Gator Swamp

The Beginning

Lydia County, Louisiana, 1976



Nine-year-old Roman Romero never noticed anything odd about his household.

He never questioned it much. His home—the old and isolated Romero Estate, a mansion nestled on the outskirts of rural Louisiana—was a large and creepy place, at least judging from the opinions expressed by all the newcomers.

The entrance led into the main corridor, an elegant chandelier hanging in the center of the giant rounded room, two spiral staircases coasting up either side of the walls and leading up to various other sections of the home. The place was huge and endless, every footstep bounding off the wooden floors, every word echoing farther than they ever would in any ordinary home. And, beyond all the huge rooms and all the echoing halls—a basement resided under everyone’s feet, one Roman was never allowed to enter without permission, though he didn’t mind. From the expansive yards to the enormity of the mansion, he was never without a place to explore, and he had plenty of friends to join him when he did.

After all, his family always seemed to welcome in new brothers and sisters for him.

Roman never knew why his family fostered orphaned children so often. In fact, he had a biological brother already—but his father always seemed eager to take on more, to fill up all the spare bedrooms, to welcome needing children to their dinner table, and to expand the ever-growing Romero family more and more.

Many odd routines were commonplace and considered ordinary in the Romero home, routines that wouldn’t be considered as such anywhere else.

For example—as far as Roman knew—it was entirely ordinary to live in a home full of twenty-or-so children, and it was normal for random visiting adults to arrive and act as if they were part of the family. It was normal to have an old German man as a housekeeper, it was normal to have the occasional armed guard around, and it was perfectly reasonable that the children were all expected to receive their booster medication once every month of the year. It was normal for the children to periodically disappear—adopted out to new homes, as Roman’s father would often explain—and nothing about this bizarre estranged family was anything out of the ordinary.

And today—the day before his birthday—would be the first time Roman thought otherwise.

He sprinted excitedly down the spiral staircase, hurrying to see the decorations in the dining hall and beaming away as he did. His father had to leave town tomorrow—so, the family decided to throw his party today, and he was positively glowing with joy as he anticipated the fun ahead.

Before he could reach the bottom—Roman smashed into someone else, another young boy who looked almost identical to him, with the same slim physique and the same sandy hair, though he was a couple years older.

“Nathan!” Roman exclaimed, shaking his big brother almost violently. “Did they get me my piñata? Do they have it yet?!”

“Calm down,” Nathan laughed. “Dad says we have to go down and have our booster before the party can start.”

Roman tossed his head back and unleashed a loud moan dramatically into the air.

“And… today’s the day when Auntie’s supposed to bring the new girl, too,” Nathan added. “We have to get our booster and meet the new girl before the party.”

“Okay—well—where’s Chelsea?!” Roman griped impatiently. “She gets her booster on the same day we do—so she needs to come with us.”

“Slow down,” Nathan urged. “Chelsea’s not even awake yet.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. She’s been sick the past few weeks.”

“Well—go wake her up! I don’t wanna wait all day just because she’s lazy!”

“Boys,” a deeper voice interrupted the two of them.

Nathan and Roman both turned their heads, peering between the wooden bars of the railing and gazing down at the bottom floor, where Virgil Romero stood in the center of the lobby. Virgil—their father—was wearing a clean-cut suit and a hat to match like usual, his pensive hazel eyes narrowing at the two of them and his expression as unreadable as always.

“Chelsea is no longer with us,” Virgil informed them.

“What?” Nathan leaned on the railing and hunched over it, giving his father an odd look. “Did she get sicker?”

“No. She was adopted out this morning,” Virgil clarified. “A nice lil’ family from New Orleans took her in.”

Roman shrugged disinterestedly, but Nathan was wearing a skeptical visage now, eyeing his father strangely and tilting his head.

“I saw her this morning,” Nathan remembered. “She was still in bed when Hans woke all of us up. Hans said she was still too sick to get out of bed… and she was really pale, too. Auntie said she was gonna make soup for her.”

“Yes. And she did,” Virgil replied with a nod. “And now that Chelsea is in the city, her new family will be able to seek proper medical treatment from the hospital down there. She’s mighty fortunate to have found a home when she did.”

The boys traded glimpses, their father turning and waving for them to approach.

“Come on, now,” Virgil beckoned. “Come on down. Hans is waiting for yuns.”

“Daddy… do I have to get my booster today?” Roman whined, hanging lopsidedly over the railing and pouting at his father. “Can I wait ’till after my birthday? I don’t like the booster shot. It makes me feel weird.”

“No, now, Roman… you know better,” Virgil said, mildly shaking his head. “You oughta consider yourself lucky that you can get medical treatment inside your own home. Not a lotta folks have that same luxury. Best to just get it over with… and then you can enjoy your birthday without worryin’ about having to get your shot later.”

Roman sighed, swapping looks with his brother before the two boys meandered down the stairs.

They followed their father beneath the balcony overlooking the area, marching down the narrow hallway leading directly to the back of the bottom floor, the same area they visited every month. Virgil stopped in the dim hall, grasping the knob of the basement door and gently pushing it open, the wooden door creaking as the darkness of the inside met their sight.

It was the same as always; Roman and Nathan stuck closely behind their father, following him down the narrow wooden stairs until their eyes adjusted and the lights came into view. Down below, the lamps and the occasional hanging bulb illuminated the enormous basement in portions, and along the walls were countertops filled with various items that neither of the boys could ever identify, mostly medical equipment, clipboards, files, and a surgical tray containing the usual syringes.

In the center was a pair of surgical beds—one propped upright and the other lying flatly backward—and Hans stood in between them both, perking up as the boys drew closer and narrowing his eyes at them from behind his tiny spectacles.

“Ah, yes… our Romero prodigies,” Hans remarked, his wrinkled face forming a smile. “Ze man of ze hour himself… ze birthday boy. How old are you now?”

“I’m turning ten,” Roman replied, leaping onto one of the beds and swinging his legs casually over the edge. “And Nathan’s gonna be fourteen next month.”

“Ah, yes, yes…” Hans nodded as he shuffled around, flipping over the pages of his clipboard before facing the beds again, Roman and Nathan seated on top of them and awaiting what always came next. “And… how do you feel? How have you both been feeling?”

Roman and Nathan glanced at one another, both of them shrugging.

“It’s always the same,” Nathan reported. “I feel kinda sick after the booster… and then I feel way better the next day… and after that, I don’t really feel any different for the rest of the whole month.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Roman agreed.

“Ah, good, good… zat is good.” Hans nodded again, placing his clipboard aside and carrying the surgical tray over to the beds. “Now, I think you both should know… since your father has given me permission to tell you… I have good news for you. You have both been in the program for ze same amount of time, and you are at ze end of your booster needs. Today vill be your last day of taking ze monthly booster.”

The boys’ eyes lit up, gaping at each other and wheeling around to their father for confirmation.

Virgil—standing close by, cupping his hands, and wearing a small smirk—nodded at the two of them. “Yeah… that’s right, boys. Today’s your last day of taking the booster. After that, the next phase is gonna start… but you won’t have to take shots anymore. That’s over after today.”

“Yay!” Roman rejoiced, punching the air with glee.

However, Nathan’s delight seemed to fade, his eyes narrowing at Virgil curiously. “What’s the next phase of this?”

Roman’s grin suddenly vanished, and he looked to his father for the answer.

“Testing,” Virgil informed. “Mainly just testing your vitals and seeing how they’re different from people without the boosters in their system. It won’t be anything bad, and it won’t involve needles all the time. Don’t worry.”

