Chapter Text
Situational awareness didn't come naturally to Lyla. A shortcoming she was painfully conscious of, and as such one that she worked twice as hard to compensate for. She had lost more than one wallet at gunpoint because twitchy men in dark alleyways didn't set off mental alarm bells like they should. Lyla chose to believe that what she lacked in instinct she made up for in other ways. She liked to think herself quite clever, very determined, and pretty good with her words to boot. Others would probably use different, less savory language to describe those same traits, but she also chose to believe that others were just bitter.
She was still in the early years of her career the first time she saw a monster with her own eyes, though late enough to have established a semi-solid footing and a respectable—if wildly underpaid—role as an investigative journalist. A head-first dive into a story revolving around a drug ring quickly morphed into a story about a human trafficking ring; that rabbit hole took her even deeper into what she at first believed to be an underground market for cannibals. And if her boss didn't already think she was insane for bringing that story to the table, Lyla refused to stop digging.
‘At least they aren't cannibals’ she had thought at the time. The doctors were confident her injuries were self-inflicted. Her boss was confident her footage was doctored. It was honestly a miracle that she only had to spend three weeks in the psych-ward. She sometimes wondered if anyone would have believed her if she had just stopped at the cannibals story; looking back, she thinks she was well on her way out the door of her "respectable journalism career" even then.
If lack of situational awareness was Lyla's biggest shortcoming, then her second biggest was her poor impulse control. Standing on the curb outside of her former office, a box of her belongings in hand with a therapist's business card shoved between the pages of a notebook, one month left to her apartment lease in the city; Lyla decided then and there, if no one would believe her, then she would just need to make them believe.
She had seen many more monsters in the four years since then. She'd even spoken to a few! Though, their conversations tended to be pretty one sided. Or filled with violent threats. Or both. Usually both. She had found her proof too; pictures, videos, audio recordings, dozens of first hand testimonies from people across several countries. She'd spent years carefully stringing together connections between urban legends, missing persons reports, and small town gossip, uncovering entire hidden societies, turf wars that humans were none the wiser to, government coverups, conspiracies, on conspiracies, on conspiracies, that despite everything, she was certain not a single soul would believe.
She needed more. Something irrefutable, undeniable, something impossible to fake, she needed... well, she wasn't exactly sure what she needed. What does it take to make people believe the impossible? She figured she'd know it when she found it. Until then, she'd hold her cards close to her chest; hoarding every shred of evidence she could find, and continuing to unwind the most delicious mystery she had ever sunk her teeth into. And if chasing that tantalizing puzzle left her technically homeless, legally missing, and more-than-likely wanted on several felony charges, then so be it. It was a small price to pay for the high that every new lead gave her. The most recent of which took the form of a traveling circus that she's spent an infuriating several months trying to pin down. 'The Freak Circus of Horrors' had no website, no social medias, no hashtags, not even a number in the phone book, knowledge of their existence seemed to spread solely by word of mouth and local news, leading Lyla into and straight back out of two towns that the circus had just departed from with no way to know where they would land next. Every dead end did nothing but convince her further that this had to be the real deal. It was a circus for fucks sake! Not exactly "low profile", there's no way anything operated by humans could be so flashy and simultaneously elusive.
All things considered, Lyla was pretty damn proud that it only took three months since first hearing about the circus to catch up with them. It was one hell of a wild goose chase, so much so that she began to suspect someone must have been leaving a trail of false clues to throw nosy individuals like herself off of their scent. But with the power of caffeine, stubbornness, and a complete disregard toward personal hygiene and basic car maintenance, Lyla was certain that she had them this time. So certain, in fact, that she allowed herself the time-wasting luxury of an over-priced truck stop shower about an hour out from her destination. A giddy smile plastered itself on her face as she neared the town, and nothing—not her wet hair in the November chill, nor the angry orange light on her dashboard, reminding her that her oil change was three thousand miles past due—would dampen her spirits. She cringed a bit as she glanced back to her dashboard. Okay, that might dampen her spirits. But only a little bit. Three thousand miles was a lot, and she really couldn't afford to let that become a more expensive problem. She resolved to change the oil as soon as she got to town. No investigations, no funny business what-so-ever until then. Though, as she pulled into a commuter parking lot two miles away from the nearest auto shop where she could buy motor oil, she figured that stretching her legs a bit wouldn't hurt. Getting a lay of the land was just an added benefit, it didn't count as investigating. And if her route just so happened to take her right by the circus, then that was just a happy accident.
