Synopsis: Jack pays his reparations to Rayne by performing a strange, magical and truly awe-inspiring show and then realizes that this not only made up for his stupidity, but has put him on better than good grounds with Rayne.

Author's Note: I believe this is nearing the 1/3 mark of the novel, though, only time will tell how it turns out. I hope you're enjoying the story so far and if you need to find the beginning of the story, please go to my profile and go to my gallery. I'm not sure how this one turned out, because I feel like I just threw it together, but, at the end, I felt like it came out the way that I wanted it. I hope you enjoy it and, as always, kick back, peace out and enjoy.
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Chapter 9: All the World’s indeed a Stage

I can still hear his voice in my head as I marched down the darkened dirt path towards the big top. He curses at me, screams at me, demands why I was doing this. He tells me how stupid an act I am making, how sorry that I would be in the end. But his words fall upon deaf ears for the first time. I shrug him off; tell him that I have to make things at least half-right.
The lights from inside the big top reach out through the dirtied, sullied white and red stripes. The yellowed light then reaches outwards towards the star-studded skies above, twinkling in the darkness. Spotlights swing around the outside, running from the ground to the summit and then disappearing once more.
Loud voices enter my ears, the mixed conglomeration of the youthful cries of excitement to the heavy, hard voices of old, cynical men. Their noise seems so much louder than it was when I was attending the show just one night ago. It’s as if these people have no idea what they are in for.
As I march forward, my footsteps, or should I say, pawsteps, fall strong and resolute upon the dirt path. My shoulders swing as I stride towards the tent, my arms swaying to and fro. The muscles in my face feel tense, like a ball of coiled wire. Anyone who would get in my way would be pushed aside. It is as if I’m on a mission from God.
Nearing the base of the tent, I see that many of the performers have gathered just outside the door, waiting for the show. There are performers that I have seen before like the group of miserable clowns with painted-on smiles and the acrobats in rainbow tights that cart wheeled out of that barrel that Blackjack stood on.
Then there are ones that I haven’t seen before like two men in tight clothing with singed faces and hair. They must be fire-breathers or dancers. There are also two strongmen, stereotypical balding middle-aged Germans with arms thicker than their legs and shoulders broader than a freight train. The list goes on, but I hardly have time to take all of their faces in.
As I march into the crowd of performers, chatting and passing the time until they must exert themselves for the entertainment of shallow, low-brow idiots who will later throw things at them, they run their eyes over me. Even if they do not stop talking, I see pupils snap onto me like clockwork, their speech slowing down.
I do not stop to entertain their looks, but, I do notice how many of them look to me. The two strongmen look to me as if I were just another performer here, another prisoner in a madman’s game, their eyebrows high and their faces relaxed. The fire breathers look to me as if I were competition standing with their arms on their hips and their eyes angrily burning into me like the fire they throw around.
But the person that I notice the most, as if I couldn’t avoid it, was one of the sad clowns that I saw playing a gambling game last night. He stands nearest to the dirt road that runs around the base of the tent, with his two partners nearby. His painted white face and smeared-on smile and real frown turn towards me and look upwards.
His eyes are ringed with red, but his eyes seemed black and empty. They bolted on to me as I passed him by and follow me. The black abysses that he owns seem to convey the message of hopelessness, the emptiness and hollowness that is this cage. He silently calls out to me, pitying me for what has happened, but telling me that there is nothing good to expect for the future.
Although I only look to him for a span of merely ten seconds, I feel a strange coldness at the bottom of my heart, something I’m not exactly sure the meaning of. But the look upon his face is poignant and its image imprints itself in the back of my mind. Pressing forward, I try to forget it and focus back on the task at hand.
The crowd gently parts for me to get through, knowing that I must be up with Rayne’s act. As I pass by the strongmen and approach the entrance, the inside becomes dark and the people begin to quiet down. Blackjack will soon be making his over-the-top entrance and then I will be forced to enter.
“Stop,” a voice suddenly commands as I enter the first flap of the tent.
In the darkness between the outside and inside wall, a part of the tent where you can see out but can’t see in stands a huge, tall man. It is that ape-man that gave my uncles and me our tickets last night. Towering above me at nearly eight feet tall, his shoulders must be four feet wide, his head the size of a watermelon.
He reaches out and puts one of his arms down between the inner flap and me and then forces me to stop. Looking upwards, I try to discern what he wants before getting crushed in this real life version of Jack and the Beanstalk. His face seems angry, his black brow furrowed and his lips pulled downwards, but, he looked like that last night. I haven’t a clue as to what he wants.
