When they finally get back on the road, a light rain begins to patter against the windshield, little wet war drums. There's not much color left in the sky to watch the rain fall by, reduced to a dark blue tinge. It darkens by the second. Instead, Gideon's got his headlights on, which shine through the drizzle and into the trees, lighting up the first few fringing the road and leaving Lacey to wonder what lies deeper, where they can't see.

She stares through the streaks falling down the glass, thinking. Ever since the revelations with Clint, she's been caught in this uncharacteristic daydream state - except the daydreams aren't pleasant. Pretty Stella, perfect Stella: by Clint's definition, it's all a lie. What reason would she have to leave downtown, where Lacey remembers she lived? What reason would she have to be in the eastern half of Carrick at all, what with the schools being where they were? The last time they'd talked (oh, she hates to remember it), her life had seemed fine. Good family. Good grades, better than Lacey's would ever be. Good friends. A seemingly good boyfriend, too, at the time. Things Lacey could only dream of maintaining (well, maybe not the boyfriend part, but fundamentals, fundamentals). She thinks, now, that maybe these things were why they fell out as hard as they did. Too much of an understanding rift for a couple of junior high kids. Junior high kids suck.

So what went wrong when Lacey left?

It troubles her, to say the least, so much so that she almost debates digging through a junk pile of repressed memories and rotten sensations, but a light in the darkness makes her squint through the haze and into the present moment. It starts in her periphery, and she turns her head to the far right. A purple glow. Small and suspended, spinning, spinning, spinning. It looks like one of those handheld mechanical fans where you click the button and it whirs with an array of flickering colors, the sort you get for a lot of tickets at an arcade (and the sort that stops functioning a week after all of your hardcore skeeball efforts).

The purple color clicks and whirls on the side of a set of headphones, glossy with rain now. The forehead between the muffs is spattered with the drizzle, thin lines of liquid falling down the cheeks of the girl from the trailer park, dripping from her chin onto the handlebars of her bike. She pedals just fast enough to keep pace with Gideon's car, sticking in her lane by the guardrail that separates asphalt from the sprawling, wicked forest beyond it. Lacey watches as the girl stops pedalling and lets herself glide, wheels churning forward like there's no weight at all there to burden them.

Wonder what that's like, Lacey thinks, diving into her own brand of self-deprecating humor. She's almost afraid she just said it aloud, though - no, not said it, yelled it, because as if on cue, the girl on her bike turns her head to look through the window. It makes her chest light up with something sudden and sharp, tingly. Surprise. Her eyes lock onto Lacey's immediately despite the rain-laden glass between them. She smiles, something sly and sweet and teasing. Even as rain comes at her from ahead, pelting her eyes, she doesn't seem to be bothered, doesn't seem to blink.

She merely nods, lifts her brows, and puts her feet back to pedalling, riding ahead of them. She glides forward in the light of Gideon's headlights.

If she were riding with anyone else, she'd say this girl had killer leg muscles. But no. If Gideon was afraid to drive anywhere close to the speed limit before, now that it's really raining, they're hardly making any distance at all. She debates pestering him to go faster, but judging by the outcome last time, it'll be futile. Instead, she leans back in the passenger seat, deflated.

He doesn't risk a glance at her, hyperfocused on the road. "So...how 'bout dinner? Nothing big, just a quick stop, maybe." A short pause ensues, so he can readjust his hands on the wheel. "I dragged you out here this late. It's on me."

A particular and itching discomfort fills her at the thought of having him pay for anything extra, of having him pay for her sake. Her hungry stomach tries to accept the offer by reminding her of the flippant way he'd paid off Dolly and Clint for information, but it only makes her brows knit. "Where'd you get all this money from, to just be able to throw it away? Y'know, from paying off those people, paying for my food."

She only reconsiders how her curiosity might've sounded when it's too late, and she sees him deflate a bit in his seat. "It's not really throwaway money. I...took it from my college savings. I thought I might need some. So I can help Erie." He shrugs. "I was right. It wasn't much anyways, just...textbook money, I guess." Even though he's not facing her, she swears she sees his eye twitch. "I can always work extra."

