Season of Reckoning

Ordinary People. Extraordinary Abilities.

Real People. Unreal Adventure.

Episode 7 – The Unnatural Order of Things

Written and directed by: David Justin R. Ples

Co-directed by: Rebecca Yu and Benedict Almirol

Previously, on SR…

“This is Rika Meyes; you’ve reached the office of Detective Dominic Ecat.”

“They want us alive. I don’t know what for. They won’t kill us yet.”

“You’re going after our carnivalettes. That’s cute, Lab-labs. I approve.”

“I’m assigning you to make friends with Poco.”

“He might not even go to prom, unless he does a total 360.”

“I have no home. I have no family. Twice promised, twice denied. No more.”

Now, SR continues.

________________________________________________________________________

In just the way it seemed to happen to all secretaries living high octane, caffeine fueled lives, Yvanne read her own thoughts like a continuous shopping list, efficiently skimming and plucking out important clauses and neatly discarding the rest.

Bed. Neatly folded sheets, plush purple, changed last week.

Shelves. Excessive number of books on psychology and the human mind.

Cabinet drawers. Inventory on the floor, care of Detective Ecat.

Her eyes flicker over to the dark skinned, curly haired man rummaging through the polished ancient wardrobe resting against the wall of Claudine’s room. He’d come surprisingly fast, and without asking for directions, which suited Yvanne just fine. She didn’t have time to send him an email, what with all the filing and paperwork Desi had loaded her with in the past two days.

Desktop computer, shut off, I don’t have her password.

Cups holding pencils, irrelevant.

A pair of batteries. Oh my God. I bought those for the new bug zapper!

“You don’t look very worried, for someone who just lost a relative.”

The detective’s voice was raspy. Yvanne realizes he’s talking to her.

“She left a note, told a lie, took some cash. She wasn’t kidnapped and the house wasn’t broken into. She ran away.” Each syllable lengthens as it scrapes through her teeth, as though she is determined to make her statement untrue by grinding it down. “I didn’t lose her; she misplaced herself.”

Dominic Ecat shrugs, and goes back to work. Yvanne was sure she could scramble through all of Claud’s belongings faster, but she’d paid the man already. There was no point in wasting money. She couldn’t afford to.

Failing test papers. This girl is getting lazy. Does she have a boyfriend?

Taxi company number scribbled on post-it. Have we tried calling that already?

Soccer shoes. Thank goodness they’re clean. At least she kept up housekeeping.

Yvanne’s thoughts come screeching to a halt. Where had all those Total Girl magazines gone? And those issues of Seventeen – where were they? She sweeps the room with her eyes and catches a glimpse of them, still in their sealable vinyl wrap, under a disorganized pile of neon nail polish bottles.

That kid is such an ingrate. After all the nice things I’ve bought her…

Yvanne pivots on her heel, and lays a hand impatiently on her hips as she comes face to face with portraits of Claud’s parents, hanging over the bed.

“Oh my God,” she says, and the detective sighs, looking up. “Her parents are going to roast me alive when they find out. You have to find her, Mr. Ecat.” Dominic’s nose wrinkles, and as their gazes meet, Yvanne just barely resists the impulse to put up her hands and shield her eyes. The detective’s contact lenses were an otherworldly hazel.

“Rika and I have put together a few leads. You’re cousin isn’t the only one who’s missing. We have reports of other teenagers, ages fourteen to nineteen, who’ve just disappeared off the face of the earth.”

Somewhere inside Yvanne, a tiny speck of worry manages to bubble to the surface. That minute quantity of anxiety is quickly washed away with all her other thoughts.

“I have some photographs. Maybe you could help us identify these other kids.”

With a flourish, Dominic hands her several pictures. Yvanne squints, sifting through her memories like a file cabinet. She couldn’t place any names; she didn’t even know who Claudine’s friends were. Did Claudine know anyone in braces? Did she have braces? Was she even old enough to get braces? How old was she?

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” she snorts in reply.

“Can you at least tell me where she likes to hang out?”

Another blank.

