Doc sat over Becky, gently petting her hair. She was sleeping. She was having nightmares. She was broken. She was abused.

She was beautiful.

"Rest now." He said. "When you wake up, we'll get you set up and right as rain."

He sat in his chair and stared at her. Children were always best when they slept. Certainly the girl was no child by age. And considering what her father had done to her and her mother had allowed she was older than she looked in some ways but there was a child in there, certainly. And she was wounded.

"Sleep. I need a moment."

Sitting on the edge of his chair he seethed. This night was grinding on the customers. On his staff. On him. He had a mad on and needed to get a grip.

"Let's get a little closer to the source, shall we?" He said to Becky's sleeping body.

He rested back into his chair and closed his eyes, listening to Calliope's song. He rubbed his gloved thumb across his first finger making a gripping sound and watched the music dissolve to find her voice beneath it.

As he slowly opened his eyes he watched the room dissolve away and his carnival take shape around him. His eyed drooped as though he were drunk or aroused. His mouth thickly opened and he licked his lips.

"Hello baby."

He appeared to be floating in the air, sitting in his comfortable chair. His end table was with him and so was Becky, her cot floating across from him. They were floating over the big top with the center post thrust upward between them. He sluggishly smiled and reached out for the central post. His leather gloves groaned against the old wood.

"Show me." He said, and sat back.

***********************************************************

The hole was too comical. It was shaped like you would expect; a running figure. Clay took his mind from it and crouched low to the ground. His bulbous red clown nose twitched and altered shape with each sniff. Sometimes he hated the permanence of the clown nose, but its size did help with tracking.

…car exhaust… …grease… …urine, always urine… …what the fuck is that?

He was just lifting his head when he saw the cop. He was standing there, squaring off against the clown. Violent Clay stared at what could only be the stupidest or most suicidal officer he'd ever met. By his stance, the cop was actually challenging him.

"Hey! Piggy! What th'fuck do you think you're do-"

Clay stopped talking when his left nostril started to curl. He sniffed again. "You smell bad, piggy." He crouched on his haunches. "Real bad."

A low growl started in the clown's throat. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't a cop anymore. It was stinking of things Violent Clay hadn't smelled on this side of the veil.
Clay spat. "This is gonna hurt."

The thing that was once Gerry tilted its head, making cracking noises with the spine. "Thisssss… gonnnn- nah… hrrrrrrt." It answered him, phonetically. "…pig-geeeee."

Clay's eyes popped wide.

Did it just taunt me?

Clay curled his lips back and ground his teeth. The blood from his gums started trickling down his chin. "I'ma be down, Down with the clown, 'Till I'm dead in the ground."

Clay launched himself into the air and into the chest of the Skindancer/Officer Gerry. The impact would have been more impressive had it not been Clay's thorax impacting the palm of the Skindancer, stopping and suspending him in mid-air.

Clay raved and squirmed like an angry cat, clawing at the wrist of the officer. As the flesh started to give way, he realized that shredding the officer would be useless. As suddenly as her ferocious attack started, it ceased. He dangled there for a moment in the grip of the Skindancer.

"Well, fuck."

The Skindancer's smile was starting to tear at Officer Gerry's skin. "Ffffffuh-cccckckkkkk." it snarled, and threw him through a 2006 Hummer. Rupturing everything as he went through it, he was covered in grease and gasoline when he hit the Peterbuilt semi tractor and its engine block stopped his forward motion. Peeling himself out of the
wreckage, some wires began to spark.

"You've got to be kiddi-"

The rest of what he said was lost in the gasoline explosion.

***********************************************************

Becky moaned and rolled over.

Celestine cursed himself for not having popcorn for this.

***********************************************************

Brick scratched at his right forearm tattoo. The skull and gothic vines surrounding it were twisting with his musculature. He followed close behind the officer and wondered how the poor dumb bastard got himself into this.

He's charging headlong into battle. With a gun. Against a 'Skinwalker,' whatever that is.

He shuddered at the idea. He'd gone toe-to-toe with some freaky shit before and found he had no taste for it. He was a straight-up kind of guy.

Rubes causing trouble? No problem. Kick the shit out of them.

