"Tell me again where this godforsaken place is?" Polanski asked, his voice rough and straightforward. He pressed his cellphone to his ear with one shoulder as he attempted to tighten and double-knot the laces of his boots.

On the other end, Marsh Sŏjun didn't immediately reply. It was possible he was irritated about the question, having had been asked for the fifth time that hour.

"Hey, fuck-face," he snapped. "You there?"

Marsh sighed. "Show a little respect, huh? It ain't everyday a shit-stain like you gets invited to one of these."

From the next room over, Polanski heard a crash. It was followed by Eddie's exasperated shout of, "Fuck!" and a tremendous thud of something hard hitting the wall. Polanski turned his back and pretended he didn't hear anything.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," he replied crossly. With a little less malice, he said, "Nothing. So, map point."

"Map point," Marsh repeated, his voice tired-sounding. "By Devil's Core out near Suicide Meadow. You're gonna buy your ticket there, then I'll have one of my boys tell you where to go from there."

"One of your boys?" Polanski made a displeasing sound in the back of his throat. "This ain't the movies. Just drive us to the party. Where it actually is."

"That isn't how it works."

"Bullshit!"

"Look," Marsh said, "I'll take you to Devil's Core, then the shuttle point, okay? Personally. But when you're there, you're on your own."

Polanski bounced his leg, involuntarily anxious, and he didn't know why. "This better be fucking worth it. RC gonna be there?"

"Do leaves grow on trees? Of course he's gonna fucking be there. He's the one throwing it. Why would you even —" Marsh stopped abruptly and Polanski, for a moment, thought he'd lost connection. But no, he could still hear the static. And then Marsh was laughing, saying, "You fucking idiot."

The thing was, Polanski knew exactly what he meant. He knew the reason why he was laughing and why he'd called him an idiot. He was one, in the inevitability that he kind of, very much, owed RC. More than owed him, really. And showing up at his party without anything to offer him probably wasn't the brightest thing he had going for him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said. "That all?"

Marsh gave a heartfelt sigh. "Oh, yeah, baby."

Polanski hung up, and when he did, Eddie came into the room. She was dressed in a large and baggy hoodie that doubled as some sort of dress. Her eyes were furiously underlined with an intense shade of pink. Her lips were painted black. She clamped a hand around her index and middle finger.

"Look at you," he said. "All gothic and shit. That'll really sell. What happened?"

Eddie pursed her lips. "I'm not trying to sell anything," she said crossly. Her eyes were heedful under all the eye-makeup she wore. "Did you talk to Marsh? Oh, I just busted 'em. Did he say anything? Do you know where we're going?"

"Devil's Core," Polanski replied. Eddie arched her brows. "I know. Marsh's picking us up an' taking us, then… yeah."

"Yeah?" she repeated.

"It's classified."

"Asshole."

He gave her a contemptuous smile, all teeth and wounding ambition, and grabbed his wallet from the dresser. He opened it and took something out. The something in question was a small ziplock baggie. Inside were five very small, very green annular tablets. Eddie's cheeks grew hot. She snatched it from his hand and gave Polanski a tired and unforgiving look.

"What is this?" she demanded. "Molly? Ecstasy?" Despite the fierce look in her eye, the laugh in her voice betrayed her. It bristled with contempt and lacked any humor whatsoever.

Polanski tilted his head. "They're the same thing," he said. "Technically. It's for the party."

"Is it a substance party?" she asked.

"No idea." He plucked the baggie out of her hand and slipped it back into his wallet. "Guess we'll find out."

Eddie blew out a breath, but didn't comment. She scratched by her ear and saw that some foundation had rubbed off under her fingernail. She made a mental note to try not to care about that. Polanski stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. He popped his neck and proceeded to crack his knuckles. The whole action was contagious — Eddie popped and cracked her own neck and knuckles in return.

"Come on," she said, and hit Polanski's arm with the back of her hand.

Eddie and Polanski found themselves at the front door, but before they could walk through the threshold, a woman's wispy voice called after them. Well, the voice called after one of them.

"I would hope you aren't going to leave this late at night," Eddie's step-mother, Amery, said. Her voice was pitched with motherly disapproval. Eddie found it endearingly annoying.

Amery emerged from the kitchen. She wore a loose-fitting dress with a floral-patterned apron tied around her waist. Her thick, frizzy hair was twisted back in a lazy bun. She was barefooted, an incense-holder in one hand and the other poised on her hip.