The detective’s shoes make no sound as he marches into the living room, Yvanne close behind. He clears the coffee table of junk – fast food wrappers, empty soda cans, some receipts and contracts – and like lightning, begins to lay down all of their available evidence.

My God. Our house looks like a circus blew through it.

And just like that, Yvanne’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. A smile breaks across her face, the way it does to secretaries living high octane, caffeine fueled lives when they pick up gossip worth spreading.

“Wait, detective! I think I might have something useful. Before she disappeared, Claud was always yammering on about some carnival or something that stopped at a nearby town.”

*****

“Gizzelle Golda Labalan!”

For the life of her, the magician never could seem to figure out how Alla always knew when she was about to head out. It was as if she couldn’t turn invisible at all – like she had gone through the trouble of putting on a neon sign and announcing her departure over the speakers.

She grins in amusement as one of Alla’s elongated braids snatches at thin air. Her cousin hadn’t quite gotten her location right. She steps out into the light, tips her hat in the usual respectful manner, and toddles over.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I have a story for you,” Alla gushes, taking Golda by the arm. She drags her cousin around the tents, excitedly spewing information in her acquired Southern Valley girl accent. Golda makes sure to nod every now and again, but as she digests the news, she notices Candy and Lydia having a much darker discussion by the dinner table.

“Alla. I have to go. If I don’t hurry -”

“I know, I know,” the Bearded Lady finishes. Golda is glad to see that she is clean shaven for the moment; it was always so difficult to take her seriously when she had a hairy caterpillar above her lip. “You have to go see Jethro.”

“Well, yeah,” shrugs Golda. “He needs me.”

“Oh wow, Gizzy,” Alla smirks. “That’s a big leap from ‘he doesn’t want me around’. I thought you said he found you annoying or something?”

“He’s not totally receptive, is what I said,” says Golda, lightly slapping her cousin’s hand off her shoulder. The two laugh, and pause for a moment to watch the orange and yellow streamers overhead flap in the wind.

“So you haven’t been listening to a word I said?”

“I’m a very good listener, Alla dear. Lydia has a tattoo of a detective on her back and now Noel’s tense because he’s not sure how to handle it. Look, you don’t have to worry. I can still cloak us from PSHS Ilocos.”

“Yeah, like if you can keep your mind on us and off your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” laughs Golda. “Well he is, but he doesn’t know yet.”

“That’s not how it works, okay, Lab-labs,” Alla says, laughing. Her bright pink cheeks swell with glee. Golda raises her eyebrows.

“Yeah, because you would know.”

The Bearded Lady’s nose wrinkles and her hair, trailing freely behind her, snaps into a ponytail. The magician purses her lips, wishing she could take back her words, and begins to fade away. Alla stares her down right until the last pigments vanish.

“I’m sorry,” comes Golda’s quiet voice from the void.

Alla takes a moment to sigh, shoulders sagging. Her cousin materializes behind her and lays a sympathetic head against her jacket.

“Yeah, it’s okay. Past is past; that’s like, whatever already. Anyway, what I was trying to say was that I wanted to go with you this time. See, I figured it would be a good idea to advertise the carnival, because you know, it’s a school, and kids love going out. Well, normal kids do.”

Golda steps back and shakes her head. “No.”

“What? Why not?”

“He can’t know I’m from the carnival, dear,” she reminds Alla politely. “He hates us, remember? We have to take this slowly, from the right angle, or we’ll lose him.” Here she pauses. “I’ll lose him.”

“And what about when he figures out you’re trying to ruin his friend’s reputation? How is he going to feel about that? Gizzy, you can’t start a relationship with lies. Or secrets.”

The magician takes Alla by the hand, leading her away from the other carnies just beginning to emerge from their trailers. She adjusts her glasses, and inhales deeply.

“I’m not lying to him. I’m just leaving out the part where I’m not such a perfect person. I want him to like me, okay. Once he likes me, he’ll figure out how to deal with the whole carnival deal.”

Alla turns away, and keeps her eyes on the ground. Golda figures she’s tracing memories through the dirt. She knew what the Bearded Lady was keeping under her hair, and if she didn’t want to talk about it, then Golda would resign to being there for her.

