Page 18 of Last Breath

“Don’t, Sal. We haven’t eaten, and she’s been so nice—”

With a fake pout, the evil in his eyes notches up one more rung on the rail, creeping toward the point of no return without blood spilt.

“Do you like Joy?” Catching him off guard with the question, he pauses.

“Sorry?”

“Joy’s nice, right?”

“Yes?” Salem says it questioningly, but at the same time I see his devil backing down.

“Are you hungry?”

Salem nods, so I continue. “Look, I need a decent night’s sleep instead of running. On a full stomach would be better.”

Blowing out a heated breath, resigning himself to the fact that it’s bad to kill the host before dinner, he smiles gently. “Okay, Mal, okay.”

Rising off the floor, Salem’s mask of indifference pops back into place. His personal devil in a holding pattern. Taking a seat and holding the cloth in place, the two of us watch the final stages of the interaction between Joy and her grandmother. The crazy old woman thought we were some kid who’d killed her cat.

“Sorry for that. My grandmother has dementia. Her world is jumbled.”

“I’m just glad her aim is off,” Salem mutters with a grin. Giving him a bump on the shoulder—the shot one—he glares at me, then answers Joy. “Thank you for dinner. This is very sweet of you.”

With a gaze off to nowhere in particular, Joy’s grandmother digs into her plateful as if nothing is amiss. She shot someone. To her, a ragged ball of fluff was worth the murder charges. She doesn’t know that killing Salem or I would’ve been a big deal. Probably gaining a reward in a few states.

Looking to Joy, seeing her calm and softened attitude to the whole affair, I dig into my meal. Deciding that the devil’s demons and dementia patients are appeased, I’m eating like a starved animal. It’s worse than I thought. I’m tearing into the beet as if it’s a medium rare Porterhouse.

“This is delicious,” Joy says around a mouthful.

“Thanks.” Wow, it’s been a long time. I can’t really remember the last time I thanked anyone for anything, especially not for something that I did right.

Tapping Joy on the shoulder, leaning in, her Gran whispers, “Who are these nice young men, Corrine?”

Joy clarifies. “Corrine is my mother, Gran. I’m Joy, remember?”

With a look akin to love, Joy’s grandmother smiles. “You were always such a whore, Corrine, bringing in random boys. These boys are going to fuck you, leaving you to bleed out on the back porch. I told you so.”

Joy’s grandmother begins to sing. “You don’t own me, I’m not just one of your little toys…” Humming the rest with her mouth full, she’s back in her own little psychotic world where everything is perfect.

I thoughtwecould pull off civil. I thoughtwecould pull off domestic, if only for a few hours. I thoughtwecould avoid the nature of the beast. Turning to Salem, I see we won’t be able to much longer. His devil has reared his ugly head at the mention of that one word that sets him off.

Whore.

Setting his fork down and smiling, I see this is going to get bad.

I’m sorry, Joy. Truly.

We’re about to wreak havoc on your life.

Chapter 10

Joy

Even after seeing the worst of my grandmother’s tirades, they sat cordially for dinner. They didn’t make mention of the gunshot or blood, and didn’t slam us in body bags. I figured it was a win-win for team Carruthers.

I don’t know why I didn’t use that gun and escort them out, or shoot them and call the cops. Then again, what I’m doing right now might not be the best idea, but I can’t very well expect them to just drive off. Not after Gran shot Salem. How would they explain that?

So instead, I offered them a place to stay. It’s not a hotel, it’s not even a rundown motel six, but it’s a roof and a rusty bed to sleep on.

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