3."THE GREATEST MONSTER HUNTER OF AMERICA"

Decker Wyatt hated big cities. When he could, he would avoid them. Even if it made the trip longer he preferred to go around rather than through. To a man that grew up in a small, middle of nowhere town such as Talon, he hated the business and cluster of the city. It made his teeth ache and his skin itch, walking through cities with paved roads and big buildings. He stuck out like a sore thumb; everyone else was well dressed and rushing to get somewhere. He, on the other hand, was lost.

The stable yard was across from the train station. Wyatt felt more comfortable leaving Bolt in the care of a secure stable than riding him through the city. He would only be there for a day, giving him rest and Wyatt a chance to explore town. Wyatt’s next stop was Sin City train station. He bought a locker and put all his gear inside. He thought it’d make city-goers more comfortable if he wasn’t walking around in full armor. It also was less likely to be stolen. Decker hated the cities.

Wyatt walked over to the bulletin board. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but maybe the board would help. On one side were the stops made by the train and the estimated time of each trip. Next to it was a map of the city. He studied it for a while, memorizing certain shops, then walked to the other side. Decker Wyatt froze, facing the other side of the board, Heart pounding.

The board had obviously not been updated in a long time. Shows long since canceled and restaurants and stores no longer opened still had their posters tacked on. There were a variety of colors. Pinks, greens, and blues fluttering in the wind as a train came to a screeching halt. Decker, however, was focused on only one poster. It was right smack in the middle of the board. Unlike all the others, it had a variety of colors; blacks, greens, yellows, blues, and browns all mashed together to create a very striking poster. The title read “THE GREATEST MONSTER HUNTER IF AMERICA” and in smaller letters underneath “Decker Wyatt”. Said person touched the poster cautiously, like it was a wild animal that might lash out and bite at any given moment. He let his rough calloused fingers touch the paper. The poster was nice, obviously expensive. But why was it still up? The poster depicted a cowboy on a horse, arm raised high above his head with a scythe in hand. But it was different than he remembered. The face was aged, no longer silky smooth but bearded with scars across the left temple and corner of the lip. It was no longer the image of a sixteen year old boy that didn’t know any better, but a man. Wyatt realized the horse was different too. It wasn’t his old horse, Micah, it was “Bolt…?” The facial markings  and coat color were similar, but whoever designed it forgot his white tipped ears.

He stood there, still staring. The poster was new. Very new. The last time he had seen one it had been ages ago; he was still depicted as a young boy on the Palomino. 

When had it been updated? Why? It was obvious that his act had been important at one point; that’s how many knew him. He had at one point entertained his clients as a circus act. But now? That had been years ago, so why was there a new poster?

Wyatt got nervous as people exited the train.  He feared that this wasn’t the only poster up in town. How many others were there? Would people recognize him? Wyatt went to make his escape, trying to awkwardly scuttle sideways as more people walked to and fro.

That’s when a large, heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder, squeezing tight. “WYATT BOY!”

Wyatt’s heart dropped into his boots. It was his old ringmaster. “Ringmaster-” He said through a strained smile. The large man had spun him around to face him. He realized that Ringmaster was actually very tall, easily over six feet. He thought it had just been his small boy height that made the man seem so tall.

“Wyatt boy. Look at you-” He gave him a hardy slap on the arm that made Wyatt’s skeleton shake “all grown up. A man now eh?”

I’ve been a man for years- “Yes sir, I guess so-”

“Ahhh, no need to call me sir, boy-” Hadn’t he just called Wyatt a man? “It’s Reginald. Reginald Ringmaster.” Wyatt highly doubted that that was actually his last name.

“Yes si- I mean Reginald.” Wyatt still hadn’t totally looked at his face, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Look at me, like a man, eh Wyatt boy?” Wyatt’s heart plummeted even farther, almost shattering the platform like it was made of stone.

He braced himself, mustering up as much courage as he could. He’d much rather be getting dragged through the dirt by some monster than doing this. He sucked in his breath and peeped up. Wyatt tried to make eye contact but found that it made his eyes water, so he just looked at Ringmasters- Reginald's, vest.

“Ahhh, there you are, huh? Same brown and baby blues?” Reginald Ringmaster was, well, a ringmaster. He was old, probably in his sixties, but he still looked good. He had always looked good. Well put together with black pants, white shirt, red vest, and obviously, a black top hat with a red ribbon. His hair was still black with silver at the temples and a small sprinkling through his slicked back hair. His mustache was still the same, curling at the ends that somehow gave his eyes a cruel look.

Reginald Ringmaster ran Sin City Circus, the most popular circus in the country. There were acrobats, trick riders, people that could do trick shots with rifles and handguns, and the most famous act, The Greatest Monster Hunter of America. 

Wyatt had met him at the inexperienced age of sixteen. He really didn’t know any better, being on the run so young, and this “job” he had been offered seemed like an easy way to make money.Everyday, Ringmaster’s boys would drag in monsters for Wyatt to fight. At first, they were small monsters, but they quickly started catching bigger and bigger monsters when they realized that they attracted more crowds. 

Wyatt learned to put on a show, teasing the monsters and dragging out the process for as long as he could. He was given a horse, Micah, to add a western flare to his act, and the people loved it. Wyatt slowly became overworked, working every day without a break. 

Wyatt hated thinking about those days; the two years of hell without being paid a cent.

“Wyatt boy, did you hear me?” 

“Huh- No, sorry, Ringmaster.” He couldn’t bring himself to say “Reginald”. Ringmaster smiled cruelly, his lips slowly peeling away from his teeth.

“I said, why don’t you come down to the tent, eh? Come see it. We miss you. I miss you.”

Wyatt was too stunned to realize Ringmaster had put his hand on the back of his neck, slowly massaging the muscles there. Visit the old circus? He hadn’t been there in so long- Is everyone still there? Or is it all new?  Wyatt couldn’t believe the answer that came out of his mouth. “Sure.”

He was practically dragged by Ringmaster, one arm around his broad shoulders like they were best friends. He asked Wyatt questions as they walked. How long had Wyatt been “wandering” around for? Did he still kill monsters? Did he have a horse? What kind? Where was he staying? For how long? Did Bolt have a place to stay? Wyatt failed to notice the growing specificity of the questions and that Ringmaster walked around puddles of slop only to drag Wyatt through them.

Wyatt’s stomach dropped as they turned the corner, large industrial buildings giving way to a massive red and white striped tent with yellow flags flying. It was surrounded by muddy paddocks for horses, a large ring in the back that curtains in the tent opened up to. To the right and left were once brightly painted but now dull caravans. Wyatt still wondered if all of them were still locked at night so that the performers couldn’t get out till the morning. His late breakfast he had eaten hours before now churned uncomfortably in his stomach, but even that couldn’t distract him from the overwhelming weight of Ringmaster's arm.

“I think you’ll like it, Wyatt boy. People still love our shows, but it’s nothing like when you were here.” He tilted Wyatt’s chin up with his forefinger and thumb, forcing the younger man to look at him. “I missed looking at those baby blues-” he said softly, oblivious to Wyatt’s struggle of trying to peel his eyes away from the hard face. 

“Ringmaster?” The voice made the older man drop Wyatt’s chin. Wyatt rubbed the area where his fingers had been, like he was trying to get rid of his former boss's ghostly touch.

“Cassidy, what did I tell you about hangin’ about outside the tent? You’ll muddy the new outfit I bought you.”