Just not now. She had to see Jethro and push forward with Noel’s plan.

*****

It wasn’t that Poco didn’t like Ma’am Kiel as an adviser; she was certainly an example for all of them, having graduated from the school herself. He only wished that she didn’t keep on wading waist-high into everyone’s issues.

As the rest of Strontium converges at the auditorium’s double doors, anxious to spend the remains of their universal break studying for an upcoming long test, Poco lingers behind. Silence was the cloud by which Poco hid himself – all the unwanted, undesirable quirks – and from which he watched. He could name the burdens they carried on their shoulders.

That was the way it should’ve worked. Poco listening, Poco helping. Not Poco being pitied, which was what Ma’am Kiel’s eagerness had brought upon him. He was scattering eggshells and everyone was tiptoeing over them.

As the auditorium door shuts, Elise’s voice echoes across the sea of seats.

“Hey Poco! I need help with the choreography.”

By the way the girl was hopping up and down, Poco figured she didn’t have much on her shoulders. Come to think of it, Elise was the only one who was smiling a hundred percent of the time. Maybe if he stuck beside her, that talent would rub off on him.

“Why me?” he asks, clearing his throat, as he trots up onto the stage.

“Because I know you can dance. Look at those footsteps. You’ve got rhythm!”

Elise brushes back a couple of curly locks, and trots over to her iPod on the ground. She turns the dial, raising the volume on the speakers. A light tap, and a new song begins to play.

“I was thinking about doing either this,” she says, waving her arms in front of her face, “or this,” she appends, swaying side to side. “Any suggestions?”

“Go with the gummy worms,” says Poco. The remnants of an old smile just barely run across his lips. Elise chortles, and tinkers with her iPod again. This time, something ethnic, almost feral begins to play.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a corrido from my Capoeira class. Come on, dance with me!”

Poco gulps as their class president falls into the beat, rocking back and forth on her knees, legs alternating behind her along a triangular base. She claps her hands together, and they part to reveal a fire in her eyes and a light in her smile. The Capoeira bateria continues to soar in the background, with long-stringed berimbaus and tambourines overlapping with Brazilian cheers.

“Move…your…feet!” Elise cries, hands touching the ground as she swings her leg in a wide arc. Poco is forced to tilt back, narrowly avoiding her shoe, and as he sweeps forward again, he finds himself caught in the music. He mimics Elise’s techniques, and they match each other, ducking, rolling, and leaping with the drums.

“I thought Capoeira was just a fighting style!”

“It’s a way of life!” beams Elise. “It fills you up.”

Elise tumbles across the stage, falling back on her hands gracefully. She reaches for her iPod, and without warning, jumps to a new song. Synthesized music replaces the Capoeira bateria, and as the chanting fades out, T.I. and Justin Timberlake begin to sing.

Ohhh… I’ve been travelin’ on this road too long (too long)… Just tryin’ to find my way back home (back home)…

“The old me’s dead and gone,” shrugs Elise, shaking her shoulders loose.

“Dead and gone,” echoes Poco, and they begin to dance again. Elise incorporates her Capoeira, wheeling over the aged wood. Poco snatches up his favorite cap, and fitting it snugly over his head, he throws his arms out dramatically. His knees bend and pop under him, and he twists his torso to the left. The weight of his worries thrashes against this chest, knocking the breath out of him, but as the speakers pump up the volume, his thoughts weave into the lyrics. “I turn my head to the east; I don’t see nobody by my side…”

“I turn my head to the west; still nobody in sight…”

“So I turn my head to the North, and swallow that pill that they call pride…”

“That old me is Dead and Gone,” continues Elise, fixing her eyes on Poco. He gazes right back at her, then suddenly bobs his head, pulling the cap over his face. From the shadows he whispers, “But that new me will be alright.”

*****

As a detective, it was important for Dominic Ecat to be cool under pressure. He could stand working long hours in the office, or even digging through archives under the city. He could also give chase, and it didn’t hurt that he knew how to fire a gun.

But he couldn’t handle clowns. He didn’t dislike them, but he preferred that they kept their distance. He also preferred theme parks to carnivals, although his job description left no room for choice in these matters anyway.