“Yes… you vill be brought down here once a month to test your vitals, no longer to take ze shots,” Hans affirmed.

“Oh. What about the others?” Roman wondered, thinking of all the children upstairs. “Is anyone else gonna be doing this with us like they did with the shots?”

Virgil and Hans exchanged a subtle glimpse with one another.

“All the other kids in the booster program haven’t reached this point,” Virgil explained to his sons. “The ones upstairs are further behind in the program than you two, and the rest of them were… adopted out before they could finish.”

“Whoooa,” Roman beamed. “We’re ahead of everybody!”

“We’re the first to make it,” Nathan smirked proudly, trading a high-five with his brother.

“Yes, you certainly are… ze first to make it,” Hans uttered, raising the first syringe and motioning for Nathan to roll up his sleeve. “Here ve go, now.”

Hans injected Nathan’s arm—Nathan wincing slightly—and he did the same to Roman, whose entire face was scrunched up as the long needle penetrated his skin. He always hated the sensation, always dreaded the pinch of pain and the thick nausea that would arrive shortly after, and he always held his breath and snapped his eyes shut until it was over.

When Roman eventually opened his eyes again, Hans had returned to his countertop, setting the surgical tray down and scribbling onto his clipboard.

“You may go,” Hans dismissed. “Enjoy your birthday.”

Roman and Nathan leaped off the surgical beds and followed Virgil out of the basement, the walk up the stairs feeling longer than ever, as the oncoming wave of nausea and fatigue was just beginning to creep up on the two of them.

When they reached the first floor, Virgil spotted two new arrivals directly opposite him—the elegant double-doors standing open, Auntie standing in the doorway, and a tiny little blonde girl standing just by her side, clinging onto her leg and peering around warily as her little hands curled tighter around Auntie’s dress.

“Boys—go and show the new girl around,” Virgil requested, waving loosely toward Auntie and the child. “I have things to do before the party starts. Go show her around. Use your manners.”

“Yessir,” Roman and Nathan replied, watching as their father sauntered away.

As the two boys approached, Auntie pushed the doors shut, the little girl still clasping onto her and glancing around warily. Roman was the first to approach her—as he loved greeting the newcomer children—and he extended his hand, flashing a wide, welcoming smile.

“I’m Roman Romero—and this is my brother, Nathan Romero,” Roman rehearsed politely, just the way his father taught him to. “We’re supposed to give you the tour. Welcome to your new home.”

The little girl attempted to return his smile, seeming to relax just the slightest bit as she gingerly returned his handshake.

“Bedrooms first,” Nathan knew, turning toward the staircase. “I know which ones have empty beds right now, so we can pick out your new sleeping spot before we do anything else. I assume you’ll want to unpack.”

The little girl, who had an overstuffed backpack strapped onto her, nodded in agreement. She strode forward, following the boys up the staircase and listening quietly as the two of them gave her the usual series of explanations for the new arrivals. Nathan explained where everything was—the bathrooms, the boys’ rooms, the girls’ rooms, the kitchen, the dining hall, and the playing areas in the yards—and once he was finished, Roman took over.

“Now listen—there are twenty-two kids here right now, including me and Nathan,” Roman told her. “You makes twenty-three. We’re a foster home. We have a big family of orphans, and orphans stay here until my dad can find a family for them. That’s how it works. The rules are easy to remember—oh, and we’re not allowed to go in the basement without permission. We’re also not allowed to go near the garden out back. They’re always digging out new spots for planting stuff out there. And the other kids here—there’s some stuff you should know about them. Most of them are nice. Ethan and Weston are my best friends. There’s one kid you should look out for, though. His name is Barry. He’s a big guy, twelve years old, brown hair, and he can be kinda mean sometimes. He probably won’t be mean to you, though. He’s only mean to boys, not usually girls.”

“Hey—if you’re gonna talk about me, then you might wanna make sure I’m not around first.”

Roman slowed to a stop.

He, Nathan, and the new girl had only just reached the top of the stairs, turning and heading down the hallway—but all of them halted when they spotted the tall, pudgy Barry standing in the doorway of the nearest room, his rounded face harboring a deep grimace and his meaty arms folded over his chest.

Roman and Nathan paused for a moment, examining Barry and seeing that he looked even grumpier than usual, which was no easy feat for him.

“And… just for your information,” Barry snarked, cocking his head and nodding at the new girl. “You’re probably gonna die here.”

The new girl took back, her eyes widening as her mouth fell agape.

Nathan shot Barry a snide look, and Roman took a brave step forward, his eyes burning into Barry with nothing short of abhorrence.

“Why would you say that?!” Roman exclaimed. “She’s already scared of being in a new place! Why would you tell her something crazy like—”

“Chelsea was my girlfriend,” Barry interrupted, his tone rising. “She was my girlfriend!”

At that—the other three merely stared at him as if he’d sprouted a new limb before their eyes, all of them utterly dumbfounded.

“O… kay,” Roman mumbled, squinting at him strangely. “So what? What does that have to do with anything?”

“That’s why you’re in a bad mood,” Nathan figured. “Your girlfriend got adopted, and now you’re just mad because she’s not here anymore.”

“No, you idiot—she didn’t,” Barry insisted, unfolding his arms and striding forward. “She did not get adopted. Chelsea would’ve told me if she was going somewhere. That’s what we planned to do. If one of us got adopted, we planned to share our new address before we left so we could write each other—and she would’ve known if she was getting adopted. She’s been in foster homes before, and she’s been through all of that adoption stuff before, too. She told me how it works, and she told me how weird it was that everybody gets adopted so suddenly out of here, because that’s not how it works everywhere else. It takes time for an adoption to go through. She should’ve known way before the day she left. In fact—everyone who gets adopted out of here should know way before they leave. But they never do. They never know where they’re going, and they never know when they’re going—they always just up and disappear outta nowhere.”

“Our father works for the government,” Nathan stated. “He can move the adoption processes along a lot faster than anyone in a regular foster home.”

“Yeah!” Roman agreed, giving his brother a grateful glance, as he wasn’t able to come up with a counter argument himself.

Barry’s eyes narrowed into slits. “And what does he do for the government? Has he ever even told you?”

This time, neither of the Romero brothers were able to think of an argument, both of them simply trading glances and drawing a blank.

“Uh-huh… that’s what I thought,” Barry chided. “I never realized it before she told me… but it really is weird. Everything about this place… the weird adoption thing… and the booster shots, too. How many booster shots do you know of that you have to take every single month? And how come there’s never anything actually growing in the garden out back?”

“Barry—no offense—but you sound crazy,” Nathan said coldly.

“Yeah? Because Chelsea was barely sick at all when I first met her,” Barry responded. “But every time she took her booster shot, she got worse and worse… until this morning. When she died.”

“She didn’t die!” Roman proclaimed. “She got adopted! She slept late and then she—”

“She was cold,” Barry snarled, rounding on him and balling his hands into fists. “I snuck into her room every morning to cuddle with her before Hans would wake everybody up—and when I snuck in there this morning, her skin was ice. She wouldn’t move. She was dead!”

“I think you’re just lying at this point,” Nathan sighed.

“I am not!” Barry snapped. “They killed her—them and their damn booster shots killed her. And I bet she’s not the only one, either. How come there’s never anything growing in the garden? And how come the whole garden area is nothing but big long piles of dirt all side-by-side each other? It doesn’t even look like a garden. You know what it looks like?”

Then, he stepped closer—glaring daggers into the Romero brothers now.

“It looks like a damn graveyard,” he hissed.