“Cassidy?” Wyatt hadn’t heard the name in years, and the mention of it made his head snap up.

“Wyatt? WYATT!!!” The girl ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. They spun in a circle of laughter, Wyatt letting her kiss him on his temple as they slowed to a stop. She was still small with raven black hair braided neatly. Her new outfit was made to mirror traditional native dress made of an unknown animal hide with heavy beading and fringe. What Ringmaster and others considered “traditional” looked comical to Wyatt, it was like a costume. The red lines under her eyes didn’t help either, and he had to force down the urges to wipe away the cheap paint with his thumb. 

“Wyatt, oh Wyatt, it’s been so long. Look at you! I can barely imagine you as the skinny little boy from so long ago!” Wyatt and Cassidy had been like brother and sister during his circus days. He always fantasized that this was what his deceased  little sister would have grown up to look and be like. Cassidy was half Native American and half Spanird like him; to them that basically made them family. Wyatt had met her when she was only ten, instantly taking on the role of her big brother to a girl who never knew what a family even was. 

In her early years, Cassidy had played the part as a Native American Princess, being saved by Wyatt and many other cowboys in the show. Now, however, Cassidy looked like she was the one saving them, a large rifle strapped to her back. 

“It’s good to see you too Cass!” Wyatt laughed, totally forgetting that Ringmaster stood only a few feet away. As he held her by arms length he felt a pain of guilt strike his heart. He hadn’t thought of her in years, hell, since the day he vanished from this god awful place like the wind. He didn’t mean to forget her, really he didn’t, he just felt so bad because she hadn’t forgotten HIM.

Wyatt tried to shake himself of the bad thoughts, it was a time for smiles and happiness. “Damn girl, you shoot with that thing?” He nodded to the gun on her back.   

“Yep!” She said, her smile becoming larger than Wyatt thought was humanly possible. He marveled at how young she looked; she should be in her late twenties or even thirty at most, but she looked as though she could be seventeen, a big difference to Wyatt who could be mistaken for forty. 

“I usually shoot cans and things, I can show ya if ya want-”

“Now, now, Cassidy,” Ringmaster interjected, reminding the pair that he was there, “what did I tell you about shooting in the open?”

“Yes Ringmaster-” She said quietly, taking her hand off the rifle.

He smiled, lips curling enough to only show the back teeth. “Plus, we only have about over an hour till our next show. You should get cleaned up and prepared. Right Cassidy?

“Yes, sir.”

“Wyatt!” Wyatt felt his guts twist tighter in his abdomen. “You should stay for the show. I don’t think you’ve ever been in the audience, huh? You should come.”

Wyatt felt that same feeling as he had at the train station, he wanted to say no but his words and letters twisted in his mouth to produce a “Sure.”

“Excellent, excellent! Cassidy, why don’t you take our Wyatt with you? I’ll meet you in an hour Wyatt, don’t be late!” and with that he turned on his heel and marched towards some tents behind some pastures.

“Huh,” Casiidy said quietly, “wonder what he needs with the boys’ tents now?” She shrugged, then grinned up at Wyatt, “Why don’t you come with me to the stables out back? There’s a horse I think you’d like to meet.”

Wyatt smiled, walking next to her with his hands in his pockets. “Is everyone still here?” He asked, grinning at her, “Or is it just you?”

She shook her head. She told him that quite a few had left, it was mostly a new cast, a few from the original acts still remained. Wyatt was glad to hear that Ringmaster had stopped taking in children. The youngest performer he had now was twenty.

“Good.” Wyatt stated. Not only had he hated the child acts but he also hated most of the cast. In acts they were nice to Cassidy, treating her like the princess she was pretending to be. But behind the tent curtains they bullied and berated her for any little thing they could find wrong with her, even the color of her skin. Wyatt became a protector for her in a way, they only listened to him because he had a lighter skin tone than her.

“That reminds me, what happened to Austin?” He was one of the few that treated her like a decent human being. He and Wyatt used to have an act together before Wyatt’s monster hunting solo dominated and obliterated it. They acted as cowboys, wearing similar outfits to that that Wyatt wore now, the only difference was that Austin had always worn a hat.

“Dead.” She said quietly, looking at the cracked earth. “Died of sickness almost ten years ago.”

“Oh- I’m so sorry-”

“Yeaaa, I am too. But here we are, the stables.” Wyatt was surprised by how nice they looked. It wasn’t something thrown together like the pens on that plot of land. She opened the sliding barn doors, walking down to a middle stall. She smiled and made soft noises as she opened the door and walked in, letting Wyatt follow her. 

“Well who’s this pretty lady?” asked Wyatt, gently patting the mare's neck. 

“This is Truce.” Cassidy replied as she grabbed a brush.

“Truce, huh?” Truce was a brown and white Painted Horse. “Wild?”

“Bought.” She smiled again as she finished brushing the dust off her mare.

“I see. Ringmaster pulled out the big bucks for ya, huh?”

Cassidy looked down, “Yea, something like that.”

“Hey- I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s fine.” She was all smiles when she looked up again. 

“This your tack?” Wyatt asked, nodding his head to the large western saddle on a stand right outside the stall.

“Uh huh.” Like her dress, the saddle had way too much fringe and beading. The saddle pad was also an assortment of different colors and zig-zag patterns. The Bridle was similar, seeming to be made out of more beads than leather. 

“You like this stuff?” Wyatt asked, noticing that the horse had an atrocious amount of beads and what seemed to be fake eagle feathers in her hair. “It’s a bunch of junk. Very comical junk.”

“It’s what brings the money in.” Right. Money. That was Ringmaster’s obsession, everything else, like the well being of his performers, came after. “But I do find it a little silly-” She admitted. “Too many colors. And I HATE this goddamn dress. Why can’t I wear pants like you?” 

Wyatt laughed, that was the Cassidy he knew. “Well then why don’t we get you some?”

Her eyes shined like an exploding star. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yea, why not? We can go after your performance.” 

The pair talked, catching up as Cassidy finished grooming her horse. Wyatt got to meet some of the cast too, the trick riders and cowboys and cowgirls slowly filing into the stables to tack up their own horses. Some Wyatt remembered but most were new. Cassidy pointed out a blonde woman named Cindy, who was dressed similar to her in a “native” dress. Wyatt laughed, “native” dresses weren’t supposed to show your entire leg.

“Yea-” Cassidy sighed as she cinched the girth, “She’s the new native american princess.”

“Your kidding-” Cindy was blonde, fair, and had blue eyes. She was wearing a costume.

“Yep. Her story is that she was a little pioneer girl kidnapped by natives to become their priestess.” She laughed, straightening out the beads on Truce’s bridle. Wyatt was surprised the poor thing could even see.

“What a load of bullcrap!” Wyatt smacked his knee- “And I thought your act had been bad!” Cassidy smiled and grabbed Wyatt’s hand, pulling him up.

“Hey, we have a bit of time before I’m needed. Wanna tour the grounds?”

Wyatt shrugged with a smile “Sure, lead the way princess~” Cassidy rolled her eyes as she opened the stall door.

Ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψ

Wyatt thought Cassidy would show him her shooting tricks, but she instead lead him towards the cast’s caravans. Most were painted bright colors with painting of them and their acts on the sides. Decker cringed as they passed hers- her skin was painted a horrible shade of red- it wasn’t even an actual skin tone-

Wyatt looked around as he followed her, remembering the times when he’d practice out here for privacy or just to play with her. She liked to play with dolls and he had happily joined her in the shade of a caravan to make stories for the five rag dolls she owned. 