The gates of the November Carnival rise before him like iron titans, polished wood carved into titular letters on the arch. A barker ushers in the crowds, and Dom tiptoes on his glossy black shoes to see over them. He wonders how many of these people walk in everyday – and more importantly, how many walk out.

Dark thoughts clash with the lively red and yellow balloons that made their ascent into the sky. There was just too much color here for Dom, who spent all his time pouring over black and white print and sepia photographs.

“My brothah, my man,” says Noel, slapping a smooth palm against the detective’s back. Dom winces, and Noel steers him through the chaos of sightseers. The ringmaster was heavily dressed in chains and spiked leather belts. Automatically, Dom pulls out his handy-dandy notebook and begins to scribble.

“Are you the owner or supervisor of this establishment?”

“Yes, yes I am,” grins Noel. He snorts, and Dom worms his way out from under the carnie’s muscled arm. “We’ve been expecting you, Detective. Why don’t you have a look around? The carnival has something for everyone.”

Lydia watches the two march along the dirt paths; Candy in turn watches a tattoo form between the Painted Lady’s shoulder blades. She recognizes it to be one of the children Noel has recruited.

“He’s here for the bodysnatcher in particular,” sighs Lydia. She combs back her tawny hair, and gulps. “I can see the strings attached to this one. He’s been dealing with shady people.”

“So have you,” mutters Candy. She passes a knife along her fingers.

Lydia ignores the comment. “He’s going to be trouble for us.”

“So off him.”

“It’s not that simple. He’s one of us. A posthuman. Candelen, today we’ve been presented with an extraordinary opportunity. You’ll see the way things are done here. And then maybe you’ll understand why I need your help.”

*****

Jethro tucks his hands into his pockets, and manages to suppress the unease gurgling in his torso. There was something sitting there in the pit of his stomach, not unlike guilt; but that couldn’t be. He’d done nothing wrong. He just had some issues to sort out – prom topping the list – and now this ominous piece of news to deliver.

Chester was in hot water again, for some reason. Maybe he’d ask about it later.

An invisible hand grabs at his sides, squeezing against his hidden layers of fat. He was hoping no one had noticed that he’d gained weight. Apparently, nobody had.

“Please, please stop doing that. Dude, seriously.”

His mysterious voice giggles, and her mirth echoes along in the wistful November air. The backpack slung over his shoulders lurches, and he hears the crisp zzzzt of a zipper closing.

(You’re just begging for a kleptomaniac to take advantage, Jethro Jamon.)

The boy sighs. A year ago, all of these things – the powers, the mutant bio teacher, the faceless entity haunting his locker – would’ve been extremely exciting. They would have qualified for bragging rights. But now that teenage rites of passage were catching up with him – Prom, argh - he just didn’t seem to have the time or patience.

(Tell me about your day so far. I’m dying for a good anecdote.)

“I’m crap at storytelling. Wait, I’ve got to talk to Chester.”

Silence wafts around them, and Jethro’s hairs stand on end. The ghost finally pulls on his polo sleeve, and shoves him toward the ASTB.

(You can do that later.)

“No, Casper, I can’t. Come on, he’s just over there.”

(You don’t want to be the one to break it to him.)

“Break what to him? All I know is he’s needed upstairs,” says Jethro. “Do you know how dumb this looks? I’m talking to empty air. People are starting to stare. Dude, Chester!”

The addressed looks up from his spot on the rails; Jethro feels the entity fade away.

“Are test scores out yet?” Chester yawns. Beside him, Chari’s head tilts very slightly, almost unnoticeably, unto his shoulders. Jethro’s nose tingles at the agonizingly sweet scent of strawberries.

“About that…. Ma’am Kiel wants you to drop by the math unit right now.”

*****

Normally, a detective like Dom would have begun an investigation by recognizing suspicious activity and making a list of things that were out of place. Such an effort would be futile, he realizes, wandering around the November Carnival. For starters, a woman with uncontrolled facial hair was currently making small talk and offering him free rides.

