#prisoner of the highway

[artisticdivasworld]

Rollin’ Down the Highway: The Ultimate Trucking Playlist

We all know that long hauls can get pretty monotonous, and sometimes you need a little pick-me-up to keep those wheels turning and your spirits high. That’s where a killer playlist comes in handy. Let’s see what some of the top trucking tunes are a “must-have” for any trucker’s playlist. These songs aren’t just about the open road; they’re about the heart and soul of the trucking life. 1. “On…

[krafterwrites]

It's genuinely kind of impressive that they managed to set up their SA2 adaptation in a way that makes it impossible to directly adapt any of the scenes from the source material

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Drugs, Thugs and Pilot Kelson Hugs: Part 1

Pairing: Pilot Kelson x Reader

Warnings: Drugs, Alcohol, Swearing, Sexual Themes, Slowish Burn, I think that’s it?

Summary: Takes place a few years after Highway, Pilot is in his late 20’s and slightly more mature, but only a smidge. You meet but feel like you’ve known him forever. What will your friendship become?

——————————————

It was a Friday night when your life changed forever.

It wasn’t because of anything huge or noticeable to anyone else, no. Just a fleeting glance that changed it all.

You had finished a particularly stressful week at work, and you were looking forward to letting loose. Your friend Carly had invited you out for drinks with her and some of her friends, and you had practically bitten her hand off at the offer. You needed a drink, and it had been so long since you’d been out with friends.

You didn’t know any of Carly’s friends, but that was okay. You knew Carly and you enjoyed meeting new people, so you weren’t worried.

You got dressed in your favourite outfit and you felt confident when you checked yourself out in the mirror before swinging out the door.

———————————————

The bar was busy and loud when you arrived at 8:30pm. You hadn’t expected a live band but it was a nice touch and the atmosphere was electric. You felt energised already and you hadn’t even ordered a drink yet. As you waited at the bar to be served, Carly snuck up behind you and tickled your sides.

“Hey!” You jumped, swinging around to glare at your friend. “Scared me!” You shouted over the loud music.

“Sorry!” She laughed, pulling you in for a hug. “I saw you walk in and just wanted to show you where we’re sitting!” She pointed to the far corner where a table of 5 sat, conversing and laughing over their drinks, some with cigarettes in hand.

“Thanks!” You smiled at her, “I’ll be over as soon as I get a drink. Hey, you want anything?” You offered. She shook her head pointing to the beer in her hand. You nodded and gave her a thumbs up as she walked back to the table.

About 10 minutes later, once you had been served, you made your way through the busy bar to the table of friends.

Carly hopped out of her chair and turned to the table to introduce you.

“Hey guys! This is my friend (Y/N)!” She put her arm around your shoulder.

“(Y/N), this is Jack, Mason, Porter, Cassie and Pilot.” She pointed to each person around the table, they all waived as their names were called.

“Pilot?” You questioned, unsure if you heard correctly over the noise. The spiky haired, blue eyed boy smiled at you over the table.

“That’s my name.” He said, pulling on his cigarette. You smiled. He had a beautiful smile and his eyes felt… familiar.

You nodded, pulling your eyes away from his.

You sat down next to Carly on the outer edge of the table, and spoke to Cassie who sat opposite you. The pretty brunette was friendly and easy to talk to and you quickly felt comfortable around her.

“Hey, I LOVE this song! Let’s go dance!” She exclaimed, pulling you and Carly to your feet as the rest waited at the table and watched.

You laughed and danced like an idiot with the two girls, letting the alcohol take over and the stress of the week disperse.

You felt eyes on you the whole time, but it was a busy bar, so you chalked it up to that and danced until your feet hurt.

You, Carly and Cassie made your way back to the table, tired and thirsty. You sat back down but this time next to the spiky haired Pilot. Cassie and Carly opting to go to the bar.

“Some moves.” Pilot joked.

“Jealous? Just because I can bust a move?” You joked back, smiling down at your drink.

“Yeah I guess I am, you give lessons?” He prodded you playfully with his elbow.

“Nah, gotta keep some secrets to myself.” You winked.

Pilot laughed, quirking an eyebrow. You were cute, and he felt like he knew you somehow. He didn’t recognise you from anywhere, but he felt like he knew you.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully, everyone making small talk and singing along to the live music.

Carly, Mason and Porter left, while Cassie and Jack argued about something trivial at the corner of the table.

You sat silently people watching as the crowd began to thin, the band now playing slower, softer songs as the night drew to a close.

You grabbed your coat and got up, about to say your goodbyes, when Pilot stood from his seat.

“Wait.” He said, taking your coat from you and draping it over the back of his chair. “I love this song. Dance with me before you go?” He asked, holding out a hand. The song was slow and romantic, you weren’t sure if it was appropriate but you felt yourself nodding as you took his hand gingerly and he pulled you onto the mostly empty dance floor.

His hand slipped around your waist as he pulled you a bit closer, his touch electric on your clothed skin, his other hand on yours as he led you in a clumsy waltz.

You laughed, this man had no idea how to dance. He spun you around and narrowly missed stepping on your feet, which only made you laugh more.

He pulled you back in, tighter this time.

“So… what’s the story with your name?” You asked, making light conversation as you both stepped side to side lazily.

“Well…” he breathed out a laugh, “My mom fucked an airline pilot. Didn’t catch his name, fell pregnant with me and let’s just say she hasn’t always been the most creative with names.”

“I dunno, it’s a pretty creative name if you ask me.” You smiled up at him, biting your lip.

Pilot stared down into your eyes silently, a ghost of a smile lingering on his lips.

“What?” You asked after a beat.

“Do I know you?” He asked.

“No, I haven’t lived in Vegas long.” You confirmed. “But you do seem… familiar.” You laughed.

“Yeah that’s what I thought, when you walked in. You feel like someone I know.” He confirmed.

“Feel?” You queried, quirking an eyebrow.

He was about to answer when Jack bumped into him drunkenly.

Pilot pulled away from you to face Jack.

“Hey I need you to settle an argument between me and Cassie.” He beckoned.

Pilot laughed and turned to you, “I guess I’d better go mediate.” He let go of your hand slowly and smiled at you, turning to follow Jack.

You smiled, realising your night had turned out better than expected. You wanted to leave it at that, with good memories of the evening, so you quietly grabbed your coat and left the bar.

After a few minutes Pilot had settled the debate between Jack and Cassie, and turned back around to find you. He wanted to continue your dance, and delve a little deeper into who you were, but you were long gone. His eyes scanned the room with disappointment, and his shoulders slumped as he threw his head back with a groan.

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

———————————————

The week went by slowly, filing paperwork and sending emails, it wasn’t exactly an exciting job. By Friday night you were ready to crawl up on your couch and watch movies until your brain dried up, but Carly called you and begged you to come over.