“Where we goin?” Wyatt asked as Cassidy started to slow down.

She gave him a grin over her shoulder, Wyatt noticing that there must be little bells on her costume with the way she jingled with every step.

They came to a stop at an old, beaten up caravan. It was painted a sky blue, long ago faded. Wyatt cautiously crept closer to it, like it may come alive and bite him. He held his hand up, slowly inserting his fingers in the gashes in the wood. The scythe really was a dangerous weapon.

“I thought you might want to see this place again-” Cassidy finally nervously answered. “If you don’t want to though, we can go back.

“No, no. I wanna look. Is it unlocked?”

The door opened easily, it didn’t even squeak in protest. Wyatt walked in first, giddy with excitement and nerves. He was quiet as he stood in the small space, letting Cassidy saddle up next to him. His head turned this way and that, trying to take in everything. His toy horses were still on the shelves, along with silver framed pictures and pretty rocks. Wyatt looked through drawers and cabinets, amazed that everything had been left as it was twenty years ago. He found a pair of gloves, ones he onced used in shows to protect his hands from certain monsters. He was surprised they still fit, slipping them on his large hands. They had once been too big, but now they were perfect. 

Cassidy smiled as she watched him stare in wonderment at all his old things. She let herself snoop too, holding up outfits Wyatt had once wore to make him blush. After both of them had gotten their fair share of looking at Wyatt’s old things and had put everything back as neatly as possible, they were both drawn to the photos that sat on a crowded desk. Wyatt picked one of them up- an extremely old picture of the two of them both on Wyatt’s old horse Micha. He was sad to have left him- he remembered how much he had loved wild flowers.

“What ever happened to him?” Wyatt whispered, not sure who he was directing his question to.

“He lived quite a while after you left. Austin rode him for a time, but once he got too old he became mine. He really was a sweet horse. Died a sweet death, don’t worry. Peaceful. We buried him way out there, with the flowers n’ stuff. He rests well.” She smiled at the photo, so did Wyatt. 

When he put the framed photograph down, he turned his now gloved hand to look at the gray dust that should’ve rubbed off onto the leather. He was surprised when the upturned gloved fingertips were clean.

“What…”

“He comes in here often-” Cassidy said, noticing his confusion. “Dusts and cleans in here. I think he’s trying to preserve you. He misses you-” She put her hand lightly on his shoulder, “We missed you.” 

Wyatt smiled at her, trying not to say anything dumb. They looked at the other pictures, pointing and sometimes even laughing at some of the photos. At some point she said it’d probably be a good idea to head back, so she didn’t miss her call time and get in trouble. Wyatt agreed, lingering only a minute longer to ingrain the image of his old room in his head, taking the photograph of Cassidy and him out of the frame and pocketing it before heading out.

Ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψ

Wyatt and Cassidy walked into a strange scene taking place at the stable doors. Ringmaster had his whip out, cracking it down on the stone floor and yelling about something that the two couldn’t understand. He seemed to be in a rage, a strand from his dark hair falling across his face. 

The pair walked towards him slowly, carefully; they both knew how he could be when he was in a mood like this. 

“Ringmaster…?”

“WYATT!!!” Wyatt shrunk back instantly, acting more like the boy he once was than the man he was now. Ringmaster panicked, rushing over to him. “Wyatt, Wyatt boy-” He said in gentler, softer tones. “Sorry boy, you didn’t do anything wrong. One of the damned horses was giving me some trouble, that’s all. YOU!” He dropped the arm of Wyatt, who had been unaware of the grip that had held him in place, and turned on Cassidy. “You better check your gun to make sure it doesn’t jam! Go do a few practice shots then reload. Make sure your horse is ready then get in line.” He said the last bit with his teeth clenched. Cassidy ducked in an almost bow, scampering off like a frightened little girl to test the trigger.

“Now-” Ringmaster said in a more relaxed tone, smoothing back his hair, “Why don’t we go get you a seat?”

Ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψ

Wyatt found it odd that Ringmaster shoved him through one of the secret side entrances of the tent. Ringmaster had originally grabbed him by the upper arm but as they walked up a creaky flight of stairs together, Wyatt realized they were now holding hands. Ringmaster slowly pushed Wyatt from behind, hurrying him up like an excited child. They ended up in one of the private box seats, a single chair facing the dirt stage. Wyatt momentarily forgot his old boss, fingered gloves tracing the masterfully carved seat. He let his fingers settle in the groves of the W, A, Y, and double T carved into the back of the chair. He also noticed the little horses that acted as a sort of border, making him smile. 

“It’s nice to have you back Wyatt-” Ringmaster said softly from behind him, helping him into the plush chair. It had expensive red velvet encasing the cushions, making him momentarily feel like a king.

Ringmaster noticed Wyatt’s gloves and smiled. “You like ‘em?” 

“Yes sir,” Wyatt said quietly, slowly starting to take them off to give them back.

“Nah, boy. You keep ‘em. They’re yours anyway.” 

Wyatt smiled down at the leather gloves with a red, beaded seam and fringe.

Ringmaster excused himself, leaving Wyatt alone on the balcony. 

Wyatt watched from his high chair as the audience slowly came through the opened curtains, finding seats on the large wooden bleachers, many rushing to the lowest seats as to be nearest to the performers. There was quite a crowd, much larger than anything he had ever seen in his performing days. He grinned as he watched children bounce with excitement in their seats, bright candy apples and wonderfully smelling popcorn in their small hands. Mothers and Fathers tried to shush them, but there was a buzz of excitement that radiated off everyone. 

As the seats began to fill almost entirely, many of the cowboys that Wyatt had met or seen earlier plunged into the crowds, holding bunches of balloons, pouches tied to their belt loops, hungry for coins. Balloons of multiple colors, yellow, green, red, blue, and orange dispersed into the crowds, children shrieking in delight as parents handed the pretty things to them, most tying them tightly to their wrists so they wouldn’t float away. 

Wyatt was surprised when he realized that Ringmaster was again next to him, tying a light blue balloon to a ring on a rail, tying it just as tight as the parents had below. He flashed a smile down at Wyatt before he left, disappearing silently behind the curtains that acted as the door. 

A few moments later the lights were dimmed and the crowd began to murmur with excitement; there was as much joy in the parents' eyes as the children, and Wyatt wondered what they could be so excited about.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS, WELCOME TO SIN CITY CIRCUS!!!” The spotlight fell on Ringmaster, who again wore his top hat with a ribbon. His arms were outstretched like he was trying to embrace the entire crowd before him. “IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU ALL AGAIN,” his voice boomed, filling the red and white tent, “GET READY TO SEE THE SHOW OF A LIFETIME! I PRESENT TO YOU OUR TRICK RIDERS!” and with that the entire tent went dark. Only a split second later did some unseen band strike up a tune, the lights coming on, the crowd whooping and cheering as ten cowboys and cowgirls rode out on their horses. The women rode white horses, standing up in their saddles, waving at the crowd, while the men rode dark brown horses, twisting around in their saddles and riding facing backwards, a trick that Wyatt knew well. They kept in time with the music, zig-zagging past each other, sometimes momentarily holding hands to spin or to give a loud “YEEHAW!” At some point small obstacles like barrels and pots of flowers were introduced, the horses and riders running around them in a figure eight till they met in the middle to give a bow. The crowd whooped and cheered as the riders rode into the wings, only to go crazy once more as the real cowboys galloped out at full speed. 