“I’m here on business,” he coughs. Alla looks at him, biting her lip, and then quickly resumes her best smile. “I’m looking for a girl, around sixteen years old. Her name is Claudine Duñgo. We have reason to believe she’s hiding from authorities here.”

“Unless you can give me her hair color, length, and conditioner, I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she lies.

“Then allow me to investigate myself.” The Bearded Lady throws one of her braids forward in an attempt to halt the detective’s advance; he smoothly sidesteps it and pats down his fedora. “You should know that any interference could be considered obstruction of justice. If you have nothing to hide, Ma’am, please step aside.”

As Dom takes graceful footsteps further into the crowd, Alla flashes Noel, sitting atop some crates, a silent apology. He shakes his head, and in turn glances at his sister and her honored guest, arms crossed by one of the tents.

For a fraction of a second – one that went back ages and lasted eternities – the ringmaster recalls Lydia frowning the same way as a child. She’d learned early on how to mimic their mother’s disapproval, and she’d been using the face to shame him into obedience for as long as he could remember.

Well, he was a grown man now. He was in charge; this was his carnival. He would do whatever was required of him to protect this new, loving family and the land that they owned. He couldn’t let one nosy detective put them under fire. He jumps down from his vantage point, dust scattering as his boots touch the ground.

*****

“So, how bad did I fail?” chuckles Chester as he plunks onto the Math Unit study bench. His adviser fixes a steely gaze on him, and looks as if she’s mentally breaking him into pieces for closer inspection. She didn’t look too mad, which was good; she looked like she had a long lecture prepared, which was not.

“See for yourself, Mr. Ragudo,” she answers, unusually curt. Ma’am Kiel slides his answer sheet across the table, and folds her hands primly over her knees.

Chester takes one look and is immediately blinded by a spectrum of mismatched colors. His vision cuts through the sore neon oranges and ethereal purples and finally falls upon the score box.

“What?! I got a zero!”

“Or a five, whichever way you want to look at it. Chester, you didn’t get a single item right. Your solutions are only half-written, and you completely disrespected the multiple choice section. There are only four choices, A to D, so I can’t see why you would answer as far as G or L.”

Chester rubs his eyes vigorously, as if the reality sitting in print before him was merely a layer of paint that would peel off if he smudged hard enough. He goes over his answers, and curses, ignoring the presence of a teacher before him. It was true; not a single question right. And yet…

“Wait, Ma’am! This isn’t what I wrote! These aren’t my answers!”

Ma’am Kiel frowns, and characteristically uncaps several gel pens. She turns away, and begins to check quizzes; her reply comes shortly afterward.

“They’re on your paper, Chester.”

“But I didn’t write this,” he pushes. “I remember my scratch work, and this isn’t it. Ma’am, seriously, you have to believe me. I’m not this stupid.”

“But you do have a record for being this lazy. The rest of your teachers are saying you can’t keep an eye open in their classes. You don’t pass projects and you won’t take up extra credit. Chester, you’re failing. Badly. This long test and the periodic exam are your last chances, and quite frankly, you’re blowing it.”

The words waft in one ear and out the other. Chester looks up, not having registered anything, and whines in protest. “Ma’am, you can’t grade me for answers that aren’t mine.”

“They’re on your answer sheet in dry ink, Chester!”

“But I can prove I didn’t write this!”

“Really, Chester? Because I’d love to see you explain forty incorrect responses.”

Chester hated it when her voice took that sharp, dangerous turn. But an injustice had been done to him, and a beastly fury was building in his bones. Whatever the teachers had been saying about his tendency to fall asleep, he was wide awake and seething now.

“Well?” Ma’am Kiel sighs. She runs her fingers over her temple in frustration.

“The colors!” Chester blurts out. “The colors are all wrong!”

“What?”

“When I do math, the numbers have colors. That’s how I know I’m doing it right. The colors on this piece of paper don’t match. They’re not my colors!”

Ma’am Kiel stands up, and gathers her things. Typical, Chester thinks. She’s walking out on me. She raises her chin slightly, and her scar throbs in defiance.

“Don’t waste my time, Chester. Just take your paper and go.”

