Freakshow

By Jaden Wilkes

She's a freak

Born with congenital analgesia, Olivia York's inability to feel pain is expected—feeling nothing at all is not. Betrayed and unemployed, Olivia joins Cirque des Curiosités, a traveling circus with heavy emphasis on the strange and exotic. She's hired to sell tickets, but when her unique oddity is discovered, she becomes Orion the ringmaster's assistant in a dangerous performance on the centre stage.

He's off limits

Cairo, the son of the Cirque's ringmaster is the one man Olivia needs to stay away from. But his rippling muscles, dark tattoos and sensual lips intoxicate her, and before long she surrenders.


When girls start to go missing, her burning need to solve the unfolding mystery leads her to After Dark, the erotic late-night version of the Cirque. Orion is determined to break her bond to Cairo through any means possible, even if it leaves Olivia scarred or dead.

In a world built on illusion and deception, Olivia's quest to feel something more than curiosity might come at a very steep price.

** Deals with sexual themes that some readers may find offensive. This is a standalone dark urban fantasy novel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaden Wilkes
• Release date: Nov 19, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519954770

Jaden Wilkes

Jaden is the pen name of a girl living on the prettiest farm in BC. She shares her space with her husband, her children, and an Irish Wolfhound named Tiberius. She can now be found lurking in the dark corners of the internet looking for artful porn gifs, dirty poems and places to promo her work.

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Copyright © Freakshow 2015

by Jaden Wilkes

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used

in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Basically, don’t be a dick. I work hard as an independent writer, and it sucks every time I come across some douchey pirate site with my books on it. If you seriously can’t afford the very low price to buy my book, then email me and we’ll talk about it. Most likely I’ll send you a copy if it means you aren’t downloading it for free online somewhere.

And if you do download this for free from some rip off site, just remember, karma is like 69, you get what you give. It’s coming for you, asshole. Enjoy your shitty luck.

ABOUT THE BOOK:

She’s a freak

Born with congenital analgesia, Olivia York’s inability to feel pain is expected—feeling nothing at all is not. Betrayed and unemployed, Olivia joins Cirque des Curiosités, a traveling circus with heavy emphasis on the strange and exotic. She’s hired to sell tickets, but when her unique oddity is discovered, she becomes Orion the ringmaster's assistant in a dangerous performance on the centre stage.

He’s off limits

Cairo, the son of the Cirque's ringmaster is the one man Olivia needs to stay away from. But his rippling muscles, dark tattoos and sensual lips intoxicate her, and before long she surrenders.

When girls start to go missing, her burning need to solve the unfolding mystery leads her to After Dark, the erotic late-night version of the Cirque. Orion is determined to break her bond to Cairo through any means possible, even if it leaves Olivia scarred or dead.

In a world built on illusion and deception, Olivia’s quest to feel something more than curiosity might come at a very steep price.

** Deals with sexual themes that some readers may find offensive. This is a standalone dark urban fantasy novel.

For Grandma Zana, 1925-2014.

Without you, none of this would be here.

Prologue

THE GIRL RAN FASTER than she’d ever run before. She could feel the tall, dry grass whipping the tender skin on her pudgy legs, but she didn’t care. The sensation of the wind in her hair and the rush of blood in her ears was too intoxicating.

Sweet freedom.

Olivia, her mother called from the back door, where are you sweetie? I’ve got lunch.

She didn’t turn back, she wanted to escape and this was her only chance.

She couldn’t stand being caged any longer, she couldn’t stand being confined to play in the living room, child gates up preventing her from moving more than ten feet in any direction.

She was four now, she needed to feel the wind in her hair and the earth under her feet. Grandma always said she needed to touch the ground to develop her gifts. That always made Mom angry, and they fought.

Olivia didn’t care about their fighting though, she just wanted to be free.

Her mom had let her take ten minutes in the back yard as long as she’d promised she wouldn’t go farther than the garden gate.

Olivia, mom called again, her voice had that hysterical tinge to it that Olivia hated. Baby, where are you?

She stopped running and turned back to the house. She was well into the wheat field where her dad would be doing the fall harvest. She could hear the harsh thump of the heavy machines in the distance.

Dad was miles away though, and Olivia was farther from the house than she’d ever been on her own.

The thrill, it was too much.

She was tired, her legs wanted to move, but her body was starting to give up. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and even then she’d only nibbled on a piece of homemade bread with thick rhubarb preserves.

Her body needed more fuel, just like those tractors.

She heard her mom screaming her name now, and she knew she’d be in big trouble when she was found.

