Operation Sal | Sally Face x Travis Phelps

40 - The Finale

His mother's gentle touch brushes underneath his eye, tracing the path of veins, purple and blue and branching out almost like lightning bolts. She stares into his milky white eye, and when she speaks, her voice is soft, "Tell me about this," she says.

    Travis looks away. He's scared, he supposes, to meet her gaze. He knows Sal and Larry are watching. He knows that they too are interested in the answer. Even so, getting a proper response out of him is going to be somewhat difficult. "I don't know," he mumbles hoarsely. It's half true, but remarkably unhelpful.

     "You can tell me," Andrea looks at him with so much care that he almost can't take it. She tucks her hair behind her ear and watches as he fiddles around with the straw in his glass, "no matter what it is."

   He glances up, unfamiliar with such sincerity coming from a parent. His brows are taut with worry, his lips faintly parted. Travis looks away again, and doesn't look back before he begins speaking, "I was unconscious when it happened," he confesses, "but I- I knew something bad was going on before it started. He- Father was acting differently."

"Differently?" His mother echos, looking rather quietly concerned.

"Nicer," he clarifies, somewhat shortly. He doesn't raise his head, "But he was being, I don't know... weird. All this talk about ceremonies and prophecies and leadership, and there was this... ball of light, and I passed out and then..."

Sal's eyes widen immensely. Larry's back straightens. Andrea clasps her hands together and presses her chin down against them, her expression deeply troubled.

"You didn't tell us that," Sal says, not sounding much like himself. "Why didn't you say anything about that?"

He, Travis can manage to look at, just for a moment. His heart sinks, "I meant to," he says, "I meant to, but I was- I was just confused, I guess," he shakes his head, "I don't know."

His mother's brow is taught with thoughtfulness, "I should have known," she begins uneasily, "that they'd want to begin preparation as soon as possible."

"So you do know," Sal says, "about the D.O.G."

She smiles an anxious smile, free of warmth, "Know about them? I'm technically still married to their leader."

   "So," Larry pipes up from the other end of the table, "Was that guy, like, always a psychotic prick, or did that happen later?"

    "Larry!" Sal whips his head around to look at him.

     "No, it's alright," Andrea says softly, "I always did have concerns about his intentions, but I was so young when our marriage was arranged and there was so much pressure on me to go through with it. If I had known the extent of what he wanted to do, I would have fought back harder."

Travis glances between them, "So what," his swallow is dry, "he really is a-" He loses his voice for a second, too anxious to get the ones out in one solid sentence. "A cult leader."

Something about those specific words arranged in that specific order makes Sal's shoulders shrink.

Andrea looks similarly effected, her face wrinkled with stress. With a grim expression she nods, "He's very dangerous, I've been trying to stop him all along, from here," she says, "and I don't know what his exact plan is, but judging by your eye," she pauses for a few seconds, "I'd say it's already started."

Travis's eye, white as an eggshell and as painful as a clothing iron pressed upon his skin, momentarily stares back at her. He feels like crying again. He wants to crawl back into his creaking, dusty bed and tuck his head under the covers. "What are we gonna do?" he mumbles.