A deep, tense silence fell over them all—and a slow, daunting dread began to rise up inside of Roman, fuming at Barry and briefly losing himself to his thoughts.

It couldn’t be possible—no, certainly not.

Nothing so mortifyingly horrific could be transpiring in his very home, enacted by his very own family. The mere idea of it was as outlandish as it was incorrect.

A muffled whimpering noise snapped him out of his thoughts.

Roman and Nathan both turned around, seeing that the new girl’s face was now buried in her hands, shaking and sobbing frightfully into her palms.

When Roman faced Barry again, he felt a spark of anger—his adrenaline spiking in an instant.

“Look—you made her cry!” Roman yelled.

“Good—she should cry,” Barry growled. “She should be scared—we all should. Because we’re all gonna get killed here.”

The girl fell to her knees and cried louder—and Roman lost it, shoving Barry and cocking his fist back.

Barry pushed him as well, and Roman bared his teeth—the two of them punching wildly at each other before Barry tackled him to the ground. Roman slid out of his grasp and leaped on top—somehow overpowering him and smashing his knuckles into Barry’s face—

“Stop!”

Nathan sprang forward in order to separate them—but a large hand clamped onto his shoulder, tightening on him and holding him back.

When Nathan glanced up—he spotted his father standing by his side, holding him in place and watching the fight with a strange, distant expression strewn across his face.

Roman punched again, forcing Barry’s arms away from shielding his face—and then, Barry gazed up and met his eyes, his own tearing open and his jaw dropping in horror—as Roman’s usually hazel eyes now harbored a piercing golden glow.

Barry unleashed a bloodcurdling screech—utterly shocked and terrified—and Roman took a sloppy handful of his hair, launching his head back once and bashing his skull into the hard wooden panels of the floor.

Barry’s eyes fluttered and rolled back—instantly falling unconscious—and Roman finally stopped, heaving several rushed breaths and only just realizing what he’d done.

Nathan and Virgil stood by and watched, both of them surprised—as Roman, the skinny little boy who was half of Barry’s size, lumbered off of the large boy and straightened himself out after miraculously winning the fight.

And, the moment he turned to his father and brother, he appeared as normal as ever, if not somewhat disheveled.

There was another long silence, only broken by the new girl’s cries, Roman gulping and trying to force the adrenaline away.

He glimpsed down, seeing that Barry was still flat on his back, fading in and out of awareness, his arms covered with thick scratch marks that were beginning to bleed. Sighing shakily, Roman raised a hand and examined his fingernails, his nails a little longer and stronger than most people’s, though he hardly remembered scratching the boy so much. It all happened in such a blur, all so fast…

“S-sorry,” Roman breathed, facing his father. “I’m sorry, Dad, he… he made her cry…”

Nathan peered upward, he and Roman both watching their father and anticipating some type of reaction—as Virgil was usually very strict with the boys—but now, however, he didn’t appear angry, didn’t look stressed, and didn’t seem at all interested in scolding his son. He merely stood still, gently cupping his hands and eyeing Roman with a long, profound stare.

“Fascinating,” he exhaled, cracking the faintest hint of a smirk.

Roman and Nathan stared at him strangely.

“Go on,” Virgil said, eyeing Nathan and making a nod, motioning to the little girl. “Go on, boy… get the hell on. Show her ’round. Make yourself useful.”

The brothers traded peculiar looks before obeying their father, choosing not to question his oddly calm mood.

Roman pulled the sad girl to her feet and led her away, and the three children wandered off, Virgil watching them until they were out of sight.

As the rest of the day carried on, Roman found himself feeling differently than usual—mostly proud and empowered, as he’d never won a fight with Barry before, and he couldn’t believe he’d accomplished such a thing now. Most times, Nathan would always step in and handle Roman’s fights for him. Today, however, Roman knew for certain he could handle more on his own.

Still—despite his newfound pride at winning the fight, despite how happy he was that his father chose not to punish him, and despite all the brilliant glee of the birthday party that carried on throughout the entire afternoon—a dark, sinister thought was eating away at the back of his mind, gnawing ever so slightly at his subconscious and putting a sick, worrisome knot in the pit of his stomach.

Truly, he didn’t believe Barry one bit—and he knew Barry always looked for reasons to get angry—but nevertheless, for whatever reason, the grim, horrid possibility remained persistently alive in the back of his thoughts, though it didn’t bother him much until sometime after nightfall, when all the fun and distractions of the day were gone and when he was left with nothing but quiet recollection on all the day’s events.

The party was over now—and after a long afternoon of running and playing with the other kids and swinging away at the piñata in the front yard, the day came to an end, and everyone in the Romero Estate was now tucked peacefully away in their beds. The ominous darkness of the night always gave the home a dreadful sort of feeling, a silent haunting atmosphere that Roman had long grown accustomed to.

Tonight, however—as he lay in his bedroom, gazing up at the ceiling with his hands curled around the rim of the blanket—it felt darker than usual, the silence somehow louder, the home feeling strangely, unsettlingly foreign to him in a way it never had before.

After a long while of merely staring up at the darkened ceiling, Roman released a cloud of breath, sitting upright and climbing down from the top bunk. He glimpsed at his brother on the bottom—Nathan sound asleep in his comforter—and then he wandered out of the bedroom, the door creaking open as his bare feet pitter-pattered softly against the cold wooden floor.

He stepped into the bathroom and peed in the toilet, yawning and flushing before turning the light off and returning to the blackened hall.

Then—just when he passed by the edge of the staircase—Roman slowed to a full, hesitant stop, staring downstairs as a spark of curiosity overtook him, one he’d never felt before now.

His feet began to lead him away, tip-tapping against the surface of each stair as he wandered down to the first floor, unsure of why, but he followed his feet regardless.

He didn’t believe Barry—and he wasn’t considering that Barry could’ve been right about anything, that the booster shot killed Chelsea, that others had been killed the same way, or that a fresh burial might’ve been going on in the backyard while Roman was busy celebrating his birthday in the front—yet still, for reasons unknown, he simply carried on, and he didn’t stop until he reached the isolated door to the basement down below.

Only when he wrapped his hand around the cold steely knob did he pause, finally thinking to second-guess his actions. But he quickly shook it off and turned the knob, easefully pushing the creaky door open.

His birthday party was great, he got his final ever booster shot, and he won a fight with Barry for the first time in his life today—so he might as well carry on while his streak of good luck was in full effect.

It felt incredibly strange to visit the basement alone, and even more so to enter the area after nightfall, two things he’d never attempted before.

He crept down the pitch-black stairs as cautiously as possible, and he spent some time groping along the walls until he finally found a switch, flipping it and powering on the basement’s random assorted lights. The countertops, the clutter, the beds, the tray, and the stairs still harbored the same ominousness as always, the gray stone walls crackled in several places and the medical clipboard still sitting on the counter beside a box of files, just where Hans had left it.

Roman examined one of the syringes, then moved over to the box, gently scooting it off the counter and placing it on the ground. He hadn’t the faintest clue why—but he began pulling them out one by one, flipping them open and squinting to read the contents in the darkness.

The first file contained information on a person named Cody Garrison, and it included a picture of him in the upper right section of the first page. Roman took a moment to study the picture before he recognized the boy; it was a young seven-year-old who lived in the estate almost two years ago, and he’d gotten adopted out to a new family right around the time Roman himself was seven. His eyes began to dance from word to word, trying to spell out all the long and complicated medical terms and quickly giving up.

Then, his gaze landed on the bottom of the page, where a rectangular red stamp had been printed onto the paper, spelling out a single word over the document.

