JACK KENDALL (growth) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2020-07-20 21:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | evangline cain, jack kendall |
Who. Jack Kendall, Evangeline Cain, & a mysterious friend.
What. The circus is in town!
Where. Just beyond the city.
When. Friday night, July 18th.
Warnings. TBD.
With a name like that, how could he resist? No matter how it translated, he knew right away from the context clues, the place was special. The Imaginary Circus, or something like it, anyway — it was like a place from a dream. A dream, because as a kid, he had never been. The closest he had come was a clown on the Atlantic City Boardwalk; the ordeal was enough to traumatize anyone, but there was that far-off look in his eye, a silver glint that made him and Danny shiver. They knew better, thoughts flashing in red ( !!!DANGER!!! ) and he'd run back to his parents in a furious race to catch his own breath.
Now, it was partly his own curiosity. He wondered if Briar would be interested in this sort of thing, and decided to take the journey out to see if it would be worth her while. That, and there was something about the name he couldn't shake. He turned it over and over in his mind, like some sort of penny he'd picked up between the planks of the Boardwalk — find a penny, pick it up. It had been years now since he found himself drawn to a place; the last time had been The Overlook. Look how that turned out, Dan had said on the drive, Jack's knuckles still rapping idly to the sound of "Pet Sematary" by The Ramones. His eyes rolled. "C'mon, man, this ain't that Hellmouth — besides, I hear it's actually like a Reincarnate circus." There had to be some credibility in that.
When he arrived, the sun was settling, and the world had illuminated all over again with lights and color and sound. His hands were in his pockets. July was hot, but the nights were cooler. Enough, at least, for a light jacket. One of Dan's. Jack towered over most of the crowd, grinning to himself and rubbing at his chin as he watched children ooh! and ah! Still, he felt a pull — a nameless draw. An unknowable familiarity. Easy, he thought back at Dan, who he could already feel on high alert. No sign of Tim Curry yet, I think we're gonna be alright, yo.
That was when the proverbial rubberband of his thoughts snapped back. It wasn't Dan; this was something else. He'd stopped in his tracks, two girls walking behind him scoffing and parting to veer around him. Now, he could hear it. A loud cacophony of sound, everything growing in intensity. A rush. Of wind and noise. But he couldn't just hear it. He could smell it. Something like — God, he frowned deeply, what was that?
"You look like a man who's lost his way," said a voice, and he turned to a rush of silence. He blinked, concerned, and wondering where the crowd had gone. Where the roar had gone. Was this real? Against the moon, bats fluttered, and Jack's eyes narrowed. Lights flickered, red, white. ( !!!DANGER!!! ) The man wore a charming smile and a tall hat, a hat that reminded him of — roses. It was roses he'd smelled. This wasn't — no, it wasn't. And yet, Jack, I can't read him. That was new. Shit.
"Just lost," he replied, evenly. He maintained his composure, attempting to stay on his feet. "This your place?"
The man bowed, low, touching the brim of his hat to the flat of his chest. "This," he stood upright again, the hat settling with a neat, untouched grace. "is for all people who are lost, Jack Kendall." He watched the Ringmaster with fixed attention, not wanting him to disappear from sight, as the world's volume around him had done. " — Lost in two lives it would seem." A tt-tt! of noise moved from the other man. "Such a pity."
In an instant, the man had, indeed, been gone. He tapped a finger to his shoulder and Jack quickly danced again, now backwards from where he had started and stumbling lightly on his own boots. "We know each other?" He asked, but he knew the answer; they hadn't. There was nothing familiar here. And in this life, or the next, she would never be able to hide from him.
"Not yet, my dear boy, not yet," handsome features contorted into a picture of amusement. "But you're on the right track — here." He said, pointing then, to the temple of his own head, just below the hat. Soon, his composure changed. He looked the part of the dazzling star of the stage. There was something hypnotizing about his eyes, and Jack couldn't look away. It made him seasick; it made him think of the clown. "She's been looking for you a long time, Mr. Torrance — and you, her, I would imagine."
The air was knocked from him in a quick jab of thought. The Knot — no, no, something different. Something else. He wasn't with them, but he was with her. The hat, roses. We have to get out of here. But it was too late. He heard a word. One word, and it made him tired, made him weary. He fought it. He tried to maintain his balance, tried to start for the exit. The word came again. Heavier this time, knocking him entirely from underfoot.
The last thing he saw as his eyes closed was the man in the hat, and the red of his jacket. And here you are, trapped between the here and there, the words climbed through the rungs of his mind. He was swimming, sinking. Further into sleep. You only need to sleep — Jack! JACK!!
Sleep, doc. Wendy's voice. Sleep.