RUST & STARDUST

If he was being completely honest, he didn’t lag behind when the rest of his coworkers dispersed for any particular reason. Maybe he was just too caught up in his own thoughts ( which was a terrifying concept on its own, even when he wasn’t worried about Chester. ) So when Angel’s voice snapped him back to reality, he gladly jumped on any opportunity to pull himself out of his own mind. Choosing to blatantly ignore the fact that long gone were the days of their all-night conversations, he offered up a genuinely warm smile when she eventually turned her attention to him once more.

“The coffee here can’t be possibly as bad as I remember it being,” his tone obviously trying to convince himself rather than state a fact, “and I’m sure your boss wouldn’t object to you taking the time off to enjoy a cup with me.” Gesturing with his thumb to the otherwise empty diner, a light shrug rolled off his shoulders. “Ghost hunter’s discount or not, a paying customer is a paying customer, no?”

"Pour enough sweetener in and you’ll be able to swallow it down,” Angel advised with a smile that only Jack ever seemed to pull out of her. Even after all this time, Angel felt a tug towards him — a desire to take his offer and sit down with him until the sun came up, just like the good old days.

Instead, Angel waved him off gently as she went to grab a pot of coffee and two mugs. “You’re not paying for anything while I’m here.” Jack had done so much for her in their youth, just by being there. His rooftop was made sacred by his company, a gift she never knew how to properly return. 

Despite the lack of customers, there was always something to do at the diner. Working girls didn’t get much time to slack off. But Jack was asking for her time, and how could she ever refuse that? “I’ll have to abandon you the second another customer shows up,” she tells him apologetically as she pours them both a cup of coffee, right before sliding in the booth. “I doubt it’ll happen — unless there’s another group of people hunting for ghosts in town. But what are the chances of that?”

                   not only was he forced to work a morning shift on a friday, but was also stuck at work the ice queen herself.  it was weird to think that once upon a time angel had been his rock, she was the person he called when the rest of the world didn’t want to deal with him, and now he was lucky if he got more than three words out of her. with as much grace as bishop could gather, he passed her the order before returning to his chair. the silence was suffocating, it would be impossible for him to finish an entire shift like this. being the mature one, he picked up the jar of peanuts from the counter and started throwing the small pieces at her arm.  after one miscalculation he ended up nailing her right in the ear, “ shit, my bad. ” 

It was easy to understand why Sage felt the need to deep-fry Bishop’s shoe. It took all of Angel’s willpower not to dump the entire jar of peanuts on his head in retaliation. Chester had always called Angel one of his “easy employees” for a reason, and while it was more of an insult to the other employees than actual compliment, Angel wore it like a badge of honor. "Oh, was that an apology?” Angel snapped, rubbing her ear while glaring at the responsible peanut. She avoided looking at Bishop entirely. “I didn’t realize you were capable of those.”

                               she had spent the passing hours with a resting scowl on her face; lips curved into a petulant frown & eyebrows furrowed against the gentle slant of her forehead. she didn’t want to spend her saturday evening this way ( or any evening this way, for that matter ) — disputing the existence of something bigger than ALL of them, the existence of good & evil, the existence of the eerie grasp of the supernatural! that had plagued Screamer long before they were born, and would continue to do so long after they departed. sage knew what she believed, and she would be damned into the crimson embrace of satan before she cared what any of her co-workers thought.

she’s not entirely sure why she decided to hang back after the others had left — continued to linger in the corner of the booth & nurse the final remnants of her coffee rather than leaping toward freedom at her first chance. the ceramic mug feels warm to the frosty touch of her palms, and she grips it tighter as angel turns to her. she’ll offer a small smile in return of the girl’s offer, the glower that had overtaken her countenance melting for the first time that evening.

“ no thanks, i should be heading back soon. my mom’s cooked some kind of spicy mac & cheese concoction for dinner. ” she’ll pause, before speaking against her better judgement. “ what do you think about all this ?? ” gestures to the table ahead but means the meeting itself, the only evidence it ever took place being a clutter of unfinished shakes & scribbles on napkins, the markings of small-town chaos.

"Oh, that sounds absolutely divine.” What Angel would give for her mother’s home-cooked meal. The closest she had was when Sal boxed up a sandwich for her to take home at the end of her shifts. He always claimed that it was “a recipe he was working on,” and needed her to be his guinea pig. But Angel noticed he repeated some of her favorites now and then, and she never said anything. “Tell your mother I say hello.” Or would Marabeth already know without needing Sage to tell her? Angel didn’t ask.

