Impish

CHAPTER 4: DRIVING

We drive for hours, until the giddy excitement wears off and I feel both tired and hungry. The anger sets back in then, simmering like an old stew on the back-burner.

Doug turns out to, once again, be different than I expected. It's easy to say that, though, when I had no expectations before I met him.

For one, he isn't as loud as I thought he would be based on my mother's description. He mostly just lays in the back seat as we drive, noodling around on a guitar he got from somewhere and singing softly with the music Roux is playing over the car's speakers. I'm confused about how he seems to know every song they put on, even the old folk ones, like the ones where Jean Ritchie smiles over her Appalachian dulcimer. I guess that, as a demon, he has had plenty of time to think about music and learn all he can.

I don't know where he got the guitar. It just kind of appeared after Roux made me stop at the house to pick up clothes. He also changed out of his uniform and into something resembling a more muted KISS member.

Speaking of Roux...

They're not exactly speaking to me right now. The music they're playing (an ungodly amount of Sleeping With Sirens and Pierce The Veil), combined with the fact that they're sulking and staring out the window is getting their exact point across, tells me exactly one thing. That is that I have messed up royally, acted rashly, and, essentially, bruised our entire relationship. If there's one thing I can get from the fact that they play "Better Off Dead" and "King For A Day" three times each, it's that I've really stepped in it this time.

Despite my abject guilt, I'm glad Roux is here. There are times when I catch them smiling while looking out at the world around us. It's mostly at the cows we keep passing, or at those ridiculous religious billboards that seem to be everywhere in the south, especially the places you would least expect them.

When night finally falls, Doug has woken up from a soft, noncommitted sort of nap, and Roux seems more willing to talk to me than before. The fatigue, banality, and giddiness of driving for hours seems to be enough to bring us back together. Doug pops up in the back seat. He's still clutching his guitar like a teddy bear and he isn't wearing a seatbelt. Legally, he doesn't have to as long as we're in Florida. I would prefer it if he did, though.

"Mikey," he says over the music, "there's a place near here where we can stay the night. A demon-run bed and breakfast just off the next exit ramp. We can stay for cheap or even for free. All I'd have to do is call in a favor with an old friend of mine."

I hesitate for a moment before asking, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course. Do you have a phone I could use?"

Roux turns around in their seat with their eyebrows furrowed. "Do you not have a phone?"

"Nah. It's a hassle. I spend most of my time at 7-11 anyway. I have the store number listed as my home phone. Do I live there? Maybe." Doug winks. (Roux isn't amused.) "So, how about it? Phone? Y'all got one?"

Roux sighs and unplugs mine from the USB charger we have installed in the middle console. Their phone is still plugged into the aux cord. It's still playing loud, churny hair metal from their highly-convoluted mishmash of a playlist. Doug accepts the phone with both hands and, after receiving the code to unlock it, expertly dials the number for whatever place he's trying to score us a room at.

When he calls, Doug's speech has massive pauses in it where whoever is on the other line is speaking.

"Hey, Gazgaroz. Gazzy, bud. It's me, Doug. Listen-- No... No, not from New Hampshire. Dugmithz. No, again, not from New Hampshire. From Hell." He pauses, then lets out a chortle from deep in his throat. "I guess they're close enough, actually. So, anyway, Gaz. I was wondering if you still run that hotel? The clown-themed one? You do? Hell yeah. So, anyway, I was wondering if you've got an extra room tonight? My kid and I are passing through, and-- You do? Fuck yeah. Hell yeah. Okay, we'll be there in a few minutes."