In great bold letters, the crimson stamp read;

DECEASED.

Roman stood stock still for what felt like an eternity, his eyes locked onto the word and his expression entirely void of emotion.

He knew what the word meant—and he knew what the only explanation must’ve been—but no matter how long he stood there, still as a statue, staring deeply into the word and attempting to process what he’d found, the realization simply refused to sink in.

It meant everything—every waking morning and every sleepy evening, every lesson taught to him and every value given to him, everything he’d ever been told and everyone he’d ever grown to care about—every shred of it, every part of it, every little ounce of it was compromised from the start, and it felt utterly impossible to wrap his mind around such a dark, daunting scenario.

Grim and stoic, Roman slowly lowered his hand, pulling another file from the box and opening it. This one appeared the same, only with a different child’s picture, a child named Herbert Landry, age eleven, and Roman remembered this kid as well—a kid who was supposedly adopted out seven months ago.

And, to his chagrin, this child was also marked deceased.

His hands began moving without his permission, pulling out file after file and opening each one—and every time he did, he found another familiar face beneath a thick red stamp, children he used to know now marked deceased, all of them dead—not adopted out, not moved away, and not living happily with a new family elsewhere.

Dead.

Roman, still deeply in shock and looking totally emotionless, placed all of the files back in their original place before sliding the box onto the counter.

He then backed away, staring at it, his eyes deadpan and his face emptier than it ever had been. Finally, he turned on his heel, flipping the lights off before climbing the stairs and leaving the basement.

And the moment he stepped out—his heart dropped.

Virgil stood directly before him in the darkness, Hans and Auntie on either side of him, all three adults eyeing Roman pensively with the most hauntingly unreadable visages he’d ever seen on them.

“Vell, somebody has been… feeling curious,” Hans glowered, taking a slow stride forward. “So bad for you.”

All the images of the dead children were still fresh on his mind—and the sight of Hans now terrified him. Roman felt a great fear shoot through him like lightning, scrambling away and pressing his back to the nearest wall, his eyes widening and his gaze shifting over to his father.

“My friends are dead?” Roman breathed in a light, weakened whimper.

Virgil merely stared at him with the iciest expression he’d ever worn.

Roman’s lip trembled, his eyes filling with tears as he read his father’s visage, the horrid truth hitting him all at once—making his chest ache and his head begin to spin.

“Are y—are you gonna kill me too?!” Roman gasped without thinking, tears streaming down his face as he stared miserably up at his father.

Hans slowed to a stop, Auntie looking over to Virgil, and everyone fell deathly still and silent for a moment.

Virgil surveyed his son, then hung his head, releasing a deep cloud of breath and flipping up the side of his button-up shirt, slowly reaching for his hip.

“No… son… I wasn’t going to kill you,” Virgil muttered in an unfeeling hiss, his fingers coiling around the handle of the small black revolver tucked in the rim of his pants. “But now… I’m afraid… I have to.”

Now—every terrible feeling possible bombarded him full-force, terror and dread, anger and fright, head spinning as his blood seemed to ignite at once like gasoline—and then, as the adults drew near and as he found himself encircled—something took over him entirely.

Roman’s face twisted up in rage—his hazel eyes beginning to burn a furious gold.

Never would he forget the trauma of this night—but he didn’t remember lunging at his father, didn’t remember breaking into action and slashing Virgil’s arm, ripping his nails across Hans’s leg and slicing at all of them until they backed off, and he took the chance to run.

Lost in a daze and possessed by adrenaline—Roman exploded out the double-doors of the Romero Estate, sprinting into the darkness at top speed and vanishing into the night.

Wolfsbourne, Louisiana

1994



At last—Terra returned to her hometown in the bayou after a long trip around the state.

For months, she spent her time traveling—writing articles for her publication, taking pictures for the same purpose, and sending all the material back to her boss in Wolfsbourne through the mail.

Her job was a unique one, one that required her to seek stories, gather information, and write all about it with her own creative spin. This was the first time she’d spent so much time away for the job, and now that all her leads had flickered out of her scope, it was time to finally come home.

Wolfsbourne resided in Wolf County, an isolated Louisiana nook between the counties of Lydia and Pecan Island, her lovely backwoods home hidden away from the hustle and bustle of places like New Orleans.

And today was the perfect day to come home, a flawless autumn day that was neither too hot or too cold, the breeze shifting the treetops as she rolled up the driveway of her home and parked her pickup on the slope, her mother’s car tucked under the car port in its usual spot, the cozy wooden house sitting snugly on its hillside just at the water’s edge.

Terra stepped out, peeling off her sunglasses and releasing a contented sigh as she absorbed the sight of home again.

She jerked her head and slung her strawberry-blonde bangs from her eyes, her hair just long enough to reach her neck and styled in a short, swoopy fashion, smooth and wavy like always. She stood at average height, slim and fit, wearing a dark tank top and pants to match, a faded jean jacket overtop with several stylish patches on the chest and sleeves, tape recorder in her pocket and camera hanging around her neck.

She strode around the truck and pulled her bags from the back before sauntering inside, greeted by her mother and hugging her warmly before entering the house.

During the time Terra placed her bags on the couch and vanished into the bathroom for a moment—another vehicle pulled up to the home, an older white truck with several dings and dents. The truck belonged to her eccentric boss, whom she’d spoken to on the phone earlier in the day and instructed him to meet here when she arrived.

The man emerged from his truck and glanced at Terra’s black pickup. This man—James Morrow, a man on the older side with dark scraggly hair combed back, as well as a navy jean jacket and a pair of wild brown eyes—swung the door shut and swaggered toward the front door, surprised to see it fly open before he’d crossed half of the concrete path leading up to the house.

In the doorway stood Terra’s mother, Lidia, middle-aged and wearing a coy smirk. She didn’t much look her age—her blonde hair far longer and brighter than her daughter’s, combed mostly to one side as she took a step beneath the sunlight, and her beautiful face came fully into view.

“Oh—Lidia, hello,” James said, clasping his hands and flashing a smile, his voice throaty and raspy as usual. “I’m assuming our hometown hero’s here?”

“’Course she is—you can see the truck right there,” Lidia replied curtly, nodding toward the driveway. “Right on time, too. You might as well have followed her here. She got here exactly a minute before you did.”

“She gave me a time, I just… well, lucky break,” James shrugged. “And I know she’s got more to show me. Reckon I’m feeling eager. Haha.”

“Can’t be much more, or she wouldn’t be home,” Lidia chuckled. “Her leads all fell off, way I heard it.”

“Ah, well—nobody’s better at covering their tracks than an entire government,” James laughed. “Where is she?”

“Right here—and look,” Terra emerged from behind her mother, stepping outside and holding up a large brownish envelope. “I got it all right here.”

James brandished an ear-to-ear grin. “Well—let’s head on down to the office, then. See what we got to work with.”

“Yep-yep,” Terra nodded with a grin, turning and giving her mother a goodbye hug. “I’m gonna organize all this with James, and then I’m supposed to meet up with Ethan and Weston soon. I’ll be back home tonight, Mom. Love you.”

“Runnin’ off the moment you get back,” Lidia sighed, placing a hand on Terra’s shoulder and returning her smile. “Shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Don’t guilt-trip me,” Terra laughed. “I love you—but I’ve still got a lot to do today. I’ll be back soon, and then we’ll catch up like always.”

“Love you too, hun… be careful.”

“Always.”

They hugged once more, and then she broke away, Lidia watching as James and Terra headed off to their vehicles.