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Her route didn't take her right by the circus, and she fought hard against the urge to take a detour when she glimpsed the colorful big tops a few streets away. It was Sunday, and the auto shop closed early, a glance at her phone told her she had just over twenty minutes to get there and make her purchase, so even as her eyes lingered longingly on the flashing lights in the distance, her feet kept moving her forward; right until she walked straight into the back of someone standing in the street. Her hands shot out to balance them as she immediately began to apologize. They waved her off politely before turning back to the scene in front of them, only then did Lyla note the small crowd she had wandered into the edge of, and the man shouting in the center of it.
"Go back to whatever hellhole you crawled out of!" He slurred loudly.
Lyla shifted around the crowd for a better angle until she could see what he was yelling about. There, on the ground, presumably where he had been pushed, was a masked clown dressed in red and black gazing vacantly up at the angry drunk. His mask was scuffed on the cheek where he had been recently struck. Was that blood? Not a mask then?
"I'm talking to you, you freak! Get out of our town!" The crowd was growing around the two of them, people whispered amongst themselves but it didn't look like anyone was planning to intervene.
The man took a stumbling step forward, reaching out as if to grab the performer only to get yanked back with a choked sound of surprise when Lyla grabbed him first. She pulled hard on the collar of his leather jacket until he fell backwards into her, at which point she very generously kept him upright while he got his feet under him, or at least she tried to, but the man seemed determined to flail around until she let go and let him fall on his ass. He resumed his shouting before he could even manage to stagger back to his feet "The fuck is wrong with you? Crazy bitch!"
Lyla slapped a hand over her mouth in exaggerated surprise "I'm so sorry!" she shouted back at him "I tripped on the curb!"
"Like hell you did!" He shouted even louder. His face had gone cherry red, a vein bulged in his forehead, Lyla wondered if he would pass out if any more blood rushed to his head. Onlookers began to whisper louder at the display, she glanced to the clown who hadn't moved an inch but was now staring up at her with an expression so awestruck she could even see it past the makeup. Mask? Whatever. She winked at him, and if she didn't know any better she would've sworn she saw him blush in the short moment before she looked back to the drunk.
"I'm sorry sir! It's not every day that I see drunk assholes harassing clowns on the street; I just got so distracted I forgot to watch my step!" The crowd chuckled, and the drunk's face began to turn an interesting shade of purple, she could almost see his forehead vein pulsing as he visibly ground his teeth. Lyla was about to suggest he sit down, or maybe drink some water, but before she had the chance, the man spat at her feet and stomped away, shoving bystanders as he went.
The crowd dispersed quickly after, leaving Lyla to crouch down in front of the clown, hands on her knees, leaning in a little closer than was probably polite. The blush must have been painted on his mask from the start and she just failed to notice. Up close, she was fairly certain it was a mask, the bloody scuff from earlier likely the result of the man's knuckles bashing into the hard surface, she briefly wondered what it was made of to survive such an impact without breaking. Before her brain could catch up to her body she was reaching out towards the clown's face to thumb the scuff mark on his cheek, he stayed stock still as she did so, eyes locked unmovingly onto her, she was pretty sure he was even holding his breath. The mask was warm from his body heat, but hard like porcelain. Surely porcelain wouldn’t have survived a hit like that? His long, white hair brushed against her knuckles and she thoughtlessly twirled a lock of it around her index finger, giving it a gentle tug. "Are you alright?" she asked, returning her hands to her knees "That must've hurt."
The man stared for a long moment before nodding slowly, eyes never leaving hers. She wasn't entirely certain which sentence he was responding to, but she figured getting him off the ground was probably the best next step either way. She couldn't help the grin on her face as she stood and offered her hand to help the man up. She could hardly believe her luck! In town for less than an hour and already she had found one of the circus' own performers! At least, she assumed he was a performer. There was always a chance he was just some rando that liked to dress like that. He was a lot bigger standing up. Like... a lot bigger. Lyla took two steps back so she could look at him without craning her neck uncomfortably. "You're with that traveling circus in town, yeah?" She could scarcely hide the giddiness in her voice.
The clown nodded, then cocked his head to the side, glancing down. Lyla followed his gaze to a flyer in his outstretched hand. "Oh!" she grabbed the flyer excitedly, fingers just barely grazing the clawed tips of his black gloves "This is perfect, thank you!" The grin on his mask almost seemed to get wider as she skimmed over the information on the flyer, still basking in her stroke of good luck. What were the odds that she would manage to find a circus employee before she even got her motor oil? Her smile dropped abruptly.
