doesn’t.”
“Would y’all knock it off with your philosophy shit?” Val asked. “Please and thank you.”
“Well, can we meet her?” Isaac asked.
“No,” I said again, “you can’t.”
Chapter 18
On the edge of Dixie’s bed, I flipped a page on her biology textbook. She let me shower and gave me a fresh set of clothes – sweatpants and a hoodie. Not particularly appropriate for the schizophrenic weather, but at least they fit. Etched to the side of the sweats was the word ‘Timberwolves!’ which was the mascot to a high school about ten miles south of us.
She didn’t say anything about my outfit or cuts and bruises. She just offered her wardrobe and led me to the shower. A shower tucked in a bathroom with a doorway stringed with beads. No door. Not that I ever had much in terms of privacy. But it was a little jarring knowing she could easily walk in on me at any moment.
I asked her afterward if we could study. I needed to be occupied by something other than the events of the last few weeks. Super powered old men. Missing woman. And death. And police. Valentine. And Isaac. I wanted to think about Dixie, to be honest. It was a weird thought to jump in my mind only hours after shooting a man to death, but all I could think about was wanting to be with Dixie.
Eat’em clung to the front of an oscillating fan. He hummed as he drifted back and forth, back and forth. Every so often he would speak into it and his words would spiral mechanically through the room, only noticeable to the demon and myself.
Dixie sat dangerously close to me. Her crossed leg draped over my knee. She fluttered her toes against my ankle. I could smell her skin, scented with a lilac perfume. Her breath ruffled the front of my shirt.
It was a nice escape from my uncle’s probing questions and my neighbor’s prying eyes.
Clothes and knickknacks cluttered Dixie’s room. She had a shelf lined with empty liquor bottles. Most of them were Asian brands I hadn’t heard of. Sapporo was the only bottle with English characters. She didn’t have a blank surface, as everywhere I looked were Post-Its with motivational quotes.
Whatever you are, be a good one. – Abraham Lincoln
I break away from all conventions that do not lead to my earthly success and happiness. – Anton Szandor LaVey
“ Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter. – Dr. Seuss ” Eat’em read the last from a vanity mirror behind the fan. He laughed into the whirling blades and yelled, “You don’t mind, yes? Do you, Jacob?”
My arms squeezed tight to my side. Dixie didn’t have any deodorant for me, and I feared I might be ruining the flowery scent. She squeezed tighter to me and pressed her finger to the textbook in my lap.
“I don’t get this at all,” she said.
“It’s tough,” I didn’t know if I agreed or not, but it felt wiser than saying it was easier than it looked. “I get stuck on genotype and phenotype. How one can have the genes for a trait they don’t have… or show… or whatever.”
“What about your red eyes?” I felt her breathing on my cheek as she leaned over to get a closer look. I tried my best to avoid eye contact. “Were those passed down to you? Think you’ll have a red-eyed kid?”
“I don’t know,” goose bumps ran up my arm as it brushed against her. My chest pinched. “Maybe. I figure the devil gave them to me. They’re awful for pictures, though, that’s for certain.”
“Do you believe in the devil?”
“I believe in demons.”
Eat’em laughed a mechanical cacophony of ‘Hahaha’ and yelled, “I’m a demon, yes, Jacob?”
“Why do you say your eyes are horrible for pictures?” Dixie asked.
“I haven’t had a professional picture done in my life where they weren’t edited out. And now most cameras have built-in settings that automatically remove red eyes. So, I always look… normal.” The further I pulled away the
“Would y’all knock it off with your philosophy shit?” Val asked. “Please and thank you.”
“Well, can we meet her?” Isaac asked.
“No,” I said again, “you can’t.”
Chapter 18
On the edge of Dixie’s bed, I flipped a page on her biology textbook. She let me shower and gave me a fresh set of clothes – sweatpants and a hoodie. Not particularly appropriate for the schizophrenic weather, but at least they fit. Etched to the side of the sweats was the word ‘Timberwolves!’ which was the mascot to a high school about ten miles south of us.
She didn’t say anything about my outfit or cuts and bruises. She just offered her wardrobe and led me to the shower. A shower tucked in a bathroom with a doorway stringed with beads. No door. Not that I ever had much in terms of privacy. But it was a little jarring knowing she could easily walk in on me at any moment.
I asked her afterward if we could study. I needed to be occupied by something other than the events of the last few weeks. Super powered old men. Missing woman. And death. And police. Valentine. And Isaac. I wanted to think about Dixie, to be honest. It was a weird thought to jump in my mind only hours after shooting a man to death, but all I could think about was wanting to be with Dixie.
Eat’em clung to the front of an oscillating fan. He hummed as he drifted back and forth, back and forth. Every so often he would speak into it and his words would spiral mechanically through the room, only noticeable to the demon and myself.
Dixie sat dangerously close to me. Her crossed leg draped over my knee. She fluttered her toes against my ankle. I could smell her skin, scented with a lilac perfume. Her breath ruffled the front of my shirt.
It was a nice escape from my uncle’s probing questions and my neighbor’s prying eyes.
Clothes and knickknacks cluttered Dixie’s room. She had a shelf lined with empty liquor bottles. Most of them were Asian brands I hadn’t heard of. Sapporo was the only bottle with English characters. She didn’t have a blank surface, as everywhere I looked were Post-Its with motivational quotes.
Whatever you are, be a good one. – Abraham Lincoln
I break away from all conventions that do not lead to my earthly success and happiness. – Anton Szandor LaVey
“ Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter. – Dr. Seuss ” Eat’em read the last from a vanity mirror behind the fan. He laughed into the whirling blades and yelled, “You don’t mind, yes? Do you, Jacob?”
My arms squeezed tight to my side. Dixie didn’t have any deodorant for me, and I feared I might be ruining the flowery scent. She squeezed tighter to me and pressed her finger to the textbook in my lap.
“I don’t get this at all,” she said.
“It’s tough,” I didn’t know if I agreed or not, but it felt wiser than saying it was easier than it looked. “I get stuck on genotype and phenotype. How one can have the genes for a trait they don’t have… or show… or whatever.”
“What about your red eyes?” I felt her breathing on my cheek as she leaned over to get a closer look. I tried my best to avoid eye contact. “Were those passed down to you? Think you’ll have a red-eyed kid?”
“I don’t know,” goose bumps ran up my arm as it brushed against her. My chest pinched. “Maybe. I figure the devil gave them to me. They’re awful for pictures, though, that’s for certain.”
“Do you believe in the devil?”
“I believe in demons.”
Eat’em laughed a mechanical cacophony of ‘Hahaha’ and yelled, “I’m a demon, yes, Jacob?”
“Why do you say your eyes are horrible for pictures?” Dixie asked.
“I haven’t had a professional picture done in my life where they weren’t edited out. And now most cameras have built-in settings that automatically remove red eyes. So, I always look… normal.” The further I pulled away the
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