as pretty as Daphne. No one ever is or ever will be.
“My pastor on Sunday said I was going to be faced with darkness and evil this week. And look what the devil dragged in,” she says, pretending to be unimpressed, but her wrinkled cheeks turn a brighter shade of red than the blush she’s wearing today.
“I think you’re getting us confused with our buddy Knives,” Bullseye chimes in, taking a jab at his 666 tattoo above his dick.
“There are more of you?” she gasps.
“Oh, we are everywhere, ma’am,” Reaper says, his eyes dropping to her nametag. “Gretchen. Whenever you need help, you find us, okay?” he grabs her hand and kisses her wrinkled, age-spotted knuckles.
“Oh, Pastor Dan was right. I’d be blinded by Satan in a Sunday hat. And you three are all wearing hats,” she giggles.
“I’m not wearing a hat,” I say, impatient. “Can we fucking go now?”
“It’s a saying—you know what? Never mind,” Bullseye says.
I don’t get it. We aren’t wearing hats.
Gretchen, the poor wench, hands over the tickets with shaky hands. “Satan,” she points to Reaper, then to his head. “Hat. A big one.”
“Oh, it’s big, alright,” Reaper winks.
“I’m telling Sarah,” Bullseye snorts, holding in a laugh.
I snatch the tickets from her frail hands, annoyed with this fucking bullshit. I want to get on that plane, and I’m going to go with or without them.
“Sarah would understand. I saved us two hundred bucks and we have a kid on the way,” Reaper defends himself as we slither through the busy crowd. Slot machines go off in the distance. Even people at the airport are drunk and wasting all their money. I see an Elvis in the corner, and I want her home so bad so he can marry us.
I’m determined.
“Shoes off. Phones in the bin. Empty out your pockets, please!” the agent shouts over the roar of people.
I don’t want anyone to see my sketchbook. What if they look through it? Daphne is mine. No one else can see.
Bullseye places his boots in the gray plastic bin and empties his pockets. He heads into the scanner and lifts his arms.
I don’t like this machine. It’s small.
“Sir, please step over here.” She ushers him to the side of the machine, and she takes a wand and roams it over his body until she reaches his zipper. “Sir, do you have anything in your pockets?”
“No, ma’am,” he smirks.
She waves the wand again and it beeps three times. “What’s in your pants, sir?”
“A Prince Albert, a guiche, and Jacob’s Ladder. You want to climb it and see how high you get, gorgeous?” Bullseye offers with a salacious baritone.
“Next,” she shouts, lifting a brow and unimpressed with Bullseye. “I have a taser, sweetie. Get to moving.”
“Wound my heart, lady.”
“Get a band-aid,” she sasses, and Bullseye grabs his boots from the belt.
Finally, all of us are through the security and get to the gate. Bullseye is pouting, Reaper is getting grouchy, and I’m getting angrier.
This is taking too long. The longer it takes, the longer Daphne goes without remembering us.
The lady behind the desk smiles, her brunette hair pulled back into a perfect bun, and she grabs the microphone and announces. “Now boarding flight 1289 to New Orleans, Louisiana.”
“First thing we do when we get there is go see Pocus.”
“Not a chance in hell. I’m going to go see Daphne,” I say to Reaper.
“Not without us.”
“Yes, I am. I am not going to do anything. I just want to see her, that’s it. Like I used to.” I’ve missed watching her. It’s how we started.
And maybe that’s what she needs a reminder of.
This jet is going to fall to the damn ground when we get on it. It’s so damn small.
I really hate flying.
But I’ll do anything for Daphne, even if my feet are thirty thousand feet up in the air.
And when my feet are on the ground, I’ll show them what anything consists of.
I’ll need to find this Satan hat that woman spoke of.
I’ll need the extra edge.
I sit up in bed, my skin prickling with awareness. It’s dark. The only sound is the whoosh of the ceiling fan.
But I feel someone in here. A presence. I’m not scared.
Ever since I came back home, there has been this cloud of danger hovering over my head. I’m in the same house my mother died in, and the way my dad looks at me… it’s like he wants me dead too. The energy in the room is so powerful it dissipates the