Page 97 of Devil Inside
“I don’t want you assholes scaring her off.” More like the other way around, but still.
“I think you’re making her up,” Deak says. “Your very own summer camp girlfriend from Canada. What’s she like?”
“She’s—”evil“—not like anyone I’ve ever really been with before.”
“Do tell.”
“She’s got a wicked sense of humor.”
“Always a bonus.”
“She can drink me under the table.”
“Total bonus.”
“And I think...” I hesitate for a second. Maybe it’s the bourbon, but the words bubble out from me before I can stop myself from saying them. “I think she sees me for who I am. On the inside. And she likes that part of me. I haven’t scared her away. Yet. It’s so weird but... I feel like she understands me? Gets me? Maybe even more than I get myself.”
“Sounds like a keeper. Does she ride?”
“Yeah,” I laugh a bit to myself. “Like a bat out of hell.”
“Marry that woman, STAT.”
“Speaking of which...” I twirl the nine iron in my hand, the metal glinting in the dark as it spins. I plant the end of it into the roof and lean against it, like a debonair aristocrat perching myself upon my own cane. “Anything you wanna share? Walking down the aisle?”
“Lys told you, huh?”
“Just glad somebody did... Congrats, by the way.”
“Thanks,” he says. “Can’t believe it.”
“Big step.”
“Huge.” He leaves it at that for a spell, then, “Never thought I’d go through with it, you know? I thought I could just be young and stupid forever. Then you took that hit and...”
“Death puts everything in perspective, huh?”
“Definitely does,” he says. “The plan for the wedding is to saddle up and ride.”
“Fuck off.”
“Serious. All the groomsmen. Bridesmaids, too. We’re riding in our tuxes, pedaling down to Belle Isle. Tying off a bunch of tin cans to the back of our bikes and all that.”
“Of course you would.”
“This is your notice,” he warns. “You’re my best man, bro. Better get ready to ride.”
“Duly noted.” Deak hasn’t asked me about the Miracle Mile, my failure to finish, which is fine. The horde of knight riders. The glint of metal is everywhere. I still see spokes spiraling, capturing their own glow off the streetlamps. The frames embrace the flames.
A year ago, I didn’t have a care in this world. No fear.
Now I’m nothingbutfear. I’m afraid of—Jesus,everything. I can’t walk down the street without wondering who’s watching me. What’s staring back. Whenever I enter a bar or bodega—anywhere, everywhere—all I see is what’s slithering behind the eyes of anyone and everyone around me.Are they possessed, too?The world looks different to me now.Feelsdifferent. I don’t trust the touch of anything anymore. They are everywhere now.
I’m seeing demons wherever I go.
“You mind if I take this?” I ask.
“The bottle, or the club?”
