by D. M. Guay
What? No! Not now.
But he didn't listen. He gawked at my Mom's legs under the table instead. “Hubba. Hubba. Check out those gams. Hello! MILF alert!”
Shut up. That's my Mom! I flicked him off my lap. I heard a faint “aaaaaaah” as he fell to the floor. Thunk.
“Well, Lloyd?” Mom asked.
“Uh. What was that? Sorry, I got distracted.”
“Tell me about your job, honey.”
She looked at me, still waiting. Think, Lloyd. Think!
But let's be real here. Thinking wasn't my strong suit, so I didn't say anything. I stared at her, wide-eyed, frying in my own stress juice like a strip of Lloyd bacon. I didn't want to lie to my Mom. I wanted her to be proud of me. But I couldn't tell her about Demon Mart. No way. She was better off not knowing.
It didn't matter anyway because I planned to quit. I wasn't stepping foot in the 24/7 Demon Mart ever again. I'll just tell her that. No lying involved. I opened my mouth, and something hit my foot. I could feel Mom's eyes boring into my skull as she watched me look down. It was angel eight ball. Phew! Here to rescue me. Quick. What do I tell Mom?
“You're not quitting. You're going back to work. You made a pact with God.”
Throw me a rope here. I'm drowning. Help!
“Sorry. I'm not here to handle your mom. I'm here to help you ditch your sad dad bod and live up to your ultimate potential,” he said. “So chop chop. Move this along so we can get to the cardio.”
Gah. The stupid jerk was useless. I stomped down hard on the ball. “I'm done with you. Shut up and get out of here. Shoo!”
“You're out of line, young man,” Dad said.
“What?” I looked up. My parents stared at me, jaws dropped in shock. Well, crap. I'd said that out loud, didn't I? “I'm sorry. I wasn't talking to you.”
I scanned the floor. Angel was gone.
Mom looked down and around, too. “Then who are you talking to? Gertrude is deaf, and you shouldn't scream at her like that. She's old.”
Gertrude was in fact old. And deaf. And blind. And lost a front leg and had a wiggly, fur-covered stump in its place. She weighed north of twenty pounds and had defied all odds by living to nineteen. She was basically a big round gray beach ball with one remaining tooth that frequently mistook Mom's knitting basket for the litter box.
“Well, honey, since you're not answering me, I'll cut right to it.” Mom rubbed her temples.
Here it comes. Bomb drop in three...two...one...
“Your father and I appreciate that you paid us back for the exterminator and tuition, and that you insured your car,” she said. “But we don't understand how you came up with so much money in such a short time. You couldn't possibly have earned that much working for a few weeks at a corner store.”
“Seriously, dipshit?” Kevin stood on my plate, sucking the cream filling out of the little hole in the end of my maple-iced fancy doughnut. He stopped long enough to shoot me some stink eye. “You did not tell your Mom about your bonus, did you?”
I said nothing. He shook his head. “Great. You did, didn't you? What is this, amateur hour? Demon Mart is like Fight Club. Rule number one: Don't talk about it. The less your family knows, the better. Don't be a dumbass. What if she gets curious and comes to the store? She could step right into a demon's mouth. Or worse. You sure don't want her around Morty!”
Oh. I hadn't thought of that. Kevin was right.
“Damn straight,” he said. Then, he eyeballed my dad. “I don't get it. Your mom's a babe. Why'd she marry that dweeb? Oh well. Even nerds get lucky sometimes. Guess there's hope for you after all, kid.”
Shut up, Kevin.
“Here's the deal, Lloyd.” Mom snapped me back to. “Your father and I want you to make good decisions. We hope you haven't resorted to anything dangerous or illegal. Money isn't worth it. It's time to get serious and think about your future.”
Chapter 2
A few minutes later, I sprinted out the front door, car keys in hand, twenty-dollar bill in my pocket, barking something about “running errands” back at my parents.
Thing was, Mom was preaching to the converted. Money was NOT worth it. That's why I was never stepping foot in Demon Mart ever again. I tried to say as much without saying too much, but boy, that was way harder than it sounded when you couldn't tell your parents the truth.
