The Reverend tensed. “You don’t know that for certain.”

Emerson reached into his coat pocket and removed three Polaroids that he passed up front. The Reverend looked at all three of them, whispered, “Good God,” and passed them to me.

What happens now? I thought as I looked at them.

There’s an almost-joke that we use to settle the nerves of folks who are passing through, who maybe don’t know about or haven’t heard some of this city’s colorful history: This is Cedar Hill. Weird shit happens here. Get used to it.

Even by the standards of our usual weird shit, what I saw in those photographs was way the hell out there.

The guy had to have been almost seven feet tall. He was naked and pale and dead, but that wasn’t what caused me to gasp, no—he had only one eye socket, directly in the center of his forehead where two eyes struggled to stay in place. His face had no nose; instead, there was a proboscis-like appendage that looked like an uncircumcised penis growing from the center of his too-small forehead.

I was looking at photographs of a dead Cyclops.

What happens now?

I continued staring at them until Linus reached between the seats and snatched them out of my hand. No sooner had he done that and began looking at them than Emerson snatched them from him.

“That’s not fair—they got to see ‘em.”

“Have you seen Joe tonight?” asked Emerson.

“No.”

”Can you offer me any information that might shed some light on what happened at the shelter earlier this evening?”

“No.”

“And is there any chance that you’re ever going to replace my wooden figure of Thalidomide Man that the arms fell off of?”

“For five bucks, sure.”

“I meant for free.”

“What do you think?”

“I think that you’re not connected to this case, then, so you don’t get to peek.” Emerson slipped the Polaroids back into his coat pocket. “Have you ever seen anything like that in your life?”

Both the Reverend and I shook our heads.

“Something strange and maybe kind of terrible is going on in this city tonight,” said Emerson, looking out at the rain. “I can…feel it. This is a perfect night for monsters or ghosts and—Jesus, don’t I sound portentous? Sorry.” He took a couple of deep swallows of the coffee, then wordlessly requested a refill, which the Reverend wordlessly gave.

“I’ve felt like something bad’s been going to happen all day,” I said. “For a couple of days, to tell you the truth.”

“I hear you,” replied Emerson, then: “Do any of you know any other spots Joe might go to?”

None of us did.

“Do you think he might have gone back to the shelter?”

None of us did.

“You guys are a damned helpful bunch,” said Emerson. “Is it all right if I go by and see for myself?”

“You can call. Ted Jackson’s holding down the fort until we get back.”

“I’ll do that, thanks.” Emerson finished the coffee, handed the cup back to the Reverend, and slid open the side door. “I don’t have to tell you not to repeat anything, do I?”