Atherton sighed. Ms. Wells had to be sedated. Her boyfriend took her home.
My throat felt thick, my tongue clumsy. Is she okay?
Shes terrified. Shes not the only one. The news is out, and people dont feel safe, knowing you were born and raised here. Knowing you went to school with their children and spent the night at their housesand they didnt have a clue. People are starting to remember the reaping, Delilah.
Oh, fuck.
Terror pooled in my stomach like acid, eating at me from the inside. They dont think Im a surrogate, do they? I peered at him over my knees. My hands started shaking again. Because I swear Im not.
How can you know that, if you dont know what you are? You look human, and you lived among us for years. Just like the surrogates. What are we supposed to think?
Panic slowed my brain, yet sped up my words. This is totally different. I wasnt hiding or lying in wait, planning something. I didnt know I wasnt human. I still cant believe what happened. You have to tell them that. Tell the sheriff Im not one of them.
How do I know thats true?
Terror scattered my thoughts into a maelstrom of disjointed theories. Think, Delilah! There were hundreds of thousands of surrogates, but theres only one of me.
The deputy shrugged. So far. For all we know, you could be the first in a whole new wave.
No, thats not what I am! My arms tightened around my shins, drawing my knees tighter against my chest. I dont have any siblings.
Having grown, healthy siblings would work in your favor. Being an only child does not.
Okay... But Im an adult! Surely theyd figured that much out when theyd taken my clothes off. The surrogates were six-year-olds.
Yes, but even cryptids age. The surrogates are now thirty-five years old. Wherever they are.
But no one knew where they were, and that was the problem. As soon as theyd been discovered, Uncle Sam had rounded them up like rabid dogs, and no one knew whether theyd been shot, or studied, or cryogenically frozen for later. And that was fine, because the surrogates truly were dangerous. They were the fucking devils spawn.
If the government thought I was one of them, I would disappear, too.
Im not a surrogate. I pushed hair from my face with one hand and sat up as straight as I dared without clothes on. I didnt steal any babies. Ive never hurt a soul in my life before tonight, and I dont know how that happened. Think about it. If Id known what I was, why would I go to the menagerie? Please, Deputy. You have to believe me. Im not conspiring against humanity.
Atherton exhaled slowly. Then he stood, still watching me, and shook out my blouse. I believe you. He stuck my shirt between two of the bars and dropped it on the floor. But Im not the one you have to convince. Next came my jeans, bra, and underwear, each dropped just inside my cell. Get dressed.
I glanced at my clothes, then back up at him. Are you going to watch?
He blinked, obviously startled by the thought. Of course not. When he walked down the aisle away from my cell, I realized that Atherton wasnt the enemy. He was just doing his job.
Unfortunately, his job was to extract information I didnt have, in order to help the sheriff
Help the sheriff what?
End life as I knew it?
I lunged for my clothes, then dragged the whole pile back into my corner, where I shimmied into my underwear as fast as I could. I turned my back on the bars to put my bra on, in case he turned around, and had just stepped into my jeans when the brutal reality of my new situation hit me over the head like that carnys mallet, swinging straight for my soul.
Ill never go home again.
My legs buckled beneath me and my knees slammed into the concrete. My jaw snapped shut with the impact, but I hardly felt it. I was a cryptid living under false pretenses, and no one would care that I hadnt known. Most probably wouldnt even believe that.
I pushed my arms through the sleeves of my shirt, but had trouble buttoning it. My hands wouldnt stop trembling.
Gone. Everything Id ever had was probably already gone. My job. My apartment. My car. My clothes. Cryptids werent allowed to own property or enter into contracts. Including leases.
Deputy Atherton, I think I need to talk to an attorney. My voice had almost no tone and very little volume. I seemed to be hearing myself from one end of a long tunnel.
He turned and headed down the aisle toward me again. Theyre not gonna give you a lawyer, Delilah. Cryptids arent citizens. You have no rights in the U.S. of A., in Franklin County, or in the incorporated township of Franklin. You are now the property of the state of Oklahoma.
Property. No rights.
