to light and guard

chapter eight

"Lana, I really don't think..." Mary Eunice grappled for her words, trying to keep her voice from shaking with distress. What does that even mean? With a side of eggs? "Whatever you think—it just doesn't seem—I think—" Lana hadn't stopped the car yet. Mary Eunice bit the inside of her cheek to work through her thoughts and cease her idiotic stammering. "Why?"

"Because he hurt you." Lana scowled. She accelerated down the road, too fast for Mary Eunice's tastes; she gripped the handle on the door. "And he's not going to get away with it. People pay for it when they fuck with people I love."

The mingled affection and fear in Mary Eunice's chest strangled her from speaking. I love you, too, but couldn't we just go home? Her lips trembled, and she coughed, awkward, nervous. "I believe in forgive and forget," she mumbled, eyes downcast. "And the golden rule."

"Forgive and forget works fine if you had forgotten it. You haven't. You can't talk about it without crying." Mary Eunice hung her head, picking at the soft scab on her forearm, opening it up again. "And the golden rule would be applicable if I planned to drown him in a swimming pool. It's merely unfortunate that I don't have one at my disposal."

That's not how the golden rule works. Lana swatted her hand off of her scab-picking, and she stifled the urge by chewing on her nails; her habits had become cyclical, each one building into the next. Once she had loosened a chunk of keratin, she found the courage to ask, "Then what do you plan to do?"

Pulling over in front of a brown painted house, Lana parked the car. "We are going to egg his car." No, Lana, please. I don't want to go to jail. "But first, I'm going to investigate. C'mon." And, in spite of all of her complaints and misgivings, all of her instincts telling her she would have been better off swallowing a hot coal, she scrambled after Lana, keeping pace right beside her.

Lana approached the front door of the house and rang the doorbell. "Todd lives with one of my college professors." Her jaw twitched, teeth grinding. Her dark eyes held an intense rage, the fortitude and intrepidity she had used to survive Briarcliff and Bloody Face; the sight of it, knowing that Lana bore it in her defense, exhilarated her. She's so beautiful. She's profound. "His parents have more money than they know what to do with. They bought him a Lamborghini last year."

Her mouth gaped at the long, unfamiliar word; it sounded Italian and extravagant, the word itself leaking embellishments, and Lana's furious eyes kept distracting her. "A—A what?"

"A fancy car." The corners of Lana's mouth twitched upward. "A very expensive fancy car, to be precise." Mary Eunice began to frame a protest—We can't vandalize an expensive car—but the door swung open before she could collect her thoughts. A short, portly man in his mid-sixties waited in the door frame; he had thick salt and pepper hair, a scruffy gray beard, and heavy wrinkles framing his hazel eyes. "Earl," Lana greeted.

At the sight of her, his face lit. "Well, if it ain't our local celebrity! Are you out on the manhunt again, or are you ready for another poetry slam? It's been long enough, Lana."

"Manhunt is a strong word." Lana crossed her arms, arching an eyebrow. She stood shorter than Mary Eunice, but her presence swallowed everything like a blackhole, an endless height, a personality that could not be captured in the small body. "But I am here on business."

Earl sighed, heavy, sinking. "Come in, both of you." His eyes landed on Mary Eunice. "What's your name, kid?"

Kid. She licked her dry mouth; her tongue had turned to cotton. "I'm Sister Mary Eunice." The words slurred into a mumble, and she ducked her head, cheeks discoloring in shame. Lana wanted them to vandalize a car while the man was home? There's no way.