The Gypsy

 The scent of magic and burning herbs filled his nostrils as he dodged his way into the first tent he could find. As he spied cautiously onto the carnival outside, he saw countless children running off into the clad crowd of happy families enjoying the old but classic tune of the carousel music that insisted upon playing on and on until the very last minute of the evening party. He was so eager to hide, he even failed to notice he still had an unbitten love apple in his shaking hand, while with the other, he cautiously pulled back on the tent's heavy linen, as if expecting to be able to spy further ahead to the sides. 

- Can I help you? - Suddenly her voice made its way to his ears startling him. The apple covered in red syrup fell on the dirt floor, landing but an inch away from his blue suede shoes.

He looked round at her, and immediately he was lost within her penetrating gaze. She sat on the opposite side of a small round wooden table which seemed to be older than both their ages combined. On the center of the the furniture, a human head sized crystal ball emitted faint yellow and blue lights, no doubt product of a cheap trick or battery the woman kept underneath the wood. Her short hair had odd garments which didn't feel quite right to him, as opposed to her lovely black dress. As he scrutinized her looks, something inside of him finally reminded him that the gypsy was most likely waiting for some kind of an answer.

- H-Help me? Nah, I don't think so, lady... I'm just passing through. Don't mind me. I'm alright. - He said as he turned around back to the tent's entrance, fighting against his will to keep on staring at her, still deciding whether out of admiration or mere judgement.

- Come, stranger. Take a seat. Please, relax. You're...  Hiding from someone, I see?

- What, you can't figure this one out? - He said as he briefly pointed towards the crystal ball. 

- This is just for show. A memorabilia... Customers like it. Come. Sit down. - She pointed towards a small bench which faced her on the opposite side of the table. Certainly it was there where all her so called customers were placed whenever they walked inside her scented tent.

- Look, lady... I don't have any money, okay? I'm just passing through. Just gimme a moment. 

- Don't worry... The angry husband won't be looking in here. Not yet, at least. You should consider my advice, and take a seat. - Her hand still in the air, gesturing toward the empty bench.

- Angry husb... How did you know that? - He inquired as a small hardly noticeable smile began to show in the side of his lips. 

- A woman knows such things... Plus you're too old to be hiding from an over protective father figure. And you wouldn't be carrying a love apple around a local town carnival if you were married, now, would you?

She had earned his attention. Perhaps he had been too obvious, with the whole hiding in fear and the apple thing. Still... Either she was one hell of a gypsy, or maybe some lost Arhtur Conan Doyle's blood relative. He slowly took a seat... As he faced her perfectly molded features, he also thought it was a bad idea to turn his back to the small little entrance, and thus the man kept his shoulders wide and open, so as to the possibility that someone should barge in, he would have at least some chance to fend for himself.

- Tell me, stranger... What is it that you want to know? I'm genuinely curious. - She said as her gentle body leaned forward onto the table, and her gentle hands held her head up from her chin.

- Lady, I told you I got no money. I'm just--

- Passing through, yes, I recall. - She then leaned back and stood up. Her black dress descended all they way to the dirt floor and beyond, dragging itself with each step she took. Her naked shoulders displayed old but beautiful tattoos of unrecognizable runes. Her eyes seemed to shine in scarlet for a brief moment, but perhaps it was just another illusion of the lighting from within the tent. - Allow me to explain, stranger. I've been to many countless carnivals, and I can't quite remember how many different kinds of customers I've had inside this very place. But there's one thing I know. 

- What's that? - He said as his body slowly began to shift towards her.

- There are only two kinds of customers. The skeptical who desperately wants to believe my words of solace... 

- And the second...?

- The believer who wishes he could be wise enough to know that my prophecies are all a show. A gimmick. An entertainment... 

There was a moment of warm silent between the two. The woman stood in all of her imposing beauty and intoxicating gaze, while her visitor, though seemingly interested in her words, exuded above all else, a loud indifference... 

- Which one am I? - He finally asked. 

- Neither! - She said. - You're the first client in ages who doesn't seem to belong to either group. You are... A precious variable. And because of this rare condition, I am interested in helping you. But only if you answer my questions honestly... I assume... - She said as she returned to her seat. - You can do that?

- How exactly do you think you can help me? I mean, lady... No offense, but out there, somewhere in the middle of all those kids and happy families, there's an old veteran tracking me down. God know if I'll be able to walk out of here tonight unharmed without anybody noticing me... I'd have to be invisible. No! I'd have to be unnoticeable. Like the wind.

She leaned forward again... This time touching his cold hands. 

- But Damien... People like the wind... Some of them even love it. They love its embrace. Its breeze. Its kindness. Isn't that true?

What was she talking about? How did she even know his name? And what in God's name was she talking about?

- What...? It was a metaphor, lady. Are you crazy? What are you talking about?

- The girl, Damien... What's her name? The angry husband's wife? Is it... Debra? 

He stood up as fiercely as the wind howls at  night when it tries to break into our bedrooms. The bench pushed down to the floor. His eyes wide open and his expression a way for which hate and fear could show themselves. 

- How do you know this? How can you even know? You said... You said the ball was just for show! What is this? Who are you? 

- But the ball is just for show... Me, on the other hand, I never said I wasn't the real deal... Are you... Afraid? You shouldn't leave now. He would see you and his gun is loaded. You should stay a while longer. - She eyed him almost the way a lioness watches her pray. It observes for as much as it can. Studies it. Learns about it. And then... It decides whether to strike or not. 