The show was longer than Wyatt remembered; after the trick riders and cowboys came the lasso tricks, then calf roping, standing trick shots, riding shots, dancing, all the while throwing hats, bandannas, and ropes into the crowd for the children to fight and scream over. Wyatt found the next act, the white native american princess, to be hilarious. He had to stifle his laughs with his gloved hand when a cowboy with jet black hair and crystal blue eyes caught a fainting Cindy, sweeping her off her feet and onto his large, chocolate colored stallion.

Wyatt was most excited to watch Cassidy’s act. He clapped and cheered the hardest as her and Truce rode out, hoping that she’d hear him. She first started shooting at a stand still, aiming at targets like large water jugs that surrounded her. Wyatt at that point was more impressed that Truce seemed so calm, pretty rare for a bought horse. They tended to be a bit spooky-

Cassidy then urged her horse to a trot, shooting at things farther away, and smaller. Soon she was at a full gallop aiming and never missing hanging targets that Wyatt had failed to notice before. She then pulled a bow and arrows from her saddle when she ran out of bullets, letting the dummy arrows fly into the crowd. She then came to the middle of the circus floor, Truce rearing up, Cassidy pulling out a real arrow, and letting it fly. 

The arrow hit its mark, popping the balloon that the Ringmaster had given Wyatt. The crowd went insane,and so did he. He stood up, clapping and cheering harder than he had before as Cassidy, and surprisingly, the horse, took a bow.

Only too late did he realize the presence of the others. They gagged and blindfolded him, tying his wrists and ankles together, throwing him to the floor and dragging him down the stairs.

Ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψ

Decker Wyatt spat out the gag, shaking his head to rid of the blindfold faster. “What the…” His words were stopped short as he realized where he was. And who he was with-

Ringmaster stood before him, his arm wrapped around Cassidy’s small waist. The boys who had dragged Wyatt back there stood behind him, ready for their next command.

“You!” Wyatt began, teeth bared at his own boss. He didn’t know how to express the rage he felt. 

“Sorry Wyatt boy-” Ringmaster said calmly, eyes unblinking, “but you belong here.” 

Wyatt shook his head in disbelief, only to scream when he saw the ruckus that was happening behind the two that stood behind him.

It was Bolt. He was fighting for his life, but it was no use to the, what seemed like hundreds, of ropes holding him down. Still, he tried to kick and buck, thrashing his powerful neck, trying to bite anyone that was close enough.

“What. Have you done. To my HORSE?” Wyatt tried to wriggle his body to free himself of his restraints, but it was no use.

“Oh, Wyatt baby, don’t fight it-” crooned, walking towards him. “This is where you are meant to be. Where you were ALWAYS meant to be.” Wyatt looked to Cassidy for help, but she only looked down and away. Ringmaster, tried to grab his bearded chin again, only that it wasn’t- it had been shaved clean- Wyatt now realized how Cassidy had been kept to look so young- “Wyatt, look at me with those baby blu-” Wyatt acted without thinking, acting much like his horse; thrashing his head and neck, pearly white teeth biting down hard on large fingers.

“Damn you! DAMN ALL OF YOU!” Wyatt screamed as Ringmaster pulled away, directing most of his words of hate towards someone he regarded as his sister. 

Ringmaster gritted his teeth, shoving on white gloves to hide the bruise that was quickly forming.

“Why are you doing this?” Wyatt asked, struggling against the five men that held him back.

Ringmaster was surprisingly calm. “Wyatt boy, people talk. For months I’ve heard that you’ve been wandering around here. I knew eventually you would come back.”

“But Why?”

“Because you were my biggest attraction, and I missed you.”

“Those days are behind me, Ringmaster. I’m a working man now, a grown man, you can’t control me!”

“Decker Wyatt. You will get on that damn horse of yours and do as I say. You will go out there, on the floor, and entertain the people.” He was starting to lose his patience, it didn’t take much to make him snap-

“I wouldn’t do it for a million bucks-” Wyatt spat. 

The topic of money seemed to enrage Ringmaster. He lunged at Decker, everyone scampering away, even the boys that had brought Wyatt there.

Ringmaster gripped him by his throat, slowly lifting him off his ass, faces mere centimeters away from each other. “DECKER WYATT YOU WILL GET ON THAT DAMNED HORSE RIGHT NOW! IF NOT I’LL SHOOT YOU IN THE LEG AND TIE YOU TO THAT WILD BEAST MYSELF!!!”

At this point Wyatt was gasping for breath, unable to claw at the hand that crushed his windpipe. He was going blue in the face when he finally let go, Wyatt crashing down to earth and hitting his head hard against the stone floor.

Wyatt lay in a daze, feeling rough hands man handle him only when Ringmaster had walked a safe distance away. Wyatt felt the familiar weight of his gear being put on him, strapped and buckled tightly to his person.

The five boys hoisted him up, pushing a stumbling Wyatt towards his crazed horse.

As they drew near Wyatt’s head began to clear, his right temple pounding and probably wet with blood. He put his hands up slowly, letting his eyes focus on his ten gloved fingers, only looking past them when they became clear.

“Sssshhh, sssshhh,” he shushed his horse, outstretched hands slowly reaching for his horse's mouth. “You're okay, Bolt, you're okay.” The horse started to lessen his movements as his rider moved towards him; Bolt was a good horse and had never ever hurt Wyatt in his life. “That’s a boy-” Wyatt whispered into his horse's face, now hugging his head, both heart beats starting to slow with the comfort of each other. “What did they do to you, huh?” Wyatt slowly ran his hand over his horse’s strong body and shining coat, cringing as Bolt shimmied away from him as his hand neared the wounds from the whip on his flank.

“You poor thing-” Wyatt whispered in sorrow. He was against the beating of animals, especially horses. He grabbed a flask of water from his belt and let its contents run down the left part of his backside. “That a little better?” He asked, slowly tightening the girth and checking the stirrups. “Yea?” Bolt was completely calm at this point, almost his normal self. “I’m sorry I have to do this-” Wyatt said in apologetic tones. He hoisted himself up heavily into his saddle, drinking the last of his water to clear his foggy mind. He looked over to see a pleased Ringmaster; arms crossed and grinning. Cassidy was nowhere to be seen.

“Follow the boys. I’ll see you on the floor, WYATT.”

Ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψ

The crowd mumbled with impatience.

“I thought they said this was a short intermission, yet it’s felt like ages!”

“Is it over?”

“Should we leave?”

“Maybe we’re supposed to leave-”

“No! I wanna stay!”

“I thought they only had nine acts? When did they add a tenth?”

“Didn’t you read the poster?”

“I paid extra money for that tenth act!”

“Is this a scam?”

“I think we’re gonna leave-”

“Five more minutes!”

“No-”

“Yes!”

“To think I spent some of my savings for this!”

“I’m never coming back!”

“Did you read the whole poster?”

“Was the date wrong?”

“I could’ve sworn it said that they brought back-”

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS! THANK YOU FOR WAITING THROUGH OUR GENEROUS INTERMISSION. NOW FOR THE ACT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! DECKER WYATT! THE GREATEST MONSTER HUNTER OF AMERICA!!!”

