The Funhouse

breaking rolls of quarters and dimes and nickels into the change drawer, his colorless eyes were filled with the flickering, silvery images of tumbling coins.
        “They're going to open the gate half an hour early,” Ghost said. “Everyone's set up and eager for business, and they say there's already a crowd of marks waiting outside.”
        “It's going to be a good week,” Conrad said.
        “Yeah,” Ghost said, pushing one slender hand through his spider-web hair. “I have the same feeling. Maybe you'll even get a chance to repay that debt.”
        “What?”
        “That woman you owe a debt to,” Ghost said. “The one whose children you're always looking for. Maybe you'll be lucky and find her here.”
        “Yes,” Conrad said softly. “Maybe I will.”
        
        * * *
        
        At eight-thirty Monday night, Ellen Harper was sitting in the living room of the house on Maple Lane, trying to read an article in the latest issue of Redbook. She couldn't concentrate. Each time she reached the bottom of a paragraph, she couldn't remember what had been in it, and she had to go back and read it again. Eventually she gave up and just leafed through the magazine, looking at the pictures, while she sipped steadily from a glass of vodka and orange juice.
        Although it was not late, she was already under the spell of the booze. She didn't feel good . Not by a long shot. Not bad, either. Just numb. But not yet numb enough.
        She was alone in the room. Paul was in his workshop, out in the garage. He would come in at eleven o'clock, as usual, to watch the late news on television, and then he would go to bed. Joey was in his room, working on a model of his own- a plastic representation of Lon Chaney as the Phantom of the Opera. Amy was upstairs, too, lying low. Except for a brief, fidgety appearance at the dinner table, the girl had been holed up in her room ever since returning from Dr. Spangler's office this afternoon.
        The girl. The damned, defiant, wanton girl! Pregnant !
        They didn't have the test results yet, of course. That would take a couple of days. But she knew . Amy was pregnant.
        The magazine rustled in Ellen's tremulous hands. She put Redbook aside and went out to ú the kitchen to mix another drink.
        She wasn't able to stop worrying about the bind she was in. She couldn't allow Amy to have the baby. But if Paul found out that she had gone behind his back to arrange an abortion, he would not be pleased. For the most part he was a meek man at home, gentle, easygoing, willing to let her run the house and, generally, their lives as well. But he was capable of anger if pushed far enough, and on those rare occasions when he lost his temper, he could be tough.
        If Paul learned of the abortion after the fact, he would want to know why she hadn't told him, and he would demand to know why she had approved of such a thing. She would have to be able to provide a cogent explanation, a passionate self-defense. Right now, however, she didn't know what in God's name she would say to him if he ever found out about the abortion.
        Twenty years ago, when she had married Paul, she should have told him about her year with the carnival. She should have confessed about Conrad and about the repulsive thing to which she had given birth. But she hadn't done what she should have done. She had been weak. She hid the truth from him. She was afraid he would loathe her and turn away from her if he knew about her mistakes. But if she had told him back then, at the very beginning of their relationship, she wouldn't be in such serious trouble now.
        Several times during the course of their marriage, she had almost revealed her secrets to him. When he had talked about having a large family, there were a hundred times when she almost said, “No, Paul. I can't have children. I've already had one, you see, and it was no good. No good at all. It was a horror. It wasn't even human. It wanted to kill me, and I had to kill it first. Maybe that hideous child was solely a product of my first husband's damaged genes. Maybe my own genetic contribution wasn't to blame. But I can't take a chance.” Although she had been on the brink of making that confession countless times, she had never given voice to it, she had held her tongue, naively certain that love would conquer all-somehow.
        Later, when she was pregnant with Amy, she almost went out of her