She was having friends over for drinks for Porter’s birthday, and part of you held the curious idea that maybe, just maybe, you’d see the spiky haired boy with the big blue eyes again.

You knocked on her door and waited, listening to the muffled laughing and noises from inside. Carly opened the door and pulled you inside, dancing and lip syncing to the song that blasted over her speakers.

“Well hello to you too.” You laughed, taking off your coat and hanging it up by the front door. Your eyes scanned the room, you could see Jack in the kitchen, sitting on the counter top speaking to Porter. Mason lay on the couch philosophising about something to Cassie and another girl you didn’t recognise. There were a few other randoms you didn’t know making conversation around the apartment but no sign of Pilot. You felt a little disappointed but kept a faux smile on your face as you greeted everyone, giving out hugs to the people you knew and introducing yourself to those you didn’t.

You decided to excuse yourself and went to the bathroom to freshen up. The door was locked so you waited, eventually knocking as whoever was in there was taking their sweet time.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute!” you heard a familiar voice call out. You smiled.

The door flew open and Pilot’s eyes went wide as he smiled, high as a kite, smoke billowing out around him.

“Hey, it’s you.” He smiled, eyes heavy.

You wrinkled your nose at the smell of weed, smiling at him. “Didn’t think you were here.” You laughed softly.

“I uh… wasn’t gonna come, but we didn’t get to finish our conversation last week.”

“Oh, so you came here just for me?” You teased. Pushing past him to get into the smokey bathroom. Pilot turned around to watch you and leaned against the door frame, zipping the collar of his fleece all the way up over his chin and putting his hands in his pockets, something you’d come to realise was his tell when he was high.

You looked in the mirror and pretended to fix your hair while you felt his eyes on you. You glanced over at him with a glint in your eyes.

“What?” You asked, smirking at him.

“Nothing.” He laughed, looking away.

“You’re so high.” You laughed. He nodded, walking slowly back into the bathroom with a dumb smirk on his face, his hair sticking up on all ends. You liked it.

“Ok you’re gonna need to say or do something so that I know you’re not going to whiteout on me.” You joked as he stood over you silently.

“We didn’t get to finish our dance.” He reminded you, taking your hands in his and draping one over his shoulder.

“Here? In the bathroom?” You questioned. Pilot nodded. You swayed together silently, listening to the music and laughter that blared from the next room. His big blue eyes, half lidded, never once leaving yours.

This was going to be a weird, weird friendship.

—————————————

- Part 2 Here -

[theknucklehead]

Now that the 3rd Sonic movie is out in theaters (and I already have my tickets for tonight), I thought it would be fun to go through Sonic Adventure 2's story and put all the stages and boss battles into chronological order.

[res1dentemo]

chat am i obsessed with jake gyllenhaal?

anyways here is another art dump

[sxeraphfic]

WELCOME TO MY BLOG!

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

Val୨୧Any Prns୨୧19୨୧MDNI18+

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

FICS AND ETC TAGGED WITH #valenfics

RANDOM NOTES AND UPDATES TAGGED WITH #valspeaks

NUMBER OF ASKS IM WRITING RN: 8

REQUEST ETIQUETTE; PLEASE TELL ME WHAT GENDER YOU WANT THE READER TO BE!

CURRENTLY TAKING ASKS/RQS & DOING WRITING FOR:

DONNIE DARKO* JACK TWIST ( mainly shipped with ennis! i personally hc him as bi so i will write for any gender w him when requested.)

sam hall PILOT KELSON * DETECTIVE LOKI

And basically any other of his characters! i’ve only recently gotten into him and his work so as time goes on ill dive into his other characters.

OTHER FANDOMS I MAY WRITE FOR AT SOME POINT:

• RESIDENT EVIL • SVSSS • IDV • SLASHERS

• other misc! feel free to ask if you’re unsure!

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

INFO/WARNINGS;

• I will end up writing about NSFW, ANGST, GORE and DARKER/DEAD DOVE themes. • I DONT have a specified no list on what i’ll write, when RQS are open i will accept them based off how i feel and if i'm comfortable with it. So don’t be shy to rq anything you want, just know i may not do it depending on what it is! • 90 percent of the time the reader in my work will be presented as afab in NSFW fics and imagines, i’ll try keep it gender neutral for the most part though with blurbs and dot point style hcs!

REMINDER;

strict no harassment policy on my blog, any rude comments made towards me or anyone who sends rqs/asks will be dealt with! (blocked)

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[nando161mando]

In the UK, five Just Stop Oil activists receive record prison sentences for planning to shut down the M25 highway.

[libraryledge]

The Man in the Long Black Coat (A 1960's Story of Camaraderie) Pt 1

A/N: The A Complete Unknown trailer is incredible, and I certainly sense Oscar buzz! Here is the first of two parts of a short story inspired by the friendship between Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash.

Dylan's Perspective:

Fame is a bizarre concept. One minute no one knows who you are and the next you’re up on a stage and everyone is screaming your name like they own it. As of late, there have been one too many mornings where I question if this is what I’m meant to be doing. I love music. It helps me to shelter from the storm that brews in the external world. However, internally, everything is broken. 

People try to understand why I behave the way that I do, but no one captures who I truly am because I contain multitudes of personas inside of me. A neighborhood bully, who abandoned his roots when it came to grasping onto fame. A false prophet, who preaches about social changes, but sits back and does nothing. A lover, who somewhere along the way gets lost and places beautiful connections in jeopardy. It’s a sentimental journey as people try to cast labels upon me as if they sincerely know what happens behind the closed doors of my mind.

That’s where he comes in: the man in the long black coat. Mysterious, talented, and oozing charisma. His boots of Spanish leather stomping on the stage as he breaks tradition and sings from the heart. He tells me he’s a fan of my writing, and I reciprocate the sentiment. More importantly, he makes me feel like I’m not a jokerman, who is simply living to please the masses rather than try to stay true to himself.

His words help me realize that it’s not dark yet. This is only the beginning of the story, and it is still being written. I’ve always relied on a pen and an instrument to sift through complicated emotions. Why try to change me now? I just want him to know how grateful I am for his camaraderie. A tempest is brewing all around me, and it’s a narrow way out.  Fame is a bizarre concept, and perhaps I’ll spend my entire life trying to understand it. Although I may not follow in his footsteps and walk the line, his encouragement is enough to help me figure it out.

[thegreatyin]

:)

[parateuthis]

how it feels to be catching up on Epithet Erased when you have ADHD and sometimes not the best auditory processing

[rolandrockover]

Eye of the Burning Hunter

Eric Carr's Eyes of Love (1989) is one of those fan favorites that unfortunately didn't make it onto a Kiss album. The indignation about this should be all the greater because in this case we are talking about the completely overloaded and somewhat indecisive Hot in the Shade (1989) of all things.

