Day Two
(or)
Funny Things
"Fucking where's a McDonald's when yah need one?" Mullet grumbles. It's the first thing I hear when I wake up. Profanity. That's usually how I'd wake up when I was living with the boys. I'm no angel, obviously, but they had filthier mouths than I did. Which was pretty surprising. If I want to, I can curse the ears off of a stalk of corn. Only if I want to, though.
"Shuddup," That's all Buzz Cut can say, I'm guessing. "Here's a café,"
"A café? Those things take for-fucking-ever! We have a schedule, for fuck's sake,"
If Buzz Cut can only say 'shuddup', then Mullet can only say 'fuck' or some variation thereof. He's one of those senseless cursers, just spouting out bad words for the sake of spouting out bad words. Those people annoy me. I usually end up punching them if we're in a room together for too long of a time. I've associated idiot swearers with broken noses and bloody knuckles. I can't punch Mullet though. That makes me pretty sad. Punching idiots has always made me feel good.
We're inNevadaby now, I'm pretty sure. All that driving must have gotten us toNevadaat least. I think that we'll just cut across diagonally, going through the very tip ofUtahandIdaho, then all ofWyoming. They say it shouldn't take a week, even if we do stop and stay in a hotel once or twice so people can take showers. I could use a shower, I really could. I haven't showered for longer than I haven't eaten.
The van stops, probably in a parking lot. They open the back doors, keeping their guns on me. They ask if I want anything and I shake my head. I'm starving, really. My stomach feels tight and hollow, but for some reason I refuse food. Eating doesn't sound very good right now. Everybody leaves except for one of the guards, one with a scar on his neck and nicotine stained fingers. "Stay here and watch her, Rib. Got it?" Buzz Cut tells the guard, who I am guessing is Rib.
The two of us, Rib and I, we sit in the back of the van, the front windows down but all the doors closed. It's starting to get hot, even though it's barely spring. I'm told that there are places to the North that stay cold except for a month and a half of the summer, if lucky. I can't imagine that. My world is very hot, even in the middle of January.
"You know, Rib, this is my first time outta the state," I try to strike up conversation. Rib drums his fingers on his gun, glaring at me. But he doesn't talk, so I continue. "I never traveled very much. Really, I didn' plenty of places to rob, yah know? So I never really felt the need to leave,"
"Don't start talking again," Rib growls. He points the gun at me, very nonchalantly. I take his advice.
The others return soon, arms laden with Styrofoam boxes of food. They give Rib one of the boxes and they all go up front to lean on the hood of the van, chatting with their mouths full. Raven stays back with pitiful little me. She sits on her bench, back straight as a flagpole. On her lap is her box, which if my nose does not deceive me, is full of waffles. She eats very, very slowly.
Those waffles sure look good, even if she doesn't have any syrup on them for some God-awful reason. Waffles without syrup? Who does she think she is? I'd eat them anyways, you know. I'm just that hungry. What I mean is, I eat anything if I get hungry enough. I've eaten the donkey shit that Mammoth calls his cooking, and I've eaten things that made me throw up for minutes on end. Plain waffles don't make you puke.
I don't eat though.
"Hey, we're just pulling forwards a few blocks to a gas station. Quick fill up, bathroom breaks, and then we're on the road, okay?" The guard with the tattoos poking up above his shirt's neckline tells us, jumping into the back of the van. The other two guards come in after him, with Buzz Cut and Mullet shambling into the front seat. The van starts up, and we're off, only to stop a minute later.
"Okay, who needs to piss?" Rib asks, standing up. Everybody stands up along with him, nodding their heads. The tattooed guard is obviously trying very hard not to do the awkward potty dance, inconspicuously crossing his knees.
"Uh, me too," I pipe up. Without looking at me, Raven grabs me by my upper arm and marches me out of the van. I haven't stood up on my own for so long that my feet stumble over themselves as she drags me across the heated parking lot, a few paces behind the rest of the guards. The cuffs around my ankles don't make things any easier.