The crowd went insane, gentle men and women screaming their heads off like children. They stomped and clapped so hard that the bleachers began to shake.

“That’s your cue, genius-” a cowboy said to Wyatt in the shrouded alleyway, putting out his cigarette on Bolt's flank.

Wyatt wasn’t ready as Bolt rushed forward, spurred on from the burning pain. He bolted out of the alleyway, galloping onto the circus floor. Wyatt let him run out his fear for a few laps before he reined him in. 

As he did so, he felt something like instinct from long ago take over. He smiled and waved at the crowd like he had done so long ago, blowing kisses at women and winking, even doing some of the old saddle tricks he knew. The routine came to him naturally, his memory taking over, moving him through the steps. He only hoped Bolt would understand these foreign signals.

Eventually Wyatt made his way next to Ringmaster, at least as close as he could get while riding Bolt.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! FOR YEARS YOU HAVE KNOWN HIS NAME! THAT OF HIS GREAT FATHER AND ALL THE MEN BEFORE HIM. BUT NOW DECKER WYATT HAS RETURNED TO US! RETURNED HOME!”

“Home?” it came out as a hoarse whisper. 

“YES! HOME!” Ringmaster was addressing the crowd. “BUT WHAT IS A MONSTER HUNTER WITHOUT HIS MONSTER? LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS, I PRESENT TO YOU DECKER WYATT AND HIS VERY OWN MONSTER!”

Decker Wyatt felt like he had swallowed a brick. His monster… his monster? But- Part of the curtain on the opposite side of the stage opened. Decker realized that Ringmaster had long since left.

In the new opening stood a massive monster, barely held down by rope and man. It had the face and body of an armadillo, covered in sharp spikes. It’s massive tail trashed wildly, three foot spikes looking for something to impale. That was Wyatt’s monster: The Spiny-Bush-Rattler.

Wyatt had found the monster years ago, during his circus days. He had been out wandering when he saw it rolling in the dirt. He had been young a stupid and believed that he could take it down, but boy was he wrong. He barely managed to run away, the monster rolling like a crazed wagon wheel at him. He had told Ringmaster of the dangerous monster, a big mistake on his part.

Ringmaster had the beast somehow captured and put on attraction, at first for people to gawk and stare at, but soon made it part of Wyatt’s circus act. For many disappointing shows he made Wyatt fight the monster again and again, but Wyatt was never strong enough to fight it. He had broken an arm, pierced his shoulder; he was extremely lucky to make it out with his life after every show.

So was the monster that stood before him now the one from twenty years ago? Or had they managed to find a new one? Wyatt had a bad feeling, now realizing Ringmaster’s need to preserve and keep things as they once were when he had been there.

However there was no time to ponder the monster's existence, a cowboy, the dark haired one with blue eyes that had “saved” Cindy in her act was unable to hold onto his rope any longer. With a shake of the monster's large head he was flung to the ground, barely able to crawl away as a massive foot came down.

This seemed to start a chain reaction, the other men losing their grips on the ropes and being flung in all directions… it only took a few seconds for the monster to free itself of its bonds.

Bolt could tell that something was wrong, skittishly backing up with ears pinned- but there was nowhere to go-

Suddenly the monster bounced in the air, curling into a ball as it smashed into the ground. “Well that can’t be good-” Wyatt gave Bolt a great kick, something he felt awful for but knew it was the only way to get him to move in his state of fear. He broke into a gallop, randomly zig-zagging across the ring as the monster started to roll. 

For a moment it was a complete mishap as the monster rolled aimlessly and Bolt darted about, not sure what to do. Wyatt made him run to the other end of the arena, and backed him up against the metal fence, reining him in to listen. He needed Bolt now more than ever. Their connection was momentarily broken and he needed to find it again. He shifted his reins to his dominant hand and let the other slide up the neck of his horse. He whispered kind and encouraging words, coming out in shattered little bits as he tried to calm himself as well.

He felt his horses weight shift beneath him, he felt the power build in his hind quarters, not in fright but in strength. “That’s my boy-” Wyatt whispered with a smile. His face of fright was replaced with one of determination and strength. He reached behind him, letting his middle finger trace the gnarly scar on his spine, then reached in.

He could feel the heat pour out of him as the scythe emerged, feeling its energy cast a light upon his back that mirrored the heavens opening up to the earth. For a split second, Decker Wyatt looked like an angel.

That’s all the pair needed for their last boost of confidence, and that was also the last thing the monster needed to send it into a rolling rage.

Bolt darted forward, galloping in a controlled manner, feeling the weight of his rider. Wyatt didn’t exactly know what his plan of action was, but he knew this WAS the last time he’d ever fight this monster again.

The monster and the horse and rider did sloppy figure eights around each other, the monster trying to run them over and the duo trying to avoid the large spikes. Wyatt leaned far to the left, something that Bolt made lean to the right, canceling out the unevenness and preparing himself for something he knew his rider was about to do. The Spiny-Bust-Rattler rolled towards them at unimaginable speeds, now rolling in a straight line, heading straight towards a leaning Wyatt.

Wyatt had calculated it perfectly, the monster missed him entirely and instead snagged onto the metal of the scythe which dug underneath its shell. The monster screeched in pain as the scythe ripped through some of its shell. Wyatt whooped as he circled around again like a barrel racer, his horse as fast as the wind. He forgot the pounding in his head as the scythe came down again and again, slowly picking away at the middle shell. This was too easy, way too easy… he should’ve seen it coming from a mile away.

Monsters are smarter than one may think. Sure many just charge at the nearest moving thing, but one that has lived in captivity for as long as the Spiny-Bush-Rattler and had fought Wyatt multiple times knew his tricks.

Wyatt came in for yet another slash, a few more and the monster would be finished. At first it had whirled around in agitation but now it lay there as if it had accepted its fate. Wyatt had stopped leaning, riding high and mighty as he let the scythe hang down low; he wanted to cut this monster's back open and expose its spine.

But the monster was quicker.

As the scythe neared its head it ducked and rolled on its side, its powerful and spiked tail smashing into Decker, who only had a moment to veer Bolt out of the way so he’d suffer the least damage.

The monster hunting cowboy skidded across the dirt, leaving a dark trail of freshly turned earth behind him. He lay there unmoving for a moment, unblinking, he couldn’t feel a thing. Then he did. The pain was agonizing, ripping through the muscles in his back like liquid fire. 

The crowd gasped in horror as they watched as Decker writhed around on the floor, dark patches of blood slowly staining the back of his jean jacket.

Wyatt suddenly remembered the pain in his head, his whole body. Every old scar felt like it was a fresh wound, he was losing his mind. He gulped in air, trying to forget the pain, but if anything, the movement of the inhale and exhale made everything ten times worse. 

No one knew what to do, not even Bolt who stood at the opposite end of the ring. Thankfully, he was unharmed, but that wouldn’t be for long if his rider couldn’t kill this beast once and for all. 

Wyatt still lay there, still on the ground. He seemed almost dead to the crowd, his face turned away from them, giving them a good view of the bloody horror of his back.

I’m going to die here. Wyatt thought as he tried again to gasp for air, he couldn’t tell what hurt the most anymore. I’m gonna die in this wretched place. My body will be on display like that damned Bush-Rattler. Wyatt closed his eyes in a long blink, how was he going to make it out alive this time? There was no way out.