Unless they decide you are a surrogate, Atherton continued. If that happens, the feds will come for you.
And I would never be seen again.
I clutched my half-buttoned shirt to my chest and scooted back into the corner, pressing my spine into the seam where both brick walls met. The world seemed to be shrinking around me, as if someone were sucking all the air out of a vacuum-sealed bag. I couldnt breathe. I couldnt think.
Is your mother still over on Sycamore? Deputy Atherton asked, and a fresh bolt of fear opened my lungs. Theyre sending someone to pick her up.
Leave her alone. My gaze snapped up to meet his, and his brows rose. She has nothing to do with this. Shes human.
You thought you were human, too, and you were wrong about that. Is there anything we should know before they knock on her door?
I held his gaze in silence.
Theyre already on their way, Delilah. If you know something that will keep her from getting hurt, you need to tell me.
She sleeps with my dads shotgun under her bed. I crossed my arms over my knees and stared at the ground. Better call first and let her know youre coming. That, or send an ambulance in advance.
Athertons brows rose. He unclipped a radio from his belt and relayed my mothers itchy trigger finger to someone in Dispatch.
My bare toes curled on the concrete, and I wished for a pair of shoes. My racing thoughts had stilled into a single bold question mark, and the mental silence was almost as confining as the bars caging me.
So, what happens now?
He pulled a thick, rusty pair of medieval-looking iron cuffs from a pouch at his back. Come on, Delilah. Get up. Its time to meet the sheriff.
Delilah
Turn around and stick both hands between the bars.
The theory seemed to be that my hands were my weapons, and that with them restrained in iron behind my back I would be much less of a threat.
I complied, and the cuffs closed over my wrists one at a time. They were heavy, and the weight felt both surreal and brutally degrading. But surely if I were going to have any adverse reaction to ironwhich would narrow my species down to one out of hundreds of kinds of faethe bars on my cell would have triggered it already.
Iron was the only way that we knew of to identify the fae. Most of them had one feature or another that clothes wouldnt coverfeathers, a hollow back, vines growing in place of hairbut glamour was a better disguise than any clothing, contact lenses, or wigs could ever hope to be.
Once I was cuffed, the deputy let me out of my cell and guided me down the aisle. He didnt touch me. In fact, he seemed to be walking a couple of feet behind me until he had to come forward and open the door at the end of the aisle.
The moment I stepped into the open front room of the sheriffs station, all phone calls and typing ceased. The ambient nervous chatter died, and everyone turned to watch me be escorted across the room. None of the stares were friendly. Even the people in handcuffs looked at me as if I were a slimy clump dug from their shower drains.
My face flamed. I wanted to hide, but the best I could do was let my hair swing forward to shield part of my face.
Several feet into my barefoot walk of shame, I saw Brandon sitting in a cracked plastic waiting room chair. I tripped over my own nerves and Deputy Atherton started to catch me, then changed his mind. I saw the moment it happened. He was reaching for me, probably out of instinct, then suddenly recoiled. He flinchedas if I were a snake about to strike, when really I was falling face-first toward the dingy yellow floor tile, unable to catch myself with my hands cuffed at my back.
Brandon stared at his shoes as I staggered, then awkwardly regained my balance on my own. I recognized tension in the cords standing out from his neck, as if he wanted to look, but was fighting the urge.
Brandon, I called once I was steady, and my voice cracked on the first syllable. His jaw clenched, but he didnt look up. My flush deepened. Brandon. Raw desperation echoed in my voice and a couple of strangers sneered at the tender bits of my heart and soul Id exposed.
My boyfriend of four years was the only person in the room not watching me.
Brandon, please. My cheeks were scalding and my throat ached. But I couldnt believe he would abandon me without a word. He knew better than anyone else in the world aside from my mother that I would never hurt someone on purpose.
Deputy Atherton took me by the arm, evidently having gathered the courage to touch me in the face of my humiliation. Come on, Delilah.
No. I jerked free of his grip, and people all over the room flinched. Say it, Brandon, I demanded, and at first he didnt move. Then my roommate and loverone of my very best friendsstood and marched toward the exit, as if he wanted to run, but pride wouldnt let him. Brandon! Say it, you fucking coward!