The bathroom is outside, more of an evolved port-a-potty than an actual bathroom. It's a little box of a room pretty much stapled to the back of the gas station. There's one window on its wall, but it's been broken and boarded up with a slab of plywood that's got Andre the Giant's face graffitied on it. Tattooed Guard rushes in first, the door slamming behind him. The rest of us wait outside, showcasing various levels of impatience. All except for Raven; she showcases nothing, as per usual.
When it's just the two of us left, she shoulders me forward, making me ram into the door. "Go. And don't try anything funny; I'll be monitoring your thoughts," Raven intones. I gulp nervously, holding my cuffed hands up in pathetic desperation. The cuffs are designed as nothing more than big, metal bubbles around my hands, so as if being incapable of using my powers wasn't enough, I can't use my hands either. Which, if I actually had to go to the bathroom, would be a problem. But I'm too dehydrated for that.
"You're a smart girl; I'm in utmost faith that you can find a way to deal," Raven says. Grumbling, I lope into the bathroom and she closes the door behind me. There's a bunch of stupid flies and moths hitting their heads against the ceiling, and it stinks like something a might awful, but I've smelled worse. When you live with a pack of teenage boys, you've always smelled something worse.
I lean against the wall, listening to my empty stomach grumble and the bugs trying to escape. "Shit…" I breathe out slowly, then again for good measure. "Shit…" The bugs don't seem to mind much. For a moment, I think I might cry, or hit something, since that's usually how I deal with things. I don't today, though. I just lean against a rancid bathroom wall inNorthern Nevadaand feel miserable. Finally I nudge the door open. Raven's still standing there, in her peacoat in the full fury of the desert sun, not noticing the heat and not sweating in the least, tapping her foot with her arms folded across her chest. Maybe being a demon gives you really nifty heat tolerance. It must, if you live in a place like Hell. I wonder if she's ever seen Hell? I probably shouldn't ask her that, at least not now. It'd kind of be like Frenching on the first date.
I step out of the bathroom and spontaneously decide to do something spontaneous. That's how I live my life, really, which is good, because it gives nobody any preparations to counter me. The bad part is that since I never think these sorts of things out, they're usually doomed to fail before they start.
I jump behind Raven and loop my cuffs around her throat, shoving my knee into the small of her back. Without missing a beat, she whirls around and pushes me into the wall, ducking out of my arms. I'm not quite sure what I was trying to accomplish by that, really. That was dumb, even for me. And, believe me, I do a lot of dumb things.
She glares at me, daring me more than threatening me. I look at the ground, all too aware of the uncomfortable weight of her hand at the base of my throat. I can feel her energy through the touch. So much energy. I mean, you can't imagine. You really just can't.
"Don't try that again," she warns. Her voice is very relaxed and very dangerous all at once. That's a voice that I shouldn't disobey, and I feel squirmy for doing so. I nod my head and she lets me go to stumble along a few steps before looking back at her. There are slight red marks on her otherwise pale neck from where my cuffs caught her. She doesn't seem to mind.
We walk back around the front of the building like nothing happened. That's an old survival tactic of mine, actually; pretend nothing happened. It keeps me from feeling guilty, even if I still do.
"If I got a candy bar from the gas station, would you eat it?" Raven asks, prodding me along. I shake my head. "What about a soda? Or water?"
"Yeah. I'd take some water." I say quietly. She walks me over to the van, then turns back to the gas station.
"Where's she goin'?" Rib mutters.
"She said she's getting me some water," I tell him. He grunts and rolls his eyes. He probably doesn't believe somebody like me deserves such niceties, especially if I denied breakfast.
Raven returns with a bottle of water and a pack of sunflower seeds. She pockets the seeds, holds the bottle out to me. Sheepishly, I wave my confined hands in front of my face; I can't hold a thing in this state.
Her next expression is probably the facial translation of the word 'blasting shit trumpets, what'd I just get myself into?' Or something of the like. I'm not good at translating looks to words. You get the gist, right? Raven isn't happy.
Slowly, she unscrews the cap from the bottle and holds it out to me, right under my nose. Rib, the tattooed guard, and the third guard who is wholly unremarkable all awkwardly turn their heads away while I drink like a parched buffalo, water frequently spilling all over my face and neck. Raven stiffly holds the bottle, scowling deeply. I pull back, lick my lips.
