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"Phineas! What are you doing?! Get up."

Barnum was jolted awake by a harsh tug at his arm and grunted, opening bleary eyes. Charity's face, flushed red, eyes filled with tears, stared back at him.

"Char? What—"

"What have you done?" she cried.

"What are you talking about?" Barnum sat up, noticing the bed empty beside him. "Where's Phillip?"

Charity ignored him. She spun around and marched toward the bedroom door. Barnum got up and out of bed to follow her, but halted sharply upon passing by the window.

Protestors.

Hundreds of them.

Surrounding his house.

Frowning, he opened the window. Their shouts drifted up from the streets.

"Cocksucker!"

(some indistinguishable shouts about "freaks," "leader," "circus")

"He who lies with a man shall be damned straight to hell!"

Feeling a little lightheaded, Barnum started to stumble back. But something out of the corner of his eye reeled him back in and he gaped downward, leaning so far out that he nearly fell out of the window himself.

There, at the front of the pack.

Was that—?

It had to be.

The man who'd shoved Barnum at his show the day before.

Burn (Barlyle) (COMPLETE)Where stories live. Discover now