Duh.

I had missed it for so long. God damn duh. I wasn’t whatever Celestine was. I was close, but there was still that difference. The details. The time sense. The doubles. G.A. vs. Celestine. Big Dav vs. The TicketMastyr. Me vs. Him. I was furiously writing with that damn gel pen in that damn dragon book that Ani had gotten me. Dreamer vs. Dreamed. God damn duh.

I finished, and smiled as I looked over the few pages of scrawling about a Carnival, and someone entering with a normal ticket. I looked over the description, and couldn’t help but appreciate how fast those gel pens dry. Being left handed, it was important, so that I didn’t smear what I wrote, and get ink or graphite all over my hand. I looked down in front of me as I closed the book, and recognized the boots. The black pants. The leather trench coat, with bits of armor interwoven in it. I let my eyes trail up, noticing the details. He was a bit thinner than me, but not by much. His goatee was a bit more dark, his hair was a bit more light. His eyes were just as mesmerizing. There was a bulge under his trench coat at his hip. I knew what he carried there. He is hair was still loose and wild, and longer than mine. He had a wide-brimmed hat that I did not. He had the same pendant I did hanging around his neck. He was harder, more edged than he used to be, but then again, he wasn’t whole back then. He was just an aspect. Now, he was whole.

“You’ve changed.” It had been so long since I’d seen him.

“Of course. Even I am effected by time, as you are.” He flashed that grin, that big-ass grin that made his eyes sparkle. One of those grins where no matter how pissed or depressed you are, you smile back, and feel it down to your toes. I reached out my hand, which he took and shook firmly. He registered mild surprise when he took his hand away. “You’re giving me this?” He held up my Golden Ticket.

“Of course. It’s yours, you retard. It’s not mine. Give me the ticket I’m supposed to have.” He held out the normal ticket to me, and burst out in what only could be called a guffaw. I grinned back at him, and for a second, I couldn’t figure out who was who. I guess there wasn’t really much difference at that point. I took the normal ticket in my hands and tore it in half. I walked out the front entrance, grinning over another puzzle solved.

Dragon Weaver looked over the Golden Ticket. Where next? Well, the biggest show is always the best starting point for a puzzle. To the Big Top, then. Hopefully people would figure it out, about the Dreams and the Dreamers, before it was too late. Oh, well. If not, there was always the ticket-tearing method.

He patted the war hammer at his hip, and grimly hoped he didn’t have to use it.

I startled awake, after once more drifting off on the steps of Dr. Celestine’s trailer. I couldn’t keep doing this. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. The Time felt right, but the Place was wrong.

I took the torn pieces of G.A.’s Golden Ticket and pressed them against Dr. Celestine’s door. I was no longer surprised that a small metallic webbing sprouted to hold the Ticket pieces in place. Maybe the good Doctor would understand why I was here now.

I had just had a dream. You know the kind that just hover on the side of your memory? I had dismantled a giant model I had made of the Carnival. I had come to a grim realization that this place was destroying me. The me that I was in the dream. Or, maybe this was the dream. It didn’t really matter. I had to do the best for whatever me was awake at the moment. I had apologized to my roommates and decided to turn my life around, in that dream. I have decided to take similar control of my own situation here at the Carnival.

I had already gone to the Divine Gallery, before my ticket had started glowing pink. I had already visited the Acrobat. Mr. James’ booth had been closed for the majority of their time here in Caro. This morning, The Games of Skill were also closed. So much for those. That left the Hall of Mirrors, the Wax Museum, The Fortune Teller, the Freak Show, and the Big Top. I couldn’t remember when the next Big Top show was.

Best option seemed to go to the Big Top and find the time of the next show, then head to the Hall of Mirrors if I had the time. So I stretched my legs and strolled over to the Big Top.

G.A. was using a hose near the animal stalls to clean off his face. Either the “partner” had done his homework or he had just got lucky. G.A. has said before that he would stand in the sun and watch his skin bake and burn to dust before he’d wear sunscreen. Especially on his face. It was just a “thing” he had about it. No sticky stuff on the face. G.A. was remembering as he was washing….

***********************************************

Have you ever been in a dream, and then just SLID into a different character? Different scene? Different dream altogether? Yeah, me too. G.A. as well. He could feel those blood vessels bursting in his eyes. He could feel his heart trying to tear itself into about five distinct pieces. He could see the blood that he was coughing up. Yeah, G.A. knew he was dying. He had risked it all on Dr. Celestine not being real, on being a figment of his imagination, and had tried to wrest control of the Carnival. Needless to say, it hadn’t worked.

G.A. was dying.

Then a fat man in an all-black suit knelt down in front of him, holding his Golden Ticket. G.A. could almost hear the Carnival laughing at him. He could almost hear it taunting him for thinking it was his creation, and not something alive in its own right. He could almost hear its grim satisfaction in taking his life in return for his hubris. Almost. The light of the dusk sun glinted off of the dragon pendant that hung from the man’s neck, and he was reminded of Dr. Celestine’s cane in that moment of dying.

Then the fat man tore his Ticket in half. And G.A. slid.

He was standing outside the entranceway of Dr. Celestine’s Carnival of Souls. His heart was beating normally, as it only really ever did in dreams. He was not in pain, and actually felt a sense of light-heartedness at being at a carnival. The sun was rising. G.A. looked through the gate, and saw the man in all black (Skippy?! He was supposed to be in Lansing, not here in Caro.) sleeping on the steps of Dr. Celestine’s trailer. G.A. gave the Ticketmastyr his normal ticket without thinking, and entered the Carnival of Souls for the second time and for the first time.