"Don't pout, sunshine; it'll give yah wrinkles." I warn her. She jerks the bottle back and twists the cap on, shuts the van's back doors.
"We're ready to go." Rib shouts up, and Buzz Cut pulls us out of the parking lot. I look at the floor, and my heavy feet bouncing on the floor, while painfully not looking at anybody else. I don't think I'll be singing much now.
Where're Mammoth and Gizmo? That's what I wonder. Where'd they take my brothers? Well, not biological brothers, not really, but the only thing that doesn't connect us is genes. They're my family, the only family that never lived in the blue house. I actually told those two morons about the house once, and only once. I remember Gizmo looking disturbed and Mammoth's hand on my shoulder. He could fit his entire hand around my shoulder, and he still treated me like the boss. 'Cause I was the boss, that's why.
I told them about the house when it was winter. We were hiding out in a tiny old room of a house, the kind you can shoot through the front door and the bullet will come out the back door. The sort that Elvis was born in. Yeah. That kind. It was raining, and even though it was the afternoon, it felt like night. Dark clouds and all, you know? And all those shadows, the shadows from the storm and even our own shadows, they made all the floors blue. I didn't want to, but I just had to tell them. I'd never told anybody before about that house. Well, actually, I had, but not really; it was like when I told the guards and Raven earlier: "This house I grew up in, it had these blue floors…" People never listen, or they don't want to listen, but they do. I can't continue after they don't care. It hurts too much to even talk about those blue floors, and when they won't listen…that is, honest to God and Allah and Buddha, the only time I want to kill myself. Then something happens, though, and I remember I should live, so I do. The thought still lingers, though.
So I told them, when it was winter and storming, in the house with pseudo-blue floors. At first, they listened just because they always had to listen to me, but after I started telling about my father or my mother or the strange men and women with yellow eyes who had lost the ability to sleep, they were really listening. I think we could all hear my heart breaking in that room, in that house. That night, we slept all curled up in a ball around each other, like puppies. I remember that there were hugs. Lots of hugs. That night really hurt. I never cried though. I think. I tend to forget things that hurt.
I want those two tin-heads back. Things were nice before we got taken apart. Not terribly nice, mind you, because we were doing immoral and illegal things for a living, but we were happy as we could get. We argued or we fought, or we even ran away from each other, but then we'd get worried that somebody was dead or something and we got back together. That's how we were, back when we were together.
I bet everybody here knows where they are. I can't ask them where, and if I did, they wouldn't tell me. Obviously. I just miss my brothers, is all.
Quietly, I groan and slide into a ball. Everybody immediately looks at me, except for Raven, because she's been looking at me this whole time.
"The fuck's her problem now?" Mullet grumbles from the front seat. God. I could really strangle that man. I mean, I really could. Just grab his thick neck and not let go until he stops moving. I think that I'd do that. Maybe I'd like it, too.
"Dunno." Rib grunts, scratching at his scar. I close my eyes and I see a house full of blue floors. Blue floors forever. And not a sound to be heard.
I fall asleep, somehow. Guess I didn't really get much sleep last night. Guess things like that make me tired. Even in my dreams, my stomach keeps on hurting. I don't feel too good. I should eat. Probably. I might get sick otherwise. If I get sick before we get to the prison, then they'd have to take me to a hospital. Once I'm out of this van, I could get away, I'm sure of it. Especially if I was in a hospital. Hospitals are so easy to rob that they can't be much trouble sneaking out of.
Some time later and I wake up. The sky is dark again, like you can't get it in the city. This is real darkness. Country dark. A bright something tints the dark with red and yellow. Turns out, it's a McDonald's, not Kid Flash. My mistake. Sorry.
Mullet must be happy. That's what I think when I notice that Raven's the only one in the van. Her purple eyes are wide, wide open. So close, too. So close to me.
"Um…" I rasp like my voice does whenever I don't talk for a long time. I try to clear my throat, but it only works halfway.