What the exact reasons may have been within a hopefully objectively functioning exclusion procedure is something everyone is welcome to think about for themselves, but hopefully not without at least taking a closer look at the music first. And why should you do something like this alone when it works just as well together and in the best of company?

So, Eyes of Love sounds admittedly less like Kiss in itself, or rather its somewhat unwieldy overall picture doesn't quite, but the individual parts it contains all the more. For the intro and main riff, for example, I can think of two reference sources that can both easily be assigned to Animalize (1984), the album that probably best musically manifests Gene's estrangement from the band at the time.

If you were now to hybridize Burn Bitch Burn (1) and Lonely is the Hunter's riffs, we'd almost have it, the point is just that Eyes of Love does somehow sound better than the other two both together (2), with a little more vibrant swing, which, once it gets going, gives it something quite nasty and monstrous. Unusual when something like this doesn't come from Gene, but certainly not unwelcome on my part.

But if you want to give it a little extra thought, you could ask yourself whether Eyes of Love isn't rather based on Killers' (1982) Down On Your Knees and tries to make something better out of its riff, which itself wasn't really able to do. A certain additional proximity to Down On Your Knees' middle part (3) would certainly speak in favor of this. But let's just leave it at that.

Apart from that, I can think of a few isolated bits and pieces that are reused here and there, serving as pads or whatever. Something that sounds like a higher swinging Plaster Caster (1977) riff, a certain The Elder (1981) touch as we know it from Only You, or a fill segment of When Your Walls Come Down (1987) and one of those rock n' roll standard licks that usually ends Rock and Roll All Nite (1975) live (4).

And although all the segments seem polished, the transitions flow smoothly and interlock like clockwork, it's still the not-so-simple song structure that, from my perspective, perhaps refuses to fit into Kiss' much smoother arrangement ratio of the time, thus naturally standing out quite a bit; and thus in some people's eyes, one looks in the direction of the two HITS, uhm… producers, might seem unfinished, or even useless. For their purposes. And not just to my regret.

Anyway, perhaps Eyes of Love only got in the way of Gene's and Bruce's not entirely dissimilar but much, muuuch more polished Prisoner of Love, but I prefer to continue to harbor my very own doubts about this idea. Basically, I'm only surprised that Gene didn't take it on and that it didn't fall into his clutches.

Probably because of the too many song credits. You know, less dough to share.

Wink emoji?

Side Notes:

(1) I mean even Eric's verse vocal sounds like the Burn Bitch Burn riff, with a slight biker rock and a AC/DC Highway to Hell feel.

(2) And I say that even though I like those Gene songs, especially Burn Bitch Burn. And I guess so did Eric Carr, because I happen to know that he loved to play Burn Bitch Burn live with its pumping drums and bass.

(3) Who remembers this part of Down On Your Knees, which bears an unmistakable resemblance to a song from Destroyer (1976)? You can refresh your memory of it right here, by the way.

(4) And no, I'm not going to highlight any of the links. That's too much fiddly work for me today. I'll probably cobble together some detailed Reprise entries out of this some day, or something.

I've limited the links to Eyes of Love, Burn Bitch Burn, Lonely is the Hunter and Down On Your Knees for the love of simplicity. Trust me, nobody loves too many links:

Eyes of Love (1989)

Lonely is the Hunter (1984)

Burn Bitch Burn (1984)

Down On Your Knees (1982)

[gcowboy6]

I MADE A DISCORD SERVER

for jake gyllenhaal

[castielmoriarty]

I correctly predicted when talking to Hayley that despite how unemotional I've been about Ballum lately, I'd be very emotional when actually watching it. what I didn't predict though was that I'd get emotional enough from seeing gifs of it that I now can't make myself actually watch this week's scenes. how could they make the decision to exit Ben now/like this, esp. when neither his sa or ed storylines have even been properly concluded? the fact that he and Cal never got to be intimate again is just awful, as well as this happening before he's truly well from his ed. everything about this just sucks.

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

Drugs, Thugs and Pilot Kelson Hugs: Part 2

Pairing: Pilot Kelson x Reader

Warnings: Drugs, Alcohol, Swearing, Sexual Themes, Violence, Slowish Burn, I think that’s it?

Summary: Your friendship with Pilot grows steadily into something new.

- Part 1 Here -

———————————

Over the next few weeks, you saw Pilot a few times at parties and bars and general get togethers. You quickly became good friends, getting to know each other more and more each time.

You also got to know Mason’s friend, Zack, who began hanging out with your group more frequently. Zack was a good looking guy, and he was charming. He asked you out the second time you met, and you had agreed more out of boredom and curiosity than out of actually liking him, but regardless, your date went well and you started seeing each other more over the next few weeks. You weren’t official but you definitely felt that Zack was about ready to ask you to be his officially. You weren’t sure if you would say yes when he asked, he was cute but you just weren’t crazy about him yet.

One night you were invited to Jack and Cassie’s for a get-together. Carly, Porter, Pilot and Mason would also be there, so you’d assumed Zack was also invited and didn’t bother asking him yourself. Truth be told you didn’t really care whether or not he was there, but you would enjoy his company if he was.

You arrived at Jack and Cassie’s apartment, and made your rounds saying hello to everyone who was already there. Mason and Pilot had yet to arrive so you made yourself comfortable.

A few minutes later Pilot walked through the door followed by Mason, but there was no sign of Zack. You hugged Pilot and he kissed your cheek. You said hello to Mason and went about enjoying your evening, forgetting about poor Zack entirely.

Most of the night passed without incident, and you were lounging on the couch next to Pilot and Carly, talking about everything and nothing when the front door swung open.

Zack stood at the front door, face red with anger as his eyes searched the room. You sat upright and looked at him with confusion.

“You!” He pointed his finger in your direction as he closed the gap between the front door and the couch. “What the fuck are you doing here, huh?” He spat.

“Woah! Woah!” Pilot stood and held his hands up to Zack, trying to slow his barrage.

“What are you talking about Zack?” You asked, incredulously, standing from your seated position.

“I went to your apartment to surprise you, but you weren’t there. I tried to call you, but you’re ignoring me! I called Mason, who was kind enough to inform me that you’d be here, without me. An invitation would have been nice, don’t you think? Or are you trying to avoid me so… so you can snuggle up to this guy?” He yelled, clearly slightly drunk.

“Alright Zack, I think you need to calm down.” You said, walking towards him. You tried to gently push him towards the front door so you could both leave and you could walk him home, but Zack took this as you trying to force him out, and shoved you. You went stumbling backwards and Pilot caught you before you fell. This enraged Pilot, and once he was sure you were secure and standing, he launched himself at Zack, grabbing him by his T-shirt and shoving him to the ground. Pilot held him down as Zack struggled drunkenly.