We stand for the longest time, me ready to pull that axe out and chop his hand off and he seemingly ready to pick me up and throw me like a football. But then he lifts his hand away from me and stands up straight. With his other hand, he slowly motions to a sack sitting at his foot.
“You take sack, put things in pocket.” He states.
I look to the sack and suddenly realize it is the one that Rayne had in her tent just minutes ago. Looking back up to the ape-man, I nod my head and step forward. He nods in return and then turns and begins to bumble off to go outside. As I kneel beside the sack, the ape-man’s footsteps falling upon the earth like bombs on the Ho Chi Minh Trail, I pull open its lips and peer inside.
Inside are little packets of what seem like powder, which are all made with different colors of the rainbow. Some of the packets are large as my fist while others are only the size of a quarter. Taking one up, I flip it over and see that none of them are marked with anything and the only difference is the coloring of the contents.
Shrugging, I take them up quickly and stuff them into the pockets on the inside of my trench coat, suddenly realizing that this is what the pockets are fore. When I fit all of the powder into the pockets, I drop the sack and then stand up straight. My stomach begins to hurt, but, I shrug it off. A fear of performances is stupid.
Out in the darkness of the center ring, I see the spotlight come down and the red barrel that Blackjack stood on appear. Then the light flashes off and flashes on again, revealing the madman himself. The crowd cheers like crazy, as if he made Flight 19 appear out of thin air.
Stepping forward, I lean against one of the flaps and watch Blackjack, wondering exactly how he makes all of this work. He seemingly didn’t use any kind of conduit for his power. No Merlin’s wand or Gandalf’s staff. He just seems to lift up his white gloves and moves them around to make things happen. Could it be the gloves?
Blackjack goes through his entire lengthy speech, lifts the barrel into the air and his performers begin to pour from the ground beneath him. Swinging my head around, I look out of the other flap and see that all of the performers I saw lingering outside have disappeared. Those are real people sprouting from the ground like turnips!
Turning back towards the ring, I watch in silence as the act continues. Finally, when the barrel is lowered to the ground, the performers disappear back into thin air and Blackjack is safely, unfortunately, back on earth, he finishes his opener slowly. As his long-winded speech comes to an end, he bows and then dissipates into thin air with a blast of light and smoke.
The lights swirl upwards while one stays in the very center of the tent. Lifting my eyes upwards, I focus them on the platform suspended in midair nearly ten stories upwards. Then I stand in silence and wait, watching the bright spotlights swirl up like birds in helter-skelter.
Then in the darkness Rayne appears, but she isn’t wearing the same uniform she had on yesterday. Instead tonight she wears a cream and brown colored pair of pants and matching top covered with a hazel colored vest. Her paws are covered with strangely tailored boots and her hands have gloves on. Finally a white hat covers her silvery face.
A belt and two holsters are there as well. She’s dressed like a strange cowboy, but without any weapons or bullets. The crowd gasps in awe at her as she teeters on the edge of the platform, her face turned downwards and her arms out at her side. Suddenly she steps forward and begins to plummet downwards, her arms lifting upwards and her hands coming together as if she were a diver.
Then she throws her body into a true diving fashion and casts her hands forward. Something forces down in front of her and bursts on the ground below, spreading a huge plume of purple smoke which engulfs the floor below her. She disappears into the smoke and then everyone gasps, believing that she has hit the ground.
My heart jumps as well and I suck in a painful amount of air which singes as it hits my lungs. Then my eyebrows rise up and I unintentionally stumble forward, one step and almost out into the arena. From within the smoke a barn appears out of nowhere. As the smoke dissipates, I slowly begin to see the barn reveal itself to the audience.
It is an old-style one with red walls and a black shingle roof and white details. From here it almost seems unreal, sparkling and glittering in the light as if it were only an illusion. But as the smoke disperses into the air, the crowd cheers as if it were truly tangible. My mind reels back and I shake my head. That couldn’t be possible.
But what happens next surprises me even more. After a round of applause from the crowd, the front doors are thrown open and slam against the side of the illusionary building and Rayne comes striding out. Her body is completely unscathed, unscratched, as if she fell into a pile of hay inside.
The crowd launches itself into a cheering fit, but Rayne doesn’t acknowledge their existence. Slowly she turns towards where I stand in the darkness and then throws her arms forward, more bright specks of light flying from her clothes. They smash on the ground in blasts of blue, red, green and yellow.
From the explosions of glittery smoke appear buildings, huge and very real. They rise out of the ground, building themselves from absolutely no materials and no workers. Rising up in the middle of the arena, they create a dusty Wild West street with high saloons with rowdy customers, gunsmiths with clanging irons and a sheriff’s office and courthouse with screaming prisoners. Even a scent of burning dust mixed with horse manure touches my nose.