“Get up.” The voice made Wyatt’s eyes fly open. “I said, GET UP!” Wyatt lifted his head, the sun blinding him. As he squinted upwards a form started to take shape. Is this heaven? “Dammit boy I said GET UP!!! Do you think a monster is going to wait for you?” It was the voice of his father. His snarling face came into view seconds later, now blocking the light.

“But, it hurts-” a small, seven year old Wyatt squeaked out on the verge of tears, sitting on his knees. His white shirt was ripped open, soaked with blood. Beneath lay a nasty gash, it was a miracle that his guts weren’t spilling out onto the red soil.

His fathers face was grave. Not like that of a father worried that he may lose his son, but a face of disappointment. “Do you think the monster will wait for you?” He repeated once more, “This is its opportunity to kill you, so I say-” He lifted the small Wyatt by the shirt collar, enough to bring his knees a few inches off the floor but not enough to bring him to his feet “GET UP!!!”

Denver Wyatt had acted like it hadn’t been an accident, that it had been all Decker’s fault. He had been training him that day to hunt larger monsters, ones he would now consider small. His father had been demonstrating on a bale of hay; how to maneuver the scythe to get one clean cut, a killing cut. Wyatt had moved closer to get a better view, to memorize the move so he wouldn’t disappoint. But when the scythe sliced through the hay bale, it sliced through Wyatt as well, leaving him in this very situation.

“You can either sit there on your knees and die, or finish the monster and have a chance of getting to a doctors. It’s your choice, not mine.” And even then, Wyatt knew his father would leave him there to rot if he did nothing. “Get up.”

Wyatt’s eyes opened up back onto the brown dirt of the arena floor. He hadn’t died. Yet. Either the blood loss or monster would finish him off if he didn’t act soon.

Get Up. The thought was weak in his mind as his eyes began to close. 

Get Up. It was louder now, not the voice of his father but his own. 

Get Up.

“Get Up.” It was barely a whisper, hell he could’ve just mouthed it for all he knew. 

“Get Up.” The whisper was louder now, growing in volume. 

“Get Up.” He said it now, it was weak, but it was now perceptible. 

“Get Up.” He slowly started to push himself off his left arm, face scrunching with pain. 

“Get Up.” He gasped as he finally sat up. 

“Get Up.” He shifted onto his knees, like he had been sitting all those years ago.

“Get Up.” The pain was now in his back instead of his front as he pushed off of his hands.

“Get Up.” One leg started to come forward and straighten.

“Get Up.” Then the other.

“Get Up.” Wyatt swayed as he finally stood up, putting his hands out slightly to regain his balance so he didn’t fall.

His eyes shifted in and out of focus as he slowly moved his head side to side to assess his surroundings. On one side of the circus floor Bolt still stood, unsure of what to do. On the other side was the monster. It was digging, trying to get out of the ring, stopping only for a second or two to make sure nothing was coming near only to dig again.

Wyatt stood in the middle, his scythe nowhere to be seen, at least with his blurred vision. Wyatt had to make do with what he had; a sickle and a lasso. 

Wyatt watched the monster as it dug in its crazed state. It was trapped with nowhere to go. If he didn’t kill it it’d get shoved back into whatever pen it had come from. Wyatt grimaced as the monster rolled its body to shovel more dirt. He could see the deep gashes from the scythe; he knew how much they hurt.

And that was his connection. 

He could feel the monster's heartbeat- it was rapid, showing its state of panic and anxiety. Wyatt had to be careful; this was his last chance.

He remembered the anger in his father’s voice when he had been in pain, the screaming and yelling had done no good for the scared little boy. He knew the monster felt the same. He would not scream or be mean.

Wyatt whistled, random notes flew from his lips, soft. It wasn’t the whistle when he called for a horse but a whistle as if he was trying to find the notes of an unknown tune in the wind. 

The monster stopped digging and looked up, dirt still in its massive claws.

Even though the tune was soft, Bolt still recognized his companions' call, slowly walking over to his rider to stay beside him.

Wyatt quietly detached the lasso from his belt of tools, still whistling nonsense as he did so. He tied the spoke of the lasso to the horn of his western saddle; Bolt was much stronger than the cowboys from before, and he needed his strength more than ever.

Decker grabbed the remaining part of the lasso and began to walk forward, leaving his horse stationary. He found his melody as he began to spin the lasso in a sloppy circle, quickly finding his rhythm. Wyatt released as the rope rotated and pulled, flying through the air and looping around the monster’s neck.

The Spiny-Bush-Rattler shook violently as it realized a rope was around it once more; it would yet again be captured. It began to ball up, starting to roll agonizingly slow. 

As it began to roll Wyatt realized that the rope was slipping- he hadn’t tightened it enough. In a desperate last attempt he lunged for it, taking hold of the white rope and letting himself get dragged.

“Get Up.” Wyatt pushed off the floor with his good leg, running as fast as he could, jumping and pulling with the rope, landing on top of the monster as if he were riding a horse.

Wyatt could see the red glow beneath the blood and gashes, unsheathing his sickle and driving it hard into the monster’s back between two heavily armored plates.

The monster stopped moving, crumpling to the ground and unrolling itself till it lay flat on the floor.

The monster hunter smiled wearily as he got off the dead monster's back and watched as a blue soul seeped from the skin and flew heavenwards.

The crowd roared. Cheered and screamed like it never had before. Stomping, clapping and whooping, the bleachers which they stood on threatening to splinter and break if it took any more abuse.

Wyatt smiled, then remembering his acting; bowed. As he came up to meet the dazzling smiles of a hundred people his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he too crumpled to the floor.

Ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψ

He came to as the lock clicked into place.

It was too dark to see anything, at least at first. Wyatt could tell he was on something soft- softer than the mat he usually slept on anyways- but it was cramped and his body was scrunched in the fetal position.

At first he just lay there, unsure of where he was and what situation he was in. The pain in his back had lessened, that much he could tell- feeling the lumpiness of bandages beneath his shirt. But where was his jacket? Wyatt slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, and realized it was only so dark because he had been facing a wall. With a grimace he turned over onto his hip, now facing the opposite direction.

Light from the moon shown through a barred window, it was evident some time had passed since he had killed the monster, but how long? Hours? Days? Wyatt tried to focus on the room he was in,eyes still slightly fuzzy from the previous events and from sleepiness.

Wyatt gasped when he realized he was in his old caravan. He had been locked in.

The room looked eerie in the moonlight, the light from the metal bars casting strange shadows across the floor. Glass and other shiny objects winked in the silver light, freshly polished. Right. This room was less of a room and more of a museum or shrine. How could have he been so dumb? He had run away from his horrid ringmaster all those years ago only to be caught by him again, and Wyatt knew he wouldn’t let him go. After killing that monster, and the crowd's reaction, people would come from all over the place to watch his acts again.

Wyatt leaned back against the wall, bringing up his knees and tilting up his head to stop the tears. He was surprised he wasn’t chained to that very wall- this place was a prison, and nobody except the cast knew. How had the others gotten out? Had they banned together to make a great escape? Or had something else happened? Wyatt knew there was only one person who knew the answers to those questions, but she was the last person he’d even want to talk to. 

Why had she done it? Lied. Manipulated. Why? She knew what Ringmaster was like, why had she worked with him? Of course Wyatt knew the answer to that one; she was scared. But why? What could have been so horrible that she couldn’t have even given a clue to what was going to happen? He now removed his head from the wall and put it between his knees. Why did he always disappoint the ones he called family? Why couldn’t he just love someone without consequences?

