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Chapters (79)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Twelve
  16. Thirteen
  17. Fourteen
  18. Fifteen
  19. Sixteen
  20. Seventeen
  21. Eighteen
  22. Nineteen
  23. Twenty
  24. Twenty-One
  25. Twenty-Two
  26. Twenty-Three
  27. Twenty-Four
  28. Twenty-Five
  29. Twenty-Six
  30. Twenty-Seven
  31. Twenty-Eight
  32. Twenty-Nine
  33. Thirty
  34. Thirty-One
  35. Thirty-Two
  36. Thirty-Three
  37. Thirty-Four
  38. Thirty-Five
  39. Thirty-Six
  40. Thirty-Seven
  41. Thirty-Eight
  42. Thirty-Nine
  43. Forty
  44. Forty-One
  45. Forty-Two
  46. Forty-Three
  47. Forty-Four
  48. Forty-Five
  49. Forty-Six
  50. Forty-Seven
  51. Forty-Eight
  52. Forty-Nine
  53. Fifty
  54. Fifty-One
  55. Fifty-Two
  56. Fifty-Three
  57. Fifty-Four
  58. Fifty-Five
  59. Fifty-Six
  60. Fifty-Seven
  61. Fifty-Eight
  62. Fifty-Nine
  63. Sixty
  64. Sixty-One
  65. Sixty-Two
  66. Sixty-Three
  67. Sixty-Four
  68. Sixty-Five
  69. Sixty-Six
  70. Sixty-Seven
  71. Sixty-Eight
  72. Sixty-Nine
  73. Seventy
  74. Acknowledgments
  75. About the Author
  76. Praise for Destroy All Monsters
  77. Books by Sam J. Miller
  78. Back Ad
  79. About the Publisher

I sat in my car and tried my best to think clearly. Why had I come? What was I going to do? They wouldn’t just hand Solomon to me. According to the cop shows, if he was charged with a crime, they’d keep him overnight and in the morning he’d go before a judge who would either set bail or keep him in county until his trial came. And even if he wasn’t, Child Protective Services practically had an all-points bulletin out on him—they’d probably hold him until a social worker could inspect him in the morning.

I had come because I couldn’t not come. Because Solomon was in trouble, and I had to help him. Even if I didn’t know how.

The rain got harder. Louder. I didn’t have an umbrella.

I turned off the car, silencing the punk rock singer of Destroy All Monsters! midshriek. I looked around for something that could shield me from the rain, and found a giant sweatshirt across the back seat.

Solomon’s. I could tell by the smell. A man’s smell, but there was more to it than that. He was there, somehow—Little Boy Solomon, a shred of the child he had been. Before his brain broke, before the world began to betray him. I breathed it in. The smell opened up something—a doorway to memory—but I didn’t have time to go through that doorway, not just then.

I opened the car door. Wind made it difficult, drove rain in stinging slaps against me. I stepped out, slammed the door shut again, held the sweatshirt over my head. It didn’t do much good with the wind so strong, pushing the rain so it seemed to come at me sideways. I walked toward the front door to the jail. A single bare bulb was lit, above the entrance.

When I was halfway there, the door opened. And I stopped. Because Mr. Barrett came out the door, with his arm around someone.

Around Solomon.

Mr. Barrett was smiling, saying something to someone back in the jail, but Solomon’s face was twisted up with agony.

I took off my hood. I let the rain punish me.

In nightmares, for the rest of my life, I’ll see that face. So much pain, so much fear. Little Boy Solomon was back. The Solomon with the big muscles and broad shoulders was gone. Forgotten.

Oh god, Solomon, I thought. What has you so afraid?

And the really awful thing? The proof of how being an artist and being a bad person are all bound up together? My first reaction, my gut instinct, the only thought that popped into my head: more than anything, I wanted my camera. What I saw on Solomon’s face, in that instant, it would have been the most perfect photograph I’d ever take. Pure emotion, captured on film. The truth I’d been hunting for.