She ran a little farther and found a nice clump of wheat, lay down and closed her eyes, ignoring the continued pleas of her mom to come home. The earth felt so good under her hands, she pressed her fingers into the dirt and felt like she was flying.

OLIVIA, DAD’S VOICE was very loud and came from very near. Olivia had just been having the most wonderful dream about racing through the forest

She rubbed her eyes and stretched her legs. She felt better; less tired and thought she might try to run again.

She got up and gave a little kick, her legs were great and her body felt revitalized, the time spent with her fingers in the dirt had done the trick. It seemed Grandma was right in this respect.

She looked around and started to run away from her dad’s voice, knowing the trouble she’d be in if he caught her now.

She had no plan, but knew she didn’t want to give up this thrill quite yet.

She hit the edge of the wheat field and stood on gravel. She was momentarily confused. She spotted their house on the other side of the low, long barn where they kept their few dairy cows. She was in their driveway. The roundabout they used for loading machinery and grain.

She decided she’d spend some time in the barn before going back, she loved the smell of the cattle and the way they looked at her with their big, kind eyes.

She pushed herself faster, concentrating on the sliding door at the end, not paying attention to anything on either side of her.

It happened with a thud. Later the man in the truck swore he’d never seen her, and she hadn’t comprehended the flash of the headlights and the roar of the engine in time to get out of the way.

She pitched forward, landed on her belly and got a face full of dirt.

She looked up and saw his long, white face in a grimace of horror. She would have laughed at him if she’d been able to move.

She tried to push herself up, but couldn’t make her arms work.

She tried to kick, to get her body off the ground, but her legs weren’t moving.

Olivia started to scream, not for any reason other than simple frustration that her bid for freedom was over.

The man in the truck, it turned out, was kindly Mr. Jacobs’ son, Ryan. He had come to help look for her out in the wheat.

Her parents came racing over, her Daddy looked more scared than Ryan, and Mommy was screaming louder than Olivia herself.

I’m sorry mom, Olivia said, I just wanted to run.

This is why you have to stay inside. Oh my god, I should have never let you out, Mommy started to sob and placed her sweater under her.

She saw Grandma’s worried face looking at her over her mom’s shoulder. Let her touch the ground, Grandma said, She can fix this if you let her dig her toes in the earth.

I’m not putting her in the dirt, mom spat and hunched over Olivia, as if to keep her from her Grandma’s prying eyes.

Call the god damned ambulance, her dad bellowed and the small group that had assembled all broke apart as they ran to get help.

He knelt in the dirt next to Olivia and stroked her hair. You’re not like other kids, baby girl, he said, you’re going to be okay, but you have to be more careful.

I just wanted to play outside, Olivia said and wondered where all the blood had come from, her dad’s arm was covered in it and it stained her mom’s pretty white blouse a bright red. It was such a pretty blouse, usually so bright and billowy. Olivia felt shame that she might have made it dirty as it occurred to her where the blood came from.

She knew blood scared people, but it didn’t bother her, it never had, but that much had to come from somewhere.

She managed to edge herself up against her dad’s legs and he held her there until they heard the sirens in the distance.

What are we going to do with her? her mom asked nobody in particular. She’ll never be normal.

Let her touch the ground! her Grandma’s voice came again, harsh and demanding. Olivia’s mom winced at the sound of it.

Stay out of this! her mom yelled.

Why are you so mad at me? Olivia asked, I said I was sorry.

I’m not mad, baby, her mom replied and smiled at her, but her eyes still leaked tears, I’m scared.

Olivia struggled to sit up and noticed her arms and legs were all at strange angles. She tried to concentrate on moving her big toe, but nothing happened, her little sparkly running shoe didn’t shift. She did catch sight a big thing jutting from her leg. It was long, jagged, and the prettiest shade of light pink.

What’s that? she asked and tried to point. She noticed them jutting from her lower arm and other leg too.

Those are your bones, baby, her mom said and started to cry again, we’ve told you, you’re not like other kids. You don’t feel pain.

Olivia didn’t understand what her mom meant by pain. She’d never understood what her parents had meant, and she had the multiple scars to prove it.

From burns on the stove to gouged shins from walking into the corner of the coffee table repeatedly, none of it ever bothered her and she didn’t understand why everybody around her got so weird about it.

As long as her body worked, she was fine. As long as it healed and her legs moved and her arms swung, and she could do what she liked, pain meant nothing to her.

This was the first time it registered though. Pain meant sometimes your body didn’t work right, and that angered Olivia. She wanted to run and play and jump, she wanted to feel vital and whole.

For the first time in her life, she was afraid. She started to cry and her Dad held her tighter, whispered to her that everything would be all right.

And for the first time in her life, she didn’t quite believe him.