Through his sorrow, Decker Wyatt failed to realize the shift in the room. The light began to dim even though the moon was still high in the cloudless sky. When he looked up from his knees, he gasped at the sudden darkness. Was this another memory? Wyatt rose, unable to tell if this was a dream or reality, enveloped in darkness he could barely tell what was up or down, left or right. It seemed as if everything was shrouded in a darkness that was almost blinding. Wyatt reached out to grab at something, anything; a chair, desk, table, or trunk. Instead he was met with a tingling feeling at his fingertips. Where had his gloves gone? Wyatt reached out again and was successful at finding what felt like a shelf.

Then the whole caravan shuddered.

It shivered as if Wyatt’s hand was made of ice, like it was alive. Wyatt felt as if he had swallowed a brick- he had seen this before- Some sort of spirit possessing the very structure of a house-

There was a dry chuckle behind him, forced. It sounded as if a cat had a cough. Wyatt spun around towards the darkness and froze as he realized that it seemed to be just a black hole behind him. There was no outline, no shadow, not even a hint of light, the darkness seemingly swallowing it whole. Wyatt slowly backed up, hand searching like a nervous spider for something else that was sturdy enough to grab onto.

“Wyyyaaaatttt~” The voice was a cross between a man and a womens, if anything it sounded like two people saying his name at the same time. Wyatt knew better than to respond; a few monsters had the ability to pick up human speech patterns, and he prayed to whatever dead god there was that this wasn’t another monster, he’d be too weak to fight it.

“Whh…aats wrong.. Wya..tt?” The voices sounded like they were fighting each other to be the dominant one, the words coming out scrambled and incoherent. Wyatt stood as still as a statue, too afraid to even breathe.

“Wyatt?” It was a man's voice. “Wyatt is that you?” it sounded more feminine now…

“WYATT!” Wyatt banded his head on the bars of the window. It was no longer the inky black it had been seconds before, it looked like it had when he had woken up. “WYATT!” he jumped and turned to face the window. “WYATT! I asked if you were okay?”

Cassidy’s arms were hanging from her barred window, her faces half shrouded by shadow; she got no light on her side.

“Just fine,” Wyatt chidded, tightening his jaw and slowly crossing his arms. Had he just imagined all that?

“That’s good,” She was either oblivious or ignoring his anger, “I hope I didn’t wrap the bandages too tight. I wanted to stop the bleeding but didn’t want to stop your breathing.” She giggled slightly and Wyatt’s heart softened. She had done his bandages? But Why?

“I managed to save a spike for you- I know it’s not big or anything but I know your ritual is important to you.” 

Spike? Wyatt turned back towards his room and became aware of the bundle on the trunk. It was his jean jacket, and wrapped in it was a small spike from the Spiny-Bush-Rattler. “But why?” he asked softly. He wasn’t sure if she could hear him.

“Like I said, I know your-”

“But why?” 

She was quiet for a second, not sure how to respond. “You see how he treats us…  tries to keep us as we’ve always been-” Wyatt hated the pain creeping in her voice “And I wanted to help- but I couldn’t. He has too much control.”

Wyatt knew she was right, but still, he was angry with her. What could scare her so much that she wouldn’t save her big brother?

“He wants me to have his child.” She said flatly, practically reading his mind. He looked up from the spike in his hand and felt his heart shatter as he saw her tears. “He wants me to marry him and give him a new cast. One he never has to pay and keep trapped here forever. I’ll never have a life outside this stupid caravan and that damned tent!” She broke off with a quiet sob, tearing her face from the window, sliding her arms back inside. 

“Oh, Cassidy…” Wyatt spoke softly, letting the wind carry his whisper to her.

“I don’t want your pity-” She said in a small voice, small but firm. “I want your help.”

“My help?” The conversation had definitely taken a turn.

“Yes, your help. You’ve escaped from here once, you can escape from here again. Take me with you. Just to the next train station and you’ll never have to see me again!” That wasn’t what Decker wanted-

“Cassidy, a woman can’t be on the run. Especially one like yourself.” he hated that he had to say it. “What would you do? Where would you go?” There were very few opportunities for her in the world.

“I don’t know. But anywhere is better than here.” There was a building fire in her voice, an ember that Wyatt knew so well, and one he knew he could not put out. “I NEED to get out Wyatt. I’ll never get out if we don’t try now!” 

Wyatt stood there for a second, adjusting his bandanna. It had once been his mothers; silk and red, printed with patterns of little blue birds and orange, blue, and white flowers. “Ok-“ he said slowly, “but you're gonna need to help me. I can’t get out-“

“Of course you can get out! Can’t you?” 

“Nah, even if I threw my whole body weight against this door it wouldn’t budge. And in the state I’m in right now-“ he bitches at the bandages wrapped around his shoulders. “It’s just a bad idea all together. My arms are also too big to squeeze through the iron bars.” He stood for a moment to think. Yes, Cassidy would definitely have to be the first to escape her caravan. “Can you reach your hand through the bars?”

She nodded her head. “Yea, I can, but my arms are too short to reach the lock.” They looked at each other, unsure of what to do. As Wyatt stared at her he realized something was leaning against her caravan.

“Is that your gun?” She nodded. “Try and see if you can grab it.”

She put her slender arm back through the bars, stretching her fingers as much as she could. Her fingers wrapped around the barrel, shifting her hand so it’d be a more comfortable angle to pull from. She tugged and Wyatt watched as the gun went up slowly and slid through the iron bars.

“Loaded!” she whispered excitedly.

“Good-” Wyatt whispered back, “But let's make a plan before you go on shooting. The second you fire a shot we wake the whole place up, giving us a limited amount of time before a chase is likely to begin. Where are the horses?”

“In the stables like before. Your horse is a wild one, that’s for sure. Didn’t want to leave your side.” Wyatt smiled, he could always count on Bolt.

Crickets chirped as they thought up plans. It was around one in the morning Decker guessed, giving them around four or five hours to make their escape. “Alright, I think I’ve got it-” he said after some time. “You shoot this here lock. By my guess it’ll explode and I can get out. I’ll let you out and I’ll get the horses. You run as fast towards those mountains-” He pointed towards the dark lumps in the night sky “as you can. I’ll eventually catch up. From there we ride against the mountains in the shadows for as long as we can. While we ride we make a pan and either go our separate ways or whatever we decide. Get dressed into the most practical outfit you own. Any questions?”

“When the gun goes off, like you said, it’ll wake the whole place up. Is that enough time for you to get the horses and tack them up without getting shot?”

He was quiet for a second. The cowboy camp on the other side of the lot would surely come running the second they heard the gun go off. He looked down on his person, trying to think of something to help them. “AHAH!” Wyatt grabbed a jar from his chest belt. It glowed with a white light. An eye opened to look at him, mouth opening and closing slowly. 

“What is that?” Cassidy asked. She couldn’t see the jar but she could see the glow bouncing off Wyatt’s face. 

“It’s a Water Wraith Spirit. Said to help you find what you need most. What we need is a distraction. I hope it understands that.” He gently started to loosen the cap. “When you shoot I’ll let it go. It’ll probably give us enough time to get the horses, but once the boys realize it’s harmless, the chase will begin.”

“Will it get hurt?” Wyatt smiled, Cassidy still had the kindest heart, even for a monster. 