He froze halfway to the door, and my heart stilled along with him. Then slowly, Brandon turned. His eyes were red. His jaw was clenched. He looked at me as if he didnt even know who I was.
How could you do this to me?
I didnt
The whole thing was a lie, he shouted, and I flinched. You were a lie! I trusted you. I told you everything. I ate with you and slept next to you, and the whole time you were some kind of monster, just using me as part of your human camouflage. There is no Delilah Marlow.
No, thats not true. It was all real! I didnt know! I took a step toward him, but Atherton grabbed my arm again, and several other deputies placed hands on the butts of their guns. You have to believe I didnt know.
I dont know what to believe. Tears shone in Brandons eyes, but anger glowed in his cheeks. I was in love with a woman who never even existed. I cant believe I ever let you His sentence ended in an inarticulate sound of disgust, and something deep inside me cracked apart. Some delicate part of me collapsed like a demolished building, leaving only broken shapes and sharp edges.
Dont blame yourself, son, a middle-aged man called out from the waiting area. We were all fooled in the eighties. I lost my aunt, uncle, and six cousins to those chameleon bastards, may they rot in hell.
Cheers erupted all around me, and suddenly my ribs felt too tight.
But IIm not one of them! Im not
Baby killer! a woman shouted from the waiting area.
Remember the reaping! a man in regular steel cuffs shouted, though the cop who shoved him back into his chair didnt seem to dispute the sentiment.
A cop in his thirties stood from behind his desk and strode toward me, and I thought he was going to take over for Deputy Atherton and get me out of thereuntil he spit in my face.
I blinked, stunned, as spittle dripped down my cheek.
Damn it, Bruce! Atherton hauled me toward another door.
Across the room, Brandon shoved the press-bar on the front exit and when he stepped into the parking lot, he took my last shred of hope with him. If my own boyfriend wouldnt stand by me, who would?
The front door closed behind Brandon, and I sniffed back tears that stung like utter rejection and humiliation. My hair fell into my face as Wayne led me into another hallway, several strands clinging to the spit on my cheek.
Finally, Atherton closed the door behind us, shielding me from the rest of the world. Or maybe shielding it from me.
In an interrogation room, I followed his instructions without truly hearing them. In my mind, the front door of the sheriffs station closed over and over, and all I could see was the back of Brandons head.
Delilah, Atherton said, and I realized hed already said my name at least twice.
What? I blinked to clear my head and looked down to find myself sitting in a cold plastic chair with my arms looped around the back. A tug against my cuffs rattled chains I had no memory of, which evidently ran between my handcuffs and a metal loop set into the ground. I couldnt stand or even twist much in my chair without pulling my arms out of their sockets.
Before I could ask if all of the metal was really necessary, a second deputy knelt to slap a set of iron shackles around my ankles and connect them to that same hook in the ground, behind my chair. When he stood, I tried to lean forward, but the pain in my shoulders stopped me. I tried to cross my ankles, but the shackles were in the way. I couldnt move more than an inch in any direction, and that sudden severe confinement made my throat close. The room had plenty of open space but I couldnt use any of it. Plenty of air, but I couldnt seem to breathe any of it.
Struggling will only make it worse, Atherton said, and while there was no malice in his voice, there was no willingness to help either. Just try not to think about it.
But I couldnt seem to manage that until the door opened, and Sheriff Pennington stepped in from the hall. He commented on my restraints with an incomprehensible grunt, then sat in the chair across a small folding table from mine.
Pennington folded his fleshy arms on the table and studied my face. Delilah Marlow?
I nodded, desperately trying not to squirm. Am I under arrest?
He snorted, then swiped at his nose with the back of one hand. No, and I wouldnt arrest a dog for bitin either. Id just put the bitch down in the interest of public safety. You wont be charged, and you wont be Mirandized, because you no longer have any rights, you devious piece of shit. As long as youre under my jurisdiction, I can do whatever I want with you, and I cant imagine your lot would improve if the feds take over.