Chapter One

THE SUN HIT MY FACE like a steel-toed boot to the teeth. I yawned, rolled over, checked my clock and saw that I was late for work.

And immediately remembered I didn’t have work anymore. Not since last week. So technically I was late for job hunting, and me not being an early bird meant that I rarely got the worm. I resolved to try harder at this employment thing. Starting right away...well, as soon as I completely woke up.

I rolled off my futon and stood on the balls of my feet, stretched and sniffed my armpits. I grimaced. Today smelled like a good day for a shower.

It had also been a week since I’d caught my boyfriend Jason and my best friend Becs in his bed. I checked my phone and saw the inevitable texts from the two of them begging for me to reply, forgive, understand.

I wasn’t capable of doing any of those things, so I hit delete and went on pretending they had been hit by a meteor or something.

I couldn’t completely slough them off though. I hadn’t realized how much I’d depended on my best friend Becs until she was gone. And I hadn’t realized how much of a distraction Jason had been until he no longer filled the empty spaces in my life, my head and my bed.

I was lonely, horny, and starting to worry about my money situation. Clearly there was a reason I didn’t like getting up in the morning.

I had a quick shower, shaved my legs and pits, and scrubbed my greasy hair until it squeaked. Being stingy on soap and shampoo sucked, but I couldn’t afford to waste much these days and my hair suffered or it.

The cut on my arm was healing nicely at least. I could still remember the look on my office manager’s face when she caught a good look at exposed muscle and dripping blood. I’d been fired...sorry...let go in record time. Most places at least tried to wait a few days to fire me after a brutal injury or the realization that I was different.

I half-heartedly picked at the scab and wondered how long I could hold out given my current circumstances. I had a small amount left in my savings. That gave me a solid month to survive before I had to be moved out or find employment.

Sometimes my life overwhelmed me, depression kicked in and it felt as though my body was simply convincing my mind to give up. I should have, by all means, given up years ago. The day I was born really.

I’d come into the world with congenital analgesia, the inability to feel pain.

As a baby I’d chewed through my own tongue a few times, bitten my lips almost completely off, and broken bones more than once or twice.

Mine was a strange case though, I could feel everything else, touch, tickles, kisses, just not pain or heat. For some strange reason those particular receptors had been damaged somewhere along the line as my DNA had knitted together and created me inside my mother’s womb.

The one thing I did miss was my parent’s touch. The gentle comfort of a hand on my shoulder or my dad pulling me into his arms for a bear hug. I felt so detached from humanity now, and didn’t know how to reconcile it.

My parents had been killed in a car accident when I was thirteen, and I’d been raised by my older sister who had been nineteen at the time. She hadn’t spared one chance to let me know how much of a burden I was, or how terrible it was that I was even alive.

My sister had blamed me for our parent’s death even though logically I’d had nothing to do with it.

I’d left home at seventeen, never finished high school and never went to college in spite of my love of reading and an uncanny ability to retain information.

I’d moved from Moose Jaw to Vancouver and had ended up in Richmond a few months back.

I was now in my twenty fifth year and was completely, utterly, devastatingly directionless. I felt as though I were living in an alternate reality, just inches away from the real world. How did all those people do it? How did they manage to live normal lives and work and eat and fuck and feel?

I had nobody; even Becs who had followed me from Saskatchewan was lost to me now after screwing my boyfriend. If only I hadn’t walked in on them, the image wouldn’t be burned in my mind and I might be able to forget and potentially forgive. Becs at least.

Jason, in all honesty, wasn’t a big loss in the grand scheme of things, but losing Becs cut me deep.

Still, I had to be honest, I’d dropped my guard with Jason. I’d been lulled into this strange world where he didn’t think of me as weird. I’d believed that he bought my act and thought of me as normal.

His words had rung in my ears every day since the breakup, that he needed a woman who enjoyed sex.

How could I enjoy something that I couldn’t really feel? I liked sex, I just didn’t seem to have the ability to lose myself to it, release the stubborn grip my body had on my mind and let myself soar into orgasmic oblivion.

My doctors had always insisted that the pain and pleasure connection shouldn’t alter my sexual gratification, but what the fuck did they know? They weren’t connected to my pussy, and quite frankly, it seemed as dull as the rest of my skin.

Imagine trying to live your life with a layer of bubble wrap covering your body, I was like a walking sensory deprivation chamber. It got to a person after a while, and right now it was really getting to me.

This is why I did stupid shit sometimes, to feel anything.

This is why I was covered in tattoos, brands and ritualistic scars. Not my face, thankfully, never my face, but from my neck down I was a piece of art. Or just a piece of work. It depended on how one looked at me.