“Nah, it’s a spirit. Their bullets will just fly through it unnoticed. Now get dressed and pack a bag if you want, we need to leave as soon as possible.”

As Cassidy dressed she explained to Wyatt that there was a heavy lock on the barn door. She also said each saddle was set up on a stand in front of the stalls, so they’d be easy to find. 

“Does Truce follow?” 

“Mostly. If it’d make you feel better, tie a rope to her. She’s not stubborn. Don’t ride her though, she’s too small for you.” Wyatt nodded, trying to ignore the pain as he shouldered on his jacket and attached the spike to his chest strap in an open jar slot. He’d have to bury the thing later.

“Ready?” He asked as he tightened his gear. He swallowed some leaves of a plant he had collected a while ago, said to numb physical pains.

“Yes, are you?” He nodded. She winked the gun, the barrel poking out from the shadows of the window. “Close your eyes, there’s gonna be a spark and we don’t need you to be blinded.”

Wyatt leaned against the door. The second he heard the clan of bullet against lock he’d push and run. 

With a sound like thunder the rifle went off. Wyatt pushed as he heard the lock fall to the ground, running as fast as he could towards Cassidy’s caravan as he let the spirit free, hoping it would do as he wished; find a distraction. 

Wyatt ran towards Cassidy’s caravan as fast as he could. He shoved a knife into the lock and pulled as hard as his battered back would let him. She ran out faster than the wind, not looking back once at him. Wyatt ran as quietly as he could in the opposite direction towards the stables. As he made his way to the barn door, crouching behind poorly built fences and pastures, he could hear the men start to holler and shoot.

Wyatt came to a screeching halt at the barn door. Like Cassidy had said, there was a heavy lock that kept the doors together. No knife could cut through a hunk of metal like that. The shots started to become more frequent and Wyatt guessed he had seven minutes to get the hell out. But how was he going to unlock this damn door?

The answer came to him, whispering through his new wounds, a painful reminder of what had happened hours before. Only a weapon like the scythe could cut the lock. Wyatt reached behind him, closing his eyes and letting his hand hang in mid air, his fingers twitching, waiting for the brain's next command. Wyatt had only done this trick once or twice, it was very rare he could get it right. It was said that wherever the scythe was in the world, he could summon it back to his back, wedged beneath his vertebrae, becoming his spine once more. This task was made easier, because where the scythe lay was on the other side of the massive door, along with his gun, rope, saddle, and most importantly, horse. Wyatt let his index and middle finger trail down his back, gently pushing against the scar between his shoulder blades. He gasped lightly as his fingers dipped beneath the scarred flesh, fingers wrapping around the snath of the scythe, slowly pulling it out, cringing as his wounds stretched. Wyatt didn’t hesitate swinging the scythe in a low to high arc, bringing it down on the lock that was sliced clean in half.

Wyatt squeezed through the doors and ran to his horse, quickly throwing on the saddle and reins. He then moved to Truce, tacking her up a bit slower to make sure she didn’t spook. After tying his lasso from the horn of his saddle to the horn of Cassidy’s saddle and shoving his gun in its holster, they were off. 

Wyatt didn’t want to yell for Cassidy, that would immediately inform everyone of their presence. He wondered if they had been figured out yet.

The horses ran like the wind as Wyatt desperately looked for his sister. He tried to keep steady in the saddle as his eyes scanned the emerald grasses below. How far could she have gotten?

Bolt came to a screeching halt suddenly, almost sending Wyatt flying as Truce hit his backside.

The scene before them made Wyatt’s blood boil. Ringmaster had his arms around Cassidy, squeezing her so tight that she couldn’t squirm to get away or fight back.

“Why would you leave me?” He cried. “Why would you leave your master like that? We were supposed to be in love! Do you not love me?” His hand smothered her, making her unable to answer. It was a gross act really, but Wyatt didn’t know what to do. 

“And YOU!” Ringmaster suddenly turned to him, his silver eyes wild. He no longer looked put together, his hair and mustache both wild. “YOU! YOU MESS UP EVERYTHING! I LOVED YOU TOO YET YOU GIVE ME NOTHING!” His anger made him squeeze Cassidy tighter, Wyatt was worried her ribs may break. 

“Let her go-” But his voice came out shaky.

“NEVER! IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU I’LL JUST HAVE HER INSTEAD!!!” Decker Wyatt suddenly realized why she had been so afraid of him. Why she had lied to Decker. The attention on him brought it off her. It had probably lifted a million weights off her shoulders when she saw him that day. 

“Let her go-” he said again silently. 

“NO!” Ringmaster began to grab at her throat. It was so small it wouldn’t take much to break it. If he couldn’t have her, no one could. And Wyatt knew that.

“RINGMASTER!” His head snapped up like a wound up animal. Wyatt slowly got off of his horse, sliding off the saddle and eased into the grass.

“Wyatt-” Cassidy could barely whisper. 

Decker Wyatt walked right up to Ringmaster, and with shaking knees said “Ringmaster- I’ll be yours. It’s what you always wanted, right?” 

Without missing a beat Ringmaster dropped Cassidy and grabbed Wyatt. His face was so close, breathing down Wyatt’s face. He wanted to cry, seeing the joy on the older man's face. What had he done? It was like he had made a deal with the devil himself.

And that he had. Ringmaster’s gray eyes turned into an inky black, his skin becoming a deathly pale. He began to laugh, clutching Decker’s biceps. “Why, Hello Decker. So nice to finally- see you. Meet you.” his eyes moved up and down, taking him all in. Decker Wyatt realized he’d heard this voice before- it was the one from the caravan. 

“Who… who are you?” Wyatt didn’t know what he was looking at. He didn’t understand what was happening. Surely this was the Ringmaster from his past…

Right?

“I think you know who I am-” Wyatt didn’t have a clue. 

“Wyatt-” A female voice had joined in. it was no longer that of Cassidy but of the female voice from before. 

“Casidy- WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH CASSIDY???” Her eyes were blacker than the night sky.

“Oh Wyatt-” they said in unison, sounding like the distorted voice from before, fighting over each other from before. “She died a long time ago. They all died a long time ago. Austin wasn’t the only weakling. They all faltered. You failed them. You failed her. You failed your sister, AGAIN!” Wyatt was struck with realization like a lightning bolt. 

“You’re- You're the one that killed my family- IT WAS YOU!” Ringmaster, or the actor, began to laugh, the male voice taking over.

It was cut short as a bullet whizzed by his ear. Wyatt wasn’t sure what part of the circus had been real that day, but the cowboys and pain certainly were. And they were fast approaching. 

Wyatt turned back to face the Ringmaster and what he had believed to be Cassidy, but they were both gone. Wyatt didn’t have time to think over what had happened. He needed to go, NOW! He jumped onto Bolt as best he could, sad to see that Truce had also been part of the illusion. Wyatt roped in his lasso and the pair was off again. 

Ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψᨒ↟↟𖤣𖥧ψ

Decker Wyatt had gone through with his plan, following the shadows of the mountains until he found the nearest train station. There he asked if anyone had heard of Sin City Circus to which he got the same response:

“Sin City Circus? The place has been closed down for years!”

Wyatt was now far away from the place, like he should have been to begin with.

He had done his ritual of burying the spike but made a vow as he pushed over the last handful of dirt. 

“You hurt my family, both by blood and adopted? Now I hurt you…” And the name was hot on his tongue like liquid fire, a curse from hell itself. “I’m coming for you- Fleetwood.”

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