“Listen here you piece of shit, if you ever lay a finger on (Y/N), or any of us ever again, I will personally shove twenty quaaludes up your ass and strap you behind the wheel of your car with your foot on the gas, got it?” Pilot spat, his hand squeezing Zack’s face, forcing him to look at him.

Zack nodded, clearly embarrassed by the situation and that no one was taking his side.

“Good.” Pilot smiled sarcastically, tapping Zack on the cheek as he got up. “Now get the fuck outta here.”

Zack sauntered off, slamming the apartment door behind him. Mason felt the need to follow Zack and ensure he got home safely, so he left shortly after.

“Are you okay?” Pilot asked, walking back over to where you sat on the arm of the sofa, still not really believing what just happened, and that you found Pilot incredibly sexy in that moment.

You nodded, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Thank you, for sticking up for me.” You nodded and smiled weakly. You suddenly weren’t in the mood to party. “I think I’m gonna go. I don’t feel so great all of a sudden.” You excused yourself, waving goodbye to the remaining members.

“I’ll drive you.” Pilot said, grabbing his keys. You were too shaken to argue.

The drive home was quiet, you were now contemplating whether or not to speak to Zack and to apologise for any misunderstanding, but you were aware that his behaviour, regardless of the reason, was unacceptable. You pulled up outside of your apartment block, and Pilot got out to help you out of your side.

“You ok if I walk you to your apartment? Just in case he’s waiting.” Pilot chuckled awkwardly. You smiled at him as you closed the car door.

“Thanks, good idea.” You nodded.

You made small talk as you climbed the seemingly endless flights of stairs to your apartment, eventually coming to stand outside your door.

“Well I guess he really did just go home.” You shrugged, relieved.

“Worth making sure, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“Thank you again, Pilot. For sticking up for me and for making sure I got home safe.”

“Any time.” You made eye contact for a while, mouths saying nothing but eyes saying everything. “See you around?” He eventually said, walking backwards towards the stairwell, both hands in his pockets.

You nodded, “Hope so.”

Pilot made his way down the stairwell, a smile in his face as he went. He got about halfway down, when he heard you calling him.

“Pilot, wait!” you called from the top, looking down at him. He looked up with a grin.

“I have a work event tomorrow night, I was going to take Zack, but I guess he’s out. Do you want to come as my plus one?” You asked, “as a friend, I mean.”

“Do I have to wear a suit?” He joked.

You rolled your eyes, “Just wear a nice shirt.”

“I guess I can make that happen.” He smiled.

“Ok, meet me here at 7?”

“See you then.” And he was gone.

You stood at the top of the stairwell, smiling to yourself. You were excited to see if he cleaned up well.

———————————————

The next evening came round quickly, you got ready and smoothed out the beautiful deep red dress you’d bought especially for the event that matched your lipstick. Your hair was styled elegantly and you felt… nervous.

The knock on your door alerted you that Pilot had arrived.

You had no idea why you were nervous until you opened the door, realising suddenly that it was him. You had subconsciously been worried he wouldn’t think you looked beautiful. But as soon as you opened the door, Pilot let out a deep breath and whistled lowly, taking you in. His eyes turned dark as he made eye contact with you.

“Wow.” He breathed. “You look incredible.”

You suddenly didn’t feel nervous anymore. You smiled at him. He looked so handsome, his hair was still messy but he had made an effort to smooth it down. He wore a button down white shirt, the top few buttons undone and his sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

“You clean up good yourself.” You said, grabbing your purse and locking the door behind you.

Pilots hand came to rest gently on your mid back, as he guided you down the stairwell. You two were quiet the whole time, Pilot focussing on how the dress moved against your figure. You focussing on how his hand felt on the exposed skin of your back.

He drove you to the hall where your work event was being held, and you ran him through who to speak to and who to avoid.

When you arrived you walked in and went straight to the bar, getting a drink for you and Pilot before you began your rounds.

“(Y/N)! How nice to see you!” Your boss called as he and his wife waltzed over to where you stood.

“Mr and Mrs Jamison, lovely to see you.” You greeted them both with a kiss on the cheek.

“I love your dress darling!” Mrs Jamison exclaimed. She was a beautiful older woman, and she had taste, her dress had to cost more than a month of your salary, but she was kind enough to compliment you. “And who is your… friend?” She asked, unsure of who you’d brought.

“This is Pilot Kelson, ma’am. He’s a good friend of mine.” You introduced him.

“He’s a pilot?” She questioned. You chuckled and explained, “No ma’am, that’s just his name.” You smiled. Pilot shook her and Mr Jamisons hands.

“Nice to meet you.” He said politely.

“And you boy. Interesting name you have!” Mr Jamison exclaimed. “Come, let me introduce you to a few people.”

You and Pilot walked around the room following Mr and Mrs Jamison, being introduced to people you hadn’t yet met, and greeting those you had. After about 15 minutes of doing so, you excused yourself and Pilot to refresh your drinks.

You pulled him to the bar and sighed, “This is exhausting.”

Pilot chuckled, “It suits you, you fit in well with everyone.”

You scrunched up your nose in mock insult, “You saying I look like a snob?”

“You do in that dress.” He joked, poking your ribs, causing you to squeal and jump forward slightly into him involuntarily. Pilot laughed as he steadied you with both hands, suddenly stopping as he realised how close your faces were to one another. He could smell the peaches in your perfume.

You cleared your throat and stepped back when the bartender came to serve you. You both ordered fresh drinks and sat down at an empty table.

“So you spoken to Zack yet?” He asked, taking a long swig of his beer.

You shook your head, playing with the straw in your drink.

“No, I think I’ll give it a few days. But I probably should end it in person at least.”

Pilot nodded. A beat of comfortable silence passed as you both people watched.

Couples of all ages took to the dance floor, slow dancing lovingly with each other. It made sense really, almost everyone had brought their other halves, and there were only a small handful of singletons in your company.

Pilot watched you smiling as you gazed on the happy couples. He got up from his seat and extended his hand out for you to take.

“Oh, no way. We know how bad you are at dancing.” You gave him a stern look as you joked. He grinned at you, taking your hand and pulling you up.

“Come on Mrs Kelson, I think it’s time you gave your husband some attention.” He joked loudly. You flushed bright red and hissed at him to shush. Pilot laughed, and pulled you up against him once you reached the dance floor, one hand on his shoulder, his on your lower back, other hands on one another’s as he swayed you slowly back and forth.

“You’ve gotten better. Been practicing?” You questioned him.

“Yeah Jack and I love to slow dance in the living room. We’re romantic like that.” He joked. You smirked at him and rolled your eyes. You both moved gently to the music, and your eyes settled on one another while you did so.

Other couples flitted effortlessly around you, everyone’s eyes watching the sweet young couple now at the centre of the dance floor, dancing slower than everyone else, but your eyes were just on one another, not taking notice to everyone watching you.

