Regions Of Passion novel Chapter 10

The ticket girls were not about to let this happen for free. Admission fees were high, though they did come down a notch after 5PM. By the time Scott set foot on the main midway, his wallet was a good deal lighter. All the same, it was an almost ethereal pleasure that came over him as his eyes took in the park. His last visit to Cedar Point had been as a young boy; thus, the whole place seemed new again, and full of wonders already.

Children ran everywhere, screaming their delight. Some of them carried cotton candy, others licked gigantic lollipops. Others still waved glo-sticks, painting the balmy air. Screams of a different order came from above, where a thrill ride dropped harnessed passengers from a steel tower. To Scott's right, a group of teenagers clapped and laughed over a man juggling beer steins. To his left was a picnic area, where lanterns swayed in a maple tree copse.

There were two methods for reaching Frontiertown: practical and chaotic. The practical method involved using the fold-out map all park guests were given upon traversal of the gates. Looking at this map, Scott could see it wouldn't take very long. All he needed to do was veer left at the end of the main midway (a giant Ferris wheel stood at this spot, serving as a perfect landmark), and then cross a set of narrow-gauge railroad tracks. This would put him right where he wanted to be. All the same, he couldn't help but allow his footsteps to be influenced by a certain element of the chaotic. The park was simply too vast, its wonders too rich, to pass through in the manner that a crow would fly.

He walked to the Ferris wheel and over the tracks. Then, rather than continue straight down the midway--which had changed from concrete to dirt--he turned right, where a smaller path led into another copse of trees, this one more dense and florid. Violet petals rained from their boughs on a whispering breeze. Pinwheels, their shafts planted like the stems of flowers, spun above tall blades of grass. A man on a bench strummed a guitar.

At the other end of the copse he once again set foot on the midway. Harsher music from a mock saloon assaulted his ears. More lanterns swung and swayed, these from wooden posts that also served as street signs. The names of these streets, Scott guessed, were influenced by whatever attraction happened to be addressed upon them. Log Jam Place was a popular one--a long queue of chattering people waited here, eager to brave the water ride looming above. Mine Ride Avenue, where a wooden roller coaster that dated back to the 1960s was still in operation, was also well-loved. But the one that caught Scott's eye had nothing at all to do with heights and plummets. It was called the Upside-Down House Way, and this was where he turned, with his heart growing more and more light with every step, and his thoughts spinning, so by the time he laid eyes on Ingrid again, his elation was of a kind that no thrill ride, be it of wood, water, or wire rope, could ever replicate.

"Draw him with the biggest mouth and the most rounded eyes that you can," a woman with sunburned skin was saying. "I mean he was gob smacked by that ghost in the mirror."

Ingrid smiled and nodded, her slender arm winging away over a portable draft-board. The woman's husband was also smiling, though he looked humiliated.

"Gob smacked, I tell you!"

"All right, honey, all right."

"Did you shit yourself?"

"That's enough."

Scott watched as Ingrid worked. She was dressed in the blue blouse and pink cotton skirt she'd put on earlier in the day. Her lips were pressed in concentration. A pair of pink spectacles rested on her nose. This last came as somewhat of a shock; Scott had never seen her in glasses before. They lent her face, which was already studious, an air of professionalism that bordered on the mechanical-except they were pink. Ingrid, he remembered, though a dour girl, had never been one to shy from color, and he found himself wondering for the first time if perhaps this was in defense against the many black and white pictures she created. Working with pencils and charcoal on a constant basis perhaps stirred a craving in her for things more prismatic when not in the studio.

After ten minutes the couple left with their picture. Like an assassin on the hunt, Scott broke cover. Though The Upside-Down House was well lit, there were plenty of screams coming from inside to cover his footsteps. Ingrid was looking the other way, at a large dog that had broken out of the pet-check station. Next to her was a sign that read:

SKETCH ARTIST!

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