“On your mark, get set”—here the man paused for dramatic effect—“GO!”
Jared’s gun was aimed perfectly. Not a drop of water was missed or wasted as it arced into the mouth of the clown. As the clown drank, a balloon attached to its head filled with air and inflated.
Glio was taken with Jared’s feeling of frenzy and amazed it didn’t cause his hands to shake or his attention to wander. Jared’s sense of self, his power of concentration, was simply wonderful.
In a matter of seconds, Jared’s balloon popped, and he was declared the winner.
“You’d think he’d let one of the kids win,” a disgruntled parent muttered loud enough for Glio to hear as she escorted her child away. The child, Glio noticed, didn’t seem to care.
“Okay, sir, what’ll it be?”
Jared picked Jackie up and sat her on the counter. She was so light. So fragile. So … perfect. “What do you say, Jax? How about that teddy bear?” Jared pointed to a giant, brown bear.
“No. I want the giraffe.” Only she pronounced it “jraff.” Jared leaned down and kissed her. Before he could pull away, Jackie threw her arms around her father’s neck and whispered, “I love you, Daddy.” Glio could feel the lump in Jared’s throat.
“You heard the lady,” Jared said. “We’ll take the jraff.” As the carnival worker retrieved the giant toy, smiling at the undeniable cuteness that was Jackie, Jared asked his daughter what she wanted to name it. Jackie was about to answer when Megan, bouncing in her stroller, said, “Twiggy, Twiggy, Twiggy!”
Jackie shrugged her shoulders; Twiggy it was. No one knew why, and no one questioned it. Glio could tell from the flavor of the memory that this was the first in a long string of incidents in which Megan would assert her dominance over Jackie. Glio knew this because Jared had superimposed twinges of confusion and regret on the memory after the fact.
But that didn’t matter to Glio. All he knew was that the more complex the memory, the more intricate the emotional construct, the more delicious it was. He savored every last drop.
***
Back in his Portland hotel room, a luxury suite at one of the city’s older, grander hotels, Ethan sat on the bed and laughed.
He had to admit, it was a strange day. He felt part exhilaration and part fear that he had just purchased a human life. Well, not technically, but Ethan was too much the pragmatist not to see and understand what had really happened. He had purchased a human life. And for five million dollars.
In the scheme of the great wide world, that’s chump change, he thought. Maybe because this poor schmuck really is a chump. He laughed out loud at his own less-than-clever quip.
Ethan knew in his heart of hearts that this show, which he was toying with calling Life and Death, was going to be the biggest show in the history of television. Bigger than all the Super Bowls combined. Bigger than the final episodes of M*A*S*H and Seinfeld, bigger than the TV news on the morning of 9/11.
He got up, went to the full-length mirror on the inside door of the wardrobe, and looked deep into his own reflection.
“Ethan Overbee,” he said aloud, “you are the shit.”
***
Deirdre didn’t say a word when Jared finished telling the family about the television show. The only sound in the room was that of Trebuchet licking his private parts.
“Guys?” Jared asked, confused. He seemed to think this was good news, like Deirdre should get up and give him a high five. “You’ll never have to worry about money again,” he added in a voice that was both unsure and timid. “It’s really no big deal. Our lives will go on as normal, just with a few cameras in the house. And besides, they’re mostly just interested in seeing me die.”
That started Jackie crying again. Her blond ponytail bounced with heaving sobs that she tried but failed to hold back.
“Girls,” Deirdre said to her daughters, “why don’t you go upstairs? I want to talk to your father.”
Neither Jackie nor Megan said a word. They simply got up and left the table. Megan put an arm around her older sister as they left the room, nuzzling her head into the nape of Jackie’s neck. This in itself was astonishing to Deirdre. On most days, the girls weren’t oil and water; they were gasoline and a lit match.
When they were toddlers, Jackie three and Megan one, Jackie protected and loved her baby sister. So much so that Deirdre constantly admonished her older daughter: “Get off your sister, Jackie” or “She hit you because she wants you to stop trying to hug her.”
Even then, Megan seemed to have disdain for Jackie. She learned to say the names of everyone in her life—Mama, Dada, “Taybooshay” (for Trebuchet), even Danny and Lexi from daycare—before she figured out how to say Jackie.