Eddie mentally cursed. She hadn't thought of her step-mother being up this late, and she especially hadn't assume she'd be up burning frankincense and sandalwood. The two scents combined made Eddie's sinuses itch.

Polanski raised a hand. "Hello, Misses Rhys."

"Hello, David," Amery replied candidly. Her eyes were trained on Eddie. "Care to explain to me what you intend to do at —" there was a clock on the wall opposite of the hall she stood in "— ten-forty-seven at night?"

Eddie shrugged carelessly. "Go out."

Amery closed her eyes and sighed out through her nose. "The parenting guide said something like this would happen. I cannot let that happen, Edwina. You say good-bye to David and then you go straight to bed. And get that… that stuff off your face."

Eddie, impervious to her step-mother's pitiful discipline, began with, "No," and ended with her pushing Polanski outside and slamming the front door closed. She hadn't meant to slam it, but that was what had ensued. Eddie waited, counting the beats of her heart. She heard a mechanical click and realized that Amery had locked the door.

Polanski said, "Cunt."

Eddie was certain that this word was addressed toward her step-mother for locking them out of the house than toward her for being an asshole toward her. So she found it okay to agree. They descended the stairs to wait for Marsh in front of the main office. Not soon after they were outside, a very expensive-looking car rolled up in the tenant parking lot and parked along the curb in front of Polanski and Eddie with the passenger's side facing them.

The passenger's side window slid down. Behind the wheel was Marsh Sŏjun, his face skeletal and unknown from the LED lights that illuminated the interior of his car a mid-summer blue. He leaned toward the open window.

"Get in," he hollered.

Polanski and Eddie got in. Polanski climbed into the passenger seat, while Eddie clambered her way into the back behind the driver's seat, which was cluttered with a half-dozen Pizza Palace receipts. A half-zipped CD binder had discs slipping out of it. The inside of the car smelled of cologne and peppermint and looked even more expensive than it did on the outside. Eddie wrinkled her nose at the potent smell and pushed the spilt CDs and crinkled receipts aside. She did not comment.

Marsh put the car in gear. The apartment shrunk in the rearview mirror.

Eddie broke the silence. "Where're we going?"

Polanski and Marsh, at the same time, said, "Hell."

"Devil's Core," she said. "Har. Har. But can't you just drive us to the party?"

In a mocking tone, Polanski said, "That isn't how it works."

"I already told you." Marsh made a turn onto the highway. "These things are hard to come by. If you've got the right connections, you're pretty much set. Which makes you two very lucky."

"Huh," was all Eddie said before leaning back and staring out of the window.

Marsh and Polanski conversed about RC-related business, mainly pertaining to Polanski's borrowed dept. Marsh told him he was an idiot for coming to the party. Eddie vocally agreed. Some post-punk krautrock track played on the radio. The singer's voice was deep and sonorous, the guitar jagged, the bass dub-influenced. Outside, the urban city diminished gradually to the rustic estate of nothingness. When the song dissolved to quiet, Marsh completely shut off the radio and used his power as driver to lower all the windows. The wind roared in their ears.

Eddie had fallen asleep in the back, so Polanski noticed it first.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Marsh waved his hand. "Hold on."

"You said that was the way it worked."

"Y'all wanna get to the party?" Marsh looked over at Polanski. "Then you're gonna get to the party. But you guys'll have to pay extra for detouring."

Polanski gave him the universal gesture for fuck you. "I thought the whole reason for that labyrinth shit was to make sure the cops didn't find it. Didn't RC, like, buy out the cops or something?"

"Something like that," Marsh agreed. "Daddy's money."

"So what's the deal with all this, if the cops aren't gonna get involved?"

"It's the adventure, man. It's the —"

"Dude!"

But it was then, within that split second of a moment, did something flash in front of the car. It was large and whole and unmoving.

Marsh hauled on the wheel and dropped down a few gears. The rubber on the wheels protested. The centripetal force of the turn caused all bodies to sway right as Marsh turned onto an overgrown drive. Polanski hit the side of his head on the frame above the window. Eddie woke up a second too late and found herself falling to the side as her head thudded on the opposite seat.

"Whoa —!" Eddie perched herself on an elbow and pawed for the driver's headrest to keep her from teetering further. Polanski gripped the handle above his head, expressing his surprise with black poetry: cursing every known swear word known to man.

