’s whole world, according to the men I work with. Can I believe that? Is Jared the kind of man who’d lock up his own sister? I know men who have thoroughly abused the women in their lives. I’ve seen the effects of domestic abuse.

  When I consider my past experiences with men of that nature, do I get the same vibe from Jared? He’d have to be a master psychopath to be that kind of man without my ability to pick up on it. Tonight, my objective is not only to keep Lyra safe, but to ascertain if any of it is true—sirens, freaks and psychos.

  As I enter the tent, I call out, “Mr. Jared? It’s Coen. Reporting for my shift, sir.” God knows, if he’s as crazy as they say, I don’t want to sneak up on him. I stand near the entrance as I wait for permission to enter the room where Lyra’s cage is kept. I’m not even sure what to call that room. Is it her bedroom? Rehearsal space?

  Thinking about Lyra makes me unexpectedly anxious about how I look, something I haven’t cared about since I left my old life. Running my hands over my unkempt brown hair to try and slick it down, I hear a light humming. Reminds me of summer. Like the bumblebees working in and out of the honeysuckle vines as the day fades into twilight.

  Visions of daffodils and buttercups in a field of breezy tall grass float through my mind. I’m walking in a field of quintessential summer imagery when I see two people canoodling on a blanket under the fading sun. She has a spray of dark curls around her head as she lies on her back and he hovers over her, brown hair swooped to one side of his head as he gazes at her like there’s nothing more important to him in this world. I’m an intruder on their moment, floating like an angel observing the scene. When the man shifts to the side, I see her piercing eyes—it’s Lyra. As I stare back at her, I see the man move to look up at me as well—it’s me.

  Startled, I snap back to the tent. My legs ache like the day after a serious workout. I reach out to grab the chair beside me for balance. Realization dawns. The humming. Lyra was influencing my vision. I pat
around my pockets and find the earplugs. Before I can shove them into my ears, Jared steps through the flap. I straighten.

  “Coen,” he says in greeting. He makes himself a drink before walking back to me. “Have a seat. Let’s get to know each other.”

  I wait for him to sit first, then take my seat. He doesn’t offer me a drink. I assume because I’m working tonight and need to remain alert. I dig deep to find my attorney persona and drag him to the surface. That jerk is needed to keep my face from giving away anything as I talk to Jared. Plus, I need to determine if he’s truly a psychopath.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he starts.

  “I was born in Rome, Georgia, and I was an attorney before coming to work at the show.” I blurt out, realizing too late that I shouldn’t have told him that. So much for keeping it to myself.

  He looks surprised. “An attorney? Interesting. Don’t get many former attorneys working as roustabouts. Why the career change?”

  I shrug. “Being an attorney wasn’t what I thought it would be.”

  He nods. “Why the show, then?”

  “It’s honest, straightforward work. I can live with myself.”

  He seems to think on that answer for a moment before asking, “Why were you assigned to protect my sister?”

  “Smitty said Big Jim wasn’t well and they needed a replacement. I was assigned the job. Would you rather have someone else?”

  He shakes his head. “Not necessarily. You’re rather young, so that should mean you’re strong. That’s definitely required for the job. But what bothers me is that you’re also handsome and smart. Not qualities I want in the man who’ll need to spend a good bit of time with my sister.”