Both of them backed slowly out of the driveway, and Lidia remained on the porch, observing until the pickup trucks were no longer in her sight.

Terra smiled as she drove just behind James’s beaten-up old truck, cruising beneath a gorgeous tunnel of treetop canopies, the sunlight casting crooked beams down at the road from between the countless leaves and branches.

The humid air breezed into the truck from her cracked-open windows, her stereo playing a steady stream of rock music from her favorite mix tape, and as she and James drove deeper into the small town, she absorbed every familiar sight as she passed them all by—the bait shop, pawn shop, hunting surplus, shopping center, and all the narrow roads reaching out from the heart of town and leading off to various hidden nooks of Wolf County, where all the Wolfsbourne homebodies lived in peace. She so loved it here—and even though her travels were incredibly fun and thrilling, she’d always prefer Wolfsbourne over anywhere and everywhere else.

They pulled off the road and arrived in a small parking lot behind an old brick building—James’s building, the home office of the Behind the Blinds publication. The two of them parked beside the building before strolling inside together, James locking the door after entering—and then, they faced one another, releasing a deep sigh and trading a brief, friendly embrace.

“So glad you’re back,” James grinned, patting her shoulder before shuffling off behind his enormous desk. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Terra nodded and smirked, glancing around and feeling right at home—as the office looked the same as it always had, with James’s over-cluttered desk, gigantic gray computer, file cabinets spilling with overstuffed files, and walls coated with pictures, images, news articles and hand-written noted regarding all of the news topics they covered.

James’s publication was an independent one, one the two of them were incredibly passionate about—but, since they were the only two working on their newspaper, it left them with quite a lot of work to do and information to keep up with.

Still, Terra didn’t mind; it was her absolute passion to cover topics that were usually hidden away from the world, especially the dark and mysterious occurrences that were happening right here at home.

“Where’re you meeting the boys? Diner?” James wondered.

Terra ripped her large brown envelope open and cleared off a space on the desk before pulling out her papers and pictures. “Nah—they want me to go to Gator Land, and I figured I oughta go. It’s ridiculous that I’ve lived here all my life and never bothered to go there.”

“You’ve never been to Gator Land…?” James breathed, shooting her a surprised look.

“No, wasteoid—I’m always working,” Terra laughed, holding up a few sheets of paper. “But I have to start going to Gator Land—especially now.”

“Don’t you call me a wasteoid,” James snarked, cocking his head at her.

“Why? I’m just speaking your language.”

“I’m more sober than I can ever remember being now.”

“Yeah, well… that’s not saying much,” Terra snickered. “Considering you can never remember anything. Like the 80s.”

“Look—you—we’re getting off-track,” James grumped, shaking his head and swatting the air. “Why do you have to start going to Gator Land? What’s that about?”

Terra met his eyes, her expression instantly serious.

She opened up the assortment of papers and handed them off to him, James taking them and surveying them intently, his eyes darting from word to word. It appeared to be a poorly-copied government document regarding the topic of rescuing runaways from the Wolf County area, detailing all of the government’s ways and means of dealing with the situation, as runaways seemed to be a common issue in the area.

When James was done reading it, his eyes flickered upward, narrowing questioningly at Terra as his mouth drifted slightly agape.

“The girl,” Terra clarified, leaning on the counter and eyeing him closely. “The runaway girl that was spotted all throughout Wolf County. Sheriff told me he thought he saw the girl at Gator Land when he took his family there last week. I called him when I was a few counties over, just to check up on everything, and that’s what he told me. He couldn’t get any proof, and the girl wouldn’t talk to him… but she’s there. I know it’s her. I can feel it. And now, the government passed this thing so they can look like they’re dealing with the situation—but they’re the ones making it happen in the first place. That document is just damage control so they can make themselves look like heroes to the public—it’s all BS.”

“Well… we might wanna consider backing off from the girl,” James suggested. “If she is a runaway, and if she’s one of the kids who got away from this whole human-trafficking thing… then she’s probably better off where she is. We don’t wanna draw attention to her if she’s safe from those people now. That would bring her captors right to her doorstep… assuming she did come from those human-traffickers… but we’ve got no way of knowing that right now.”

“Yeah—I had an idea about that,” Terra said, her mouth curling into a small, mischievous smirk. “If she turns out to be a runaway from the human-traffickers, and if she gives me enough info to print a story about it… then I could take her in after the story’s released. I could adopt her. That way, she won’t be in Gator Land anymore… and I can look after her so they don’t try and snatch her back after her story’s out.”

James gave her a long, doubtful stare. “That’s a lot to take on.”

“Yeah, well… I know the kid deserves to be safe, but we need to print that story if we get a hold of it,” Terra insisted. “She needs to be protected… but we also need to spread this information as much as we possibly can. There’s kidnappers in our home, and people need proof. They need to know so they can protect their kids from it.”

“I know… I know. I understand,” James uttered, nodding mildly in agreement. “All we’ve got right now is some vague pictures of plumbing trucks driving around town with kids in the back. We’ve got tiny bits and pieces of information we’ve been able to gather… but this would be solid. This would make people at least consider what we’re saying, which is more than we have now. I know it’s important… but you’ve gotta consider yourself, too. You’d be putting yourself in a real position of danger if you took that on. We know our county commissioner owns that so-called plumbing company, and we know he’s connected to the people who’re driving around with kids in the back of their plumbing vans. And, because of that… we know this is likely a secretive government operation, or at least connected to one… and, if it really turns out to be what we think it is… then people are gonna end up coming after you. Especially if you make this much of a ruckus about their operation.”

Terra paused, staring down at her pile of collected information and releasing a cloud of breath.

James hunched over the desk, leaning on it and sighing heavily as he gazed into her, wearing a somewhat conflicted visage.

“Damn… I wish I was your age,” he breathed with a laugh. “Wish I still had all that fiery passion of youth in me.”

“Don’t give me that,” Terra scoffed in response, giving him a caustic smirk. “You wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t still have that passion.”

“Fair point… but I’m not talking about smuggling kidnap victims and hiding them from the government,” James chuckled. “You’re going full Harriet Tubman now.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Terra said flatly. “Oh—and guess what else I found out?”

She then pulled another sheet of paper from her pile, handing it to him and wearing a smug, knowing expression.

James read over it—skimming over the document and seeing that it was an article about a local scientist who lived in the area, a man who was now retired with his current living whereabouts unknown. He eyed the picture of the man—an incredibly old man without a hint of unwrinkled skin, his hair silver and combed back and his tiny spectacles sitting just on the edge of his nose.

“Hans Sauer,” James mumbled, squinting at Terra. “Who’s he?”

“A German guy who’s been living in America since the late 40s,” Terra told him grimly. “I looked up every person of interest in this whole damn state—and I spent forever doing that. This guy was last known to live in Lydia County, but nobody knows where he lives now, if he’s still alive. And there used to be all kinds of info floating around about him, too—the most popular theory being that he was a eugenics scientist smuggled into America from Nazi Germany.”

“Operation Paperclip,” James murmured gravely, Terra nodding in agreement.

“Yeah—and I have a really bad feeling now, because if he was smuggled in by our government, and if he’s still doing genetic experiments on people—then I bet I know why these orphan kids are being kidnapped and taken off to God knows where,” she ranted. “We thought it was sex-trafficking—but maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s something even worse. Maybe they’re still trying to enhance human biology and expand people’s minds, and the orphan kids are the guinea pigs.”