“You look so beautiful, you really do.” He breathed, eyes half lidded and dark.

“You look pretty good yourself. I like this-“ you gestured to his slightly unbuttoned shirt, your fingers moving to gently stroke the uncovered skin without thinking.

Pilot let out a soft moan only you could hear over the music.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“ you pulled your fingers away and made to apologise but you were interrupted by Pilot squeezing your waist, as if to say it was ok. You smiled at him, your heart beating so hard you thought he’d be able to see it.

“That feels… nice.” He admitted, you grinned softly, and sheepishly moved your fingers back to his exposed chest, just underneath his collar bone. His skin was soft, and you traced the little bit of chest hair he had. When you looked back up at him, his mouth was slightly parted, his pupils were blown, and he was breathing heavily. His lips looked so soft.

“Pilot I-“ again you were interrupted, this time by the band switching to a lively song, and everyone started cheering. You quickly pulled away from one another and the little bubble you’d formed around yourself had burst.

For the rest of the evening, things felt slightly tense, and you and Pilot didn’t spend much time alone until he drove you back to your apartment at the end of the night, neither of you speaking about what had happened.

——————————————

- Part 3 Here -

[aquaregiaart]

STEEP.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

And All the King’s Menace

SLAM.

Keys locked the door shut behind her. A low buzz of electricity hummed from the tube of fluorescent light overhead. Another short buzzing sound sliced through the air—an alert. Doors behind doors opened and footfalls heralded the arrival of men.

Upon a silver chair, bolted to the floor, she sat alone. Her seat was mirrored by another, empty chair, on the other side of a tall pane of glass, which evenly divided the room into two identical halves. The window reached from wall to wall and from floor to ceiling. It allowed her to glimpse her own sad reflection in the glass—the disheveled crop of short red hair, and the crumpled suit on her body.

Another buzzing noise. Keys click-clacked and the door on the opposite side of the glass opened. A guard armed with a shotgun stepped inside, avoiding eye contact with her as he maintained his stony-faced expression, taking up a disciplined position to flank the entrance.

A man in a bright red prison jumpsuit followed him inside. Freddy Fletcher. Chains linked his ankles and wrists together in a small metal web, shortening the serial killer’s every step towards the bolted chair on the other side of the glass.

His eyes went wide upon recognizing his visitor. FBI Agent Parker.

The woman who had put him here.

His hands trembled as they glided along the shiny frame of his chair’s back, guiding him until he blindly took his seat, transfixed on the woman sitting opposite of him in the divided room.

One of the guards nodded at Parker, then pointed to the wall behind her.

“Press that button when you’re done.”

“Understood.”

She nodded, but kept her eyes glued to Freddy’s gaze.

Burning into one another. She read fascination there. Married to a distant sense of dread. With his mouth agape, he broke free from initial wonder, and scanned her face up and down. He scanned her entire frame, and wiped a hand over his chin. Disbelieving.

Starstruck.

His expression confused her.

He wants what you have.

The guards exited the room and the door on Freddy’s side slammed shut. Keys click-clacked, locking him inside with her.

He cannot have what you have.

She ignored the Whispers.

Muffled through the glass pane, his voice travelled through tiny breathing holes in the window.

“Agent… Parker. I did not expect to ever see you again.”

You have me.

She sighed and crossed her legs. Folded her hands on her lap, bit her lip and collected herself. Another deep breath, and the Whispers fell silent again.

“I didn’t expect to see you again, either. Especially not now, with—”

“Yeah,” he interrupted. “I’m scheduled for the chair. But I suspect you knew that already.”

“Only learned of it just now. I hadn’t been following your fate at all since the arrest and the trial.”

“Tactful as ever, I see,” he scoffed, with the faintest semblance of a tired smirk.

She narrowed her eyes as her chin crinkled in disgust.

“It’s not my job to flatter you with tact. You killed people without remorse—you ritually peeled off their skin—and you would have taken far more if I hadn’t managed to stop you. Or your entire cult.”

He shook his head. His mien turned sad, with a distant glimmer of regret swimming to the surface, and his gaze fell to the floor.

The moment he replied, he betrayed his true sentiments. They sent a chill down her spine before he even spoke up again.

“I was at the peak of human perfection, Agent Parker.” Once he locked eyes with her again, she averted her gaze. Unsettled by that electric sense of confidence. “Look at me. Look at what you locked away from the world. I am fit, handsome, well-educated, wealthy—well, I was wealthy—and I was going to change the world. You robbed the world of me. You robbed the world of what I could have accomplished for it.”

She shook her head.

Said nothing.

Do not indulge him.

He continued, “You know it’s true. You know what you took away from the world when you got me locked up. What you took away from me.”

The chains jingled as he leaned forward in his chair, creeping closer towards the glass pane between them, without ever getting up from his seat.

Her skin crawled in his presence, just like the first time she met, masquerading as a sheriff department deputy to catch him red-handed.

He hissed, “That book… Agent. Are you… are you at least making good use of it? Have you found a way to continue my legacy?”

Freddy Fletched studied her with burning intent. His gaze simmered with the madness of murder—not a yearning to end her life, but reflections of all the lives he had snuffed out with his hands and his hunting knife.

A knife he had almost plunged into her neck.

She swallowed the lump of nothingness in her throat. Taking another deep breath, she focused on her training. Her education. And her instincts.

Listen…

Another deep breath to snuff out the Whispers in her head.

Breathe. One, two, release. Breathe.

Her own voice in her head—no longer the alien entity, speaking to her from the fringes of her consciousness.

Breathe. One, two, release. Breathe.

She nodded. First with a painful slowness, then with more fervor.

“Yes,” she finally said with resolve, clenching her jaw to brace for the rest. “I am, in fact, going to finish what you started. I now understand a bit more about… your work.”

The chains jingled again as Freddy leaned back in his chair, mouth agape again.

Confused over this reply.

The gears were grinding behind his forehead, parsing her reply for any lies.

She seized the initiative again and added, “I need you now. I need to learn more about the jade book. The Thaum of Thritain.”

His eyes went wider with every syllable of that accursed name, dancing off her lips. As if he had never heard anybody else speak it aloud.

“How,” she asked. “How did you learn how to use it? How to wield magick?”

The shock and curiosity wiped itself from his visage and a clipped chuckle escaped him. He stared a hole through her forehead, seeking eye contact which she refused to reciprocate.

Listen to us. Do not listen to him.

Freddy licked his lips. Bit them before they widened into a seductive smile.

“Tell you what, Agent Parker. You find a way to get me off death row, and I will tell you all you need to know. I will teach you. I know you have it in you. I sense a… darkness. A Shadow.”

Leave. Leave him and never return. Leave him to die.