Suddenly a spotlight catches me and I am blinded. The crowd cheers and as my eyes adjusts; I realize that it is time. Lowering my hands from the curtain that I realize I’ve been clinging to with a death grip ever since Rayne leaped from the sky above, I strut out into the arena. My heart pounds so hard it nearly leaps from within my ribcage. My lungs burn as I gasp for air. I’ve never performed before, for anything.
As I strut towards Rayne, marching down the dusty street with my coattails swinging behind me, I stare towards the expert performer. I can see her smile from beneath her hat, probably happy that I’ve decided to come. Her bright face, despite cut off from the lights hanging above, reaches out and calms my nerves just a bit.
I hope deep down that she knows what she’s doing because I haven’t a clue as to what to do. I just keep marching forward, hoping she’ll throw me a bone. She frowns and her eyebrows lift up in fright. Then I see her touch her chest and stomach with her hands. Looking downwards, I reach into my pockets and feel the packets of powder held in their little pockets. That’s what she uses to make all the buildings appear, all the displays in the air!
Grabbing one of them, I yank it forth from out of my jacket and then slam it down onto the ground before me. A huge cloud of red smoke explodes around me and suddenly I feel something tingle against my body. Closing my eyes, slowing my pace and holding my breath, I wait and wonder.
The smoke surrounds me, clinging to my body as I walk forward. It’s heavy, thick dust clings to my clothes and burns at my eyes, nose and mouth. Heavy things materialize on my body and as suddenly as the smoke appeared, it falls to the ground and sinks into the dirt.
Loud applause fills my ears and I open my eyes to see a new hat upon my head. Lowering my body, I see cowboy boots covering my paws, heavy gloves on my hands, and, most importantly, two new Peace Makers strapped to my waist above a new pair of pants. Looking upwards, I see Rayne smile and I smile in return. It’s all magic.
Taking hold of several more packets of powder, I slam them around me onto the ground and our setting leaps forth into reality like a novel from a writer’s head. A stagecoach roars by me, the boy in livery whipping two black horses onwards. Groups of men appear from thin air and walk by me, appear from buildings and disappear into them.
Women in scanty clothes lean over widow’s peaks on the second floor of saloons and men on horses trot by in front of me, their riders in era correct clothes and nodding to me as I walk. Finally two men appear out of the dust to strut beside me, their faces hard and their bodies ready for a fight. They are all weres like I am, half animal and half man, which I find is strange, but accept it.
Rayne summons her own posse and we strut towards each other, arms out at our sides and fingers moving around, itching to grab the irons holstered at our waists. We meet in the center of the magic town, just below a church with a high tower, its peak shading the desert street.
On the other side the town center stands with its clock face showing to us, the black hands nearing noon. We stop standing only twenty feet apart, the six of us facing one another and ready to kill each other. A crowd appears around us standing on the wooden sidewalks and hanging from second story windows.
The salty smell of rolling dust fills my nose and murmuring voices fill my ears. Out of the corner of my eyes I can see a sheriff standing with a gleaming badge, a Winchester in his hands but his eyes say he’ll obviously not interfere. The sound of the crowd quiets and then it is just the clicking of the clock.
Finally the hand swings onto the twelve and the clock begins to chime, the church bells toll loud and resolute. The six bodies all tense up and we reach down towards our waists. My fingers slip around the two pistols at my waist and I raise them up as all six hands lift towards the sky.
The first shot comes from my right and the man to Rayne’s right falls to the ground with a bullet in his chest. I pop the guy on her right before he can put me down his sights. But Rayne spreads her arms and shoots both men beside me, them collapsing like sacks of grain. We both put pistols on each other, but, someone else enters the arena.
A shot comes from to my left and I feel something hit me. Wondering if this whole thing was real or not, my entire body becomes cold and then I go limp. I hear two more shots and begin to plummet towards the ground. I look to my left as I fall and see a man with a rifle fall over the railing of the saloon’s second story balcony and then drop towards the ground.
As I hit the ground, a huge dust storm begins to whoosh down onto the entire arena and then the town begins to dissipate in a dusty, gravelly darkness. I lay on the ground with my eyes open, my costume falling to dirt around me and blowing away. Then I watch as Rayne appears from the dust storm.
Her costume dematerializes and whooshes up into the air, the pistols in her hand turning to sand. She rushes directly towards me at a high pace, her thick, bushy tail pulling behind her like the flag on a cigarette boat. As she nears me, she kneels down directly beside me, her big blue eyes staring at me and her hands grabbing at my arm.