And do not even think about giving me a lecture on “honesty being the best policy.” What would I say? That I battled thousand-eyed beasts from the coldest depths of hell for cash? The beer cave was the portal to hell? Devils, zombies, and two-story tall jelly centipedes were real? If I said any part of that out loud, my Mom would deliver me like a pizza to a shrink's office in thirty minutes or less. Guaranteed.
Besides, normal people were better off not knowing. It didn't make life easier or happier. Ask me how I know.
I had no choice but to rustle up an excuse and skedaddle. You know how moms are. Once they get their hands on you, they twist you like a wet towel until they wring every last drop of truth out of you.
The plan? Eat my feelings. Immediately. Now that doughnuts were off limits forever, I had one option: A Number Seven Monster Burger Combo, extra onions, extra salt, no mayo. It was a king's feast of red meat and grease. Just thinking about it melted my anxiety away. Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Mmmmm.
My stomach rumbled. I opened my car door, itching to hit the drive thru. Angel eight ball rolled out from under my front tire, triangle side up. “Your mom thinks you're dealing drugs.”
“What? No way.”
“Yes. She does. When I rolled through the kitchen last night, I caught her desperation Googling 'top ten signs your child's on drugs.' Remember when she caught you and Big Dan smoking weed in the basement? She hasn't forgotten. Trust me.”
“How did you know about that?”
His triangle traced the top arch of the liquid window.
“Did you just eye roll me?”
“I know everything about you. Duh. But seriously, that tear-streaked rage lecture she gave the two of you about how all drugs are laced with LSD melamine fentanyl PCP baby laxatives? Epic. It's all we talked about at the Thirsty Halo that night. Boy, when your mom sees a catchy news headline, she really runs with it.”
“What does that even mean?”
“The Thirsty Halo is an angel bar,” he said. “We like to drink too, you know. Unfortunately, all we can get is communion wine. It's not great, but God loves it, so—”
“Jesus. Shut up!” I snipped. “She does not think I'm dealing drugs.”
“First, leave the J man out of this, and second, yes, Lloyd. Yes, she does,” angel said. “I'll bet you a bag of pizza rolls. They smell delicious. I really want to try one, but we can't get them up here. Your mom made some last night. When she was crying alone in the dark. Lit only by the sad glow of her laptop. While Googling 'Is my son a drug dealer?' Because she thinks you're a drug dealer. Wowza, you're up the creek. Hey. Wait a minute. Where are you going? What's the plan here?”
“Go away.” I sniffled. Yeah, I cried a little, okay? My feelings were hurt. Mom really thought this about me? “I want to be alone.”
“Sorry. You know the deal. We're stuck together until you've mastered the skills on your 'Capable Adult' checklist. Here. I'll mail you a copy. Wait. What's this?” The triangle turned, and I swear I heard a sound like papers shuffling. “And successfully completed a hero's journey? Hell's bells. This is a new work order!”
His triangle moved up and down like he was sizing me up. “Crap. We're gonna be together forever.”
“No. We aren't.” I kicked him under the car. I didn't care if he was an angel. I didn't need another person on my case right now.
I slid into the driver's seat, buckled up, and lay my head on the steering wheel for a hot minute. Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
Nope. Not helping. Still stressed out.
What if eight ball was right?
I'd only worked at Demon Mart for a few weeks. And for all Mom kn
ew, the job paid minimum wage. No wonder she was suspicious. She didn't know Faust had paid all my debts, nearly ten grand worth, as a reward for defeating a horde of angry hell beasts. I had waltzed right in the door and immediately showed Mom all of my receipts, all my zero balances. I gave her every cent I owed her—all of it—right then. Because I was riding the high. I'd finally done something right for once in my life. I only wanted Mom to be proud of me.
It's just like Pastor Woodruff always said, “Pride goeth before a fall.” Or was it, “the devil's hands slide straight to the genitals?” Probably both.
Either way, I screwed up. I didn't think it through. If I'd been smart, I would have showed her one receipt, one paid bill at a time, slowly over a few months. But no. Apparently, I was just smart enough to save the world and just dumb enough to blow up my own life.
Click.
What the...? I looked over. Angel eight ball had somehow buckled himself into the passenger seat, triangle facing me. “So you messed up. So she thinks you're dealing drugs because there's no way a guy like you could legally earn that much money so quickly.”
