The Heart's Content

By the time Alastor reached the big top, the rain had ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. It was too quiet. No voices came from within the tent, no music played, and the usual sounds of the crowd were absent. Even the crickets had fallen silent. The only noise he could hear was the pounding of his own heart.

As he approached the entrance, Alastor noticed the absence of familiar faces—Valentino, Mr. Pentious, Husk, Vaggie, and his beloved Charlie were nowhere to be seen. Confusion washed over him. After the events of the day, he expected at least a guard, a trap, or some ambush to deter intruders.

Then, a voice of reason whispered within him.

"You know you're probably walking right into a trap, don't you?"

Alastor knew the voice was correct. Deep down, he felt a strong urge to turn back. After all, he had always prided himself on being intelligent, sensible, and clever. It would be an insult to his own intelligence to waltz into that tent without a second thought, falling prey to a trap meant for fools. And Alastor was no fool.

But he was in love and he recalled powerful words his mother had once shared with him long ago.

"When you love someone, you can't afford to be selfish. Your needs, your wants—even your own life—you'd gladly sacrifice them for the person you love."

Yes he did love Charlie that much. He loved her enough to risk everything for her, even his own life. If anything happened to her, he would wither away from a broken heart, just as she would if he failed to find her in time.

"I hope I know what I'm doing." He murmured to himself.

He quietly slipped inside the tent. It was dark beneath the big top—darker than outside, almost pitch black. The air was thick with the smell of cigarette smoke and something rotten. A chill wind gusted around him, sending shivers down his spine. For the first time since his teenage years, he was afraid. After facing the monster that was his stepfather, Alastor had believed nothing else could frighten him, but he was wrong.

He felt like a little boy again, hiding in the dark somewhere, during his stepfather's violent rants, listening to his mother beg him not to hurt her son while she suffered a beating from him. Part of him wanted to curl into a corner and pray for it to all be over, just as he did in those long-ago nights.

Instead, he pressed deeper into the darkness, desperately straining his eyes to pierce through the gloom. Soon, his fear morphed into a new torment—a much greater dread that he would never find Charlie, that he would become lost in this endless void, never to see her again.

"Oh, Charlie, where are you?"

Suddenly, a spotlight flickered to life. He turned to see it illuminating a tank in the center of the tent. The tank was barely filled with water, only about four inches remaining. But all that mattered to him was the figure lying within: Charlie. She appeared like a broken flower, unmoving, her skin and the scales on her tail sickly pale.

"Charlie?" Panic surged through him as she didn't respond.

Without hesitation, Alastor ran to the tank, lifted the lid, and climbed inside. He knelt beside her, cradling her in his arms. She felt lighter than air. As though she had no weight to her body at all. He brushed her damp blond hair aside, revealing a face devoid of color and a chest that did not rise and fall with breath. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Oh, what have I done to you?" He sobbed, cradling her head against his own. He fell into despair; he had killed her— he had killed the only woman he ever loved—with his cruel words and his cold heart.

"Oh, I'll never forgive myself. Never." He swore, rocking her gently. "Dear God, may Hell swallow me up right now if I've killed her!"

He pressed his lips to her, he kissed her, her cheeks felt as cold as marble. But he didn't care. He didn't care that she was cold or wet or that she had a tail. All that mattered was that he had lost her and he would give anything in the world to have her back.