She shuddered and stifled a sharp sigh.

“Please,” he added in another sharp hiss. “You destroyed my life. The least you can do is indulge me. At least make an effort. I won’t have any chance of sharing all I know if I’m dead soon. But in a nice cell? Locked up for life? I’ll have time. I’ll give you… lessons… during visiting hours. Answer every question. Meet your every need.”

Her skin crawled again. Under other circumstances, there might have been some strange charm to his words and presence.

Now, Freddy Fletcher’s speech only felt like the drivel coming out of all the other psychopathic serial killers she had interviewed in the past.

Pleading for his life, pitiful in his delusions of grandeur, and all tied up in a neat little bow, spun from the very fabric of devious manipulation.

Listen… to me. Leave. He is walking disease. A filth of the soul that can infect your mind if you sample it.

Do not let him in.

She clicked her tongue and finally responded to Freddy. “I don’t think so. I don’t think you really knew what you were doing, but I had to ask. I had to do my due diligence and ask. Unless you convince me otherwise, I’m going to assume you have no grasp of the occult. You may have known your fancy three-piece suits, how to make a killing on the stock market, and how to get away with murder, but you were toying with things you didn’t understand.”

This struck a nerve.

Left him speechless.

She continued to twist the verbal knife. “See, I did my homework, Mister Fletcher. I always do my homework. In digging around in your personal life, I found no connection whatsoever to the occult. So I have no reason to believe you have any inkling of what you were doing. Even your associate, Philip Byrne—he too, appeared to be clueless. You… I feel like you’re just… s-stringing me along, hoping to convince me to spare you a gruesome end on the electric chair. But I’m not willing to buy you that time unless I get something concrete. Something real. I’m trying, Mister Fletcher. I’m really trying; I truly am. But I can’t work with fantasies and vague theories.”

Slack jawed, he still offered no response to her words. She had twisted each sentence to cut and drill deeper than the last.

Then softened her tone entirely.

“Please. Work with me. I can walk right back out of here emptyhanded, but I don’t want that. If you’re willing to give me what I need, then I will do all I can to keep you off the chair.”

Chains jingled anew. He leaned forward, but every first word failed him before it could emerge. He rolled his jaw, and any replies jumbled around in his head, percolating until he found it in him to finally spill the truth. His expression switched from grimace to smile and back until it all evened out.

His nostrils flared and he finally nodded.

Finally replied in earnest.

“Okay. I admit it. You’re right, I didn’t know—no, I don’t know the first thing about the occult. I don’t know anything about ancient Mayan blood sacrifices to evoke divine magic, or Voodoo, or Wicca, or any such bunk. As far as I know, it’s all nonsense.”

Ignore him. His words are not just disease, they are venom. They are ruin.

She leaned forward, creeping closer to the glass divider between them. Intent on hearing him out.

Freddy continued, “But that thing… that book. The Thaum, it was real. It held something real. You know it—you’ve seen it with your own two eyes, haven’t you?”

Her spine tingled. Hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

He asked, “Did you… touch it? Did you hold it in your hands? Did you feel it?”

Feeling dizzy, she breathed, “Yes.”

Do not indulge him.

“Yes, yes, I know you did. I knew it before you said it. I can feel it on you. I can see,” the words died in his throat. He shook his head. His words spilled out more hectically. “Listen, please, listen. The truth is, from the moment I looked at that book, and I studied its pages, and the glyphs, and the alien drawings, I understood things.”

He raised his cuffed hands, then pointed at his own temple.

“It feels like a sharp pain at first. Like a knife in your skull, and the sight of bubbling tar pits, and the sickening sweet smell of rotting fruit.”

The images flashed before her eyes. Images she had never seen before. The words flowed together in a dark pool, where her consciousness coalesced, and a shadowy silhouette with her own shape began to emerge from the viscous depths.

“I… I looked at those designs, those awful designs, and I knew. We all knew, even if we all disagreed on what exactly we saw in them. Different, conflicting theories. It didn’t really matter. We all sensed the same thing; that it was leading us to the same place, and the truth was probably somewhere in the middle of all our theories. No need to study any occult bullshit from bygone eras, no need to gather any occult paraphernalia. I just… knew. I knew I needed their skin. I knew I needed to wear a suit made of their skin, which would shield me from the… from the SUBSTANCE. From the stuff on the other side of the door. I knew it would help me open the door, and walk through it to the other side.”

Parker had sensed no such thing from the Thaum of Thritain.

In its place, in her memory, only a dark void swirled like an ominous vortex. Like an event horizon of her own thoughts.

Hungry. Devouring all imagination.

When she next opened her eyes, she glimpsed Freddy’s eyes to have reddened. With desperation, with yearning. His palm turned white where he pressed it flat against the window between them. Confused, she met it, placing her hand against the glass.

Cold to the touch.

“Please, Agent Parker, I’m begging you,” Freddy said with trembling voice. “Don’t let me die here in this wretched pit. Please, I know you can hear it. Please—whatever you are, behind her—I know you’re there. I know you’re listening, watching. I heard you then. I have dreamt of you ever since—”

Shudders shook her spine again and she jolted back away from the glass.

Ignore him.

Freddy relentlessly begged, “I heard you! Whispers! Shadow! Please, speak to me again! I’ve dreamt of you all this time, I’ve dreamt of hearing you again in my mind! You… you are from the other side. The other side of the door—”

Dread gripped Parker’s heart like a vice. Froze her solid.

Whispers? The Whispers snarled. The Whispers became Growls.

Silence him.

“Someone opened the door. Someone slammed the door shut. I dreamt it. But it was open long enough for you to slip inside. Or was it you, Agent Parker? Please, I’m begging you—either of you—speak to me. Tell me the truth. I’ll do anything you want!”

She jolted back again, shocked up into standing by the metal chair—shocked again as Freddy Fletcher slapped his palm against the window, overlapping with the fingerprints she had left on its polished surface.

Parker fought back the tears before any could well up in the corners of her eyes.

Corners in which the shadows teemed with strange life.

Insignificance made flesh. He will die in obscurity.

Leave this insect behind.

The Growls no longer sounded like they came from inside her mind. No longer even resembling her own voice. They felt like they came from an invisible mouth right behind her. Like a Shadow on the wall, growing, looming, towering over her.

Freddy no longer stared at her. He stared at something above her.

Behind her.

Leave.

She refused to follow the order of the Whispers—the Growling—but every fiber in her being was screaming at her to leave.

Yes, Qip. Leave.

We have work to do, you and I.

Freddy Fletcher had risen to full height. Even with the shackles and chains, rendered vulnerable in his bright red jumpsuit, he stood taller than her on the other side of the glass. Wet sparkles glittered with unmasked madness in his eyes.

He slapped the window again as he begged, “Please.”

She backed another step away from the window.