Drunks attacking some poor victim? Easy. Kick the shit out of them.

Some date-raping jock having an unapproved thrill behind a tent? Knock him out, get her safe, kick the shit out of him and violate him with a garden hose.

Big tentacles coming out of the Labyrynth? Ethereal cats? Black fire?

"Pass, thanks."

Officer Roger turned back to Brick. "You say something?"

"Just thinking out loud." Brick looked over the trunk of a Lexus at the flames. They were just a couple rows from ground zero.

Roger was staring at the weapon in the short man's hand. He gave a small laugh.

Brick's chip on his shoulder twitched. "Something funny?"

Roger licked the sweat from his upper lip. "Your… uh… weapon." He nodded at the twisted metal in Brick's hand. More and more had been added as they approached the scene. It was quite impressive. "My son plays these video games. One of the characters has this sword. Big one. Too big for him to carry by far. Like a- a- a screen door with a
handle on it."

Brick looked at his weapon. It was twice as long as him and he was hefting it with one hand. He looked back at the officer. "So?"

Roger smiled. "Just glad you got it." He looked at his puny pistol and cocked his head. Making up his mind he nodded and said; "Let's do this."

Brick couldn't help but smile.

He has no idea what he's facing but he's doing his job. Dammit, I guess I'll have to keep him alive. Too nice a guy to let die.

"I'll go left. Try and get behind." He looked Roger in the eyes. "Don't. Shoot. The Clown."

Roger nodded. Brick scooted around him and looked around the front of the Lexus. "Be careful…" he said and slapped the cop on the shoulder.

"Ow. You too." Roger took a deep breath and scuttled the two rows to the edge of a minivan. He stepped around the rear and leveled his weapon.

"DON'T MO- …oh dear God…"

***********************************************************

Clay wasn't trying to put himself out so much as figure out a way to catch the Skindancer on fire.

He launched himself out of the Peterbuilt's frame and connected his knee with the Skindancer's jaw. It didn't even have the decency to look angry that the jaw was shattered. It staggered a few steps backward and VC finished his flip landing on the hood of a cavalier.

The Skindancer/cop's hair was smoking a bit, but not burning yet. Throwing his fist down, Clay shattered the front window. He reached down, picked up a handful of the glass, and ground his fist into it.

He was still on fire.

The Skindancer turned and observed the clown savaging his hand. VC raised his fist. It was now a mounting for dozens of pieces of broken glass. The clown was giggling with his mouth closed deep in his throat.

The broken face of the Skindancer's host contorted. A gagging sound came from the throat. Somewhere in the human brain was registering the urge to smile. The body was already deteriorating and it was taking a lot of energy to keep it animated. But this painted creature was delightful. And it was coming to play some more. 

Clay started a skipping run, rolled into a crouch and leapt into the air. He landed on the shoulders of the Skindancer/cop and started slamming his hand into its head and face. The chunks of broken glass that were mounted in his bones and skin tore into the head as VC twisted his hand with every punch.

The mouth of the clown puffed and Clay spit the mouthful of engine oil he was saving from the semi tractor onto the cop in a burst of burning spray.

That was when the bullet hit him in the forehead.

***********************************************************

Becky was quietly drooling on the pillow.

Celestine slapped his hand to his head.

***********************************************************

Brick was coming around the fight and pinching serrated edges into his blade. Clay was pounding glass into his hand making it a jagged club and Brick just shook his head. He fought with Violent Clay before and generally didn’t trust the sonofabitch.

All this and it’s just a cop. 

He planted his legs and swung his makeshift club/sword/deadly-hunk-of-steel over his shoulder. Watching the clown tumble he landed on the cop, still on fire. He was punching the cop over and over with crushing blows.

The cop didn’t move. 

Ah, hell. What kind of hoodoo-voodoo horseshit is this? 

Violent Clay spit the oil spray on the cop’s head. He still didn’t move. That’s when the bullet went through Clay’s brain.

Brick charged. 

***********************************************************

Celestine Blinked and closed off the vision. It was time to get personal. Checking on Becky, he put on his coat and top hat and went for the door.

It was time to talk to The TicketMastyr.