Waiting.

[Jacqueline Oliver]

The train clattered over the tracks, rusting steel over aging wood, which sent jolts through handful of carts that inched closer to that god forsaken town. That sound she vowed she would never hear again now rang jubilantly in her ears the train tumbled closer and closer. No, no, no, no... she begged silently as she stared through the water-stained window towards the endless, flat plains of soybeans, cornfields, and grass. Her knee bounced up and down anxiously as her eyes flickered from the frighteningly blue sky, cloudless, of course, and the blinding, hot sun. There were no towering skyscrapers that would eat away at the horizon until there was nothing, no colossal shadows and thick polluted air that took away the smell of earth and dirt from her nose. She just wanted to rip open that window, turn around and run the other way. Back to whatever she had in New York. Whatever was left.

But, Jacqueline was too late. The train lurched to a stop and let out a noxious wheeze marking her dreaded arrival, or rather, return to Oakwood. She stuck her hand inside her leather bag that lay beside her and rummaged around until she pulled out a pair of black, square sunglasses. She slipped them onto her face, for the weather, she convinced herself. Not because of the tiny thought that sunk into the back of her mind on her way. It wasn't because she didn't want people to recognize her, no, because that would be ludicrous. I mean, she didn't want the barrage of questions and the hometown prying and overly imposing hospitality that made her stomach do backflips and somersaults either, but it wasn't because she didn't want them to recognize her. That would mean she was ashamed of coming back. Strictly for the weather, she sternly convinced herself, it's too sunny out.

Scowling, she grabbed her suitcase from an overhead compartment and maneuvered awkwardly through the aisles toward the exit, bumping the edges of her luggage into seats and open tray tables as she passed them. Embarrassed, Jacqueline murmured with a cringe, clenching her teeth in between each word, "Sorry, sorry, just trying to get off, sorry." With a tug, she yanked her luggage off the train and stepped onto the wooden platform. Rolling her eyes behind black shades, she stared at her surroundings as the train creaked and groaned down the tracks towards next, surely insignificant, destination. It looked like this place was built in mind for some dramatic scene for a World War II movie, right before the hero is trucked off to Germany, his main love interest chasing after him, tears in her eyes, handkerchief in hand, waving in the wind, and she sprints after him before he disappears into the distance, promising she'll "never forget him".

"This place... is a joke." Jacqueline said flatly to herself and scuffed her black flats against the old wooden planks in defiance. She glanced around, but was met with empty station, save for an attendant standing behind plastic for buying the tickets. It didn't sound like such a bad idea either. After a few minutes of standing in silence, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and let out an exasperated sigh. Dad said he meet me here at noon and oh, look-- she turned her wrist to triple-check the time, her watch's face glaring in the sunlight, --it's fifteen past noon. Doesn't anyone have a goddamn clock around here?

[xmisscrisis]

Adrian was starting to regret his decision.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. School had let out for the summer-- college before the highschool kids, thankfully-- and Adrian had been faced with a terrible dilemma: take more courses in the non-airconditioned buildings while people he hated surrounded him, probably doing annoying things, like smacking their gum, or talking during lectures, or breathing. Or he could go home.

Both seemed equally appealing, and as he was mulling over the situation, he'd come across the bulletin board at the end of the hallway. One flyer, black against the normal blinding neons, caught his interest, and despite his best instincts, he stopped to take a look.

CARNIVAL OF FEARS
Test your nerve. Test your sense of adventure.
Everything's not as it seems.

Now hosted in Oakland, Indiana.

And now he was here. On a train. To the middle of nowhere, Indiana, where the townspeople probably waved 'hello' to the random passerby and left their doors open, even when no one was home and baked cornbread all day. They were probably all farmers and housewives. This carnival was probably the most exciting thing to hit this side of nowhere in centuries, and Adrian ventured to guess that it wasn't even their idea; someone from a more exciting place in the world had likely come up with it, and foolishly decided to plant his idea in the middle of cow country.

He almost didn't get off when the train pulled to a stop. It would be so much easier if he just... pretended he hadn't heard the conductor, and stayed on board for a few days more. What would be the harm? But, he soon realized, it would probably just lead to another boring place he hadn't heard of, filled with more 'friendly' people, and he wouldn't have anything at all to look forward to there. At least in Oakland, he could see what all the fuss was about this 'Carnival of Fears'.

So he grabbed his backpack-- the only thing he brought with him, filled with only his bare necessities-- and stepped off the train, behind a girl who was knocking over everything that wasn't bolted down to the floor. Adrian could feel his already-thin tolerance for people waning, and he'd reached a foul mood by the time he stepped out into the sun.

"This place... is a joke." Adrian heard the muttered words, his hearing better than most (probably on account that he didn't talk much, so listening was really all he could do when forced into company). He agreed silently, but couldn't help the next words that flew from his mouth.

