Meanwhile, Joey laid his hand on the doorknob and hesitated for a moment. Questions. They always battered him with questions, asking him why he was this way, why he wrapped himself up, what he was trying to hide. It was some sort of rite that every newcomer to the Show went through; that is, until he silenced them by his own silence, making them think that whatever calamity had befallen him had taken away his speech. It was just as well, for not only did he want their incessant questions to stop, he didn't want them to delve into the secrets of his past.

But Asmarelda knew. He could see in those evil black eyes of hers, that she knew who the real Joey Clarkson was. A traitor to his own kind...did she know everything? He got the gut feeling that she even knew that he WAS able to talk, if he wanted to; but if she did, the witch never let on.

Joey cautiously pushed the door open so it wouldn't creak. The room was dark, so he figured the girl was already asleep; her deep, gentle breathing confirmed this. Did she know what she'd walked into? Of course not. Asmarelda never told them outright what was really going on in THE SHOW. Letting the door click shut so as not to waken her, he sat down on his bed to think.

She didn't look all that bad, he decided, watching a shaft of winter moonlight play tag with the shadows across her thin, pale features. Hers must be a sad story. And she was pretty too---not the put-on kind of beauty that was only on the outside, like Charisma's, but an inner kind of beauty. Like a girl who would understand and maybe even respect his silence, because she'd been through something terrible herself.

Somehow, Joey found himself looking forward to meeting her.

Chapter Four.

     Rachael woke up slowly, and for half a second she thought she was still dreaming, because she was sleeping on a real bed instead of a makeshift cot made from old newspapers. Morning light streamed through the window, shining golden on the yellow daisy blanket, and she remembered: the strange circus troupe of which Asmarelda was the leader.

     And the family I’m a part of, Rachael yawned thoughtfully, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. I wonder, is it anything really like a family, or is that a word and nothing more? But for Rachael’s hungry heart, love of any degree would suffice; that could prove to be her undoing.

     Her gaze was arrested by the little dresser beside her bed, on which there was a tiny lamp. Maybe there’s something inside that I could wear, she mused, and, her curiosity piqued, she pulled open one of the drawers.

     She’d guessed right, for inside there were sweaters, t-shirts, jeans, pajamas, socks, belts, and even under things---all which, she noticed, were her size. Could Asmarelda have planned ahead, and stocked the dresser just for her? But that idea sent a chill through her heart. How long, really, had Asmarelda been watching her? Weeks? Months? Years? Had she just been waiting for Alex to die so that she could step in and take over Rachael’s life? That thought was definitely unsettling.

     After looking through the various choices of dress, she finally chose a long-sleeved shirt that was striped red, dark blue, forest green, and goldenrod-yellow. It felt nice to wear something clean for once. There was a brush on the vanity, so she raked it through her hopelessly tangled scarlet hair, working with it for a few minutes before typing her unruly tresses back with the customary yellow ribbon. Alex had gotten it for her as a Christmas present when she was ten, so she could make herself feel at least a little pretty. Rachael had never forgotten it.

     Suddenly, though it was just for a second, Rachael saw the reflection of a beautiful girl standing behind her. She had long, luxurious golden hair that shimmered in the sunlight, and Rachael was entranced by the celestial blue eyes. They were so full of compassion and love and kindness, bringing back a faint, though cherished memory of her mother.

     “Mommy, don’t close the door. I’m scared.”

     The tall, graceful woman wrapped her arms lovingly around her daughter “Why is that, honey?”

     “There’s monsters under my bed, and they’ll come out when you shut the door.”

      Instead of trying to convince the little girl that there was no such thing as monsters under the bed, Mommy said, “Didn’t you know that every little girl and boy has an angel watching over them at night?”

     “Really?”

     “Sure. One was sent to you the moment you were born. So you see, Rachael, even if the monsters are under your bed, they can’t hurt you because your guardian angel will fight them with her sword if they try.”

     “It’s a she?” said little six-year-old Rachael, wide-eyed.

  “Oh, yes. She’s a fair maiden with lovely blonde hair like spun golf and beautiful blue eyes full of compassion and love and kindness, that light up with a white fire whenever she is angry; which is very seldom, for she only get angry at evil. When she fights her soft white wings burst out of her back, and she pulls out her glittering sword to battle with a vengeance. But she is a loyal guardian and friend, when she is not in her angelic fury.”

     “Oh…” Rachael said softly. “Is she in my room, right now?”

     “She’s standing at the foot of your bed.”

     Smiling happily, little Rachael said, “I won’t be scared anymore now that she’s here.”   

     Rachael awoke from the memory, realizing that the girl in the mirror was more than just a figment of her imagination; but as I said before, she was only visible for a spilt second, and as Rachael turned slowly to look, she was already gone. Instead, the boy called Joey stood behind her, holding a steaming plate of pancakes, slopped generously with a rich brown syrup that looked especially tantalizing to a girl who could not remember the last time she’d eaten.

     “I saved you some breakfast,” his blue eyes seemed to say.

     Slowly, cautiously, Rachael reached out to take the plate. “Thanks,” she managed. It was hard to look away from those intense, bright blue eyes. He was studying her intently, taking in every feature, every aspect of her. And she did the same to him. In that moment, Joey and Rachael exchanged a silent conversation, and got to know each other better than they would have in a million words.

     Finally her stomach beckoned insistently to her, and Rachael tore her gaze away from him, sitting on the edge of her bed and wolfing down the breakfast that Joey had brought her. He had been careful to make sure that she would get enough, for the others usually thought of no one but themselves. That’s what came of trying to survive out in the streets, where everyone in THE SHOW had come from. Even so, it hadn’t ruined Joey, and apparently it hadn’t ruined Rachael either. There was still a heart behind those emerald-green eyes, a heart that still had the capacity to love, even after all that must have happened to her.

     And whatever happened to her was probably my fault, Joey thought sadly to himself, as he turned to go. He slipped quietly through the door and closed it without making a sound. By the time Rachael looked up from her breakfast, the strange mummy-boy was gone.

Copyright © 2009 by Elenya Súlimë