"You do need to eat something," she snips. Her breath touches my face, a very faint thing that smells like spring. "You're no use to anybody if you're starved to death. We don't want you passing out on us,"
I look at her, confused. She doesn't like this and hoists me up to my feet. There I teeter for a moment, realizing how important food is should I want to stand for any amount of time on my own.
Suddenly, she isn't behind me anymore, but in front of me, even closer than before, holding me up with her fist bunch in my shirt. The lights from the McDonald's reflect on her dark eyes. Little ink dribbles of red and yellow fall down her cheeks and nose, a red one falling down the center of her lips, spliced by the metal grille between us and the front seats. I see why so many people fear her.
"Listen, I'll negotiate with you. Will you eat something if I take the cuffs off to let you do so?" She proposes.
"Shit. Fine. Fine. I'll eat, if it'll make you so happy. Fine," I grumble. The doors behind us open and she leads me out, one cold hand on my arm. It could be because of her heritage; maybe demons have a lower internal temperature than a human being. Or she could just have poor circulation.
In the McDonald's, I see the rest of our posse at the back of the restaurant, talking and laughing over several oily wrappers and frosty soda cups. Calmly, she walks me up to the front counter, where a very sleep deprived young man is slumped. He does a double take at us; one looking regal and lethal, one looking battered and probably ghost pale in these drab white clothes they shoved on me. His eyes linger on my cuffs, or my eyes, or all of me.
"Do not ask questions," Raven advises. The boy nods. She elbows me, probably expecting me to order. Hah. I've never been in a McDonald's besides to rob one or two.
"Um. Ah. Some…uh…fries, please. French fries," I say, my voice still very raspy. "And water." The boys nods some more, then scuttles off. Raven fishes a little clutch purse out of her peacoat and places a five dollar bill down on the counter. The boy returns, handing the day-old fries over besides a cardboard cup of water.
"Keep the change," Raven says, leading me off to a table by the door, carrying the food. She nudges me into a seat, then slips into the one across from it. I look at the nasty fries, wishing that they were something else, like oatmeal or pomegranates or mint julep. I'd rather eat any of those right now.
Raven takes my hands, or the metal cuffs around my hands, and suddenly they clank open. I don't see how she does it; too busy fantasizing about having desirable food to see anything important. Fresh air feels funny on my hands. It feels good too. I wiggle my fingers experimentally; they seem to operate adequately. I try one fry, and even that seems like too much. Damn. My stomach must be the size of a crab apple at this point. But I eat another one to please Raven. She watches me incessantly.
"You know," I try conversation, feeling doomed at the start, "hysteria translates into Latin, literally, as 'wandering uterus'. You know that?"
"Fascinating," Raven says in a way that makes it obviously she thinks my fact is anything but.
"Well then," I say a little frumpily, peeved that she effortlessly slaughters my sad attempt at conversation, "what do you want to talk about?"
"Nothing." She states, lowering her chin into her hands and looking out the window. Eating my third fry and subsequently feeling like I might throw up, I look at her looking out the window. She's more interesting than a window, I think.
I struggle through the bag of French fries and half of the water. By the end my mouth feels slick and gritty from all the carcinogens lodged into those things. This is why I don't go to fast food places. They make me sick, sort of. The most important thing, though, is that I ate all of the fries. Every last one. I think Raven approves. She doesn't look as disinterested as before; now she looks mild.
"We're headed back out now," Mullet yells over to us. I flinch. Raven coolly glances at him, then gets up, her eyes back on me. Mullet, along with the rest of the guards, are obviously having a hard time refraining from pulling their hair out about the prisoner being uncuffed. They don't dare challenge what Raven does.
"It's nice that he didn't swear, right?" I offer. She shrugs, pulling me up and slapping the cuffs back on my hands, scooping up the trash and tossing it. With her hand on the small of my back, just barely touching, she takes me out of the McDonald's, after the rest of the guards. They look back every so often, say nothing to us, murmur to each other.
When they get to the van, but we're still out in the chilly night, Raven murmurs to me, "I can hear every word they're saying,"
"Do they hate me?" I murmur back. Her fingers tangle into the split ends of my hair, knot into my shirt, and her strangely sharp nails dig into my back. Then she lets go.
"They hate one of us."