"Don't worry-- you'll fit right in." he sneered, voice barely a whisper and filled with implications, before walking off toward the door. It was glass, and Adrian stopped in his tracks as soon as he glanced through it, debating turning around and boarding the train once more.

Great. A cow.

[Jacqueline Oliver]

Sunlight rained on the back of Jacqueline's neck as she slipped her hand into her oversized bag, jostled it around, then pulled out a sleek, black phone. Flicking through an immense list of contacts that shrunk the scroll bar on her cellphone, the name "Robert Oliver" became highlighted in blue across the screen. He's not going to pick up, she thought tiredly, her finger resting on send button, he probably has an appointment. Her hand twitched, shutting the cellphone with a small clap and heard a breathless string of words behind her. She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of a young man, tall, maybe a bit older than her, with strikingly pale skin. She hadn't noticed him behind her. Her eyebrow perked, turning her head away from the stranger, and began to walk towards the glass door that lead into town.Usually people in Oakwood were tinged a rusty brown from working outside or doing whatever that they did. He looks like he's doctor, she mused as she tossed her phone back into her bag.

He dressed too cleanly. Instead of an old t-shirt with some gung-ho phrase in faded yellow letters and a ketchup stain on his jeans, dipped in mud, he wore a crisp, white collared shirt. He stood without any sort of rural slouch, which would come from years of working with cows or horses or whatever and "shootin' the breeze with Carl" at the bar. Light bruise marks underneath his eyes made him seem like a tired physician instead of a hick with raccoon eyes, sleepless from staring at the stars. Through rather than toting around a high-end, leather briefcase, he slung a backpack over his shoulders. He didn't have that concerned and amiable look in his eyes like most doctors did either. What she saw in its place was an cool indifference for everything around him.

Thoughts of the strange young man dissipated as Jacqueline approached the famous Oaktown bulletin board. Her eyes were drawn to a single black poster amidst the ugly hot pink and electric blue sheets that were tacked around it. A chill crept up her spine as she froze, mid-step. The Carnival of Fears? What kind of name is that? She thought as a quiver of nervousness sprawled throughout her fingertips and a cold sweat broke into the palm of her hands. The door leading back to the train station cracked opened momentarily, letting a swell of wind fill the hallway, making Jacqueline crane her neck toward the sound. She glanced back at neon flyers that fluttered frantically against the quick breeze, then her gaze dropped to the lone, black paper, its printed words unmoved. It seemed to be anchored against the board, heavy with an immense, invisible weight. She shook off the ominous feeling as the flyers settled back onto the bulletin board and the hallway became quiet, save for Jacqueline's ragged breaths. Letting out a cough, she quickened her pace toward the exit.

"The hell was that..." Jacqueline mumbled, her words barely audible to the untrained ear.

[xmisscrisis]

Adrian was almost disappointed as he stood facing the door, ears struggling to pick up her voice but finding nothing.

She looked like a big-city girl, and from experience, he happened to find that most of them didn't respond kindly to less-than-subtle insults. In fact, most of them turned around and tried to slap him, or struggled to come up with an insult better than "yeah, well... at least I'm not an asshole" (which, he was sorry to say, didn't happen very often). Most of the girls he'd passed in cities had some sort of attitude problem, and they usually didn't just let his harsh comments wash over them without a word.

And it was bothering him. Maybe he'd gotten her wrong; maybe she wasn't from a city, after all, and was actually native to the lovely shit-in-a-hole town of Oakland. He glanced back at her, desperately trying to understand.

She didn't look like a native. She was, for one, not riding a cow, and hadn't exclaimed some useless fact about them upon seeing the one through the door. She didn't have any dirt stains of which to speak, and she wasn't in a pair of overalls, hair in a couple of braids, as he always pictures people of small towns to be wearing. In fact, she looked well put together, in a simple outfit that screamed 'I'm not one of you'... but maybe that was her plan. Maybe she was trying to distance herself from the psychotics who actually chose this place to live. She was probably just another of the small town girls, trying to make it big and escape her parents' reign. Which explained the lack of attitude in response to Adrian's remark, which placated him completely.

It was around then he realized he was staring, and he abruptly turned his focus back to the door, hoping that against all odds he'd somehow arrived in a big city where he could hide and not be found. But the same dirt roads and tall grass (and cow... he'd really hoped he'd been imagining that one) met his gaze, and he let out an audible sigh, then moved toward the bulletin board the girl was standing in front of.

It was around then that a burst of air rushed through the station, ruffling the flyers; one of the absurdly pink ones broke free from the restraint of the tape and fell at his feet. But Adrian didn't notice. For, like in his dorm hallway, the black paper of the Carnival of Fears flyer caught his eye, and throughout the entire ordeal, hadn't moved in the slightest.

A strange sort of smirk worked its way onto his face, a masochistic look in his eyes, and he turned around once more without a word, heading back toward the door, sense of purpose renewed.