The Greatest Showman #764 - Sneaking Around

The carnival at Pioneer Village lasted all night. As Renly left the bar, the soft, fiery glow of the orange-red morning sun spilled over the entire Hudson River. It felt as though the wind was inviting him to open his arms, soar, and embrace freedom in its purest form.

For three consecutive nights, Renly had managed only two hours of sleep on average. The fourth night was a full-blown all-nighter. By all logic, Renly's body should have been on the verge of collapse—heavy legs, a light torso, and an exhausted spirit. Yet, paradoxically, he was feeling more energized than ever. It was as though his body had adjusted to this erratic schedule, the accumulated fatigue somehow being masked by a small, persistent flame deep within him.

This was, of course, an illusion, a false signal from his body. The long-term lack of sleep would inevitably take its toll. The solution, though simple, was clear: a long, uninterrupted rest to reset his biological clock and metabolism.

Yet, Renly didn't rush home to sleep. At eleven o'clock this morning, a transatlantic flight awaited him. After arriving in London, he would have an entire day to rest and adjust. It seemed the perfect time to sleep, but before that, he had to navigate the journey to the airport, pass through customs, and board the flight. It wasn't the time to rest, and even if he did manage to sleep, it wouldn't be safe to do so.

If he had the chance now, Renly would have grabbed his skateboard and glided across the empty streets. The early morning quiet of Manhattan felt surreal, as though he were walking through the dreamlike levels of Inception. The city's steel jungle intertwined with avenues that seemed vast and endless.

However, Renly hadn't brought his skateboard with him. He gave up on the idea and admired the sunrise before hailing a cab to head to the Upper East Side, arriving without trouble at Mount Sinai Hospital. New York, waking up, was beginning to stir, while Mount Sinai was already bustling with early activities, from breakfast service to rehabilitation rounds.

Rather than heading to the wards, Renly went directly to the hospital's cafeteria, where he volunteered. For the next little while, he helped distribute meals, wheeling them to different patient rooms. Here, Renly wasn't an actor; he was simply a volunteer nurse, doing his part for the hospital.

The supermarket and the hospital were two of the few places where Renly could find some inner peace. Unlike supermarkets, hospitals were places of emotional complexity. There was something unsettling and familiar about them—an odd mix of discomfort and reassurance that he couldn't quite shake. Yet, in hospitals like Mount Sinai, the children always had a way of brightening his day.

This time, Renly's visit to the hospital had an extra surprise: Alex Ritchie, the spirited young boy who'd undergone a heart transplant, was being discharged. After two months of observation and no signs of rejection, his recovery was on track. Though Alex would need to return for weekly check-ups over the next six months, he was finally free to leave the hospital.

Renly recalled Anne Silliman, Alex's mother, who had expressed her worries earlier. She was happy about Alex's recovery but anxious about being forgotten once he left the hospital. She'd mentioned that Alex would miss seeing his friends at school but was also excited to start new adventures outside the walls of Mount Sinai.

Anne's emotions were as complicated as Alex's own—a mix of joy, sorrow, and the occasional hint of envy. The child, not yet ten, was already beginning to grapple with complex feelings. His face, chubby and full of expression, alternated between happiness and frustration in a way that was both heartwarming and heartbreaking.

Renly was walking down the quiet hallway when he heard soft footsteps approaching. Turning a corner, he saw the activity room bathed in sunlight, and there, through the glass wall, sat Heather Cross.

Heather looked different—at first, Renly almost didn't recognize her. Her cheeks, once full, appeared slightly sunken, the shine of her cheekbones brighter than usual, and her chin slightly sharper. The visual effect was that her face looked thinner. Yet, despite this, she was beaming with a bright, confident smile, her eyes filled with a contagious joy that lit up the room.

Renly wasn't sure whether Heather had lost weight, or if it was simply a matter of makeup techniques and lighting. Regardless, Heather was glowing. She was surrounded by a group of children sitting quietly on the floor, listening intently to her play the guitar.

Heather was focused, her left hand stiff on the neck of the guitar, but her fingers flew across the strings with surprising skill. The melody, a cover of the song "Beast," flowed through the room, its raw, youthful energy radiating from her. The lyrics, normally intense and fierce, carried an unexpected tenderness in Heather's rendition.

Renly found himself struck by how the song had transformed in Heather's hands. The longing and ignorance of youth seemed to fill the air, offering a new perspective on the original version of "Beast." In Heather's voice, the lyrics had a sweetness, a delicate bitterness that conveyed more than just the struggle of a beast—it told the story of Heather's own pursuit of a dream.

As Heather finished the song, the children's applause filled the room. Heather looked up at Renly, startled, her face turning a shade pink as she tried to mask her shyness. "How was it? Did I do well?"

Renly's smile was genuine. "Excellent!" he replied. He meant it. He had felt Heather's interpretation of the song on a deep level—it wasn't just a performance, it was a reflection of her.

"Uh... the only thing," Renly hesitated, "maybe we should get rid of that 'F' word?" He was referring to the explicit language in the original version of the song, which, while fitting for the lyrics, wasn't appropriate for the younger children in the room.

Heather giggled, then feigned seriousness. "I think it's pretty good. The lyrics are bold, and they really bring the song to life."

Before Renly could respond, a child piped up innocently, "Renly, what's the word 'F'? Is it… is it 'four'?" The child gestured with their fingers, and the room broke into a debate over numbers. Heather shot Renly a mischievous look, as though to say, "You're lucky you didn't have to explain."

Renly shrugged helplessly, walking over and sitting beside Heather. "You're ready," he said, "If I were a judge, you'd be going straight to Hollywood."

"Really?" Heather's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I was thinking I should prepare another song just in case they ask for something else... but what if I'm not ready?"

Renly grinned. "Well, what else do you have?"

Heather's face lit up as she listed potential songs: "Believe It," "Go Ahead," "Charlie Boys," and then, almost offhandedly, "A Piece of Nothingness."

Renly blinked in surprise. "You mean from Don Quixote?" he asked. He hadn't expected Heather to reference such a sophisticated piece.