Oh shit.
Her motor oil!
She pulled her phone from her pocket. Seven minutes until closing. Shit.
"Shit!" She wasn't sure how the clown could look distressed at her sudden shout through his ever-grinning mask, but he somehow managed. "I'm sorry, I've gotta run. It was nice to meet you." She began to jog away, waving behind her as she went "Thanks for the flyer!" She didn't turn to see the clown waving back.
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The teenager working alone at the auto shop glared at Lyla with undisguised malice as she placed her purchase and a rumpled wad of cash on the counter a whole two minutes before closing.
She smiled. He rolled his eyes and began counting out her change with a bit more force than strictly necessary.
She pocketed a protein bar from in front of the counter as he grumbled distractedly at his fistful of coins.
Both of their heads jerked to the side as the bell above the door chimed, then they both looked back at each other in mutual confusion when they saw nobody there. A moment ticked by where they just stared before the teenager shrugged, passing over her change "Musta been the wind." he said.
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Lyla considered taking a detour toward the circus on her way back to her car. Really considered it. Dragging her feet along the few short city blocks she had to decide if she should turn toward the big tops or continue straight to the commuter parking lot. In the end she just couldn't justify wasting any of the fading daylight. The thought of having to change her oil in the dark was enough to keep her trudging along even as the siren song of distant crowds and carnival games seemed to follow her as she walked. There would be other chances. She reminded herself of it repeatedly. But as she skimmed over the ticket prices on the flyer in her hand for the 10th time, she couldn't help but sigh. Ideally she'd be able to attend the circus a handful of times—at least—to be sure she soaked in every detail, but entrance fees were steep, and she was flat broke. If she would only be able to get one ticket, then talking to an employee outside of the circus would've given her a much needed head start. She privately hoped that the clown from earlier would be lingering around where she left him, and tried not to be too disappointed when he wasn't. It wasn't like she'd have time to talk to him anyways. Oil change first. No funny business. Just like she decided. Priorities.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she glanced behind her, then did a rapid full 180 as she recognized the same red and black clown from before. "Oh! It's you!" He was—unsurprisingly—grinning, with his hands behind his back. She briefly wondered if being approached in an unfamiliar city, by a very large man, hiding something behind his back was a situation she should be worried about, but figured that him being a literal clown probably balanced out all of the potentially threatening bits. He cocked his head and waved with one hand, keeping the other behind him. The sight of his claw-tipped fingers abruptly reminded her what it was she was here investigating in the first place, and she immediately began to recalculate the level of danger she was in. She waved back, and before she could finish her mental math the clown thrust his other hand towards her, in it was a red paper flower. Okay then.
"For me?" Lyla asked, delighted. The clown nodded enthusiastically as she ducked down close to the flower to examine it. "It's beautiful," she said, plucking it gently from his hand "thank you!". He seemed to puff up at the praise, standing up straighter. God damn he was tall. Not inhumanly tall, but still... She glanced between his golden eyes that seemed to glow faintly in the fading light, and the long claws on the end of each finger. They could be LEDs in the mask and plastic prosthetics built into the gloves. Or they could be...
She held the fake flower close to her face as if to smell it, rolling the stem between her fingers. The clown's eyes followed the movement "Do you speak?" she asked. He jolted a bit at her question, then shook his head.
"Ever? Or is it just part of the act?"
He looked quickly over one shoulder, then the other, before leaning in close, cupping his hands on either side of his unmoving mouth as he whispered, "I can't be seen speaking. But," he cocked his head coyly and his eyes curved in a smile behind his mask "I'll make an exception when it's just us."
Lyla glanced over both of her shoulders, much more dramatically than he had, and cupped her hands around her mouth to mimic him, leaning close and whispering conspiratorially in return "What's your name?"
She could've sworn his painted-on smile got just a touch wider. "I'm the Pierrot, nice to meet you" he answered.
"It's nice to meet you too Pierrot. I'm Lyla." The two of them were still whispering theatrically, leaning in close, hands hiding their mouths. She thought about what they would look like to a clueless passerby and giggled at the thought. The clown—Pierrot—giggled back. Maybe he was thinking the same thing.
Lyla straightened herself up and Pierrot followed suit, she went back to twirling the flower under her chin, holding her elbow with her other hand. She kept her voice hushed, not wanting to risk getting him in trouble, but didn't whisper quite as dramatically. "Are you a performer as well as a flyer boy?"
