Interlude — The King of the Dead
(An oral tradition from the badlands)
The boy had never been to a circus before. The circus was a place where animals and clowns and magicians performed. It was rarely seen, but when the circus did come through a part of the badlands, all the people there were happy for just a little while.
The boy's father often told him about the last circus, many, many years before the boy's birth. A caravan had appeared over the hills with the rising sun, a train of brightly-colored wagons with all sorts of animals — some of them alive — displayed in cages. For the price of a scrap of food, everyone had gone that night and seen dancing clowns, majestic beasts and other sights too fantastic to share.
Almost every night the boy asked to hear about the circus. Almost every night, after his father kissed him and the world grew silent, the boy prayed for the circus to come.
One day it did, and it was just as the boy's father had described it. A line of wagons pulled by dead horses stretched far into the hills, full of colors and animals he'd never seen! Men with painted faces waved and smiled at him as they passed.
At the far edge of town, where there had been nothing but dirt, they put up a giant tent that nearly scraped the sky. The boy sat and watched for hours as men and animals went in and out of the tent. He wanted to follow along, but his father wouldn't let him. "Not yet," he said. "They're putting the magic in."
The boy knew that there were wonderful and secret things going on inside that tent. He desperately wanted to see, but knew to behave lest he never see the circus at all, so he sat and waited until the sun began to descend. At twilight his father came and found him. "Now we can go in."
Each act that the boy saw that night made his heart thunder and caused a grin to spread from ear to ear. He clapped until his hands were raw and red and kept clapping. All the while, his father watched him with a smile as big as his own.
Then they brought out their most special act: THE KING OF THE DEAD. He was a dancing jester painted in a rainbow of colors. His limbs flew and spun and kicked up a storm of dust. His name was Eviscerato.
Other men, dead men, were brought out to stand around the King of the Dead. They were chained to posts in the ground. The boy's father told him not to be afraid, but he wasn't. His eyes followed every movement of Eviscerato's feet as the nimble jester came just within reach of each dead man, then pulled away from their snapping teeth. All the while he smiled and laughed and sang! Everyone in the audience applauded madly.
Eviscerato spun in a tight circle, in the very center of the dead men, then stopped cold. He looked into the audience, right at the boy. He reached out a hand. One of the dead bit into it.
The crowd roared. The boy stood and stared as all the dead men grabbed Eviscerato and chewed and tore at his brightly-colored costume. All the while the King of the Dead smiled! How could a man smile through such terror? The boy was mesmerized. Blood pooled at Eviscerato's feet and he danced in it, he nipped at the necks and fingers of the dead men, he continued to sing and laugh and despite the horror of the scene there was not a face in the audience that did not grin from ear to ear.
When the torches were extinguished and the crowd was ushered out, the boy climbed onto his father's shoulders and searched for his new hero. Eviscerato was nowhere to be seen.
His father tucked him in very late, and they stayed up a while longer talking about all the things they'd seen. The boy kissed his father and settled down to dream about the circus.
When he awoke, it was still dark. A few fires glowed outside the window of the shanty, and the boy got up to see what was happening.
The circus was leaving. The tent was gone and the animals were motionless in their cages. As the caravan passed the window, the boy saw men without makeup or smiles sitting atop the wagons. He watched them until the last light faded over the horizon.
Then another wagon passed by the window, and stopped. The King of the Dead was the driver. He smiled his painted smile and reached out a bloody hand.
"Come with me." Eviscerato said. "Come dance forever."
The boy took his hand and climbed out the window. The King of the Dead whipped the horses and pulled away. The boy's father chased after the wagon, crying out his name, but the boy didn't hear him.
27
Interview
Four.
Only four had come back. They were all disoriented, stained with soot and blood, and Sawbones was not among them.
Tetch made them wait on the porch while he spread plastic across the foyer, then he brought his siblings in and locked up behind them. Aidan hadn't returned either; without him, there was little hope of getting specifics on what had happened. "Stay on the plastic." Tetch muttered. He nudged Prudence, whose eyes refused to meet his, and leaned in close. "How many of them were there?"
She studied the grime at her feet, the blistering on her burnt flesh. Standing on her toe, Tetch lifted her chin with his hand. "Use your fingers. How many?"
She raised an index finger and averted her gaze.
"No. No." Tetch stepped back and glanced at the others, only to have each one look away. "Not just one. I want to know how many there were to begin with, how many of them did this to you! Bailey! How many?"
The rotter shifted his weight from one foot to the other; he wasn't ashamed, he simply had nothing to offer. Tetch grabbed him by the hair and shook him around. "Tell me! TELL ME!!"
Bailey raised one finger.
Tetch snapped it in his fist. The afterdead stood motionless.
"I sent all of you and only four came back! Why are you telling me this? Didn't you see any of them? Gerald!" Tetch backhanded the next in line. "Look at me!"
Gerald's glassy stare penetrated his brother. "Now," Tetch breathed, pulling a fountain pen from his jacket, "take this and write on your hand. You know numbers, don't you? Tell me how many people you saw, and if you put a 'one' down so help me…"
The rotter grasped the pen awkwardly and held it over his open palm. He wrote nothing.
"Gerald?"
Tetch's eyes widened as the pen, unused, was handed back to him.
He brought the pen up to stab it into Gerald's unblinking eye.
"Please don't!"
Tetch whirled to see Lily at the top of the stairs. "Go to your room!" He commanded. "What happened?" She shot back. He hurled the pen at her and missed by a mile. "GO TO YOUR ROOM!!"
Something struck him then. He thought back to when he'd caught Lily by the fence, how there had seemed to be a shadow in the swamp that fled from view when he came outside. He remembered that she'd said something the night before about a man with black eyes.
Tetch started up the stairs, and Lily backed away from him. "Don't be afraid of me," he said softly. "I take care of you. I love you. Don't you love me?"
She nodded. It was a quick, insincere gesture. Tetch lowered himself to her height and gave her a pleading look. "Lily, someone hurt your brothers and sisters. I think the others…they're dead. Really dead. Who were you talking to earlier?"
The girl turned on her heel and tried to bolt; he caught her arm and shoved her across the landing into the wall. Tetch pinned her there. She screamed, but he held fast. "Who are you screaming for, Lily? Who's out there that you trust more than me? Who do you love more than me? Don't say nobody, or you're a LIAR, Lily, and lying makes you an ugly little child and no one loves you then!"
"No!" She struggled against him until her face was bright red. "You're the liar!"
"I've never EVER lied to you!" Spittle struck her cheek and Tetch raised his cuff to wipe it away. She flinched, going limp against him. His body's reaction was quite the opposite.
"I've never lied to you." He repeated. She kept her eyes shut tight, face turned away. He pulled her into an embrace. "Lily…"