She smiles a wide smile and stares at me with her head tilted to the side. Her hat has fallen off and hangs on the back of her neck by a little string that goes beneath her chin. Her eyes send me such a happy, fulfilled message that I feel a little tingle in my stomach as she grabs me.
“Come on,” she orders, “we have to get out of here.”
Before I can answer she stands up and begins to haul me upwards. At first I have a troubled time getting up, but then I find my balance and I am up on my feet, the storm swirling around us like a hurricane. Rayne releases my arm and she begins to sprint away from me, towards the exit in which I entered the tent.
She laughs loud as she rushes forward and I cannot help but smile and watch her from behind as I try to keep up with her lithe, toned frame. Behind me the dust storm begins to settle and before it disappears completely, we rush through the flap and into the darkness where I found her sack.
As the flap brushes on my shoulders, I see her stop and she throws her hands down onto her knees as she gasp and laughs. I stop running and watch her laugh, my heart beating like an engine and my mouth hanging open and my tongue lolling out like the dog I am.
Behind me the crowd is suddenly realizing that the entire act disappeared and has begun to cheer, clap and whistle for us. I chuckle just once as I watch the wall of people on the other side of the tent stand up and begin to applaud. I wonder if they even saw the dust storm or just we did.
“That was wonderful.” Rayne says.
Turning my head around, I look to her and see that she has slowly stood up and has begun to look towards me. She smiles wide as she was and her eyes are so open and bright, I feel as if everything else about her is bright as well. I step towards her slowly and look to her, feeling a sensation of relief and happiness in my being.
“I didn’t think you would come.”
“I didn’t think I would either.” I reply. “To tell the truth, I wasn’t planning on it but . . . I saw you talking to Blackjack.”
Her eyes widen and her grin broadens.
“Yeah, I had a feeling you at least heard it, especially after I saw you standing in the entrance when I was up on the platform. I wasn’t planning on going through with this whole thing until . . . well, you know, I saw you.” She laughs and throws her arms around herself, hugging her heaving frame.
Her costume is tight against her body and I wonder about the boots she wears. I know I can’t actually wear my boots anymore, they wouldn’t fit me. But I don’t bother asking about them . . . or anything about her costume. In fact, I feel my face become hot as I look over her.
I turn my eyes away and look into the corner where the sack is. My mind is in turmoil and I’ve forgotten what I was going to say. I just listen to her breathe and to the next performance come on. Then I hear her clear her throat and my tail lashes around, as if pent up energy is being released.
“Blackjack is going to be pissed.” I say in a hurry.
There is a pause in which I hear Rayne sigh a bit, but more as if the breath she just took was a cleansing one.
“Probably, but, after that reception, maybe he’ll be happy.”
“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”
“Well . . . maybe you can sleep in my tent tonight.”
I pull in a hard, sharp, almost painful breath as something explodes inside my stomach, making my heart feel like its experiencing that same pins-and-needles sensation I had the unfortunate ability to experience. Turning my head around to her, I feel my jaw go open and my eyes open up wide. My entire body goes cold all over and then begins to become hot.
“Wuh-what . . . bu-but, I . . . I thought you hated me.” I ask her, my mouth not doing what I want I tell it to.
“No-NO . . . well, I mean . . . after the whole thing . . . no, no, I don’t.” She replies, obviously having the same response I just did.
She looks at me with the same sort of I-don’t-know-what-I-just-did expression and then looks frightfully away. I look past her as a bright light fills the opening between the two flaps and a few seconds later a rumble of thunder fills my ears. A few of the stands that I can see shut their windows and above I can see clouds fill the sky. It looks like a rain system is coming through, about to turn this dusty prairie to a muddy mess.
Returning my eyes slowly to Rayne, I see her eyes are still averted from me, her head hanging forward. Her left arm grabs her right one at the elbow as it hangs limply at her side. Her fur, gray, black and white seem to stand on end, her black fingers and black pads move around as if she is uncomfortable.
Her tail hangs limply but moves about every few moments. Even the fur on her face, the thick tuffs on her cheeks, seems to stand on end. I wonder if she really meant what she said, or if she meant to hide it. I recognize her expression and then slowly smile.
“Sure,” I reply.
She jerks her head upwards, her crystal blue eyes seeming surprised and her body seeming to calm by my response. She closes her mouth, lets her ears stand up from where they hugged her head. Rayne’s entire body seems to relax itself and then she smiles just slightly, as if not to let me see it.
Just as she calms herself down another bolt of lightning fills that open flap with a bright and blinding light, but this time the roll of thunder sounds more like the detonation of an atomic bomb. Rayne’s face loosens up and she seems startled by the noise, but she doesn’t turn around. I just watch the light and then smile to her.
Then I say, “I suppose we should move before the rain comes down.”