Leave.

Tremors wracked her voice as she gathered herself. She spoke with flaring nostrils, mustering every ounce of courage to ignore the Growls and talk down Freddy Fletcher.

“I-I don’t know what you envision to happen, Mister Fletcher,” she said, “But everything I do is something I do to protect humanity. I am going to keep that door sealed shut, and I’m keeping that book far away from you. This… this was a mistake.”

“No! Please!”

Parker blindly pawed at the button by the door until her fingertips connected to cold plastic, and a loud buzzing resounded from behind the door.

The Growls dropped back down to Whispers.

Yes, Qip. Now you’re speaking my language. I want the same as you. We’re going to preserve your kind for the future.

“No-no-no-no,” Freddy pleaded. Then his desperate face contorted into something hideous and furious. Something feral and violent. He banged his fist against the dividing glass and it shook with every repeated blow. “Do not leave me here! Do not let me die! I can help you! Both of you! You motherfuckers!”

Parker turned her back on Freddy Fletcher.

The sooner she could put the memory of him behind her again, the better.

Agreed. This was a mistake. And you know what, Qip? It may have been for the better, after all. Something very interesting is about to happen.

She bristled at the Whispers’ choice of words. On it using her old nickname from Quantico. But now she focused on them, using them like a blanket to drape over Freddy Fletcher’s growing shouts and threats, to muffle and suffocate them.

Buzzing, click-clack; doors unlocked.

Her mind not only muffled Fletcher’s words, it also muffled the sounds of guards bludgeoning him to stop his assault on the dividing window. And another guard escorted Parker outside the secure visiting cell.

Maybe this was for the best. Sometimes, we just stumble into the right place, at the right time.

You listen, and we’ll guide you into the light, Qip.

The haze lifted. The minutes had melted away. Her fingers, squeezing a cigarette between them, quaked. She sucked in greedy drags of cancer and the little burning stick in her grip burnt down quickly.

The cold of the brick wall behind her seeped through the meager fabric of her black suit jacket.

Somehow, she had even blotted out the Whispers for the past few minutes. Time had melted into meaninglessness. Fragments of the words she exchanged with the prison personnel only reached her with delay, through a haze like a distant dream, dissipating into oblivion.

Freddy’s despair and panic still sliced through the fog. Visions of his face, twisted with dread as he pleaded. The crack of a baton as a guard struck his leg, and he crumpled onto the floor like a bag of rocks, and they wrestled him outside.

The Whispers cut through the fog the same way. With clarity. With precision.

And a hint of something sinister.

He’s here, Qip. Closer than we could have ever dreamt of. Guess that’s synchronicity for ya, huh?

She screwed her eyes shut and stamped the cigarette out. The fresh air outside the supermax prison cut across her exposed skin where a cool breeze swept by.

Listen.

“You need to come back tomorrow, sir. Inmate number 1048467 is, uh, experiencing an episode. Psychotic break. Once he’s medicated and stable, I’m sure the acting physician will admit him to another visit,” said the guard behind the reception desk.

Look.

A man in a black duster stood by the reception desk. Neatly combed dark hair, slicked back on his head. Imposing stature. She hadn’t even notice him enter the prison lobby.

He nodded in response and massaged his left palm with a thumb. When he spoke up, the words cascaded out of his lips with an eerie and hypnotic calm.

“That’s a shame, but I’ll take what I can get. That story isn’t running away from me.”

Unmistakable. Undoubtable.

It was his voice.

The Whispers growled again.

Listen.

And Parker listened.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Nine o’ clock sharp.”

She recognized his voice.

A man she had never seen in person, and she recognized his voice. Smooth and resolute.

Deceptively calm, hiding something powerful behind his folksy words.

A voice from the Gravedigger’s lips, that angry ghost inhabiting a walking corpse, now dead. That demonic presence channeling his summoner while Parker taped his very voice on her recorder.

She almost wanted to root around in her pocket, to produce the recorder and play it back and confirm the match, but she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she would only hear the exact same voice.

The necromancer.

Michael tapped the counter twice. The crooked smile he flashed the uniformed receptionist bore an attractive glow—and the same seductive energy as the serial killer Parker had just spoken to.

Michael.

Michael, hissed the Growls.

Michael, who had sent the Gravedigger after them.

The Way King’s servant. The Oracle of New York.

Don’t just stand there, Qip. You don’t get opportunities like this every day.

Michael had swiveled and sauntered over to the entrance outside of which she stood—rooted to the ground, paralyzed with indecision and surprise.

Michael’s eyes widened, much like Fletcher’s before. Then his lips curled slowly into a smile. He tilted his head and showed perfect white teeth as his smile widened.

Shaking his head, he said, “My, my, my—now this is a surprise even I hadn’t foreseen. Special Agent Quinn Isabelle Parker, in the flesh.” He performed a fluid mock bow that belonged on a theater stage, never breaking eye contact or ceasing to smile. Then he muttered, “Oh, this is rich. This is so, so rich.”

“Michael?” she asked, croaking his name out like a toad.

“Yes ma’am, and I am honored. This is providence. A blessing. I am thrilled to finally make your acquaintance. I’ve been looking for you for so long, but the stars have aligned in unexpected ways, it would seem.”

Kill him.

The Growls scratched with shadowy claws at primal instincts, loosening a knot in her stomach. They teased something out from the darker bowels of her being.

Killer instincts.

Kill him already. You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Qip.

And her instinct was—

To sling out her gun and aim it in his face. Demand his surrender with excessive force.

Maybe even pull the trigger, knowing all he had done. All the people he may have killed. A killer like Freddy Fletcher—maybe even worse. Maybe far, far worse—

And yet, she dithered. Those icy talons wrapped around her heart, turning into barbed wire where they twisted and churned, paralyzing her with bleeding indecision.

“Where’d you leave your friends?”

KILL. HIM. NOW.

The Growls had turned into the Roars. Snarling, violent, and bloodthirsty.

Michael’s smile faded. His eyes glistened, damp with anticipation. He looked like he was about to burst into tears of joy.

“It’s… you’re hearing it, aren’t you? Those Whispers.”

Parker wanted to scream.

DON’T WASTE YOUR BREATH ON THAT. JUST RAM THE GUN INTO HIS TEETH, AND REVEL IN THE SOUND OF THEM CRACKING, AND THE THUNDERCLAP TO MATCH THE THUNDER IN YOUR HEART AS YOU SQUEEZE THE TRIGGER AND FINALLY—

“No,” she lied.

No longer able to hold back the tears, her vision blurred. She wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

Michael stepped up to her. His breath shuddered, warm where it caressed the skin of her forehead. He extended a hand, bringing it near her face with caution—waiting for her to stop him—

BLOW HIS BRAINS OUT, QIP. YOU’RE GONNA REGRET IT IF YOU DON’T. WE… ARE GONNA REGRET IT.

