A month before, a cop down near Dallas had lost an arm to an ogre drunk on Kool-Aid and impatient for his dinner.
Oh-four, youre headed for the hybrid tent, set up near where they put the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair. Not sure how it happened, but it sounds like one of the hybrids got loose and injured a menagerie employee.
A hybrid? Wayne stomped on the gas pedal and began scanning the side of the road for the familiar faded wooden sign marking the entrance to the fairgrounds. What he knew about cryptids would easily fit between the cardboard pages of a toddlers picture book, and the only hybrids he could even name were mermaids and werewolves. No civilian casualties, Dispatch?
Well, I doubt the carnys a cop, Wayne, Grace said in that exasperated tone she usually saved for after hours.
You know what I mean. No customers hurt? No locals?
Hang on, oh-four. Dispatch went silent for a minute, and just as Wayne was turning onto the wide gravel path leading to the fairgrounds, Grace came back on the line. Were only hearing about the one injury so far, and Metzgers says no one else is in immediate danger. Secondary report says the perpetrator is restrained.
Perpetrator? If this is a hybrid attack, theres no perp, Grace. You wouldnt characterize a tiger that escaped from the zoo as a perpetrator, would you?
I dont make the reports, I just dispatch them. But Im coming up with all kinds of new ways to characterize you.
Wayne laughed, picturing Grace chewing on the cap of her pen. What kind of injury are we talking about, Dispatch?
Were not clear on that yet, oh-four, but the folks at the carnival seem to want us to take the cryptid into custody.
This is the Sheriffs Department, not the pound! Franklin County wasnt equipped to hold most cryptids, much less keep them for any extended period of time. Hell, some of them wouldnt even fit in a standard jail cell!
Youre preaching to the choir, oh-four. Just haul ass and watch your back.
He hated it when Grace talked like she was his boss instead of his girlfriend. Especially over the radio, where anyone could hear. But as usual, she was right. Ill check in as soon as I know whats going on.
Wayne turned off the siren but left his lights flashing as he rolled through the menageries open gate, where carnies in elaborate red-and-black costumes waved him on. He drove straight down the midway with his foot on the brake, honking to warn everyone who hadnt noticed his blue-and-red strobe. Where the midway forked, another pair of menagerie employees waved him to the right, through another gate, and a minute later, Wayne could see the commotion. A large group was being held back from the entrance to a big circus-style striped tent by a crimson velvet rope and a staff of large red-clad men.
He got out of his car, lights still flashing. The crowd made way for him, and when he got to the front, he headed straight for a woman in a leotard and top hat and a man in a black Metzgers cap. Deputy Wayne Atherton, Franklin County Sheriffs Department. Who can fill me in?
The employee in the black cap stuck his hand out for Wayne to shake. Im Chris Ruyle, the lot supervisor.
Wayne had no idea what a lot supervisor was, but he walked and talked like the boss. What happened, Mr. Ruyle?
We were hoping you could tell us. Ruyle lifted the closed tent flap and gestured for Wayne to go in ahead of him. Inside, a woman lay on her side on the ground, a familiar head of dark wavy hair spread all around her. Her hands were bound at her back. With iron cuffs.
Wayne dropped to his knees at her side. Thats Delilah Marlow. Shed been a couple of years behind him in high school, and all he really knew about her was that shed been ready to shake the red dirt from her shoes on her way out of town since before she could even walk. No one had expected that girl to come home after college, much less stay. Dispatch said the victim was an employee. What the hell happened? A large purple bump was already starting to rise on one side of her skull. What did this?
I did.
Wayne looked up at the man whod spoken. Then he looked up some more. The man held a black top hat and wore a red vest with Lerner embroidered on it in scrolling black print.
Wayne stood, anger bubbling up from his guts. Damn out-of-towners beating up on local girls. Franklin County wouldnt stand for such things. I thought this was a cryptid attack.
It was, Lerner said. But the creature wasnt ours. She was yours.
