Eric had been on the East Coast when he heard of his grandfather's passing.

The Hamptons had ripened for the summer season, and the June weather planted balmy days, breezy nights and postcard picturesque scenes, like kisses on a lover's shoulder. Scores of rich Manhattanites pored in, breathing life into their lavish beach houses that remained vacant for most of the year.

Eric appeared to be one of them, when asked he pretended that he was. Nobody knew that he was the illegitimate son of a troubled teenager and was raised in South Park, Colorado. Otherwise known as 'podunkville, very much west of here', or what it might as well have been known as to Eric's Hampton neighbours.

He was on perhaps day three or four of playing cards, and smoking on the deck overlooking the beach, when he received the news courtesy of an uncle who knew his whereabouts.

The date of the funeral allowed Eric time to return home, and while his relatives had gone out of their way to be so considerate, their disapproving and almost envious glances when he arrived at the funeral suggested otherwise.

Eric understood of course, he had disappeared from home at the age of fourteen, from the home of the two people who raised him. And he had missed his grandmother's funeral because he had to lay low due to an investigation into him. The investigation eventually fell through, however, because Eric was too good at covering his tracks and the police department handling it were incompetent. Add to that his mysterious wealth, and there he had an explanation for why his relatives were so wary of him.

Hypocrites, Eric often reminded himself, considering two of his uncles were criminals. A penchant for breaking the law seemed to be genetic, except Eric was much smarter. He evaded prison, while his uncles didn't. He had made a fortune from organised crime and was able to retire early (at twenty eight), while his uncles remained poor and jobless.

Eric could have built an empire, a legacy, and kept stealing and swindling until he was an old man with a reputation to uphold even in death, but that didn't appeal to him. Crime wasn't an aspiration, but a means to an end, a survival tactic if anything. After all, what else is a runaway fourteen year old with loose morals and a quick mouth supposed to do besides steal for his supper? No, Eric knew he was capable of more, was daring enough to dream bigger than the guys whose brothers, and themselves, were not born but rather littered as criminals.

He returned to the emptied house he had grown up in, the furniture and walls the same as when he had left. Maybe older, greying, standing out starkly against the well-dressed young man who possessed more youthful memories. The whole place was steeped in them, cataloguing every word, smell, feeling that echoed in Eric's cynical heart.

He could even faintly recall his mother holding him in shaking, inexperienced arms. Imagined, Eric tried to remind himself, since he was too young to remember, know, or even love his mother like most children do.

His train of thought was alleviated, pleasantly derailed by happier memories with his grandparents taking starring roles. Escapades in the snow, Christmas mornings, and life lessons taught at the dinner table, but especially those two humid summer nights that continued to enchant him.

Dr Mephesto's American Circus was one of Eric's first memories, and how blessed he felt that he could recall such wonderment. He must have only been five years old. His grandparents had taken him there to break up the growing monotony of the summer, and gladly returned the following night since Eric hadn't shut up about their first visit.

All Eric had known since that point was school, his house and his town. All very quaint, much the same and predictable. But that sticky, crowded night he had seen men conquer beasts and sparkling sprites of humans nearly fly under the big top. It was magical and nobody could convince Eric otherwise. This Dr Mephesto, a magician, Eric thought, made an appearance occasionally, announcing his acts. He wore a garish, floral patterned shirt, his raspy voice struggled to boom and ricochet off the walls of the enormous tent, and a part of Eric was frightened of him, his strangeness, his peculiarity. He, like his acts, was an anomaly to Eric.

But Eric wanted what he had, more, he came to realize, than money or diamonds or notoriety.

Eric wouldn't say that all he had done since leaving South Park was in the hopes of one day starting a circus, but it was a dream nonetheless. One of those dreams or passions everyone has that a lot of the time go unrequited.

But whenever Eric was reminded of it, he became more eager. He started to reflect on his wealth and wonder if it was something that was financially possible.

Now he was back in the birthplace of such a desire, and births and deaths are the usual catalyst to make one re-evaluate their life, take risks and leaps of faith.

Eric retired to his old bedroom when the honeyed sun was still yawning over the slush. The circus band playing distantly in his mind.

A will reading was held two days after the funeral, at a law firm in Denver.

Eric was hoping to attend, avoid conversation with his relatives and head back to the Hamptons as soon as possible.

The lawyer droned on, dispassionately dividing his grandparents' wealth between undeserving uncles and cousins, the scraps of a rather meaty estate. Eric wondered if this was the reward his grandfather had expected for being the antithesis of a spendthrift.

"To our grandson, Eric," Eric raised his bored head at the mention of his name. "Although we have no idea where you are in the world, we hope that you will be there when we pass on, and present to hear this…"

A chorus of tightened leather followed as Eric and his curious, resentful relatives leaned forward in their chairs.

"We leave you, our beloved Eric, the sum of our life savings, five hundred thousand dollars, which will be transferred to you immediately."

The room erupted in murmurs that Eric paid no mind to, only astonished that his grandparents had that much money and that they remained hopeful, warm-hearted people even after they raised an ungrateful criminal who had abandoned them.

They probably thought you were homeless.

Starving.

Or peddling God knows what in whatever illicit corner of the world.

"My grandparents had five hundred thousand dollars?" Eric asked, disbelief melded with the incredible gratitude for the two people he had neglected for too long, too late.

The lawyer nodded matter-of-factly, smiling. "Apparently so, Mr Cartman and now it's yours."

The memories Eric thought he had left behind, had apparently followed him to Denver. In the lawyer's boring office, circus bands were playing, trapeze acts leapt and swung in Eric's mind.

This was his chance.

How glad would his grandfather be if he knew that Eric was investing his inheritance in a life-long dream? One that, without him, would have never been planted in Eric's soul in the first place?

You have to do it. Now or never.

Eric grinned, shook the lawyer's hand and flashed the smuggest smile he could muster at his less than pleased relatives.

Stepping out into the busy Denver street, Eric realised the Hamptons could wait.

If he was seriously going to do this, there was only one place to start.

A/N: Returning to conman Eric because I actually kinda love him. A short chapter admittedly, but hopefully one that will leave you wanting more. An introductory chapter if anything. There'll be couple more of these chapters since a circus is nothing without its acts and Eric is going to find some!