Ali opened the door leading to the mansion’s main level. “But what miracle do you think changed Ashoka? Which one really made him believe?”
Laughing, I stepped through the doorway. “It wasn’t the miracles that changed him. It was the fear that there was an energy moving in his world that was beyond his kingly knowledge.”
“Ah! I see.”
“All smart rulers fear God.”
Ali took out a folded sheet of paper and handed it to me.
I grabbed it. “The dancer?”
“Yes, sir. Her name is Layla Brown. Both parents are deceased. She has some distant aunts and cousins living in the Bronx, NY and throughout Louisiana. She lives in a small apartment on the outskirts of the island. Mr. Meade pays for it.”
A twinge of jealousy hit me. “Does she have a romantic relationship with Meade?”
“Our people asked around. There’s no indication of anything going on between them. Her phone bill shows that she has casual friendships with two dancers that work at Meade’s parties. Other than that, she remains to herself.”
“Anything else?”
“Something odd. Her sister is in her apartment.”
“What makes that odd?”
“I believe the sister is her captor.”
I stopped walking and looked at him. “Expound.”
“Layla has her sister locked in the extra bedroom. She’s bound to the bed with rope.”
“Interesting.” I headed off. “And Layla’s dress size and favorite color?”
“Her measurements are on the paper and I’m sure you can guess the color.”
I smirked. “Red.”
“Yes, sir.”
3
A Run to Remember
Layla
I
didn’t get much sleep last night. Reo’s handsome face danced in my mind.
At one point when I finally fell asleep, I imagined myself naked and on the stage that I’d danced on. There, Reo held these super long chopsticks. One by one, he picked sushi off of my naked body and ate it.
I woke up so wet I had to touch myself for relief, imagining Reo shoving his cock inside of me.
It’s a new day. Time to get that handsome stranger out of my mind.
The sun shined bright and bathed the abandoned theme park in an eerie light.
I unlocked the gate with my key, entered, and secured it back. I walked past the mud caked carnival booths to warm up my legs and arms for my afternoon jog. A cool breeze blew by. The ground was soft, yet riddled with tree roots and vibrant green foliage.
Nice weather. This is going to be a great run.
Whimsy World had been open for twenty years before shutting down. This place sparked warm memories. The few times my parents were sober they brought my sister and me here.
The owner’s goal was to entertain the island’s families. Gentrification came, raising prices. These new families owned private helicopters, jets, and yachts. When they wanted to be entertained, they traveled to it.
In the past three years, the park’s attendance never picked up enough to sustain the park.
Now Mother Nature had reclaimed it. A wild sea of vegetation swept over Whimsy World, transforming the place into an apocalyptic landscape filled with ruins of fun. Weeds sprouted and trees twisted along decaying, rusting rides. Graffiti was everywhere.
I stretched by the clown bumper ride.
Weeds and vines grew out of the massive clown’s gaping mouth. Birds built nests on his yellow and blue polka dot hat.
Currently, the park’s owner Jonas was selling the remaining equipment and rides in the hopes of getting out of debt. Unfortunately, no one wanted to buy any of it.
I’d learned all of this last year due to Jonas discovering my sister, Tina, passed out in the bottom car of his vine-covered Ferris wheel. Her drug of choice was methamphetamine.
She must’ve been searching for the comfort of our parents—the memory of love.
When Jonas found her, dried vomit coated the bottom of her face and shirt. Jonas was unable to wake her up. Thankfully, she had the necklace I’d given her. It was a chain with a silver card on it—similar to military dog tags. On the card was my name and phone number.
After dialing 9-1-1, Jonas called me.
By the time I arrived, my sister was already taken to the hospital. I called the unit. The hospital gave her Naloxone to treat her overdose. When she became conscious, she started vomiting.
Jonas tried to cheer me up as he walked me to my car, explaining the history of the park and telling me I was always welcome to hang out there.
For some odd reason, I took him up on the offer. He gave me a key that same day. I’d been jogging in the abandoned park ever since.
While most may find the park depressing, it reminded me of my youth—the playful moments of life. The age when I sought out heart-pumping thrills.
And with each season, magic radiated from this abandoned world. Summer covered the park in mushrooms and dropped berries. Autumn coated the area in fallen leaves. Winter covered the space in white snow and froze the rides into haunting ice sculptures.