Mine? Wayne followed Lerners gaze to Delilah Marlows unconscious form. There was hay caught in her hair and blood beneath her fingernailsdefensive wounds if hed ever seen them. You got five seconds to start making sense before I arrest you for assault and battery.
Lerner stared at him unflinchingly, and Ruyle cleared his throat to catch Waynes attention. Officer Atherton, the victim is over there. Ruyle pointed toward a small crowd of flamboyantly dressed carnival employees gathered around a man seated on the ground with his mouth gaping open, staring at the hay beneath him. A trickle of blood seeped from each of his temples. A line of drool hung from his open lips. This girl is the creature, and I can assure you she doesnt belong to Metzgers. So what I need to know from you is just what exactly this Delilah Marlow is, and what the hell she did to my handler.
Martin,
Im sure youve seen the news by now, and Im very sorry to have to tell you that your sister Patricia and her family are among the thousands of victims of this mornings national tragedy. I wanted to call, but your phone number wasnt in Pattys address book, and she was in no shape to find it for us. She and Robert are both in total shock. They lost four of their children overnight, and the police arent sure exactly what happened. All we do know is that Emily, the six-year-old, was the only one who survived...
From a hand-written letter by Hannah Goodwin to
her brother-in-law and his family, August 24, 1986
Delilah
A soft buzzing woke me up. Not like a bee or a fly, but like...electricity. I was lying on something hard, rough, and cold, but the cold was all wrong. I could feel it not just against my face and arms, but against parts of me that should have been insulated by my clothes.
My eyes flew open as I shoved myself up with both hands, but the glaring assault of fluorescent lightthe source of the buzzingwas like a spike driven through my skull. My arms gave out and my eyes fell shut. My cheek slammed into the floor, and I sucked in a shocked breath.
The floor. I was lying on the cold, hard floor. Naked.
My pulse racing, I lifted my head carefully and had to breathe through a wave of vertigo. My head throbbed fiercely. Light painted the insides of my eyelids red. I sat up on my knees, shivering, and folded my arms over my chest to cover myself. Then I opened my eyes again.
The glare was no longer crippling, but my headache was. I blinked and my eyes started to adjust to the light, but the world was a blur. Another blink, and several dark stripes came into focus.
No, not stripes. Bars. Thick iron bars.
Panicked, I scrambled away from them on my hands and knees until I came to a gray brick wall. I leaned my bare back against it, my knees pulled up to my chest, and finally made myself look at my surroundings.
I was in a corner cell with two walls of iron bars and a rough concrete floor.
No.
My heart pounded hard enough to jar my whole body with each beat. The adjoining cell had a hazard-orange floor with No Occupancy painted on it in black block letters.
No, no, no, no...
Across a wide aisle from my cell were other, normal cells.
Jail.
I was in jail. Because Id turned into some kind of monster and stuck my fingers through that carnys skull.
But that wasnt possible. I wasnt a monster, and I had never hurt anyone in my life.
Yet I could remember exactly how that mans flesh had felt beneath my fingers. I could still feel the resistance his skull had offered, then that satisfying pop when my fingers had breached it.
Nonononono. I buried my face in my arms and squeezed my eyes shut, but the images were still there.
A dangling cigarette.
A cattle prod lying in the hay.
Blood dripping down the sweaty mans face.
What the hell had I done? How had I done it?
Tears rolled down my cheeks and I swiped at them with both hands. This couldnt be happening. I wasnt a cryptid. My parents were human. I didnt have so much as a birthmark to be examined, much less feathers, or horns, or scales.
Yet in that tent, Id had... What had I had, exactly? Weird hair? Pointy fingers? That didnt fit the description of any cryptid Id ever studied.
I examined my hands. They were trembling uncontrollably, but looked normal, other than the blood dried beneath my fingernails.
I pulled handfuls of long, dark hair over my shoulder. My hair looked normal. Whatever Id become had left no trace of itself. How was that even possible? The vast majority of cryptid species cant blend in with the human populationnot even shape-shifters. Id officially learned that on day one as a crypto-biology major, but like everyone else, Id actually known it my whole life.
