Bet Your Life-Chapter 1, Part 1

The juggler was late. Paint dripped off of X’s face like wax, melting from sweat and heat.

She grit her teeth, muscles aching, as she strained to hold the pose in front of the applauding audience. The lights dimmed, casting the dancers in shadows. X let out heavy, forced-to-be-silent breaths. One. Two. Three. Four.

There! A fanfare of trumpets, the clanking sound of wheels. The juggler pedaled onstage in a navy suit and unicycle. X relaxed, released herself from the pose. She spun offstage.

X had just thrown off the flowing white silk tunic when she felt an icy hand on her back.

“Remember me?” A soft voice asked, tinged with a cold glow.

She froze; half-dressed, holding her next costume, hair in a heavy mop down her back.

The voice continued. “I remember you.”

“N. Where have you been?” X turned to greet the ghost of her old friend.

“I’ve been away….I’ve been busy.” N’s spirit floated a few feet above X’s dresser drawer. X felt a pang as she saw the age discrepancy between them; it seemed that N hadn’t aged a day, despite the fact that she died almost a year ago. But N still looked like X’s old friend, with her wide silver eyes and thick brown hair in a braid-- even the same red-and-blue-checked school uniform.

N wasn’t the first ghost X had seen. So many spirits had appeared over the course of X’s life, she wasn’t even surprised anymore. Her family was part of a line of seers, but it hadn’t helped X much. The ghosts were a nuisance, and no one else could see them. Although X had missed her friend dearly.

“You’re back.” She said.

“Yes.” N agreed, quietly.

“Tell me how you really died,” X begged, words sputtering out of her like a runaway train. “They said at school it was arson but I know it wasn’t--I tried to go investigating, N, but they stopped me--and then they kicked me out of school--this was the only place that would hire, and besides, I always wanted to be a dancer--I’m sorry, I’ve been trying….” She trailed off, feelings flooding through her as she clamped her mouth shut tight to prevent them from escaping.

“I’ve been trying.” She finished, uncertain.

“I know, X-ie. I know. It’s okay.” N smiled softly.

X breathed a sigh of relief as the clear, sharp toll of a bell sounded.

“I’m sorry, that’s my cue, and I’ve got to be there for the final act. ” She said.

“Go do your show, X-ie. I’ll be waiting in the audience.”

X’s heart lightened, for the first time in a year. Nothing could go wrong now. Now that her best friend was back, everything was fine.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t stay that way.

The curtain was raised, X spinning through the air, seeming almost weightless. Music thrummed and sang underneath her. The spotlight reflected off her glittering scarlet dress and bounced back into the eyes of the audience. It was a full house, every seat taken. X landed with a small thump on the smooth floor of the circus ring.

She looked up; caught N in the audience. N waved, she waved back Several audience members returned the gesture, thinking it was for them. X smiled, unknowing, in the calm before the storm.

A backup dancer ran onstage, half in costume. The audience murmured, wondering if this was some new, daring act. The dancer panted, pointing behind him. He screamed, and the audience caught the word just as they saw what happened:

“Fire!”

Red spirals of flame licked greedy tongues up the side of the tent, glistening and glowing in the dim light. Still the audience was hesitant to leave: maybe this was planned. Maybe this was all an act. Then the screams started.

Shrill, panicked yells, increasing in fervor and pitch like a contagious disease. They spread across the ring in a wave, until the audience was on its feet, a giant, pulsing creature. Dancers, acrobats and jugglers pushed against the wooden barrier separating the audience from the performers; it wavered, then fell with a resounding crash, splintering into the grandstands above.

People clambered around like panicked ants, trying to escape from the frying rays of a firey magnifying glass. The fire glowed: scarlet, orange, gold. Light sprayed into X’s eyes, blinding her. Smoke and dust filled the air.

“Look out!” N’s scream echoed in X’s ears as the pole holding up the tent crumpled and swayed. “It’s going to fall!”

X hurled herself onto the ground, praying to (Saint) that she’d put herself out of the way, the metal sliding with an ominous iron scream.

“Keep moving!” N sounded distant and hazy.

A shot of pain hurled it’s way up X’s right side. She yelled in agony and felt a snap deep within her.

“Ah. Ah. Ow. Ah.” Pain swelled up and down the top half of her body. Nausea curled and tossed in her stomach, and bright spots blinked in her vision.

“N?” The question croaked out of her in a desperate rasp, but the ghost was nowhere to be seen.

The pain faded a little, but the nausea stayed. X could pinpoint the hurt now. She breathed a heavy gasp of relief: the pole had missed her. The ache was coming from her hand, which had bent backwards when she landed on it.

“Keep moving,” X mumbled to herself from swollen, dry lips. “Keep moving.”

Cradling her right hand, X pushed herself onwards. Flames licked at her ankles, singeing them as sweat drenched her body. The screams had mostly stopped now, leaving behind either survivors or bodies. Silence as thick as the smoke engulfed X, encasing her in a dark cloud. She dropped to her knees, head spinning.

Keep moving. She coughed. Keep moving!

Gasping, eyes stinging, hand throbbing, limping, X crawled her way to the tent exit, only to find that a ring of violent scarlet flames encased the entire circus tent. She was trapped.

X remembered another fire, almost a year ago. Another inferno that took and gave new lives with ease. The school had blamed her for it. A small fire, from a lighter left carelessly in the science lab. A small fire that grew and grew and grew until it blossomed into an explosion, killing N and wounding others. X was supposed to have been working in the lab, serving lunch detention. She'd ditched, but no one would believe her. And X smoked. Who else was there to blame?

