Living Dead Girl

Lark's blue Mustang sped down the street and onto the highway, heading Northeast. In the backseat was her duffel bag full of clothes, in the passenger seat sat Trey, and in the back of her mind, Gisele lingered. Trey seemed proud of himself as he packed his cigarettes and lit one.

"There's really no reason for you to come along," we said. "It's gonna be a quick trip. We'll be fine."

"Yeah, well," Trey replied, smoke drifting from his lips, "I'm pretty certain that if I hadn't come with you, I'd never see you again."

We swallowed hard. He was probably right.

The drive was long and quiet, with music drifting from the speakers and Trey staying silent except for the occasional comment on a roadside billboard. When he started yawning, we glanced at the clock to see the time. It was getting late.

"I'm not quite ready to stop," we said. "Coffee?"

Trey yawned again and said, "Yes, please."

We slipped off of the dark highway at the next exit and found a dimly lit gas station in the middle of nowhere that was still open. We parked the car and strode inside, Trey leading the way.

Chocolate sounds good, doesn't it?

"Not really," we whispered.

Is there something wrong with you?

Trey glanced back at us, we flashed a quick grin. Then, when he was facing forward again, we said quietly, "No. I'm just not much of a sweets person. Now be quiet, Trey hates it when I talk to you."

Then just let me out.

"I can't, you don't know how to drive."

It doesn't seem too difficult.

"Gisele, shut up."

We walked inside and got a couple of hot coffees and some donuts for the morning. We made a plan to drive a few more miles, then stop off at a motel for the rest of the night.

Once we were back on the road, Trey turned the music up a little louder, rolled the windows down a little farther, and lit another cigarette. This one, he passed to us, but we refused it.

"I went a year without smoking," we said. "Not gonna start again now."

Tell him he would be sexier if he didn't smoke.

We ignored Gisele's voice and pressed the gas pedal harder. We drove through the night, the stars hanging overhead like the tiny flashlights orderlies wore on their shirts at night in the mental institution. Trey lifted a steaming cup of coffee to his lips just as we hit a pothole, and it splashed all over him.

"Oh, shit," we said. We tried not to laugh as he winced in pain at the hot liquid soaking through his clothes.

"God dammit," he exclaimed.

"Are you okay?" we asked.

Before we could stop him, he flipped open the glovebox.

"Got any napkins?" he asked. Then, he went still. He reached slowly into the glovebox and pulled out our knife. "What the fuck?"

"Put that back," we said.

"Why the hell do you have a huge hunting knife in your glovebox, Lark?"

"It's not important," we said. "There are extra clothes in my bag, use something out of there. Just don't touch the knife. Put it back."

Trey tossed the knife back in and closed the glovebox. "Tell me the truth, Lark. Why do you have that knife?"

None of your damned business.

We sighed. "Don't freak out. It's necessary for the next step in the plan."

"Okay, and now you're definitely going to tell me what the plan is. You said you'd explain later, and I've given you hours, so spill."

Trey unbuckled his seatbelt long enough to strip the coffee-soaked shirt from his body and use it to wipe up what had spilled in his lap, then toss it into the back seat. We intentionally avoided looking at him as he buckled again, apparently deciding to ride the rest of the way topless.

We took a deep breath. "You want me to get my body back, right? You want me to get rid of Gisele?"

Horrid way to put it, but I suppose that's alright.

"Yeah," said Trey, "I do."

I thought he liked me.

"Well," we continued, "In order to do that, I have to use that knife in the transfer ritual." When he gave us a confused look, we went on. "Basically, I have to find a new body for Gisele to inhabit. If I want her out of me, I have to put her somewhere else."

Trey nodded slowly. "You can't just put her back into the ring?"

What a bastard.

"No!" we said. "The ring was a prison for her, Trey. She wants to live a human life. That's why she inhabited me to begin with. But the longer she stays with me, the less me I am, so she has to go. She needs a new host."

"Wait." Trey pondered for a moment. "A new host? So, you're going to saddle someone else with the burden of having a demon inside their mind and body? You're going to put someone else through what you've gone through?"

"No, it'll be different."

"Different how?"

We shook our head. "You wouldn't understand. Can we just drop it?" We went by a big green sign telling us there was a motel off the next exit. "Let's get some sleep. And tomorrow, we'll finally finish this."

We pulled off the highway.

"What do you need a knife for?" Trey asked.

"Drop it, please."

"In your dreams." He tapped his knee idly as he thought hard about it.

We pulled into the parking lot of the tiny motel and parked, turned the ignition off, and started to get out of the car.

"Hold on," said Trey, following us. "The knife. The whole 'find a new host' thing. Are you... Lark, are you going to kill someone?"

"Just drop it, Trey!" We climbed out of the car and stood up, and suddenly we were seeing stars. Our vision started going black at the corners. A sickly tingling crept up our spine. "Oh, shit."

"What?" he asked.

We felt dizzy and nauseous. Gisele's laughter floated through our ears. Our knees felt weak and we wobbled a bit.

"Are you okay?" said Trey.

"She..." I choked back vomit. "She's forcing it."

We tried to grip the car for balance but missed. Our depth perception was completely off. The world felt as if it had tilted and then the gravel below our feet came toward us rapidly.

"I'm falling," we said, right before we hit the ground.