I had piercings too, shit. I got talked into piercing my clit a couple months ago. I’d hoped it would help me feel something when Jason was pounding away on top of me, but it hadn’t changed a thing.

I’d have to take it out and throw it away, to forget the asshole.

My nipples were done too, but years ago, when I was still in high school. Those were purely aesthetic, I loved the way they looked when I was naked, and I loved the hint of barbells poking through my business attire.

Business. God I need a job.

I settled down on the laptop and cruised the job seeker websites. I’d apply for anything, but the economy was down and it was an employer’s market. I was competing for secretarial positions against people with MBAs and degrees from universities back East, and I hadn’t even graduated.

Scrolling past scam after scam and every job I’d already applied for, a brightly coloured graphic at the bottom of the page caught my eye.

I clicked on it and was taken to an external website, some kind of circus. I was about to close it when the words, Help Wanted flashed across the header.

I clicked it, why the fuck not?

Cirque des Curiosités was apparently a freak show of some sort, a good old-fashioned house of horrors kind of place. I’d heard of it somewhere, I had a vague recollection of a newscast or a flyer. It was something like Cirque du Soleil but with more of society’s outcasts instead of athletic beautiful people performing impossible feats of skill.

I wanted to close the page and pretend I’d never seen the employment ad, but something compelled me to stay. I had always tried so hard to be normal, to find normal work, why not take a chance and dive into the world of Freaks? I read the details of their request; they were looking for everything from concession workers to security...to performers.

As much as I wanted to earn more money for performing, there was no way in hell I’d ever get out in front of a crowd and dance around or whatever the fuck they did.

Besides, my freak was a little more hidden than the rest. To the naked eye, I appeared almost normal, which is why I could usually camouflage myself long enough to work in a respectable job.

This time it seemed it was the bad economy, not my condition that was getting in the way of me being hired. Not to mention my general malaise and overall lack of enthusiasm when filling out applications. Somehow it seemed to translate over the internet and scare potential employers away from me.

I half considered begging for my old job at the paper company back, but just couldn’t stomach the disgusted looks on everyone’s faces when they looked at me and saw dripping blood. If only I had paid more attention washing the dishes in the break room and hadn’t sliced my arm open on a broken glass, I might still be working and still convincing myself I was in love with Jason.

Would that have really been the better option?

Fuck it. I decided to submit the world’s sketchiest application, just to fulfill my recent commitment to apply for every legitimate job I came across. I didn’t even know if I’d spelled my own name correctly on the application, I’d been in such a hurry to get it over with. I might have just applied as Liv Yark instead of York, but hey, it was a submission.

After sending off a couple more, one for a Wal Mart greeter out in Coquitlam, and one for a golf ball collector at a driving range down the road from me, I flipped the laptop shut and looked around my tiny bachelor apartment.

I started to calculate the shit I could sell in order to make the rent next month. Sadly I didn’t have much, nothing more than a couple hundred bucks if folks were being generous.

Even my laptop was an old, clunky thing that still ran on a ten year old operating system. My phone was nice, I’d splurged on the latest iPhone when it had come out, but I needed a phone number for employers to contact me.

I fished around my loose change jar and came up with a couple bucks and decided to go crazy, maybe buy a small coffee and a medium cone at McDonalds.

Right? Crazy, out of control, somebody break out the shopping police.

I walked the fifteen blocks to McDonalds, had my treat and wandered around the shopping mall watching people richer than me spend money I would never have on shit I would never want.

I was chilling out in front of a fountain that displayed repeating coloured patterns of water when my phone buzzed.

It was a text from a number I didn’t recognize.

Can you come in tomorrow at nine? We’re setting up next to BC Place.

I was thrilled to finally get a bite on a resume, but could not place the number for the life of me. I wrote back, Sorry?

Is this Olivia Yark? This is Eloise from the Cirque. You just submitted an application.

Oh shit, I had spelled my own name wrong. But they must be desperate. That could work in my favour. If they were in Vancouver for more than a couple weeks, I could use them for a paycheque to bridge the gap between this and a real job.

Sure thing, I’ll be there at nine.

Come to the ticket tent, the red and blue striped one. Ask for Orion.

Will do, thanks.

I slid the phone back in my bra and felt a small buzz of excitement. After all the resumes I’d sent out, I finally had a reply. I might just be able to afford to live after all.

I WALKED THE SHORT distance from the SkyTrain station to the tents set up under the viaducts near BC Place Stadium. I’d always loved this area, it was a former industrial space getting crowded with overpriced high-rise apartments and specialty food markets. But it still had a feral feel to it, with impromptu skate parks and graffiti everywhere you looked.