X stared at the crimson blaze, burning both at her feet and in her mind. She looked behind her: smoke obscured everything in its coiling grip, but she could hear flames fast approaching, roaring like some great scarlet monster. She coughed, exhaling in short, desperate gasps. Time was running out.

Keep moving. X closed her eyes. Keep moving. She made her decision.

X pushed herself back onto her feet. Smoke inhalation was going to make her drop any second. She had to keep moving. X opened her eyes for one last look at the world, heat and dehydration making the air blur around her. A ring of fire, a melting iron pole, a faded, fluttering, circus tent, were these the last things she would ever see?

No. Keep moving.

With a last desperate breath, X ran through the burning flames.

Sweltering heat. Searing red spots in her vision. Then pain. Endless, screaming pain.

X collapsed onto solid earth. More pain.

Shouts of “She’s alive!” and “It’s a miracle!” waded their way through her fuzzy hearing. She smiled before darkness engulfed her vision.

X was awakened by pain, again. Someone was shaking her. A face, blurry and indistinct. X tried to talk, but her mouth seemed to be filled with dust. A voice followed, also hazy. It seemed apologetic. Why?

A searing, roaring burst of pain shot through her as the person tried to grab her broken hand. A scream ripped its way out of her, shredding her rusty vocal chords.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

X was vaguely aware that someone was pushing, propping her up. She felt like liquid lead, heavy and immovable. Another person forced a water canteen to her parched mouth. That was better.

“I’m sorry, but we need you awake. The acting manager wants to talk to you.” A third person, holding her one unbroken hand as she was prodded along.

“Ow. Okay.” X’s head hurt too much to make much sense from any of this.

The manager was a short, affable man, the sort who was kind to the point of debt. Unfortunately, he was also away, on vacation in Solis.

The acting manager was the regular manager’s complete opposite. Short, vulgar, and vicious. The dimness of the room only served to accentuate his yellowed teeth, and made his olive skin look a sickly green. He sneered at her when she entered.

“X.”

“What do you want?” X was too tired to feign politeness.

A vicious grin curled the acting manager’s lips. “I know what you’ve done.”

“And what have I done? Escaped from a bonfire? Broken my hand? Almost died, twice?”

“You started the fire, X.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You, X. The dancer with a history of arson--”

“That isn’t true!”

“A history of arson and troublemaking,” The acting manager continued, shouting over her. “I am forced to conclude that you started the fire.”

“You have no proof.” X grit her teeth.

“Ha!” He laughed, spittle flying from his grey lips. “That’s where you’re wrong, girlie.”

X stared as the acting manager shoved something in her face. She blinked. Several broken matches and a pack of singed cigarettes rested in his open palm.

“You,” the acting manager leered. “The only person in my staff to smoke.”

“It’s not your staff, it’s Harlan’s.” X sighed. “And I haven’t smoked in a year.”

“Harlan isn’t here to protect you, girlie. He’s having the time of his life in Solis. And what about this?” He produced a single sheet of ripped paper. X could just make out the wrinkled words in her own handwriting:

To do:

-pay ren

- fix rip in costume

- control fire…

The rest of the paper was missing. She stifled a laugh. “That’s it? You’ve got it completely wrong. The rest of the paper says ‘control fiery temper’. I must have misspelt it, that’s all.”

The acting manager snarled, “That’s enough out of you, girlie. You won’t be laughing in jail, will you?”

“Jail? Preposterous.” X smiled, confident. “That’s hardly substantial proof.”

“Let’s just say I have a few friends in court, and leave it at that. Two counts of arson is enough to get you quite a sentence.”

X paled. “You’re a filthy, lying, scumbag--”

“No no no, none of that.” He wagged a finger in her face. “Resistance could get you a longer sentence.”

“But why? Why would you go through all this trouble to arrest me?” X tried for a look of contempt. “I mean, bribery is low, even for you.”

The acting manager scowled. “Oh, don’t take it so personally, X. I just needed a scapegoat, and you’re an easy target, if I do say so myself.”

“Why burn it down in the first place? Don’t you have to rebuild it now, acting manager?”

He smiled, spreading his arms wide. “Simple. Insurance money.”

“Greed.” She retorted.

“Call it what you like, girlie. Maybe I’ll visit you in prison sometime.”

Acid fear sliced through her stomach. “No--wait--”

The acting manager laughed, hard, cruel, vicious.

“You don’t understand--” X continued, desperate. “Please, not prison---two counts of arson--please! You know what jail is like here.”

Dark and underfunded, Calaide’s overflowing criminal justice system was infamous. Rumors abounded of crowded underground cells that never saw the light of day, more dungeon than room.

A breeze rippled through the makeshift tent, carrying cold air and the smell of burnt things. X felt hot tears well up in her eyes and she bit her tongue savagely to keep them down.

“I didn’t start that fire. You can’t send me to prison for this. You can’t.”

The acting manager smiled wide through grey lips. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed tight. “Oh, girlie. Why are you still fighting? It’s over.”

It was his hand, warm and repulsive, that fueled X more than anything. She yanked herself away in fury.

“Get off of me! It is not over until I say it is over. You want to send me to prison?” She was shouting now, carried by her anger. An impulse flashed through her, burning bright. The seed of a plan sparked and crackled.

“You want to leave me in a cell to rot? You want to keep me locked up in chains?” X smiled tight in vicious anger. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

She spun, running out of the tent and into the fading day.