“Kids with no families… no parents… nobody to miss them if something happened to them,” James muttered. “Eh… yeah… it makes logical sense, fits together and all that… but we can’t just assume Hans is connected to this…”

“Uuugh… but it fits,” Terra sighed irritably, leaning on the desk and glaring down at the papers. “God… all this shit is going on, and it’s so hard to make anyone even care…”

“That’s what drugs are for,” James laughed, trying to ease her mood, but it didn’t seem to work.

Terra remained still, seething in silence, her crystal blue eyes lost in the papers just beneath her and her mind racing with rampant inspiration. Then, her gaze slowly ventured upward, landing on James as her visage took on a sense of hard determination.

“We need all of this in one single story,” she stated, planting a hand on her papers and giving him a serious stare. “All of it together—every runaway news article and every tiny bit of info we have on the plumbing vans. I followed those damn vans all over the place—and they always knew how to disappear before I could follow them to wherever they’re going. But they always had kids. Every single time I saw one—they had at least one kid in the van with them. We need all of these little pieces of information put together into one cohesive statement, and we need to deliver it exactly right to the public. That way—they can piece it all together, too. And, God willing, they’ll wake the hell up to what’s going on.”

“God willing,” James nodded, sliding the papers closer and studying them for a moment. “I’ll get to work on this—and then you can come around tomorrow and fix it up however you like, touch it up however you see fit. You’re the one who excels at the delivery.”

“Okay,” Terra uttered, releasing a breath and feeling her temper begin to simmer. “Okay… I need a break from this. It’s driving me up the wall.”

“You really do,” James agreed. “Go on and meet the boys. Have some fun at Gator Land, and just let yourself breathe for a bit. Keep an eye out for the girl while you’re there… but don’t get all caught up in it. Not today. Just go have fun, and let yourself be content. You need that. You and I both do.”

“Yeah,” Terra understood. “You wanna go with me…?”

“No, no… I’m gonna take a breather by myself tonight,” James told her.

Terra paused, narrowing her eyes suspiciously at him.

James blinked. “What?”

“Do I have to search your room again?” Terra asked, waving loosely toward the back door, which led to the area James used as a bedroom. “You better not start popping pills as soon as I leave. You told me you’d stop that.”

“Terra… I just need sleep,” James said insistently. “I haven’t been able to sleep worth a damn all week. I just need one night of rest. That’s all I’m gonna do. Gonna drink me a little whiskey, get myself good and tired, and pass out.”

Terra stared at him. “Why haven’t you been able to sleep?”

James sighed deeply, tilting his head and giving her a solemn stare.

“Why d’you think?” he mumbled softly, releasing a faint little laugh. “You been all up and down Louisiana all by yourself, chipping away at this government conspiracy without anyone else there to keep an eye on you. You really need a partner when you’re out doing this job, but you always just run off alone…”

“Oooh… you were worried,” Terra figured, flashing a wide smile and sauntering toward him. “N’aaaw… that’s adorable.”

James’s face flattened into a sarcastic sort of expression.

“I admire… everything about you,” he told her sincerely. “I love that you’re so willin’ to tackle this thing with everything you got… and it’s been a damn blessing to have someone around who actually gets it. But you’re reckless to a damn fault, kiddo… and you thinkin’ you can take on the world is really gonna get you in trouble. Especially with this. You’re like a daughter to me… so, sue me… but yeah. I worry. Can’t help it. I just do.”

Terra smiled sweetly, pulling him into a one-armed hug and patting him on the back.

“I got this,” she assured, stepping back and meeting his eyes. “Don’t worry. I never go anywhere without my revolver, and I’m a damn good getaway driver. Nothing’s gonna happen. Okay?”

James let out another cloud of breath, gazing into her somberly.

“Do me a favor, then,” he requested. “Just to ease my mind.”

Terra raised her brows at him.

“Keep someone with you,” James instructed, grasping her shoulder and giving her a firm look. “Ethan, Weston, whatever other friends you got, whatever other friends you can make—just keep someone with you as often as you can. You need to watch your back and be extra careful from now on. We’re close now—we’re close to exposing all this, closer than we’ve ever been—and that’s gonna bring some real trouble to us.”

Terra hesitated, looking down and nodding in agreement.

“I will if you will,” she told him. “We both need to be careful now.”

James flashed a smirk, giving her a conclusive nod and releasing her shoulder. “Go on, then… go and have some fun. And try to make some friends while you’re there. You need some folks at your back now.”

“I will,” Terra promised, turning and heading for the door. “Seeya tomorrow.”

“Right—I’ll organize this best I can, and we can both straighten it up completely tomorrow,” James determined, lifting all the papers Terra brought and giving her a goodbye wave. “Be careful, and have fun. Seeya later. And… welcome back to Gator Swamp.”

“Yep-yep,” Terra smirked, waving him off and strolling out the door.

As she marched around the building and approached her truck, she began to lose herself to her thoughts, sighing and popping her driver door open.

It was wonderful to be home, to be back in her hometown of Wolfsbourne—nicknamed Gator Swamp by the locals, as the town had a heavy reptile population, even for a bayou town—and she truly loved everything about her home, everything except for the grand conspiracy that was taking place right under everyone’s noses, a child-trafficking conspiracy occurring just behind the blinds of Wolfsbourne’s society.

When she first met James during her early college career—years ago at the bar in town—her first conversation with him was fascinating. Back then, as the two of them sat together at the bar and drank during their impulsive conversation, he began telling her everything he knew about every conspiracy he’d ever researched—and on that night, whether it was due to her drinking, her aloof nature, or her overactive imagination—she believed him wholeheartedly, and she believed him more and more as she read all of his material in Behind the Blinds, down to documents, photos, events, and long lists of unlikely coincidences that often pointed toward something shadier behind what was known.

Terra and James were friends with Sheriff Cormier, and that being the case, then perhaps it would be possible to enact legal action if she continued gathering evidence on this particular situation like James had so many others back then.

She pondered on this as she drove across town, coasting out of the heart of Wolfsbourne and diving down a long, narrow street that stretched on between the thick woodlands.

It was the road leading to Gator Land—the theme park of Wolfsbourne, the ultimate tourist destination and the greatest place for the homebodies to take their children during birthdays or vacations. She never found time to visit the place, never thought it particularly important—but, with a runaway girl rumored to be hiding in Gator Land, and with her two best friends performing their comedy show there tonight, the place was certainly worth visiting now.

And—after driving for a little while longer—the brilliant neon lights of Gator Land came fully into view.

The ambiance amidst the swamp, crickets and frogs audible on the air, the distant sounds of the highway echoing from far beyond the endless trees, the steadily growing sounds of crowds and music afar—it all came to her as she turned off her stereo, listening to the homey sounds of Gator Swamp as she approached, cruising toward the expansive theme park and pulling off to the left, where the parking lot for Gator Land resided by its lonesome just outside of the great wall separating the park from the rest of the bayou.

Terra stepped out of the truck, locked it, and pocketed her keys before strolling across the expanse of gravel and marching toward the great colorful archway hovering over the entrance, glowing green lights visible atop the archway reading GATOR LAND.

She smirked up at the compelling sign before walking beneath it, the noises of the crowds, music, rides and commotion growing louder the further she walked. She stopped at the front counter, purchasing her Gator Land pass before entering the park fully—families and groups of friends moving past her in all directions, many of them carrying numerous foods and prizes, the gator-themed roller coaster and the green-glowing ferris wheel shining off in the distance, the scents of freshly fried food slithering up her nostrils, the crackle of sizzling meats soon meeting her ears.