So how could whatever kind of creature I was blend in well enough to hide itself not just from the rest of the world, but from me? How could I not know what I was?
What else did I not know about myself? If I couldnt put faith in my own humanity, how much of the rest of my life was a lie?
I didnt mean to do it.
Terrified, I mentally relived that surreal memory over and over, trying to understand what had happened. The only thing I was sure of every single time was that I hadnt intended to turn into a monster and shove my fingers through a mans skull. Id seen it happen. Id felt it happen. But I hadnt made it happen. Not on purpose anyway.
And that meant I could no longer trust my own body.
I didnt realize I was pounding my head into the brick wall at my back until the repetitive thuds finally broke through the vicious cycle of my memories.
The fierce throb in my head felt like my brain was trying to burst through my skull. My hands wouldnt stop shaking. The concrete floor had sanded raw spots into my knees and my palms, as well as on more tender patches of bare flesh.
This couldnt be happening.
On my right, a door squealed open on rusty hinges. Startled, I turned to find a sheriffs deputy heading down the center aisle toward me. He carried a tall stool under one arm and a bundle of familiar material beneath the other.
The sight of my clothes in his hand triggered fresh tears as I scooted along the wall at my back. When I hit the far corner, I stopped, cradled by solid brick on two sides. I tucked my legs up to my chest again and crossed my ankles to cover my most private parts. I was as shielded and defended as I could get, yet Id never felt more exposed or vulnerable.
Hi. The deputy set his stool down in the aisle, out of reach from my cell.
I rested my chin on my left knee and let my hair fall forward like a curtain, hoping all he could see were my shins, hair, and eyes.
Do you remember me?
He did look a little familiar, but no name came to mind.
Im Deputy Wayne Atherton. You were a couple of years behind me in school.
Wayne. Yes. Wed had a history class together my sophomore year.
Where am I? Are you in charge?
This is the Franklin County Sheriffs Department. Youve been taken into custody as a cryptid living under false pretenses. And as far as youre concerned, yes, Im in charge.
Did My voice cracked, so I cleared my throat and started over, my face flaming. Did you take my clothes off?
No, that was a couple of guys from the SWAT team the sheriff called in to assist with your transport. Dr. Almaguer said he would only examine you while you were still unconscious. To check for species-identifying features.
Dr. Almaguer. My teeth began to chatter and I set my chin on my knees to make it stop. Theyd called in a small-animal veterinarian to examine methe very man whod once put my dads farm dog to sleep.
The deputy propped one foot on the lowest stool rung and set my clothes on his lap. He didnt find anything, Delilah.
Because there was nothing to find. How else could I not have known?
Are you going to give my clothes back?
Thats up to you, he said.
I closed my eyes. He was going to interrogate me in the nude. Because he could.
What are you?
I dont know.
Make this easy on yourself, Delilah. Just tell us what you are, and you can have your clothes back. The deputy shifted on his stool and my underwear slid from the pile of clothes and landed on the floor. He didnt notice, but my focus snagged on that bit of fabric. I would have told him anything I knew for a single scrap of my own clothing. But there was nothing to say.
I told you, I dont know what I am. Please give me my clothes. My cheeks were burning, but my teeth still chattered. Im freezing.
Yeah, the sheriff runs warm, so he keeps the air turned down low. Especially in the summer. Atherton shifted on the stool again, and his tone softened. Delilah, I cant help you until you help me. I got orders. So why dont you tell me what you are, and Ill not only give you your clothes back, Ill get you some water. Or something to eat. Are you hungry? Your friends said you didnt eat much dinner.
Are they here? Shelleys scream still echoed in my aching head. Brandons look of horror was imprinted on my retinas. Can I see them?
Deputy Atherton started to shake his head, and I buried my face in the crook between my knees, sniffing back fresh tears. Please, I said into my lap. I didnt mean to hurt anyone and I have no idea what happened. Please just give me my clothes and let me see my friends.
Atherton sighed. Ms. Wells had to be sedated. Her boyfriend took her home.