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hell is that ambulance? Why won t somebody help me?
His frantic gaze locked on a solitary figure limping calmly toward the exit. A long black coat and
silver cane identified him as the mysterious stranger from the night before. Unlike the other aghast
audience members, he looked not at all alarmed by what had just transpired. As Johnny stared in shock,
he strolled casually out of the tent-the stranger might have been leaving a chamber music recital, not a
horrible human tragedy.
Johnny couldn t believe his eyes. What was the hell was he doing here? Johnny had half-convinced
himself that last night s unsettling visitor had been nothing more than a figment of his nocturnal
imagination. But that was no dream that had just slipped out from beneath the big top. The stranger was
real-and so too perhaps was the unholy bargain they had struck in the murky confines of the
maintenance tent?
I don t understand. He said Dad would be okay. He promised!
He gently lowered his father s head down onto the floor of the track. The flames surrounding them
sputtered and died away as someone finally thought to shut off the gas. Not quite knowing why, Johnny
jumped to his feet and took off after the enigmatic stranger. Well-meaning carnies tried to offer their
condolences, but he didn t have time for that right now. Brushing their kind words and offers of help
aside, he tore out of the tent onto the midway.
Outside the big top, a funereal pall was already falling over the hectic fairgrounds as news of the
fatal accident spread through the crowd. The amusement rides slowed to a stop. Twinkling lights
switched off. The sideshow barkers halted their spiels. Numerous hushed conversations supplanted the
screams of laughter. Sympathetic eyes turned toward Johnny, but he wasn t even aware of the pitying
gazes coming at him from all directions.
Instead, he desperately scanned the midway for the elusive stranger. Wiping the tears from his eyes,
he looked all around, but the mystery man was nowhere to be seen. He couldn t have gone far, not with
that bad leg of his! His eyes peered through the packed bodies crowding the fairgrounds, looking in vain
for any trace of a long black coat or swept-back blond hair. But he might as well have stayed beside his
father s body.
It was as if the stranger had vanished into thin air.
Less than an hour later, Johnny was tearing down a lonely country road outside of town. Grace rode
like a dream, but that did nothing to dispel the boy s anguish.
Heavy black storm clouds blotted out the sun as he sped past empty plains guarded by miles of
barbed wire fences. A longhorn steer skull, bleached white by the sun, hung upon a fencepost as Johnny
zipped past the bovine death s-head at over one hundred miles per hour. A hot wind blew against his
tear-stained face, ruffling his hair. His crash helmet was left behind, laying forgotten in a tent
somewhere.
But as fast as he rode, he couldn t outrun the searing memory of his father s death-and the sheer
injustice of it all. He wasn t sick anymore, Johnny thought furiously. He was going to live!
Fresh tears momentarily blurred his vision & until a white-hot lightning bolt struck the road directly
in front of him. The report of thunder boomed overhead.
In the sudden glare, the stranger was now standing right in the middle of the road.
Oh hell.
There was no time to apply the brakes. Reacting quickly to avoid hitting the stranger, Johnny was
forced to lay Grace down onto the pavement so that the Harley skidded across the asphalt on its side,
sparks flying where the chrome and titanium met the road. As Grace came screeching to a halt, Johnny
was thrown clear of the bike, hitting the blacktop hard enough to break every bone in his body.
Or so he thought.
Stumbling to his feet, Johnny was stunned to find himself more or less intact. He stared at his arms
and legs in confusion, seeing only a few minor cuts and scrapes. I don t get it. If not killing him, that
tumble should have at least put him in an ICU, especially with no helmet on. But all he seemed to need
was a Band-Aid or two.
He looked about him, realizing for the first time that he had been about to zoom through a
crossroads without even glancing for oncoming traffic. The stranger leaned on his cane at the center of
the crossing, smirking at Johnny.
You re no good to me dead.
The stranger s sardonic tone enraged Johnny. Forgetting all about his miraculous brush with death,
he wheeled around to confront the older man. He threw out an accusing finger.
You killed him!
He didn t need to explain who he meant.
I cured his cancer, the stranger said. That s what I promised. That s what I did. He shrugged his
shoulders. The rest I left up to you.
What? Is it really my fault that Dad died? The horrible thought had been lurking at the back of his
mind ever since the accident. Had their fight in the tent upset his father, enough to make him lose his
concentration just when he needed it most?
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