The Guild of Fallen Clowns (30 page)

“I got it!” she exclaimed. “I want to see
Boogy kill Peepers!”

The confident smile drained from his face.
“What?”

“Think about it, Alan. Peepers killed Boogy
in Clown World. If you want to prove to me that Peepers means
nothing to you, I want to see Boogy kill him.”

“But I’m not in the game anymore, and
neither is Peepers. How can Boogy kill him?”

“The real world Boogy will do it. Well,
nobody’s going to die, exactly. I was just thinking that you can
use the mold you made of Peepers and cast a replica. Don’t bother
sanding down the seams or painting it because it’s only going to
get destroyed. Destroyed by you, dressed in your Boogy costume. Oh,
that’s perfect.”

“You want me to dress as Boogy and break a
casting of Peepers?” he said.

“Yes! That way I can meet Boogy, and you can
get some symbolic payback.”

“But our date is tomorrow night. Are you
saying you won’t go out with me until I do this? Because I’m not
sure we’ll have enough time.”

“Hmm, good point. I guess I’ll have to take
your word. Promise me that you’ll do it another time and I’ll give
you a waiver for tomorrow’s date.”

“Is there a time limit?”

“C’mon, Alan, you don’t want to disappoint
me, do you? I want to see Boogy. Are you going to deprive me of my
one wish? I thought you said my wish was your command.”

Apparently, that poorly chosen phrase hadn’t
slipped by unnoticed, and now she was cashing in. “So, if it’s just
Boogy you want to see, I’m doing a kids party Sunday. I can stop by
on my way there,” he said, hoping she would forget about the part
of her request involving his purposeful destruction of a Peepers
figure.

First of all, destroying a Peepers casting
would require him to cast another one. Then there was the larger
issue of potentially pissing off a spirit whose true powers were
still unknown to him. How might Peepers respond? Was he capable of
understanding his reasons? Or might he be angered to the point of
becoming physically violent toward him?

In that two-second sliver of time between
his question and Mary’s response, he found clarity. She was right.
Peepers wasn’t responsible for helping him overcome his fears. He
had responded negatively when Alan expressed concerns and his
desire to slow things down. Now Alan was wondering how he should go
about calming the spirit after he destroyed one of his figures.

Alan realized he wasn’t cured of his fears.
His fears had merely shifted. Instead of fearing the sight of
Peepers and other spirits, he was living in fear of the spirits’
retribution should he disagree with or disregard Peepers’ desires
and plans for him.

“Yes! I’d love that. Just be sure to bring
Peepers with you,” Mary replied.

Nothing escaped this girl. For her, it was
all just a game. She was toying with him, but she couldn’t possibly
know the ramifications of her request. Alan gave up playing out
potential outcomes and probabilities in his mind. He knew what he
needed to do. But first, he needed to get off the phone.

“And give that jerk the satisfaction of
casting his figure?” he said. “I’m sorry, but that’s not going to
happen. I can’t allow him to exist in the real world, even if it’s
just for the purpose of destroying him. Like you said, the only
thing he did was destroy my character in Clown World. I trusted
him. He told me he was a newbie and asked for my help to get him
established in the game. I let my guard down and he used me. Then
he killed Boogy. I never should have sculpted him in the first
place.”

“Huh,” she said. “I didn’t think of it that
way, but good for you! I agree one hundred percent. Forget that
guy. Your plan is so much better. He doesn’t deserve to be in the
same room as Boogy.” Mary sounded so upbeat that he pictured her on
the other end of the line pumping a clenched fist. She only had one
more thing to add. “You’ll get along just fine with my uncles.”

“I can’t wait,” he replied.

*****

Alan stepped into his bathroom, stripped out
of his costume, and stood in front of the mirror wearing only his
white T-shirt and underpants. The sad face of Boogy stared back at
him. He turned up the corners of his mouth but the clown’s
exaggerated face looking back at him remained sad.

“He’s not going to take this well, old
friend,” he said. Boogy nodded.

“I can see you are afraid.” Again, the sad
clown nodded.