And she did not stop Michael. Her hand burned to grab her service pistol.

Shivers ran down her spine again as he cupped her cheek with an eerily soft touch. Callused skin grazed her face, like a long lost lover’s timid touch of reunion.

Michael’s lips parted. No longer smiling.

Starstruck.

Close to her, he whispered, “I don’t believe you. I saw it through my vision. I… no, I heard it. I heard those Whispers. What are they? Did they… are they from the other world?”

Parker clenched her jaw, frowning, fighting every instinct, trying to suffocate the Roars in her mind like she had squelched Freddy Fletcher’s desperate pleading, then blinked more tears away.

Then she slung out her gun. Michael flinched from the pain of her jamming its muzzle into his crotch.

After wincing, his only reaction was an arched brow and a nervous smirk, but his palm still gingerly caressed her cheek. Either too careful to make any sudden movements, or eager to stay where they were until she told him to do otherwise.

Her skin still crawled.

And her training kicked back in. Muting everything and everybody. A welcome darkness. A more natural one than the alien voices in her mind.

Breathe. One, two, release. Breathe.

She hissed at him through gritted teeth. “Only reason I’m not sticking this in your face is because I don’t want to make a scene, because I don’t want to have to cut my way through a whole ocean of red tape before I get any straight answers out of you. You are going to come with me, and you have a lot to answer for.”

“Yes,” he whispered back. The smirk faded. “I’ll follow your lead. I just… please, whatever you do, don’t… don’t listen to those Whispers.”

The Roars had fallen silent.

A new and unexpected fear now crept up through Parker’s insides.

Her trigger finger itched. Twitched around the trigger. Like something was trying to override her own will. Like she was fighting herself. Like something was fighting her from the inside out.

She felt like throwing up on the spot.

Instead, she swallowed down bitter bile and jutted her chin out in defiance. She tapped Michael’s crotch twice with her gun.

“I assure you, I’m not listening to… it. Whatever it is. If I was listening to it, I would have just blown your brains out, right here and right now, and to hell with any consequences.”

Michael bit his lip and the smirk returned.

He said nothing. He removed his hand from her cheek, raised with splayed fingers to join the other in mirrored gesture, performing the universal sign of his surrender.

You’re on your own, whispered the Growls. I’ll be back, Qip. But for now, you are on your own.

“I’m all yours,” Michael cooed in stark contrast.

Parker no longer knew what she found more menacing.

The Whispers, the Growls, and the Roars, all snarling at her to indulge in murder, then refusing to stick around and help when she refused their violent urgings.

Or the unexpected seductiveness of Michael, which she should have seen coming. That he indulged her deepest instincts to deny those Whispers of what they wanted.

No cult without earnest promises. No flies caught without honey.

The occult cabal of the Way King was making more and more sense to her now.

She tapped her pistol against his crotch again.

“Let’s go.”

He nodded slowly and turned his back on her.

With a nervous glance over her shoulder, Parker holstered the gun in her jacket again. The receptionist sitting behind the counter shot her an uninterested glance and returned to reading a magazine.

“Tell me where to go, and I’ll do as you say,” Michael said. Then he sang the rest playfully as he added, “For now.”

Parker balled her hands into fists until her nails dug into her palms. Tensed up every muscle in her body to match.

Breathe. One, two, release. Breathe.

She had been looking for a lead, some way to reach the elusive Way King, and now such a lead was just within reach.

And even if the Whispers had decided to stay away—and she prayed against all odds they would—she was not alone. She kept telling herself she was not alone. Derek and Aria awaited her return. They may have already been on their way from the diner, given how long she had been taking.

And with their help, they’d figure something out.

Breathe. One, two, release. Breathe.

Michael cast a sidelong glance over his shoulder. Smirking again.

Parker shoved him.

“Walk,” she said. “That rusty old Buick over there.”

Michael chuckled as he spotted the vehicle she mentioned. “Jericho’s car. Oh, well, only the foolish would speak of coincidence in a world such as ours, wouldn’t they?”

He started walking towards the beaten-up old rust bucket. Parker followed. His question hung in the air, carried on the cold breeze, unanswered.

She shuddered again and rolled her jaw before speaking up, “What do you mean, in a world such as—no, scratch that. Tell me something else. Tell me what you wanted here. From him.”

Michael chuckled again.

“You answered your own question.”

Their footsteps echoed across the desolate parking lot. In the grim shadow of the penitentiary’s castle-like building, most of its spaces stood vacant, only with the scant scattered car parked about, and the old Buick resting at the far end of it.

“Don’t play coy with me,” she said.

“Yes, I came to visit Freddy Fletcher. Because he once held that jade book in his hands. Just like you.”

Either the cold breeze or the words caught her by surprise, a minor shock she should have been inundated to by now. Still, she shuddered.

The unsettling sensation repeated itself when Michael glanced back at her over his shoulder.

He continued, “C’mon, Parker. I know you know where it is, even if you don’t know. I know you must know more about it, even if you don’t realize it, and sense what it does. You must know we’re all after it, all for our own little reasons. You’re holding all the cards, so why… don’t you just… share with the class?”

Parker squinted. Swallowed a glib remark, refraining from answering him with any sass. Something she had schooled herself to stop doing, long ago.

Some part of her expected a reaction from the Whispers to take the place of such instincts, but the Whispers stayed silent.

Breathe. One, two, release. Breathe.

“I might,” she said. “I just might. If I’m properly convinced… if I’m convinced it’s the best course of action to protect every innocent person on Earth, I might.”

“Oh, my heart bleeds for you. I think we’ll get along just nicely. And you’re going to love the Way King.”

The cold breeze turned into a violent gust of wind, enveloping them both with such force that they stumbled and stood still to weather the airy blast. It caught the ends of Parker’s jacket and made the fabric flutter and flap.

Michael cocked his head back, smiling.

Loudly, against the howling winds, he addressed the heavens.

“He sees things just like you. Way King! Way King… I found her. Why not bring us home to your heart?”

The clouds swirled with unnatural shape and direction, forming a spiraling vortex in the sky. The gloomy daylight darkened, and blue horizon shifted in tone until a deep crimson saturated it, seeping upwards like earth bleeding into heavens. Distances melted and the skies of different places clashed like different liquids admixing in a glass.

In shock, Parker had drawn her pistol. She swiveled, helplessly surveying her changing surroundings.

Darkness had swallowed the Kentucky State Penitentiary building behind her. The trees around them had turned into abominable hybrids of firs and cacti.

The winds carried dust and desert heat upon them, yet they smelled like the dying winter’s final snow.

And streetlights from another state flared up, one by one, a chain of light cast down a long, paved path; illuminating first the rusty Buick, then the lonesome road before them.

THE HIGHWAY.