darkhairedgirl | Real Fiction Post: Special

Title: Special
Summary: He is not their normal fare.
Word Count: 1,044
Warning(s): Death, potentially disturbing content.
Disclaimer: Mine, mine, all mine.
A/N: The goal was to include five different things in one cohesive story: a deaf boy, a carnival, an alarm, a backpack, a murder. Everybody else wrote about broken hearts and attempts at mysteries and junk. I wrote this.

He is not their usual type.

Lorena prefers older men, George little girls. John doesn’t really care either way – he is fine with any sex, any age, so long as there is that tangible rush of fear, and his companions have often made jokes at his lack of a preference. John doesn’t mind the ribbing he gets at his own expense; in all the years they’ve been doing this, he has always preferred the capture to the hunt.

They walk the streets together at night, side by side, looking for stragglers, drunks, children who have lost hold of their mother’s hands. Street fairs have always been easy pickings for them; the bright lights, the excitement, it makes people crazy, careless. It’s easier to lure people away with the promise of adventure, to separate them from the crowd.

But John is not the first to see their latest victim. George is leaning against the post by the ticket booth, his eye on a young girl across the path, already licking his lips at the sight he gets of her long, pale neck when she brushes her hair back. He straightens out his posture and moves forward, intending to go collect her, but the moment he does another man approaches. The girl laughs when this stranger taps her on the shoulder, standing up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and when he offers her his arm she takes it, resting her hand at the crook of his elbow as they walk on down the midway. George scowls, frustrated, and has just leaned back against the post when he sees the boy enter the carnival.

The boy is young, barely older than sixteen, and he enters the carnival alone. With shaggy blond hair and long, adolescent limbs, he fumbles with his money when the ticket-taker hands him his change, shifting around a rather unwieldy backpack to get his wallet out of his back pocket. George nudges John, who in turn pokes Lorena. She looks away from her own target, annoyed at the disturbance, but when she sees who the other two are looking at, her expression changes. She flips her hair over her shoulder and graces her companions with a sly, sidelong grin and John gives her an appreciative laugh in return. They’ve been together long enough that they can read each other well; the smallest of motions can give away their secrets, impassive faces are still an open book.

Lorena is the first to approach: the feline swing of her hips more than a little exaggerated, but effective all the same. The boy doesn’t look up when she gets close, and even at this distance John can tell that this frustrates Lorena. She smiles, careful not to show her teeth, and touches the boy with affection, interest. His head snaps up, caught off-guard, and when he sees her, his expression changes: shock turns into confusion, curiosity, attraction.

Lorena leans in close, whispering something in his ear, but the boy pushes her back. She pouts, brow furrowed, as he holds up his hands. When he starts to sign, Lorena looks up and catches John’s eye, visibly surprised. They haven’t had one like this in quite some time. She motions for him to come closer and out of the corner of his eye, John can see George approaching from the other side, staying as unobtrusive as he can. When he reaches them, John gives the boy a friendly smile and holds out his hand to shake.

Of the three of them, John is the only one who can sign. His youngest brother was deaf, and for the most part he remembers the words, the shapes his hands must take if he wishes to communicate.

“We’d like to show you something,” he says, moving his hands slowly as he talks. The motions are familiar, but it has been so long since they’ve had need of this particular talent that John is afraid he’s turned a little rusty. “We’re only taking a few to a special part of the carnival.”

“Special?” the boy signs back, raising his eyebrows. “What is it?”

John grins. “It’s a surprise. You’re very lucky.”

“What about my friends?”

“You can meet them later.” John nods toward George, who comes up on the boy’s other side and rests a hand on his shoulder. The younger man starts at Georges touch, but he does not look afraid. “We’re only allowed to take a few people, and the show is going to start very soon. We think you’re…” John’s hands freeze in midair; he can’t remember what comes next. “We think you’re perfect for what we have in store.”

Lorena takes the boy’s hand in hers, linking their fingers together, and George gently pushes him forward, falling back a little ways so that John can lead the way. He goes quietly and without question, raising no alarm, which inwardly surprises John. Not many of their victims have ever left so eagerly.

They walk on to the end of the midway, past the game booths and the Ferris Wheel, past the food stands and fortune teller, until they reach the very edge of the lights. They keep on past the cars and RVs, the traveling vans the workers of this carnival call home, and it isn’t until they’ve reached the trees at the edge of the property line that John motions for them to stop.

“Do you hear that?” he asks, signing the words for their guest’s benefit. “Do you?”

Lorena nods, squeezing the boy’s hand. George grins, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s going on?” the boy asks. He turns his head reflexively, looking between the three of them for some kind of answer, and John gives him a wicked smile, cupping the boy’s face with his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye. The fear is palpable, now; John can hear his heartbeat racing, can feel the muscles tensing underneath his fingers as he slides his hands down to the deaf boy’s shoulders.

John keeps him still as George removes the backpack, tossing it carelessly to the side. Lorena runs her hand along the back of the boy’s neck, gently, carefully, and she kisses his pulse point before she sinks her fangs in.

Dinner.