He was hungry, and could use some breakfast, so he headed to the mess tent.

***********************************************

Songflower stopped screaming as she blinked, and her husband’s face was her husband’s once more. He looked up at her in a dazed, what the fuck, kind of way, and she just about collapsed with relief. She assured him nothing was wrong, it was just her, and they both went back to sleep.

***********************************************

I kept fiddling with the At-At, waiting for the Doctor to return. I know I’m missing something.

G.A. was using a hose near the animal stalls to clean off his face. Either the “partner” had done his homework or he had just got lucky. G.A. has said before that he would stand in the sun and watch his skin bake and burn to dust before he’d wear sunscreen. Especially on his face. It was just a “thing” he had about it. No sticky stuff on the face. G.A. was remembering as he was washing….

***********************************************

“…but.. what..?” This was all too much. I was sure, now, that G.A. didn’t know me. There was no recognition seeping through the pain in his eyes. The blood vessels were beginning to pop in his eyes, making them bloodshot and pink. This was wrong. This was entirely wrong. Some detail… something… was way, way wrong.

I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder, back to the ground, where I’d dropped the tiny gun off of the At-At model. My roommate. My anal-retentive, Star Wars-loving, clean-freak roommate, and friend of six years. My room. The model of the Carnival. It was at the edge of my mind, like I’d woken up from a dream. That little piece of twenty-year-old toy shouldn’t be there. I looked back at Dr. Celestine, and bared my teeth at him. He smirked, and I’m not sure if he thought I was smiling or recognized the feral challenge I’d offered.

The anger and panic melded, just like they always do when I get into situations like this. Options were clear, decisions were made. I remembered the lattice-work I’d noticed between these people before. The two layers, with the intertwining connections. Too complicated. Patterns in nature were simple. No matter how complex they looked, when you zoomed in, they were simple patterns. When this lattice-work of relations was zoomed in upon, it was tangled, knotted, and messy. It was corrupted. It wasn’t supposed to be. Dreams. God damn dreams.

I calmly stood up and walked to the pile of clothes that the good Doctor had just discarded and I picked up G.A.’s pants. I calmly took out each item in his pants’ pockets, and went through the wallet. I put everything back in its place carefully. The anger and panic were leading, now. I was calm, directed, emotionless. That’s what happens. I picked up his flannel-turned-vest. Breast pocket. There it was. I took out what I found, and strode over to G.A. I wouldn’t notice until I was done that the good Doctor had wandered off again. Just like that bastard. I knelt down next to G.A, and showed him what was in my hand.

“You are a Dreamer, G.A. You cannot be the Dream. It is not right.” I made sure he was focusing on the ticket, as I took the end of the thing in both hands. “You will meet me later, but I won’t know you yet. In Ohio. Be sure to do your best at knowing more than you should, but only letting it out a little. You’ll attract my curiosity that way. Say hi to your beautiful child for me, as well.” I showed him his Golden Ticket. None of the attractions were marked off. It was fresh, and clean. I slowly tore it in half, lengthwise, right in front of his eyes. I could see his panic as he felt it tear. I put the remaining halves in my pocket to throw away later.

Nothing to do but wait for that Scottish bastard to come back. That cane called to me. I picked up the piece of the At-At and fiddled with it nervously. Something was nagging at my mind that I hadn’t noticed…

They must have used a Sharpie. Of all the markers to use, they used a thrice-damned Sharpie. You know, it was bad enough when people didn’t notice I have a moustache, because my facial hair is so light, but to draw a moustache on, on TOP of my own, in a black Sharpie marker… ARGH! That shit’s never coming out.

Screw it. I tossed the washcloth back into the basin, and walked back over to the mess tent, where, apparently, hell had intersected with reality once again. In the form of a food fight. Pancakes in G.A.’s face. Mountain Dew and coffee flying (sacrilege!). An ash tray clanging into the no smoking sign. I sighed. This whole mess resembled the daily drama in Lansing life. Probably Saginaw too, where these guys were from. Probably everywhere there were freaks like me and them. Freaks that dreamed, and could meet their dreams.

I started heading back to Celestine’s trailer, because there really was nothing to do until I met the man himself. I had made myself a promise not to visit any more attractions until I talked to the man in charge. I heard all kinds of crashes and curses and people running, but it didn’t matter. The beat and the music were… it almost seemed like they were a little out of control. Like an orchestra without a conductor. Each bit knew it’s own part well enough to *almost* keep it in beat with the rest… but there was that slight, but all-important difference about when it’s actually drawn together perfectly by a conductor.

There was another thing he was noticing. This place wasn’t exactly IN time. I recognized that sort of thing, because I have always, always felt slightly off from the world, whenever time was concerned. I had to pay special attention to the numbers on the clock to plan a day, or be places on time. That anal-retentiveness became habit, then ingrained… but this place. This place synched with me, time-wise. For instance, I knew G.A. He StoryTells a LARP I played in. BUT, I’m not so sure he’s met me yet. I’m not sure, for him, that he’s moved down to Ohio yet.

I sat my rotund ass down on Celestine’s steps and tried to figure out how the people here couldn’t notice these things. I also couldn’t help but wonder if they’d thought about bringing in the future, as they had so neatly brought in the past… that would make for some great rides…