Angel briefly wondered if Sage was testing her, or if she was genuinely curious for her input. She glanced at the messy table and gnawed at her lower lip, trying to find the right words. “I think it’s wonderful that so many people care about Chester’s wellbeing,” she said softly. It probably wasn’t the answer Sage was looking for, but it was the truth. “As far as the ghosts of Screamer... I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “I’m not as big on the supernatural as some of the others in town. Not that I think others are wrong for believing in something different...” Angel realized that she was talking in circles and blushed. Angel hadn’t put much stock in the ghost theory, but she also wasn’t able to come up with a reasonable explanation to refute it, either. 

“I noticed you didn’t seem particularly thrilled throughout all of that hubbub,” she said, trying to change the subject and avoid appearing anymore foolish. Plus, if something was bothering Sage, she had a strong desire to remedy it.

Nothing about Lacey’s life had ever felt real, had ever felt like her own. Hell - the first fourteen of them had been spent bound, tied to pointless rules she had found impossible to obey. Even then, after she shed the church girl identity and embraced something…messier - her life had still felt like a work of fiction. The all american girl succumbing to her vices. It was too cliche to feel like a truth. So when her co-workers suggest she add ghost hunting into it, Lacey hadn’t the will power nor reason to refuse. Considering whether she believed in what the club discussed had never crossed her mind. It felt unimportant next to all the other factors she had to weigh up: whose company she would seek out that night to feel a little less alone, where she would score her next round of bills, whether the bar would kick her out before she reached a tipping point.

Picking at the remnants of her round of fries, Lacey met Angel’s gaze with a genuine smile. “Well - I’m definitely not the type to turn down a deal.” Beggars can’t be choosers. “I’ll take a chocolate milkshake from the plate’s best waitress.” Once you laced the contents of the glass with whiskey, it was almost salvageable. What Angel didn’t know couldn’t hurt her.

Of all the strange things to occur in recent days, seeing Lacey actually show up to the meeting was near the top. It was far from what Angel perceived to be the party girl’s usual scene, but Lacey never failed to keep the town on its toes. 

“Thanks for the compliment,” Angel said cheerily, her southern accent coating the words like sweet honey. “But I’ll consider myself ‘the best’ once I finally convince your brother to try the garbage plate.” 

As she prepared the shake, Angel found herself half-expecting her former cheer teammate to spike the chocolatey concoction. She immediately felt guilty for doing so. It was a classic Lacey move, sure, but it wasn’t like Angel to expect the worst from people. She added extra whipped cream on top of the shake to make up for it. 

Angel grabbed the near-empty tray of fries as she placed the shake in front of Lacey. “You want another order? I highly recommend dipping them in the shake.”

Angel wishes she knew who (or what) exactly posted such a weird schedule. That way, she knew who to curse — in her head, anyway. Angel didn’t anticipate being able to play nice with Bishop for a whole shift, so she’d follow the age-old saying and not say anything to him at all.

“One chocolate cone with chocolate sprinkles? I’ll get right on that!” she chirped out the truck’s window in her saccharine-sweet customer service voice. Her voice dropped down to an icy chill when she turned around in the truck and coldly repeated the order back to Bishop. With no other customers in line this early in the morning, she went back to completely ignoring his existence. 

casey preferred to distance himself from his family when he could. apart from the fact that his whole clan was fucked ( bryan wasn’t even the worst one ), he really wasn’t someone that felt the need to keep up appearances just because they were his same blood. the only reason he didn’t tell bryan to fuck off the last time he’d texted ( something about money, naturally ), was to keep a quiet eye on angel. usually from a distance, with the exception of tonight. 

“i’m not no one’s fuckin’ lackey.” he said, his tone light but his words charged. “i asked you ‘cause i wanted to.” 

he takes a quick look up around the diner, where it seems quiet beside the few stragglers. “how much longer d’you think you’d need before we can get out of here — ?”

Angel startled at his words, not realizing how her rejection may have come across to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you were,” she said hurriedly, trying to backtrack. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d be doing this because he wanted to. She’d just automatically assumed Bryan had strong-armed him into doing something he couldn’t be bothered to do himself. Angel felt ashamed that she thought so little of the two of them.

“I get off at the end of the hour.” Barring any sudden late-night rush, but Angel wasn’t betting on it. Not too many people in Screamer got the late-night craving for garbage plates, much as Sal wanted otherwise. “Let me get you something while you wait, in exchange for the ride. I’m going to guess... onion rings? You seem like an onion rings kind of guy.”

laurel couldn’t help but feel a slight hitch in her throat at that, her breath catching slightly. the girl didn’t care about much, but she certainly cared about chester - he had been the most important person in her life. she didn’t show it, but his disappearance was hard on her. sitting there with a group of people that didn’t give a shit about her, talking about how ghosts kidnapped her grandfather? not the way she had wanted to spend her night.

“ it’s whatever, ” she mumbled, bringing the straw to her lips. she had been skeptical about the garbage plate when she first visited screamer as a child, never having understood why a company would use the word garbage in their name, but had been pleasantly surprised the first time she ate here. from then on, it had become a favourite spot of her’s and chester’s, the two of them always splitting a sundae at the end of their meal. 