“So am I.” He dug four fingers into the cold
cream container and smeared it over his face.

“I’ve never been so scared of anything in my
entire life, but it’s time to start believing in myself.” He bent
down to rinse his face. Then he finished the transformation with a
rigorous rubbing with a hand towel. He looked back into the mirror;
Boogy was gone. “But first, I need to make one stop.”

Other than himself, two elderly women were
in the church, diligently praying with beaded rosaries dangling
from their arthritic clutches. Sitting beside each other, they
appeared to be together. However, each was intensely focused on the
statue of the Blessed Mother at the front left side of the
altar.

Alan sat on the opposite side of the church,
in the last pew. A fourth parishioner entered and slipped to the
center of a pew five rows ahead of him. Alan watched as the younger
man used his foot to lower the kneeler from the pew in front of
him. Without hesitation, the gentleman lowered to his knees,
tightly interlocked his fingers and hands together as his elbows
found comfort on the back of the pew, and began to pray.

Looking past his knees, Alan reached his
foot out to the kneeler in front of him and gently lowered it to
the floor. He had come there to pray, and after observing the other
three people in the church with him, he realized his approach might
be flawed. It wasn’t that he forgot Church traditions. He just
didn’t understand the logic. Why would God care if he didn’t
genuflect before entering the pew? He had better things to do than
judge people for avoiding the finger dip in holy water, immediately
followed by touching the forehead, stomach, and left and right
breasts, signifying the sign of the Holy Trinity.

Alan wasn’t much different from his brother
Dale in his views of the Church. The only difference was that Dale
didn’t have a choice. He didn’t want to be in church every Sunday.
He only went because he wanted to keep the peace. Alan didn’t have
anyone to answer to.

Disregarding his misgivings on the subject,
he slid forward and lowered his knees to the cushioned surface of
the kneeler. “Here goes nothing,” he whispered as he locked his
hands, planted his elbows, and lowered his head. He closed his eyes
and began to pray.

God—Dear Lord—I know it’s been a long time,
and I probably shouldn’t have come here asking for your help. It’s
not like I’ve been thanking you for any of the good things in my
life. I wouldn’t blame you if you decide to use your powers on
someone more deserving of, and thankful for, your—blessings. So, if
you’re still listening, I should start by saying I’m sorry for
avoiding you all these years. Oh, and I want to thank you for my
health and other good things that have happened since the last time
I talked to you. Oh, Mary! Thank you for bringing her into my life.
And sculpting, I guess you already know about that. You probably
knew about my abilities all along, so thanks for, uh, giving me the
talent. It would have been nice if you figured out a better way to
help me discover it, but I’m not blaming you. Like I said, maybe if
I was more thankful, you might have opened that window sooner. But,
in my defense, you did take my parents from me. And I was just a
little kid when you took my father. I think you can understand why
I—strayed.

Alan opened his eyes, unfolded his hands,
and sat back in the pew.
This isn’t working,
he thought.
God doesn’t owe me anything, and it would be selfish of me to
even ask for his help.

He attempted to stand when a hand on his
shoulder gently guided him back to a sitting position. He looked up
to see Father Harris.

“Are you looking for me, or did you come to
speak with the big guy?” Father Harris said, with his finger
pointed up.

“The big guy,” Alan replied before rising to
his feet. “I should be going.”

Father Harris nodded as he looked into
Alan’s eyes. “Follow me, Alan.” Father Harris turned and walked to
the confessional booth at the back corner of the church. Alan
followed from a distance. Without looking back, the priest opened
the door to one side and motioned Alan to enter the adjoining
chamber.

Alan hesitated, then opened the door and
leaned his head inside. “Father—I didn’t come here for confession.
I’m not prepared.”

“Please sit and close the door behind you,
Alan.”

“Yes, Father,” he replied. His early years
of conditioning left him no other options. He sat on the tiny
wooden shelf of a seat and closed the door.

“What brings you here, Alan?”

