Perfect Little Town Read Online Free PDF Page A

solid bronze. 
    It stands on its hind legs in a metal recess at center stage, and a line of people shuffle past, contributing pieces of firewood to the pit before returning to their seats.
    This goes on for some time, while on stage left, a trio of men on guitar, fiddle, and mandolin enliven the theatre with bluegrass.
    When everyone has taken their seats and the musicians abandoned their instruments, a tall man rises from the audience and takes the stage.  Clutching a long candle and costumed like a Spanish conquistador, even though his silver helmet conspires to mask his identity, Ron pegs him for the sheriff who threw him out of the Lone Cone Inn several hours ago.
    The conquistador raises his arms and shouts, “Come forth!”
    At stage right, the red curtains rustle, then part, and two figures emerge dressed all in white, even their hoods, each holding an arm of Jessica Stahl, and at the sight of her, the crowd roars, Ron feeling a ripple of nausea until he notices his wife smiling, thinking, Has this all been some devious game?
    They escort Jessica around to the back of the golden bear, step down into the pit, and one of them lifts a hatch in the back of the beast, while the other whispers something in her ear.  She nods, accepting a clear mask attached to some kind of tank.
    Jessica holds the mask to her mouth for a moment, then stumbles back, the crowd cheering, and she waves to the audience and blows kisses, the applause and whistles getting louder, long-stemmed roses spitting forth from the front rows onto the stage.
    Jessica climbs into the golden bear, and the men in white close the hatch and return the way they came, vanishing through curtains off the stage.
    The sheriff-conquistador raises his arms again.
    The audience hushes.
    He turns and approaches the golden bear, ducks down into the recess.
    After a moment, he climbs back onto the stage and strides across to the left side, where he grabs a thick rope and pulls.
    A trapdoor in the ceiling swings open, snowflakes drifting down onto the golden bear.
    “Lights!”
    A collective exhalation sweeps through the theatre, candles extinguished, the room pitch black.
    Ron leans forward, squinting to raise some detail in the dark.  A moment ago, he felt a passing twinge of relief, thinking there was some reason or logic behind this bizarre, awful night, but that is falling out of orbit now.
    The room becomes silent, no sound but the occasional whisper flickering down below.
    At first he mistakes them for lightning bugs—motes of ascending light down where the stage should be, but the snap of boiling sap and the sudden odor of woodsmoke corrects the error.
    Out of the darkness surfaces a single image—the golden bear—though it’s no longer golden but the deeper reddish hue of molten bronze, and as the flames underneath it intensify, the bear glows brighter and brighter.
    Ron says, “Oh, Christ.”
    The bear bellows, a high-pitched, Jessica-sounding roar, her voice channeled through a complex of tubes that curl to the right of the bear’s glowing head like a brass tumor, and words mix in with the screams, but the tubes and the pain slur them into nonsense, the bronze clanging now like a huge cymbal as Jessica desperately beats against it from inside, her juices dripping through holes in the bear’s haunches, sizzling on the stage.
    Someone in the crowd shouts, “Another year of plenty!”
    “No avalanches!”
    “No cancer!”
    “More tourists!”
    And they are clapping now, down below, the applause building, stoned and drunken toasts being proffered from every corner of the theatre, fighting to be heard amid the tortured commotion emanating from the stage, the golden bear smoking as snowflakes fall through the ceiling onto the brilliant bronze, instantly vaporizing.
    Somewhere in the darkness behind him, a woman weeps, and a man whispers, “Shut the fuck up!”
    Ron jumps out of his seat and stumbles back down the stairwell, spewing vomit on the walls,