“Did you just call me a loser? I'm not a loser.” Am I? Don't answer that.
“Face facts: You're a loser on paper, Lloyd, not deep down. My job is to help you align what's on the inside with what's on the outside,” angel said. “And, apparently, help you become a hero. In the real world, not just in Diablo 3. Holy moly. This deal is getting worse all the time. Honestly, I don't know how we're gonna pull this off.”
“I don't even know what that means!”
He triangle eye rolled me again. “You don't have to. Just trust me. I won't lead you astray. Well, not on purpose. Just get out of the car. You're riding your bike to Monster Burger.”
“What? No.”
“Seriously. Take the bike. I'll give you a free pass on the fast food because you saved the world yesterday, but only if you get in a workout.”
“No way. The car's fixed. I'm driving.” This was America, dammit. Driving everywhere, even up the block, was our God-given natural right. Plus, I was lazy.
I swear I heard angel eight ball sigh. “A deal's a deal. You promised the Big Guy you'd do cardio if you survived, and you survived, so now you do cardio.”
“I can't deal with this right now.” I yanked that angel straight out of his seat belt, rolled down my window, and threw him out. He arced through the air, and I heard him curse when he landed in the prickly branches of the evergreen bush by the garage. Ha. Take that.
Hey. Don't judge me. I didn't care if he was an angel. I didn't even care about the cardio. I just needed a break. I deserved to enjoy the day. I mean, look around. The sky's sunny and crayon blue, not a cloud in sight. Red and orange leaves were raked in heaps on lawns, and Thanksgiving pumpkins were piled up on porches. If it weren't for me, we'd all be ass-deep in gigantic hell fish babies and thirty-foot-tall man-eating spiders right now. You're welcome. Now let me drive my fat ass across town, eat three thousand calories worth of cheeseburgers and fries, and celebrate in fucking peace.
I kicked the car into reverse and backed down the driveway.
Crack. Angel eight ball hit the windshield, triangle pressed against the glass. “HIT THE BRAKES! NOW!”
“No.”
“DO IT NOW OR GERTRUDE DIES!”
What? Shit! I hit the brakes. The car screeched to a stop.
Thunk.
My eyes shot to the side mirror. There was a ball of gray fur by the back tire. No. No no no no no no no! Gertrude!
Tears flew. Like projectiles. Seriously. They shot horizontally straight out of my eyes and rained down on the steering wheel. I'd had Gertrude my whole life. She couldn't die now, not like this, not after all we'd been through. It wasn't fair!
I put the car in park and was about to open the door when Gertrude staggered out from behind the tire, clearly annoyed. She stopped and looked around with her blind, milky eyes. The corners of her mouth crinkled down, like she wanted to say, “watch where you're going!” but couldn't see who she was supposed to yell at. Then she hobbled across the lawn, moving her fur stump like it still had a leg on it. She waddled straight to the flower bed, squatted over one of Mom's pink mums, and showered the flowers with pee. Phew. Gertrude was okay!
“Thanks for the heads up,” I said to eight ball. “I owe you one.”
And I immediately regretted saying that.
“That was no accident,” angel said. “That was a warning shot from God.”
“No way. God wouldn't hurt Gertrude. That's just mean. She's innocent.”
“If you think He won't kill a cat to make a point, you haven't read the Old Testament lately.” The triangle bobbed. “We've got an entire nature preserve up here for all the animals Noah couldn't fit on the ark.”
“You're bluffing.”
“I wish. Ride the bike, for the cat's sake. Please.”
“No,” I said. “You're full of it.”
“Fine. I can't make you, but heed my warning: You made a deal with God. Don't defy Him. It won't end well. Oh, and the roach needs a ride.”
Angel eight ball rolled across the windshield and plopped off the side of the car. Just as I heard the thump on the concrete, I saw Kevin scuttling across the porch, fast as the wind.
“Wait for me!” he yelled. “Your Mom tried to spray me with Kill 'Em Dead. Take me with you. I don't want to die!”
“Fine.” No use fighting it, right?
He crawled in the driver's side window, then scuttled across the dash. Blech. I didn't think I'd ever get used to that, because even though he was sentient and talking, ew roach.