The car trekked on an uneven path, all dirt and vegetation. Marsh slammed on the brakes when barren trees began to emerge from the darkness and into the way of the car's headlights. But he had too much speed and too little control over the steering. Luxury cars were not built for off-road travel, and so it staggered side to side as it hurtled on.

Eddie slapped a hand on Marsh's shoulder to try and steady herself in the backseat. It had been a shame none of them wore their seatbelt.

Lights flashed on the dashboard. Little alarms went off. But there was nothing gentle about a rich boy's very expensive car crashing nose-first into the trunk of a tree. Metal cranked. Glass shrieked. Airbags were blown up. Bodies were flung.

And then the car went silent. Dead.

The passengers, on the other hand, were very much alive.

"Oh… oh, God." Marsh reached over and shoved Polanski's shoulder. "Did you…? Hey, you 'kay? Hurt?"

Polanski was not physically hurt. He was, however, frozen from the impact. His ears rung. His mouth was clenched shut. He gave a shaky thumbs-up as his response.

"Eddie?" Marsh called out. Polanski glanced back.

Eddie had butted heads with the driver's headrest and pressed a hand to her forehead. Her lipstick was smeared, a black streak running across her cheek. She had some on her nose, too.

"Fine," she said tersely.

In a silent movement, all three of them got out of the car. Polanski and Eddie came to stand beside Marsh on the driver's side, staring at the damage. The front bender was torqued and hugged the trunk of the tree. One of the front wheels was crooked in a way that wheels were not meant to be. The smell of the disaster stunk of burning rubber and gasoline.

The cicadas around them cried out.

"Well, that's fucked," Polanski said approvingly.

Marsh cupped his hands behind is head. Everything about the night screamed at him, blaming him. "He's going to kill me. You've gotta be — goddamn it!"

"This isn't yours?" Eddie's voice was sharp in the dark.

"No! Not really. Not entirely." He paced back and forth, his hands behind his head, eyes darting back down the way they'd came, trying to see if he could spot the road they'd just been on. But everything was dark, inky black, and seemingly impossible to look through.

"Daddy's money," Polanski said, all scorn and little remorse.

"You know what?" Marsh seized the collar of Polanski's shirt and pushed him back. "This isn't fucking funny, okay? Fuck you."

"You guys are such drama queens," Eddie chided in. "Are we close to the party at all?"

Polanski looked at her. "You're being very unhelpful." Then he turned to look at Marsh. "Look, you're having a life-changing experience here, man. It ain't the end of the world."

"Marsh?"

Heads turned. A bright light was shown on them. When it came closer, a tall figure came forward with it. Eddie felt an overawed sheen of intimidation, being surrounded by giants, so she made herself as big as they were in presence. She did not know who this stranger, this young man, was, and glowered at him because she envied his height and because she could. He did not look back at her. Instead, he stared ahead of himself, his eyes dark and unfocused.

It was then that voices could be heard. Polanski slapped Eddie on her arm, directing her attention further up the overgrown drive. Nestled along a clearing of trees, a dilapidated church stood, its tallest tower disappearing into the night above. False-colored lights flashed from the rear of the church. There was a flurry of vehicles parked with the dead by the graveyard left of the place: sleek-black sedans, commercial-brown SUVs, silvery two-seaters that were too small to even be considered cars. People came forth, their forms human-like silhouettes against flashes of light.

Polanski slipped an arm around Marsh's shoulders and pulled him to his side, mouth to ear. He said something only they could heard. Marsh screwed his mouth. He was not pleased, but allowed himself to be pulled by Polanski.

"We'll get you guys a drink," the stranger boy said. He turned off the flashlight he'd brought with him, so only the lights and the noise drew them to their location.

Eddie came to Polanski's side and wormed herself under his other arm. Despite the hoodie-dress she wore, she shivered against the cold the night seemed to offer. A hound barked in the distance. Insects buzzed around them. A drink sounded good.

Polanski broke away from Eddie and Marsh, snaking between the cars. "Lucky thing we didn't have to go through all that parking bullshit."

"Lucky thing," Marsh said tragically.


Author's Note:

I would like to thank the following for submitting their characters: NSing, Banbooozled, Fool Arcana Kaiju, W. R. Winters, Psyman21, and cityscapetowers. Your characters will not go to waste, I can promise you that.