“No, no, no,” moans Chester, slapping a hand on the table to pick up his test. “You don’t understand! I have synesthesia; I can see colors in numbers and letters. I know I wrote different answers. I knew they were right. Somebody changed my work!”

The teacher whirls around suddenly, and Chester plops back onto the bench.

“Let’s say I give you the benefit of the doubt. You do have this, this power, that no one else has, that you’ve only told me about now. How could anyone have changed your answers? I keep my files with me at all times. My cubicle is all the way into the Math Unit. Who could’ve touched it, Chester? And who would?”

“I don’t know,” the boy growls in reply. He drops his head onto the bench. He had known he was failing, but his grades had started to look up when his ability manifested. He couldn’t explain this bull any more than Ma’am Kiel could.

“Look, Chester. I want to believe you. I really do. But your performance speaks for itself. I’m warning you now; anything less than a perfect score in the periodic exam will get you a 2.75 in my class. The third quarter is not a good time to fail, Chester. You’ve made it too far and have too much to lose.”

He didn’t want to hear anymore. A leaden curse escapes his lips as he shoves the door open, and slams it shut.

*****

No investigation would be complete without the thrill of the chase.

Dom had seen Claudine ducking behind one of the game booths. She had known he would be here, and now he knew that she was here, as well. Yvanne would finally cool her heels and another case would be closed, as soon as he caught up with the naughty teenager.

What was interesting was that he’d seen another girl with her. He wasn’t sure yet, but she looked a lot like one of the other missing girls on the posters. The carnival was hiding these kids, or worse, stealing and smuggling them, and would have to be thoroughly searched and scrutinized.

The detective follows the shadows as they retreat into the House of Mirrors. He basks for a few more seconds in the light of day, before plunging into the dimly lit halls. The weak incandescent bulbs along the ceiling serve only to bathe his reflections in a menacing glow.

“Miss Duñgo! I know you’re in here! It’s time to come home!”

Dom flinches as movement catches his eye. He whirls around, and comes face to face with several other detectives, all panting and sweating, perfectly matching the horror dawning on his face. He backs into a row of mirrors, and cautiously gropes along the glass, looking for another passageway.

The corridor thins – or does it? – and his reflections seem to crowd around him, horribly disfigured now. The misshapen doppelgangers bob up and down as Dom hurries past. Voices fill the hallway, and echo off the walls.

“H-hello, Miss Cuesta,” coughs Dom into his mobile phone. A wall of static arises, and he is forced to raise his voice. “I’ve locked onto your cousin’s location. She’s here, at the November Carnival, and she’s trying to avoid me. There’s no need to -”

Suddenly, all the nerves in Dom’s hand erupt into agonizing pain. He drops his cell, but before it hits the ground, a bright orange spear impales it, breaking it apart. The Bearded Lady pulls her hair back, and the detective has just enough time to gasp before Alla swings a mighty braid under his legs, knocking him to the ground.

“I’m really, really sorry I had to that.”

Dom kicks back, bumping into a mirror. The entire hall trembles, and his reflections seem to leap up in surprise. Noel steps into the room, cape fluttering behind him. Candy and Lydia, some distance away, turn their backs and guard the entrance.

The detective reaches for his gun; Noel’s pupils follow the motion of his hand, and once more, lightning thrashes Dom’s skin and bones, threatening to splinter him into pieces. His body convulses under the sudden pain, and he lies like a ragdoll at their feet.

Claudine and Dani squeeze into the hallway, and the bodysnatcher puts a shaking hand to her mouth. “You can’t kill him! He was looking for me; he didn’t know what he was getting into.”

One of the light bulbs in the hall sputters and blinks out; the darkness sweeping across Noel’s face makes him look centuries older. Suddenly Claudine is certain it is within the ringmaster’s power to end Dom’s life.

“What are you going to do?” Alla asks. Her hair tames itself, and her beady, pleading black eyes search Noel for compassion. If only Golda had stayed today. They could have avoided all this.

“Yes, Noel, what are you going to do?” echoes Lydia. She raises an eyebrow at Candy, who tenses and waits. Both Noel and Dom were at the end of their rope.

