Circus of the Damned   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

A stand of woods that still flooded too often to be torn down and turned into buildings bordered the left-hand side of the road until the trees metthe Missouri River. Trees continued on the other bank as we entered St. Charles.

St. Charles didn't flood, so there were apartment buildings, strip malls, a deluxe pet supermarket, a movie theater, Drug Emporium, Old Country Buffet, and Appleby's. The land vanished behind billboards and Red Roof Inns. It was hard to remember that the Missouri River was just behind you. and this had once been forest. Hard to see the land for the buildings.

Sitting in the warm car with only the sound of wheels on pavement and the murmur of voices from the front seat, I realized how tired I was. Even stuck between the two men, I was ready for a nap. I yawned.

"How much farther?" I asked.

The lamia turned in her seat. "Bored?"

"I haven't been to sleep yet. I just want to know how much longer the ride is going to take."

"So sorry to inconvenience you," she said. "It isn't much farther, is it, Ronald?"

He shook his head. He hadn't said a word since I'd met him. Could he talk?

"Exactly where are we going?" They didn't seem to want to answer the question, but maybe if I phrased it differently.

"About forty-five minutes outside of St. Peters."

"Near Wentzville?" I asked.

She nodded.

An hour to get there and nearly two hours back. Which would make it around 1:00 when I got home. Two hours of sleep. Great.

We left St. Charles behind, and the land reappeared—fields on either side behind well-tended barbed-wire fences. Cattle grazed on the low, rolling hills. The only sign of civilization was a gas station close to the highway. There was a large house set far back from the road with a perfect expanse of grass stretching to the road. Horses moved gracefully over the grass. I kept waiting for us to pull into one of the gracious estates, but we passed them all by.

We finally turned onto a narrow road with a street sign that was so rusted and bent, that I couldn't read it. The road was narrow and instant rustic. Ditches crowded in on either side. Grass, weeds, the year's last goldenrod, grew head-high and gave the road a wild look. A field of beans gone dry and yellow waited to be harvested. Narrow gravel driveways appeared out of the weeds with rusted mailboxes that showed that there were houses. But most of the houses were just glimpses through the trees. Barn swallows dipped and dived over the road. The pavement ended abruptly, spilling the car onto gravel.

Gravel pinged and clattered under the car. Wooded hills crowded the gravel road. There was still an occasional house, but they were getting few and far between.