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The Bureau had a shoebox filled with Tom Zane's poems. Witnesses attest that he was real.
But Darling's seen Tom the Poet. His date called it a love story. Darling's assessment: pure horror. The poet's devotion wrought calamity.
Zane can't be both creator and created. Which one is he?
"I don't know," admits Zane. "I remember filming the movie. But I remember...that thing crawled out of Cauldron Lake, wearing my Barbara's skin..."
"Oh, Tom." Darling gently squeezes Zane's hand.
"Did Alan do this to me? Or..." Zane's face splits into a Cheshire cat grin. "Am I fucking with you?"