The ringmaster closes his eyes, and his chest swells with the heartache of all around him. The scars on his back throb, and seconds pass as he soaks in his surroundings.

“I’m not going to do anything,” he announces, and Lydia’s mouth cuts into a straight line. Noel turns to Claudine, sighs, and then finishes, “You are.”

Dani steps in front of her friend, baring her fangs. Her fingers hang like claws in the air, and her arm bends into a crook, making her look like a praying mantis.

Noel ignores this and continues, talking to Claudine, “Your friend came to us in her time of need. She was searching for a home, for a family, and in this carnival she found solace. This detective can’t be allowed to live, knowing what he knows about us. It would put us all in danger. If you want him to survive, and if you want our way of life, Dani’s home, to survive, then do what I say. Get into his head, erase his memory.”

Stillness and silence dominate the hall as Claudine’s heart thumps against her chest. Dom rolls over slightly, and coughs up blood. Whatever Noel had done to him, she couldn’t let him repeat.

The bodysnatcher deftly kneels by the detective’s side, and props his head onto her knees. His eyes flutter open for a moment, and Claudine meets his gaze, vanishing into the brilliant hazel.

*****

Siren wails waft over the arid earth as the last of the carnival’s visitors are ushered out. Candy reads the tattoo forming on Lydia’s back, and the Tattooed Lady realizes the police have come, led by Yvanne, to storm their gates.

“Where is she?” Noel asks, eyes locked on the approaching squad cars. Alla takes his left hand, and Lydia approaches, taking his right. Golda appears before them, reverently bowing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. But you’ll be glad to hear that it’s begun. I’ve planted the seed of doubt, Noel. Chester will be ours in no time flat.”

“That’s great, Golda. But we have a situation to handle. Draw the veils.”

From her cushioned leather seat in the police vehicle, Yvanne strains against the barred windows. These trees were improperly placed, if anyone asked her, and she could not see around them to the carnival.

The procession turns sharply to the left, and instead of a massive Ferris Wheel or a host of orange and white tents, Yvanne’s eyes fall upon an empty field.

“Stop the car!”

A cold wind funnels by, and the scattered tufts of grass along the ground bend beneath it. Obviously somebody had read the map wrong. Yvanne angrily stomps down the incline, denting the soil.

The sound of a twig snapping sends several heads jolting to the left. Yvanne’s eyes widen as she sees the ghostly silhouette of her cousin standing among the trees.

“Claudine? Is that you?” she cries. Sure enough, the figure turns around, and her cousin slides past some parched roots to meet her. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick! What the hell are you doing here?”

The bodysnatcher turns a weary head to the vast, empty space behind them.

“Saying goodbye.”

Yvanne’s hand closes around Claudine’s wrist in a vice grip. As she drags her cousin back toward the squad car, she hisses, “You are in big trouble when we get home, you ungrateful little brat. You have no idea what I’ve had to go through just to find you! I had to hire a detective! Where is he? He said he was with you.”

Claudine sighs. They wouldn’t be seeing Mr. Ecat for a long, long time. She wipes away a single tear as it rolls down her cheek, and wishes Dani a good night’s sleep.

*****

“Noel’s master plan is hundreds of years in the making,” whispers Lydia, as she and Candy step inside her trailer. Outside, bits and pieces of the carnival begin to reappear, one by one. “He has been patient, but the Icarus Incident finally persuaded him to act. When my brother wants something, nothing is too great a cost.”

“You mean the detective. And the girl.”

“They aren’t his first victims, our first losses. Before you came to the carnival, before our brothers and sisters were revealed to the world, we had another ringmaster.”

“So Noel took control by force?” asks Candy, awed. “He killed him?”

“No.”

The sound of Noel’s voice outside sends shivers up Candy’s spine. The Tattooed Lady pauses, taking a deep breath, and continues.

“For now, my brother’s motives remain rooted in the right soil, pointed in the right direction. But his moral compass is starting to stray off course. His ambition threatens all of us, including him. If you think I brought you, Candelen Dacalos, to the carnival to save you, then you are wrong. I found you because I need you…to save us.”