As she explored the park, she found herself wondering more and more why she’d never visited the place before. It felt like the happiest place in the county, the greatest escape from every trial and tribulation that life had to offer. It was no wonder why the townspeople so easily ignored the severity of their surrounding problems; they had the perfect escape right here.

“Wow,” Terra sighed, smiling softly and glancing around at the park, feeling serenely light and comfortable in a way she rarely ever did. “I really don’t vacation enough…”

It took her a while to find the correct place, and she arrived just in time for the show, waltzing toward the great big building with a blue sign reading COMEDY CABIN. The building was designed to look like a log cabin, though it was insanely massive with a wide concrete walkway leading up to its glass double-doors.

Terra stood in line for a while before she made it inside, joining the crowd and flashing her expensive Gator Land pass before following the people in front of her. They all marched into the darkness of the building, walking through a black door and arriving in a huge, comfortable room. The enormous room was designed solely for entertainment—tables and chairs across the entirety of the space, the left and right walls lined with booths, cozy lamp-like lights hanging from all the walls, stuffed heads and swamp-themed paintings posted up everywhere—and directly opposite of the entrance was the great big stage, where Ethan and Weston would soon be performing their comedy show.

Terra hurried toward the front of the crowd, hoping to claim a good seat before everyone else could take them. She sat at a table close to the front, positioned just in front of the stage and smiling up at it as she waited for the show to begin. She hadn’t seen her friends in months, and she knew Ethan and Weston were incredibly funny, but she’d never seen one of their professional shows before, and she was greatly looking forward to it now.

After all, she knew seeing her friends again would make her feel better—and some good comedy was just the thing she needed to take her mind off the disturbing topics she’d been so fervently researching as of late.

After everyone was seated and ready to watch the show—two familiar people emerged from behind the curtains, both of them joined by a girl whom Terra had never seen before, the three of them sauntering across the stage and waving happily at the crowd before them.

Terra recognized the two men strolling across the stage, but the girl in between them was a new addition to their group.

On the left side was Ethan—the loudest and craziest of the group, with large black eyes and short black hair to match, swooped over in a punk-like fashion. On the right side was his partner, Weston—a guy with a narrower face than Ethan’s, but with pronounced cheekbones, small green eyes, and silky blonde hair combed over one side of his head. The girl in between them was of Asian descent, with sleek black hair and sharp brown eyes, a brilliant alternative outfit hugging her figure perfectly and two pink streaks invading her stylish bangs. Between the three of them—in Terra’s instant opinion—they appeared as if they represented entirely different classes of people. Ethan had the vibe of a charismatic dork, Weston seeming like more of a jock or a prep, and the Asian girl was the punk-rock element of the gang. They contrasted one another so well, Terra knew for certain why her friends added the new girl to their comedy group. It was a great choice, and they gave off a vibe of powerful variety the moment they appeared before the crowd.

The crowd exploded into shouts and applause when the group appeared before them. The East & West group waited patiently for the ravenous yells and applause to die down before any of them spoke. When the giant room finally simmered into a quieter ambience, Weston glimpsed between the audience and his friends, releasing a faint laugh and jabbing a finger at the crowd.

“I’m gonna take a wild stab in the dark,” Weston announced, his voice as smooth as his hair. “And say you guys probably all know who we are.”

The audience broke into another round of screaming applause, this time falling silent much faster. Weston laughed and nodded.

“For those who don’t know—my name’s Yuki, and I’m new to East & West,” the punk girl named Yuki announced. “Now—we had a format we were gonna abide by here, but our manager accidentally misplaced the loose scripts we had for that.”

“Sooo—I figured we’d just improv some improv!” Ethan announced dramatically, swaggering forward and cocking his head at the audience. “We’re gonna do some random-ass skits here. To hell with the scripts and to hell with the rules—we’re just gonna take some random crap and make it funny. Okay?”

Once more, the audience responded with vigorous claps and hollers of approval.

“Okay!” Yuki yelled, raising her hands and urging the crowd to simmer down. “We need some things from you! First of all—we need a setting!”

Instantly, the audience began screaming random things up at the stage—words like house, grocery store, beach, lifeboat, and fighter jet. Then—Terra shot up excitedly from her seat, thrusting her hand into the air and yelling at the top of her lungs.

“METH HOUSE!” she bellowed.

Ethan and Weston both froze for a split second, seeing their friend close by the stage and trading smiles with one another.

Then, Ethan snapped and pointed down at the crowd, his eyes fixated on Terra. “Okay—I heard meth house. I don’t know why, but I really wanna do meth house.”

Many members of the audience giggled at hearing this, Terra beaming and sitting back down.

“Okay. The setting is…” Yuki paused, slowly turning and giving Ethan a strange stare. “A meth house. Apparently.”

“Next, we need a goal,” Weston disclosed. “Who are we, and why’re we in the meth house?”

The audience yelled random ideas up at the stage again. Seconds later, Weston waved them all down, holding his microphone closer to his face and pointing at two different people in the crowd.

“Okay—I heard cops, and I heard drug bust,” Weston stated. “Two of us can be the cops doing the drug bust. But one of us has to be the criminal cooking meth.”

The three of them glimpsed between one another. Then, Ethan and Yuki began staring at Weston intensely and expectantly, and this continued for several seconds, resulting in another string of laughter from the audience.

“Me? Seriously?” Weston scoffed in amusement. “Yuki’s the one who looks like she’d make meth for a living.”

Once more, the audience erupted—this time with a lot of “Oooooo!” echoing throughout the theatre. Yuki turned to the crowd, her jaw dropping in astonishment at Weston’s statement. Weston simply snickered until Yuki smacked him on the arm.

“All right—we got it,” Ethan determined. “Let’s set it up. C’mon…”

The three of them separated on the stage, Ethan and Yuki marching off to the left while Weston wandered over to the right. Everything fell silent for a moment, Weston standing over an imaginary desk and tinkering with the nonexistent tools of his make-believe meth lab.

Then—Ethan launched his foot out from behind the left curtain, creating a BANG-BOOM noise with his mouth and pretending to kick a door down. He and Yuki stormed the scene with invisible guns drawn, advancing on Weston and glaring intently at him.

Weston didn’t stop fidgeting with the make-believe meth lab. He merely glanced up at the other two, giving them a mild nod. “Hey.”

“You’re under arrest!” Yuki yelled. “Hands up!”

Weston stared at her, then gave a shrug and turned back to his imaginary lab. “Nah.”

“Aye, ya’ heard the girl!” Ethan growled in a loud and dramatic voice, now screaming in a bad Irish accent. “YOU GET ON THA GROUND OR WE BE PLANTIN’ THREE ROUNDS IN THE BACK OF YER FACE NOW, LADDY!”

The audience suddenly exploded with laughter—Terra tossing her head back, snickering breathlessly and shaking her head. She felt a great rush of contentment flood through her, thoroughly refreshed at the comedy of her old buddies.

“Ignore him,” Yuki advised Weston, making a sideways nod toward Ethan. “He’s new on the force—now put your stupid hands up.”

“AYYYE, AIN’T NOBODY GONNA BE IGNORIN’ ME ON THIS FINE DAY!” Ethan roared ridiculously, advancing toward Weston and wearing an incredibly wild expression. “I MAY BE NEW ON THE FORCE—I MAY HAVE SEVERAL DRUG PROBLEMS—AND I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE TONGUE-PUNCHED THE BACK OF YOUR MUM’S THROAT LAST NIGHT—BUT I’M A FINE-ASS COP AND I’M GONNA BURN THIS MOTHERFUCKER TO THE GROUND! DO YA’ HEAR ME? DO YA’ HEAR ME, LADDY—DO YA’ HEAR MEEE?”