Lacey doesn't really have a great response, so instead, she just sighs. "Well, you won't help Erie by wasting your college dough on me. I'm good." Really. He seems a little torn with the decision to dig into his future, and this makes the discomfort in her rise.

His quiet voice dissipates with the scoff in his throat. "It'll be, like, three bucks. It's fine. Plus, you can't help me find Erie if you die of starvation, so I'm not wasting it. I'm keeping my partner-in-vigilante-justice alive. It's an investment."

"First of all, that phrase is dumb. Don't change the laws of expressions. Second of all, look at me. Does it look like I'm gonna die of starvation any time soon? Really?"

He ignores her second bout of self-deprecation and looks her dead in the eye for quite a few seconds, which honestly scares her because it's such a switch from his attention on the road. And, in a fit of karmic justice, her stomach decides to grumble.

Gideon raises a knowing eyebrow, sort of like her mom does whenever she realizes that she's right. He turns back to the road. "I'm feeding you. No more about it."

While usually Lacey would have some choice words to say about that, the news about Stella still has a vice grip around her, a too-tight hug from some invisible force, and she's too tired from thinking about it to think up a way to argue against him. She flops against the seat, sighing and staring out the window as Carrick passes by. Cold. Wet. Dark. And surely, with many eyes watching from the treeline, now that Darcy's gone and enacted something wicked, something completely unfair. Now it's not just a matter of me avoiding Malevolence. Now she's signalling them to my whereabouts at all times. Or should be. I hope she was bluffing.

For some reason, the possibility doesn't make her feel any more at ease. Probably because she doesn't believe it. Not after the little shit whacked her upside the head with an entire bed. Like it or not, Darcy is playing serious, and at some point or another, Lacey is gonna have to, too. Not that she isn't already. But what more can she do?

The answer, for now, is nothing. Her duty now is to slump against the side door, all mopey, as Gideon crawls through the streets of the small downtown area of Carrick, between buildings no higher than three stories and built mostly of old brick foundations, beneath streetlights more modern than the city itself, but still decades old at least, with how stained the poles are, with how dim the light is, yellow and aged like everything around it. It bathes the world in a rich brown that glistens with rainwater.

Somewhere, she's sure she can hear the bony fellas splashing around and laughing to themselves. Curious; bony fellas don't make noise.

Gideon eventually pulls into a small parking lot on the side of the road, with a fast food place sitting across from it, windows wide and bright and displaying a couple of bored-looking teenagers who pick at their fries and talk comfortably. He pops open the door to his side and winces from the cold of the quiet rain on his skin. "Be ready to run, my friend. The sky is a-drippin'."

He flips his hood up and sprints across the street. By the time Lacey has slammed the car door, he's standing outside the fast food place, bouncing impatiently from one foot to the other. She walks across at her own pace, unbothered by the moisture, and at some point chivalry dies and he ducks inside, not bothering to hold the door open as he slides over the wet floor to examine the menu. "Dork," she mutters.

She wanders inside only to glimpse the wide array of illuminated options, to whisper the cheapest thing to him, and, during the wait, to find herself outside again. She stands in front of the windows, haloed by artificial light with her chin held high, cheeks and eyebrows catching the mild flurry of rain. Each drop is an icy shock that wakes her up, that makes her feel her surroundings and where she is. She closes her eyes to soak it in. When she opens them, she's met with another shock.

Purple whirs against wet rose gold. A bicycle rolls through the empty street, and atop it, a girl too pretty to be real. She makes eye contact with Lacey for the umpteenth time that day, and they both find this amusing, because they both chuckle from their respective spots across the street. The girl waves.

Then she rides closer.

The wheels turn beside Lacey, behind Lacey, in front of Lacey. She rides circles around her, slow, deliberate circles. The glow on her headphones illuminates her high cheekbones, the sandy hairs blowing back behind her ears, her smile. It's a nice smile.

Lacey, unsure of what to do, lets loose a nervous laugh. She takes a few steps forward, down the sidewalk and away from the fast food place. The circling stops. She keeps walking, arms crossed over her chest; the girl bikes beside her, standing on the pedals, keeping perfect pace. She looks down at Lacey and she can feel her cheeks warming.