Alan wasn’t sure how to respond. The last
time he was in a confessional, it was the confessor’s
responsibility to start the process. “Uh, forgive me, Father, for I
have sinned. It’s been—”

“No, Alan, I didn’t bring you in here for
that. I brought you here because I could sense that whatever is
bothering you is too uncomfortable to talk about. I thought it
might be easier for you to talk in a more—private and anonymous
setting.”

“Oh, right, but you know it’s me.”

“True,” Father Harris replied. “I’ve known
you your entire life. After your father died, you and your brother,
Dale, needed a father figure. You boys were always into something
and I tried to keep you on the straight and narrow by acting as a
surrogate disciplinarian. I must admit that I may have been a bit
too hard on you boys at times. It saddens me when I look in your
eyes. In them I see your image of me and it hurts. I can’t blame
you for leaving the Church, but now that you’ve come back, I don’t
want to frighten you away again. In here, you don’t have to see my
mean old mug. I sincerely hope this panel between us will allow you
to speak more openly. You are not a child anymore, Alan. And I can
assure you, you have no reason to fear me.”

“I never feared you, Father Harris. Well,
maybe a little, but I’ve always had the utmost respect for
you.”

“Thank you, Alan. That means a lot to me.
Now let’s see if this plan will work. After last Sunday’s mass, you
appeared to be deeply troubled by something. Today you appear more
distressed. How can I help you?”

Alan thought about the priest’s question. He
couldn’t begin to explain what had been happening to him, let alone
ask for his help. How could anyone help in this situation?

“I don’t think you can help me, Father. I’ve
already tried taking your advice, but it doesn’t feel right.”

“Fear not, believe only?” Father Harris
said.

“Yes, I thought I was getting over my fears.
I believed God was showing me how to be a better person and how I
can help others, but—” Alan didn’t know how to finish his sentence.
He believed that with the help of Peepers, and the Guild, he was
helping people like Dave, Lyle, and Cheryl. Then there were the
ancillary beneficiaries of their help. Dale and the twins would be
able to enjoy going out as a family with Cheryl. Paula would have
her husband back. Debbie wouldn’t have to fear Dave’s abuse. And
Alan himself would be safe from Lyle. His only real question at
this point had to do with Peepers. Was Peepers helping him, or just
using him?

“But what?” Father Harris said.

“But—something just isn’t right. I feel like
my trust is being misplaced. Is it selfish of me to run away out of
fear when I might be able to help lost souls?”

“First of all, Alan, I’m going to assume
you’re talking about troubled people because only God can help lost
souls.”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant, people with
problems.” He was quick to cover for his poorly chosen word choice.
However, there was something profound in the priest’s reply.
Only God can help lost souls.
If this were true, his
involvement with the Guild would have no impact on their desire to
find atonement for their earthly sins. Peepers would know this.

“I thought so,” Father Harris said. “Listen,
Alan, this is what ‘Fear not, believe only’ means to me. Without
knowing the details of your situation, I’m hearing you say that
your heart is telling you one thing, but your head is saying
something else. Personally, I’m a huge believer in my heart. I view
it as my sixth sense, or my soul’s point of view. If I listened to
my head, I would have found another profession. The ability to
believe comes from the soul. If you ignore it for too long, you
risk becoming one of those lost souls.”

“The ability to believe comes from the
soul,” Alan repeated under his breath.

“Yes, that’s how I see it,” the priest
replied. “Huh, that’s interesting.”

“Interesting?” Alan replied.

“The last time I remember explaining it that
way was to your father, many years ago.”

“My father? Why would he need to hear
that?”

“Oh, you know that’s not how it works in
here, Alan. Let’s just say you aren’t that different from him. The
two of you share in your guarded nature. He also spoke in
generalities. And, like you, he always kept a tight hold on the
specifics of what troubled him. With your father, I assumed it was
due to his FBI training. Even in here, he faithfully upheld his
pledge and wouldn’t discuss the details of his cases. But now—I’m
starting to wonder if it was genetic. Either that, or you’re
working undercover for the government.”

“It must be genetic, Father. I could never
be a cop.” Alan began to stand. “Thank you, Father Harris. You’ve
been very helpful.”