Ethan was hovering and worming around extremely close to Weston now, bellowing and shouting in his face—Weston rearing back and holding his breath, his face tightening as he gnawed on his lip, as it was becoming nearly impossible for him to keep his laughter inside and not break character. The audience, however, had filled the theatre with a deafening wave of chortles.

The skit ended with Ethan wrestling Weston to the ground, placing imaginary handcuffs on him before escorting him away. The audience applauded feverishly, yelling and whistling up at the stage before the three members of East & West returned to their original places on the stage, all of them now chuckling at the bizarre scene they’d just acted out.

Just when the noise died down again, Ethan laughed and tossed his hands up. “I don’t know why I was Irish, but it worked.”

“You sounded like a drunk pirate,” Weston snarked caustically, the audience sniggering at their quips to one another.

“Yeah… you really did,” Yuki agreed, nodding and turning to Ethan. “That really… really threw me off.”

The three of them began requesting setting ideas again, and this time, they ended up acting out a poorly-executed robbery inside an imaginary gas station. The next skit portrayed Ethan and Weston disrupting an imaginary AA meeting and announcing their plans to open a moonshine distillery, and the one following was an enactment of a bizarre infomercial for a made-up product called ball-baggers.

The night carried on with a fantastic stream of hilarity, Terra laughing along with the crowd until the East & West group finally said their final goodbyes and marched off the stage. Once the shows were all over, people began rising from the seats, standing and squeezing past one another as the audience dispersed in waves. Various groups moved out the doors and marched onto the concrete walkway outside—but Terra remained in her seat, knowing her friends would soon approach her and waiting patiently for them to do so.

Just as she expected, when the room was nearly completely empty—Ethan, Weston, and Yuki emerged from backstage, and they all strolled toward Terra, the boys smiling warmly as they came forward.

“You guys are so freakin’ funny,” Terra giggled, standing and giving the boys a hug. “God, I missed you so much.”

“We missed you, lunatic,” Ethan laughed in response. “Where have you been, girl?”

“Working,” Terra replied, holding up the bulky camera hanging from around her neck. “I’ve been on a hell of a trail, too. It was a lot.”

“Still trapped under the tinfoil hat,” Weston shrugged with a laugh. “You never change.”

Terra snickered and nodded, choosing not to speak any further on the topic.

Ethan and Weston were great friends of hers, but she rarely spoke to them about the details of her work, as the two of them weren’t the types to delve into conspiracies. Her relationship with Ethan and Weston was different from the one she had with James; while Terra and James shared the same passion for revealing sinister information to the public, Ethan and Weston were somewhat opposite, and her kinship with them existed more for distracting her from the troubling nature of her job rather than diving deeper into it.

“So, hey—nice to meet you,” Terra said politely, shaking Yuki’s hand. “Where’d you come from? You’re pretty funny, chick. You balance these two out pretty good. I like the chemistry you guys have up there.”

“Thanks,” Yuki smirked. “Yeah… I’ve worked here for a long time, but I only recently joined the East & West show. The top dog here actually suggested it, since my lone show wasn’t doing too good by itself. It worked out, though. Best job I’ve ever had.”

“I can imagine,” Terra agreed, turning back to the boys. “What have you guys been up to? Anything new?”

Ethan and Weston swapped glances, both of them shrugging and shaking their heads.

“Not much,” Weston uttered. “We got our new trailer set up here, finally—but there’s not much else new going on.”

“No—but there’s something new for you,” Ethan grinned at Terra. “You’ve never seen the main show before. It happens once a week, every Friday night—and it’s gonna kick off in about ten minutes. You have got to see it. It’s gonna blow your shit.”

“Oooh yeah,” Weston beamed in agreement, his eyes lighting up. “Terra—you loving all the swamp life as much as you do—you’re gonna love that show.”

Terra took back, glimpsing between the two of them. “What… does the show have a lot of swamp animals in it? How do they manage that?”

The other three fell silent—Ethan, Weston, and Yuki all wearing the same wide, knowing smile.

Terra stared at them, now totally lost.

“You’ll see,” Ethan smirked, slapping her shoulder and marching past her, motioning for her to follow. “Let’s go—it’s clear across the park and we need to go now if we wanna see it. Trust me, Terra—the top dog here puts on the best show in the park, and you never wanna miss it.”

Terra shot them a peculiar squint as they marched past, following them across the extensive room. The four of them headed past all the tables and chairs, speed-walking out of the Comedy Cabin and strolling briskly across the park, past all the rides, stands, games, and crowds. Ethan maintained the lead as he quickly led his friends through Gator Land, Weston close by him as the girls trailed along at the back.

As they walked, Terra glimpsed curiously over at Yuki.

“Who’s the top dog guy?” Terra wondered. “What’s the big deal about him?”

“Oh… he’s amazing, girl,” Yuki told her. “He’s not technically the owner or the manager of Gator Land… but he might as well be. Everyone here kinda looks up to him, and you wouldn’t believe the kind of stuff he can do. He’s what keeps everyone always coming back to this park. You can’t believe it unless you see it. Trust me… you’ll know what I mean real soon.”

Terra nodded in confusion, falling silent.

A short while later, Ethan led them to the area of the main show—and the place was so vast, it put the enormous interior of the Comedy Cabin to shame. The entirety of the northwest region of Gator Land was solely dedicated to this main show—an ocean of tables and chairs stretching on forever, all of them positioned in front of a massive, colorful stage.

Unlike the Comedy Cabin, this place was set up completely outdoors, the distant sounds of the swamp life soon merging with the thick chatter of the crowd all around, as the trees of the bayou hovered in the near distance behind the stage, a snake hanging off a nearby branch alongside several vines, the lights of the stage dancing and flashing in rhythm to the music that blasted from the stage’s speakers. Everyone in the crowd was cluttered in front of the stage, most of them not bothering to claim seats, all of them whistling and yelling, thoroughly euphoric as they lost themselves to the excitement of what was to come.

Terra slowed to a stop as she and her friends arrived at the threshold of the main show, and she peered around, absorbing her environment and thinking this crowd was incredibly overly excited. She couldn’t imagine what was so good about this show, what kind of performance would drive so many people into absolute madness merely from the simple anticipation of witnessing it.

Ethan, Weston, and Yuki stood at her sides, all of them grinning broadly as they awaited the very same thing as the rest—and at once, the music switched abruptly to a fast-paced song, making the crowd grow even louder in their shouts and applause, as the show was ready to begin.

Terra fixed her attention onto the stage, watching as a single slender man swaggered out from behind the silky green curtains. She gazed up at him intently, surveying every detail of him and feeling oddly compelled by him now.

The man stood tall and slim, toned and rhythmic as he strolled smoothly along with the music, wearing a sleek black overcoat and a green-and-black mix of dark and shiny clothing underneath, his hair dark and sandy, slicked back in a messy yet stylish fashion, his hairline in the shape of a sharp and pointed V, his face narrow and angular as she flashed a sly, charismatic smirk at the crowd before him.

The crowd was positively deafening now, practically rattling Terra’s eardrums as the screams echoed from every direction around her—but her attention remained focused on the man atop the stage directly before her, who slowed to a stop and slightly raised his head, his shiny hazel eyes coasting over the crowd as the music carried on.

“Aaand ladies and gentlemen!” an announcer spoke through the speakers from somewhere Terra couldn’t see. “Please welcome—the man of the hour, the bayou magician, the very face, heart, and soul of Gator Land, give it up—for Roman Romero!”