Gideon flashes through her mind; the order shouldn't take too long. I won't go far, she decides, just to the other side of the lot. Maybe by then she'll decide to talk to me. I hope so.

Eventually, her patience wears thin. "D'you have a name?"

In response, the girl only taps the muff of her headphones, her grin smug. She does put the brakes on her bike, though; she dismounts it and leans it up against one of the stained brick buildings. After patting the seat endearingly, she takes hold of Lacey's wrist. Her grip is light, fingers soft. They pull and tug her forward gently, and she follows without argument. This girl, she's entrancing, and as the lights fall away around them in favor of the dark drapes that an alley provides, Lacey finds that she doesn't have much to say or think at all.

Soon, the only light by which to see is the light radiating from the headphones, and it gets closer and closer as the fingers gripping her wrist grow tighter and tighter; both of her hands are secure now, and the girl is close enough for her to feel the wisps of hair sticking to the rain on her cheeks, close enough to feel her breath. It's cold and sends the hair on the back of Lacey's neck up, but she doesn't think much of it. The girl leans forward, and through the haze over her mind, she manages to think, A bit early for a kiss. I don't even know your name. Something doesn't feel right.

But she lacks the means to acknowledge that feeling.

The girl's mouth is by her ear now, cheek pressed to cheek. She can feel the girl smirk, can feel the brief inhale as she parts her lips, can feel words blowing hair away from her ear with every syllable. Hands tighten around her arms, twisting the skin. It hurts.

"Where are your circles of salt now, Miss Waits?"

Just like that, the spell falls, and Lacey feels her eyes widen with a new sensation in her chest, bursting and tingling. Terror. She tries to move away, but the girl is faster. With a gleeful and sick noise coming from the back of her throat, the girl bites down hard on Lacey's ear. Violently. The teeth dig deep. Pain sprouts and bleeds.

Lacey screams and yanks her head away, leaving shreds of skin in the girl's teeth in the process. Her hands are still trapped; she flails and thrashes until she comes loose. She stumbles back. Left to pant, left to heave. Left to grip her bloody ear and feel warm crimson gush over her fingers. She glances behind her, but the alley is blocked off by another wall, another building. Instead, her only option is forward, where the girl stands. Where the girl transforms.

What was once the glow of headphones becomes the glow of her eyes. There is no rose gold left to soften them. Instead, they are black disks, voids with menacing, rapidly spinning rings of lilac in the middle of her face, staring her down with delight. It leaves everything except her nose in shadow. She is unreadable aside from the low rumble coming from her throat. She has a hunger, and Lacey, trying to plug up her bleeding ear with her fingers, is a warm, meaty meal.

"Darcy made a deal with you," Lacey says, grasping for straws, "but killing me breaks that deal. She won't like-"

"Who do you think sent me?"

The words strike out, and so do nails that cut the skin of Lacey's cheek. She doesn't have time to react to the delayed rush of pain because the swirling eyes are inches from her face now. They jut forward. A daze clouds her eyes as their foreheads collide. As they detach and Lacey is left with howling aches, the girl - no, she's something else entirely now - lifts her quick hands and grabs onto wet tendrils of hair. Then, she yanks them to the side, forcing Lacey along with it, forcing her shoulder to smack harshly against the wall.

The girl lets go of her hair and the sharp prickling against Lacey's scalp ends. In that brief moment of freedom, a snap decision rises in her. She pushes away from the wall and starts running to the back of the alley. She doesn't get far before icy hands lurch out and shove. Lacey trips forward, losing her footing and crashing to the slimy floor. Gravel gets stuck in her elbows, digging, but she digs into the gravel right back with her fingers and drags herself forward in a scramble. Fight. Now. No other choice. Fight.

She can feel the malevolent spirit's presence bearing down on her, can feel the excited desire in its belly. The violet glow glints on something. She throws her arm out in a last-ditch effort to defend herself and grabs hold of a beer bottle cast aside. As the demon bends down, closing in, Lacey rolls over, bottle in hand. She turns fast and swings the bottle with so much force that it smashes into the thing's temple and shatters into a bunch of scattered shards, raining down on her chest.