- Gun? He h-has a gun? Oh, shit... Oh, for fuck's sake! What have I done? - He peeped through the linen cloth to see if he could spot his predator, but it was no easy task when there was so much going on outside... And inside, for that matter.

- Why are you concerned? Tell me... I wish to understand. 

- You know my name, and you know my mistress' name, but you can't figure out why I'm freaking out over a crazy angry husband chasing me down with a loaded gun?! Lady, you are something else, you know that?

- Please... Calm down. You are safe in here, I promise. Please... Sit down again. You have my word. No one will interrupt our talk. - She gestured at the fallen bench. As Damien picked it up and took a seat at it again, she continued... - Why are you so concerned?

- I... - He wiped his dry lips, and then combed his hair with his bare hands. - I think he might actually kill me. He's... He's made threats before... We didn't know he was back in town. Not until I saw him looking around for us as I was on my way back to her with that love apple right there. Now... Now I'm stuck in here with a crazy gypsy witch who knows my name and..... Wait a minute... You know things! You... You can help me get out of here! 

- I still have one more question, Damien. - She said as she kindly pressed his hands and widened her brown beautiful gypsy eyes at him. 

- But you can help me, can't you?! - He asked as excitement and pride leaked from his eyes.

- I can. But first... 

- Yes, yes. Question. Shoot away. 

- What about her, Damien? What about Debra? Isn't he going to lash out all on her? Don't you feel that... Perhaps if you make a stand... Proclaim your love...? Then maybe there's even a way that... You know where this is going, do you not? 

- He let go of her hands and closed his eyes for a moment. 

- Look, lady... I don't care, okay? I-I just wanted to have some fun. I mean, Debra's amazing, and young, and beautiful... But she's not worth getting shot at. She's not worth my life. You get it? She'll be fine! The fool loves her to death, he'll forgive her and all will be well again... Believe me.

Ava leaned back again. She let her hands fall and rest over her hips as she stared deep within her crystal ball, deep within the reflection of her own eyes. Deep within... 

- Lady...? 

- He's coming, Damien... He'll be here in a matter of seconds. 

- What?! You said you'd help me get out! Have you no word? No honor?! Is he going to kill me?! Is he?!

- Come... Quickly now... Hide under my dress! - She said as she lift her dress up shamelessly. - Be quick about it! And mind your hands! And all else there is to mind! Hurry! 

...

A hand pushed aside the heavy linen cloth drapes which covered the entrance to Ava's tent. A handsome man in his early forties looked around. His hand on his waist, as if holding on to something, and penetrating dark brown eyes peered within. He found Amthe gypsy's gaze and almost forgot what he was all about...

- Excuse me, miss... I hope I'm not intruding.

- By all means... How can I help you? - Ava said.

- You wouldn't happen to have seen a young man around here, would you? He'about this tall and looks like a fool. Talks like one too, for that matter. Oh... And he's wearing silly blue shoes. 

- You mean Damien.

The man's face blushed and his hand' grip on whatever he carried on his waist tightened. His eyes glared and his expression of vengeance took hold of him.

- Where is he...?

- I'm afraid he's gone now. Like the wind. 

- Gone? Where to? - The man asked. 

- I think not even Damien himself should be able to answer that. Like I said... He's gone now. 

The man looked puzzled for a moment. But something in the gypsy's eyes made him feel better, as if the sun was about to rise, and the whole nightmarish evening upon which he had been setting up for himself was about to finally end...  He nodded in appreciation. 

- Oh, mister? I'm afraid I take payment for a question... It says so on the board outside.

- I have no money, miss. And what I'm carrying here is not exactly coin for currency... If you know what I mean. - He not only sounded apologetic but also looked like it.

- I'll tell you what... Give me the bullets. They sell pretty good around these parts. It should do for payment. - Ava said as she winked at him.

The man smiled back at her in disbelief. He would've asked how she figured he had a gun in the first place, but that would require another payment entirely. Thus he removed the pistol from his waste, and emptied it of its ammo, and finally proceeded to giving them all to her. Two bullets. As he placed them both over her table, he thought he noticed some uncommon volume underneath her dress...

- Young lady... Provided I gave you two bullets, you wouldn't mind my asking another question now, would you? 

- I wouldn't mind at all. - Ava said as she bowed respectfully and raised her dress a bit, enabling the man to fully see her gentle bare feet.

- You know what... Keep that... It was a silly question. I have to find my wife... G'night, missy.

- G'night, kind sir. 

... 

As Ava raised her dress a bit when she bowed, Damien cried aloud begging for forgiveness and mercy. He felt himself falling on the cold muddy floor, but as he looked up at his inquisitor... There was no one there. Not even Ava, whom he had just let go from. 

Damien got up to his feet, and he felt the uncomfortable presence of a deafnening silence all over. 

- Lady...? Where are ya? What is this? 

As he walked out of her tent, everything was where he remembered... But the children were nowhere to be seen, and there were no happy families dancing to the old melancholic tune of the carousel, which stood colorless and bereft of life. As Damien strode throughout the carnival he realized he must have been taken somewhere else. Somewhere where he was utterly alone in the cold dark. 

Somewhere where he felt invisible.

 Somewhere where he felt like the wind in the cold night.