"Indeed. The circus has but a small cast, we both perform and hand out flyers."
Lyla hummed, looking him up and down. His costume looked expensive. Definitely custom tailored. His gloves were leather, or something like it, whether or not those claws were fake the gloves would still need to be built precisely to accommodate them while maintaining such a good fit. She eyed the perfectly formed ruffle around his neck, the hat that miraculously held its shape without going limp, the diamond pattern along his fitted yellow sleeves... was that silk? Pierrot seemed to fidget nervously under her attention, making her realize that she had been staring at him silently for much longer than socially acceptable. "Sorry, sorry" she chuckled, tapping the paper flower against her own cheek admonishingly. "I was admiring your outfit. I should've guessed you were a performer. It'd be a waste having someone so pretty only passing out flyers."
He jolted violently at the comment, and Lyla marveled for the second time at how she failed to notice the blush painted across his mask for so much of the conversation. "Y-you are much too kind my lady." He said, ducking his head.
"Wait," Lyla said, nearly cutting off the end of his sentence "if you're a performer, shouldn't you be there right now?" she gestured vaguely to the direction of the circus.
"I... should be, you are correct." he ducked his head again, sheepishly "Though my performance is not for some time still, and... I hoped I would be able to catch you, my lady." He seemed almost bashful. Lyla was struck with the sudden urge to pinch his cheeks, she bit her lip to stifle a laugh at the mental image.
"Me?"
He nodded. "I wished to give you a small token of my appreciation."
"Another one?" Asked Lyla, holding up her flower.
"It's only a small thing" he reached for her unoccupied hand, turning it palm side up and pressing a red ticket into it "but I hope you will accept." He leaned down to her eye level, both of his hands holding hers close to his chest. "I assure you, I'll make you smile during my performance."
A ticket! Looks like it was Lyla's lucky day after all! She was sure she looked like a fool, smiling so wide that her cheeks ached, but with Pierrot's face so close, she could see his eyes curving into happy little slits in return, so she could hardly find it in her to be embarrassed. "I'll be there." She said, clutching the ticket protectively to her chest.
The daylight had started to dim, and the plastic bag that dangled from her wrist reminded her of her "no funny business" rule. She checked the time and cringed. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I've gotta get going before dark."
"I completely understand. I am glad to have had a chance to speak with you."
Lyla began to walk backwards, pointing a finger gun in Pierrot's direction "I'll see you tomorrow night, yeah? Don't forget, you promised to make me smile!"
"I'll be there, my lady."
-----
Lyla managed to mostly get her oil changed by the time the light was too little to work with. She only needed to hold a flashlight in her mouth for the last five minutes or so. She deemed the night an absolute success, and perched herself onto the hood of her car to eat her stolen protein bar under the flickering yellow light of the single street lamp in the gravel lot, skimming over a local newspaper she’d found on the ground. Cars zoomed by on the nearby highway, illuminating her face in short bursts of harsh white headlights. She smiled morbidly at the three missing persons reports, one for every day the circus has been in town. Depressing, but promising.
She went through the motions of her nightly routine. Brushed her teeth in the parking lot, put up her windshield cover and pinched old T-shirts in each of her four windows as makeshift privacy screens, locked her doors, plugged her phone into her solar-battery pack, and completed the acrobatic feat that was changing into sleep cloths while in the car. Sweat pants, hoodie, two pairs of socks, all layered over her thermal leggings and long sleeve. She had this set-up down to a science.
Popping her flashlight back into her mouth she pulled the lever on the driver's seat, flinging it into the fully reclined position. Very carefully, she pinned a crude drawing of Pierrot’s mask, his paper rose, and the missing persons reports from the newspaper onto the fabric of her car ceiling, right underneath a torn scrap of notebook paper where the words “Freak Circus of Horrors” were underlined three times. Satisfied, she took the flashlight out of her mouth and pointed it to the rest of the ceiling covered in notes, drawings, newspaper clippings, and photos, all connected with red thread. The thread was honestly more of an artistic choice than a practical one. It was a proper crazy conspiracy theory board. Lyla was entirely too proud of it.
She held Pierrot’s ticket in front of her, pointing her light at it. Red. Unembellished. No date of purchase. The Freak Circus in gold text on the front, and not a single detail more. She held it even closer to her face, squinting like she would find some fine print spelling out its secrets. Nothing.
With a sigh, she flicked off the flashlight.