“ more concerned about their paycheques, probably. ” bright blue eyes rolled at the thought of these people actually caring about her family. “ what do you think? ” she asked, gaze meeting her friend’s. “ do you actually believe in that shit? ”  

With the rest of the Lollygang having gone off, the diner was mostly empty. Angel had already checked on the few stragglers still finishing off their plates, and she could get away with idling by Laurel. Unless another large group of 20-somethings happened to take up the largest booth to discuss one of Screamer’s many haunting mysteries. But Angel didn’t count on lightning striking twice.

She gave Laurel a knowing look, not buying the “whatever,” but didn’t push it. “I’d give them the benefit of the doubt,” she said instead, always the opting to see the good in people. “It wouldn’t hurt to have more faith in people, you know. After all, they could all just find another job if it was merely about the paychecks.”

Truth was, Angel didn’t know what to believe about Chester’s disappearance. And it was the first time she’d been asked that all night — everyone else had been too busy trying to get their two cents in, and she’d let them. It’s not like she had much to contribute anyhow. “I don’t believe it was supernatural if that’s what you’re asking,” she said slowly, trying to choose her words carefully. “The schedule thing is admittedly weird, but it’s not weird enough for me to want to pull out an Ouiji board. Chester could’ve easily asked someone in town to post it before he...” Her voice trailed off, not sure if she should use the words left or disappeared. Was either one correct? “But what do I know?" She was just a waitress, not a detective.

two denim - clad elbows rested on a plastic nest of laminated menus ; the right enjoying an obvious stock photo of spaghetti , the left lounging on an image of an unidentifiable piece of orange meat. the lollygaggers had just had their first meeting , & it had been ( barely ) contained chaos. billy had done his best to guide the conversation , calmly debunking some of the more convoluted theories & attempting to build a rough timeline. but the group had hardly been committed to having a serious discussion , & his suggestions quickly fell to the wayside. there was a pit in his stomach , acidic & lingering. being around all these familiar faces gave him some comfort , but it also triggered some half - bravado from the old days. billy had to fight the urge to loudly argue with casey , or to banter endlessly with sage. no , things were different·now. his legs itched & his head ached. they had all turned to him , if only for a moment , & in that warm glow he basked. they needed HIM. depended on HIM. but it only lasted for a breath. now , billy was cold. cold & tired. the hum of voices & clash of cutlery provided a suitable background track to his moment of melancholy – before a voice delicately wove through the noise. angel’s voice. “ & would that be a 13% discount ? ” he offered a lopsided smile , tinged with awkwardness. “ what do you suggest ? ”

It was hard not to be captivated by Billy whenever he turned up. While some may have thought the golden boy had long lost his lustre, the admiration she held for him as a starry-eyed cheerleader still hadn’t faded after all these years. Angel didn’t fully understand why he was so willing to lead this strange quest, but it made sense to her that he’d be the one to captain this mismatched crew.

“Forty-four percent, actually,” she said, returning his smile. Angel wanted to tell him he had a nice smile, but worried that would make him feel uncomfortable. The last thing she wanted to do was scare him off. “My mom used to tell me how the number ‘four’ is unlucky in Chinese because it sounds so similar to ‘death.’ But it makes for a better deal, so I think it balances out.” 

She grabs the least-stickiest menu from a stack and hands it to him. “If you’re not lactose intolerant or at high-risk for a heart attack, then I say go for the loaded cheese fries. Just make sure to ask for extra ranch on the side, because they don’t give you nearly enough. I’ve been trying to convince Sal that it needs a more even dip-to-fry ratio, but he won’t budge.”

he and angel had never really clicked throughout the years. at least that’s what casey would chalk it up to. even the ghost club conversation was something palatable to him — ghosts, and mysterious work schedules, and disappearances. but he never quite knew how to talk to angel the way the others could, for a lot of reasons. really the two were probably better off avoiding each other, the way they were somehow on parallel journeys from a distance. 

but one fateful text later and he’s clutching his keys, trying not to startle angel as he approaches from the rear. “ nah  … “ he clears his throat, “bryan asked me to take you home … whenever you want, so.” clumsily he gestured to the booth, where the rest of the gang had filtered out and left the vicinity. “i can sit and wait if you still got work to do.”

Angel was unable to stop her eyebrows from quirking up in surprise. She always got the impression that Casey wasn’t her biggest fan, despite all her best efforts. Being offered a ride was so unexpected, that it took her a minute to realize that Bryan was bailing on picking her up. "Oh, he can’t make it?” It’s surprising how unsurprised she is at that fact.