He settled on the red fuzzy dice hanging from my rear-view mirror. “Ooh. Plush! Where ya headed, kid?”
“Monster Burger.”
“Awesome. Can we swing by the liquor store after? Your Mom caught me before I got the cork out of the Maker's Mark. That shit's hard to open without thumbs. I miss thumbs.”
Thumbs? I looked at him. He looked at me.
“What?” He snipped.
“Nothing.”
I put the car in reverse, but didn't lift my foot off the brake until I spotted Gertrude on the porch, beached like a whale in the patio chair, soaking in a sunbeam. I backed out, turned around, and headed up toward the street. We hadn't even made it out of Hummingbird Court when the sunny bright sky suddenly filled with swirling, angry, black clouds.
“Weird,” Kevin said. “It's not supposed to rain today.”
“It's cool. It'll be fine.” It was just a coincidence, angel eight ball being a dick to make a point.
I hung a left onto the street and immediately hit a wall of pouring rain. It came down so hard and heavy it sounded like pebbles hitting the windshield. I kicked the wipers into high gear, but they couldn't keep up. Water sloshed and flew. The windshield fogged up solid white. I dialed up the defrost and wiped my hand across the glass to clear it. I still couldn't see, but I wasn't about to stop or turn back. Stubborn? Yeah. But if I didn't call angel eight ball's bluff, I'd never hear the end of it. I had to take a stand. This was my moment.
Seriously, though. That angel was giving it to me good. The sky was so dark it looked like midnight. I couldn't see houses or trees or porch pumpkins. Nothing, not even parked cars in the street. But I kept driving, slow enough a snail could outrun me. Kevin held tight to the fuzzy dice. I white-knuckled the steering wheel as I inched up the street.
CRACK! The sky flashed and a zigzag of blinding white cut through the darkness. CRACK! Lightning hit right outside the car, so close the sound and light were simultaneous.
“Who did you piss off?” Kevin's voice shook. “You should turn back.”
“No.” Okay, yes. We should stop. The bumper of a parked car appeared inches away. I swerved.
“Holeeeeee sheeeeeeet!” Kevin screamed. “Look out!”
Yeah. He's right. Totes not safe, but I couldn't let the angel win. It was about the principle at this point. If I quit now that snarky little triangle wo
uld own me forever.
“Hold up. Are you risking our lives in a celestial grudge match?”
Dammit, Kevin. Stop zoning in on my brain waves. “I'm not stopping.”
Sure, I was holding onto the wheel so tight it was about to snap in half, and Kevin could have gotten out and walked faster than the car. But nope. Not stopping. Can't make me.
“Pull over. Let me out. I'm not dying again.”
“Suck it up,” I growled. “You're a roach. You're impossible to kill.”
Flash. Crack.
Lightning nearly hit the hood.
“You can't win,” Kevin said.
“You don't know anything.”
“Guys like you don't challenge God and win,” he said. “You're not Hercules. You're the fat kid who still lives at home with his parents and gets winded walking down the stairs for a midnight snack. Seriously. Who gets out of breath going down stairs? But if you insist, fine, kid. Sure. Carry on. I'm sure this'll all work out great for you.”
“Shut up!” Now I really wasn't turning back, because I had two jerks to prove wrong.
The car inched forward. Angel eight ball dialed up the rain so high, it sounded like my windshield was under Niagara Falls.
Chink. Chink. Chink. Chink. Little white balls hit the glass. Hail? Seriously? Jerk. I doubled down. Nope. Gonna get my burger. I won't let him win.
“Look around, kid,” Kevin said. “You've lost.”
“Get out of my head.”
“I wish. It's not great in there.” Kevin had moved from the fuzzy dice to the passenger seat, where he was now buckled in and clinging to the seat belt for dear life. “Stop already. Please.”
“No. That dickhead angel can suck it!”
So, of course, that's when the sky flashed white, then black, then white again like the dance floor at a cheap European discotheque. Lightning zig zagged across the pitch black sky.
“Stop already, dipshit!”
“No!” Come on. I couldn't give up now. Right?
A flash of yellow—headlights—emerged from the darkness. A horn honked. I jerked the wheel. The car skidded and dovetailed.