The memory of the mirror raining down on her flickers through her mind just long enough for the spinning circles to brighten, to tinge red. Red is all Lacey can see as she drives the sharp end of the bottle into the girl's shoulder.

With nothing more than a dirty snarl, the slender beast slams Lacey up against the wall with her forearm. It doesn't bother to pluck the glass out of its flesh. Instead, it fuels itself with the pain and launches into a straddle. With its free hand, it grabs up one of Lacey's hands, the one that'd been trying to staunch the flow of blood, the bandaged one. White strips are now stained a rich vermillion, and just looking at it makes her brain spiral with lightheadedness (but that may have also been from the headbutt). The thing has a completely different reaction. Even in the dark, she can see the way it licks its perfectly shaped lips.

Her hand is lifted to those lips. They peel back to reveal a set of glinting, sharp teeth. They dig into a raised portion of the bandage and then, with a rough tug, they're ripped away. The malevolent spirit lets most of it fall away to their laps, but it sucks some of the fabric into its mouth, sucking the blood out like an infant might suck the water from a wet rag it's been left to teethe on.

Lacey's face twists in disgust. Then she winces. Her fingers writhe in the thing's grasp, but this only grabs its attention. Its glowing eyes flick to Lacey's, and the fabric is spat out, cleansed aside from light brown leftovers. It radiates satisfaction, and this aura only grows as its talon-like thumb runs over the various glass wounds spattered over Lacey's hand. By the time she realizes what's about to occur, she's already crying out.

Rose gold momma's rose gold ring

The spirit's nails dig into one of the cuts, breaking the scab open and driving down deep enough to send her blood rushing to pool around the claw, to get deep underneath it. "Fuck!" Lacey screams. "Get the fuck off!" Then: "Gideon! Gideon! Get-"

The forearm moves up, becomes a hand cupped over Lacey's mouth, smushing her words into muffled pleas. Her calls are futile as the thing moves from cut to cut, breaking each one open in the same slow, meticulous fashion.

Chhh chhh chhh

It's torture. It's torture and her hand spasms in its grasp but still it does nothing, stops nothing. Tears run down her face in excess, blending with the rain. Salty. Sticky. When the spirit is finally finished, the throbbing that's left behind comes as a relief. It actually lifts her dripping hand to its mouth and offers up a sweet kiss - to make it all better. It, too, does nothing. Her fingertips are left to linger at those lips. The world smells of metal.

The teeth liked how her fingers tasted

Again, the lips pull back, but this time her jaw opens up too. Lacey's eyes widen, and her pleas raise in intensity against the clammy palm pressed against her teeth. What comes next is inevitable though, she knows this, and she squeezes her eyes tightly shut, squeezes out another wave of tears, hoping not to watch as her fingers enter the freezing chasm of the beast-

"Lacey! Where'd you go? I have your stuff! Chickie nuggs, yoohoo!"

The chasm snaps back, a head turned to the opening of the alley. Lacey's eyes pop open. She strains to listen. Footsteps approach. "Ghhmhn! Mm hehf!"

A palm grinds into her lips with frustration, and then it's torn away. The thing grunts with dissatisfaction and then leaps up. In just a few rapid strides, it's at the other end of the alley. It scales the wall like a lizard before vanishing over the roof and crawling away into the night.

Just as her foot disappears over the edge, Gideon's silhouette casts itself down the alley. She wants to call out for him, to tell him she's over here, but all that comes out is a messy burble of sounds. The flood continues as the rain pounds harder. The blood on her hands dilutes but that just makes it look like there's more than there is as it trickles down her arms in muddled streaks. Something warm finds the corner of her mouth, and she can't tell whether it's from her eyes or her ear or her cheek. She can't tell left from right or up from down. There's not enough air; there's not enough of anything, and she sucks in again and again, desperate for stability.

"Lacey? Oh my God. Oh, shit."

Only when she hears his distant voice does she realize the wail seeping out of her mouth. She tries to stop, to stuff it all in, but she can't, and it all spills out, one after the other. A wail for fear, a wail for pain. Her entire head pounds with it, and her hand burns so badly she flinches at every speck of rain that touches it. She flinches at the approaching footsteps, too, and although she knows who they belong too, she can't help but double-check for the malice of an assailant.