We give our hearts to the lord of the lost...
Marcus Cochran- The Lord Of The Lost... he finds what is lost. I was not exactly 'lost' though, I was taken... kidnapped- STOLEN
Marcus Cochran- so called, seemed more like a whole other person from Top-Hat. Different.
Like Marcus was left along with the mother, father and four children in the year 1944 in Nebraska. Not physically- but mentally, along with the three people who perished in the carousel blaze, or the tent fire... or the accidental blaze that had started in one of the tents while the girls were getting ready.
"It's been a hot minute Marcus Cochran. Hasn't it?"
The tall figure spoke.
I sharply turned to look at my Father.
The FIGURE said he never gets the wrong man twice. Twice- so he had come back a second time for a reason.
I was afraid to say anything and I didn't, but I could feel my Father; Marcus, knew that I was uneasy.
He felt the state of my growing fear. -So much so, that he slowly moved his arms to gently and inconspicuously tuck me safely behind him.
He knew the man was harmless, but it made me feel better being shielded by him. -He's known to do that.
Dad lifted his chin.
"Yes, it has been"
Spoke my Father.
His voice was compensating for his blunt paranoia in regards to trying to keep his child from the thing. However, there was no fooling or tricking the murky, inky blur of a human that my father had me in his company.
It... HE knows all and I know I will never forget my Father tucking me safely out of sight under the table in The Bar- beneath Bartholomew's jacket and my Father's jacket the night everything went wrong.
Marcus' delicate touch of his hand upon my jacket sleeve brought my reality back.
As my Father held the tender position of his hand on my arm, I placed my opposite hand over his right hand already over my arm. -As if to say to him: 'Don't go anywhere again- Don't let me go anywhere again... Please don't let anything happen.'
AGAIN.
I soon came to the conclusion that although that was a reason for me not wanting my Father to move his hand away, there was a second reason I hid in the back of my mind.
The reason saying to Marcus: Please Father, please don't let us be separated. I don't want to be hurt again.
The outline and my Father were locked onto each other's line of sight- my Father's green eyes against blue eyes like water. His eyes changed from blue to brown.
The man's eyes were dark.
The moment was like trying to figure out who was going to make the next move... or what was hiding up whose sleeve. -Cards with the blotchy-tall-ghost-like Ink Man, great!
THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR CARDS
"What if this time I said, I could help you with more than your precious and important Carnival?"
The ink-like man retorted.
I couldn't decipher which of my two thoughts were screaming louder inside: the one pleading with my Father not to move his protective stature and touch of his grasp, or the opposing one of: 'I hope the figure doesn't see me or ask Marcus anything regarding me.'
To no surprise, my Father did have the same thought in his mind too.
The words of the shadow of ink were still up in the air.
My Father and Bart had both seen the guy and it had nothing to do with the little bit of whiskey because I saw him too. Well. I heard his voice and saw his boots.
My Father wanted to retort back, but found keeping his vision on me aided in calming his nerves.
"And this time, things will be different."
The Man said, deep voice and all.
Marcus wasn't about to take any risks of anything happening tonight. -Too much had already happened, too much had been lost and sacrificed. TOO MUCH was at stake.
—Far too much.
Marcus Cochran was delicately dancing around the matter of what if Mr. Ink asks why and/or how he had a child with him? Marcus was dancing with the "fire" --Okay, I don't like that word. WATER. He was dancing with water, dancing around blood, but still dancing on broken glass.
So much broken glass... he shook his head to shake the sound of the ride collapsing-- so he's who I learned that trick from.
Within his head, my Father was crossing his fingers hoping that his blood wouldn't end up being shed. He had already lost all his money, blood and sweat... and yes, tears also- all to the drain. The very drain the strange, tall blacked-out Mr. Ink had yanked The Cochran Circus from.
The last thing my Father wants is for me, his child, his daughter- to be dancing around his blood just so my own name could stay clean.
...
My first name at least.
We shared the same initials, DNA, family, the same legacy and the same name and the same blood.
"Different how?"
Asked my Father.
"What if I said I have a warning for you Marcus Cochran?"
Said The paranormal-like statue.
"A warning? Is there something I did?" He was paranoid.
My Father nervously pressed his tongue to the inside of his chin- holding the position and when he relaxed, so did his nerves.
Most of them.
"It doesn't involve you... directly at least."
I'll shall never forget the way this Man talked. -How he said too little, never too much, but just enough
to make you want to know more information. More KNOWLAGE. WISDOM.
Wisdom is key.
It is not power. Wisdom is light in a dark tunnel or a an extra hand to grab when you're about to fall.
Dad looked up as he blinked several times.
"Pray tell to, share?"
My Father spoke still notably nervous.
His nerves were rubbing off on me now.
I was afraid of where this was going and I'm sure my Father was too, he just hid it better than I did.
"This is a different situation Marcus Cochran. And a different type of warning."
At these words, my father's jaw relaxed but his eyes widened.
Thirteen words, and he was finished.
The Ink Man stood, and half turned to speak and then left.
My Father and I didn't look at each other.
We may have know what the other was thinking, but one thing was for certain, the words spoken, would haunt our heads for weeks to come and maybe longer.
And the counter bit, would be just that: a counter weight... how to stop this. Because there might not be a counter weight.
How do you stop something that is bound to happen regardless?
How to stop what the Ink Man had spoke:
"Marcus Cochran, The past is doomed to repeat itself. Madison Cochran, you will be intertwined among it beside your Father. Marcus Cochran... Someone will steal your child again."
Mr. Ink knew my name and it was just as terrifying as those words:
Marcus Cochran... someone will steal your child again.
We had to figure out how to counterweigh the intertwined and prevent the unpreventable. This was The Carnival Of Glass, I mean, anything was possible right?
Right?
Only time will tell if I can be saved when all hope is gone- like The Show. Will I... Could I be saved from harm like The Cochran Circus?
(1,264 words)
YOU ARE READING
What Happened Under The Big Tent (IT'S ALL PART OF THE SHOW SEQUEL)
Non-FictionFATHER- That is a title one earns, though few and none are set to believe he actually 'earned' it. With years gone by, The Carnival has traveled from town to town. With its black and white Big Tent, TopHat has returned to the place it all fell apart...