My knee-high army boots clicked on the sidewalk and I had my hands shoved deep into my thrift store Edward Scissorhands hoodie. As I didn’t really want this job, I’d said fuck it on my wardrobe choice. They’d hire me or they wouldn’t, and given the nature of the organization, it probably didn’t mean shit to them if I dressed a little outside the corporate box.

I had to admit, I was feeling pretty desperate though. Maybe that’s why I was in such a fuck it all state of mind. I’d spent the morning going over student loan applications and trying to decide if university would be a good stand in for full time employment.

I was a little miserable at the moment, the rain matching my shitty mood. I’d scanned the entire University of British Columbia course catalogue and found zilch that seemed interesting.

In short, I guess I didn’t know what I was going to be when I grew up, and apparently I was already grown up.

I sniffled and wiped my nose on the back of my arm, catching a look of disgust from a dog walker with ten or so purse dogs yapping on leashes strung onto her arms.

I stopped at the crosswalk and waited for the light to change. I turned back and saw the dog walker scoop up a mound of shit in a little plastic bag and shove it into her pocket.

I shot her a look of disgust to match my own, but the dog walker thrust out her chin and kept moving.

Great, dissed by a shit scooper. I must really look like I rolled out of bed on the wrong side this morning. Or the cardboard box, they might think I’m homeless given my current attire.

I walked to the ticket booth and was greeted by a huge man stuffed into a striped suit with a black top hat. His face was painted white and he had old school sad clown make up, very subtle but still leaning a little more to the terrifying than the cheerful.

Sad, murderous clown perhaps?

Hey, I said and he put down his paper to look at me. I’m here to see Orion about a job.

The clown looked me up and down, might have found me lacking as his expression didn’t change. He said, All the showgirl positions have been filled, sorry.

I didn’t apply for a showgirl, I want concession or tickets.

Okay then you might be in luck. I think our ticket girl ran off with her loser boyfriend last night. She didn’t come in for her shift this morning which is why you have me. Why don’t I take you to see the big boss? He smiled and stepped out of the booth.

Sounds good, I replied and wondered what the probability was that I’d be taken behind a tent and slaughtered by murderous sad clown dude.

Probably fairly high, but I guess wasn’t in any state to argue. Besides, who would miss me? Becs would move in with Jason and they’d never say my name aloud again.

Fuck them both in their goat eyes. I decided I was going with Captain Murdery.

He turned out to not be so much murdery as super friendly. His name was Carl, he and his life partner Dave worked for the Cirque...that’s what he called it, so score one for me already knowing an inside term. They’d been with the travelling company for over ten years. His partner worked in administration, payroll or something.

He bought me a tall mocha latte at the concession stand on the way to meet Orion. Who knew? They had a concession coffee bar that rivaled Starbucks. This was nothing like the fly by night carnivals that used to grace my hometown’s rodeo grounds once a year back in the day.

This was a professional organization, and the cleanliness, the expensive equipment, and the obvious care that went into setting up the Cirque impressed me.

So tell me all about yourself, Carl said as they waited for Orion to show up, I mean, obviously your life must be rocky if you want to sign up and run away with the circus.

It’s fairly shitty, but it’s not that bad, I replied, not wanting to divulge too much to this man whom I’d just met. I didn’t want him letting them know about my plan to work for a few weeks, then quit when the circus packed up to leave.

Well, I’m sure you’ll settle in fine around here, he said, "we need more normal folk, especially young women."

What do you mean normal? I asked, a little alarmed as if he could see through my façade and glean how broken I really was.

Normal, you know, not part of the Freakshow, he replied, it puts people off at the ticket booth. They know they’re coming to see something bizarre, but if the first thing they see is our dog faced boy or the Gimp, they won’t come in the front gate.

I guess, but it seems odd if they’re here to see the freaks, why won’t they interact with them?

It humanizes them, makes them too real. It’s easier to sit in the audience and watch them perform, it makes it feel a little less tragic I suppose.

I suppose, I agreed and sipped my coffee, pondering his words.

Holy fuck, I should have painted this smile a little more upturned at the edges. I’m sorry, I’m not usually such a moody prick, especially this early in the morning.

I was about to let him know it was fine when a male voice boomed over my shoulder, Bullshit, Carl. You’re always moody and you’re mostly a prick!

Ah, Olivia, I’d like you to meet Orion, Carl said and motioned to the tall, elegant man behind me.

I smiled shyly and said, Hi, most people call me Liv. He held out his hand and I shook it. There was something about him, an immediate vibe that sent my body buzzing.

He was over six feet, probably in his early forties, but I couldn’t be sure. He