“Thank you, but you don’t have to do that,” she responds with a polite smile. Not that she didn’t appreciate the gesture, but she didn’t want to put him out. It was pretty clear that this wasn’t something he was excited about doing. And as much as she would like the opportunity to change his mind about her, she wasn’t about to make him go through an awkward errand. “I don’t want to inconvenience you. I can always walk home, but I’ll let Bryan know you offered.” Knowing her boyfriend, he’d probably end up pissed that she didn’t take the ride. That was her problem to deal with, though, not Casey’s.

the meeting had not gone well in laurel’s eyes, having spent most of it crammed in the corner of the overcrowded booth, arms crossed tightly across her chest. her grandfather was missing, and these people wanted to chalk that up to the supernatural? she wasn’t buying it - she had never been a believer when it came to ghosts or anything of the sort. of course she had heard the rumours surrounding screamer, most of them coming from the very mouth of chester himself, having told her ghost stories upon every one of her visits down south. but this? there was no way - there had to be a more logical explanation.

she couldn’t have been happier when they had called the meeting to an end, pushing herself out of the sweaty booth and saying her goodbyes to her coworkers, a little unsure on why they had invited her there in the first place. she was just leaving the bathroom when angel’s familiar voice called out, a friendly (and uncommon) smile pulling at her lips. “ i don’t eat carbs after 9:00. ” she said, eyes scanning a menu that had been left out on a table. “ i’ll say fuck it tonight, though. a chocolate shake, if you don’t mind. ” she pulled herself up onto a table, legs swaying beneath her as they dangled above the floor. “ what a bunch of bullshit, hmm? ” 

Angel couldn’t help but snort. “We have nothing but carbs here.” She couldn’t help but count her lucky stars that Laurel chose to stay behind, grateful for her company. If anyone could make a shift fly by, it was the blonde. It was such a shame that not everyone in town shared her sentiments.

"It was... definitely a passionate meeting,” Angel mused, opting to take the politer approach as she got behind the diner bar to make Laurel’s chocolate shake. “I think tensions might’ve ran a little high because everyone is just that concerned about finding your grandfather.” Despite all the differing opinions, the Lollygag crew clearly cared for Chester. It felt good to be bonded on that front, at least. 

“I know I’ve said this about a hundred times already, but I’m sorry.” Angel’s condolences arrived with the shake, served with two cherries on top. And she meant it every time she said it; she knew what it was like to lose a loved one, but Angel couldn’t have imagined the pain of not knowing their fate. “That couldn’t have been easy for you to sit through.”

It felt strange to go straight back to work after such riveting discourse. Almost as strange as seeing her Lollygag coworkers at her other job. Angel was used to customers sharing ghost stories with her, but none of them felt as serious as this one. Not that she was wholly convinced that what happened to Chester was supernatural — she played the mediator while the rest of the group went back and forth on theories. As usual, Angel made sure others had the chance to share their piece and kept her own cards close to her chest.

She could sense someone still lingering nearby. Angel’s back was turned to them, too busy stacking dirty plates from another table. “Did you want something to eat before you head out?” Not that she would recommend it, but it was her job. “I’ll give you the ghost hunter’s discount.”

The crescent moon and a chorus of cicadas are Angel’s only company as she walks home after her night shift at Garbage Plate. As much as she liked to crawl into bed and sleep the day away, she has to contend with her opening shift at Lollygag in just a few short hours. The thick stench of grease is stuck to her skin; she debates on whether to waste precious time showering or take all the sleep she can get. Rest is precious, even if she’d be responsible for stinking up the truck. Angel draws up a mental image of this week’s schedule, trying to remember who she’s opening with tomorrow morning — er, today, technically. Laurel. A blessing, because at least Angel can count on the blonde to make the shift go by quickly. But her friend definitely wouldn’t hesitate to say something about how bad she smells. A shower it is, then, if only to save Laurel from a tortuously stinky shift.

Pain pounds in her feet with each tired step and weariness sinks into her bones, but Angel’s grip on the hot pink bottle of pepper spray remains vigilantly tight. Better safe than sorry. It’s not that Angel makes a habit of walking alone late at night, but Bryan said he needed their car that evening for… something. Angel doesn’t remember questioning him about it, but she knows he was probably shooting the shit with some of his dead-beat buddies from high school. 

Some (Bishop) would argue that Bryan was also a deadbeat, but Angel would argue that at least Bryan was trying to get a job. It didn’t help that someone (also Bishop) had taken it upon themselves to beat the living crap out of Bryan. How was he supposed to show up for a job interview with a black eye? As a result, Angel’s been doing what she can to make things easier for him, since it was her (ex?) friend responsible for all the trouble. And in Bryan’s eyes, that meant she was responsible. So he wanted the car for the evening? Fine, he could have it. As long as it meant Angel didn’t have to put up with another drawn-out argument about that batshit psychopath.

The car is in their driveway, thankfully, but the living room light is still on. Angel finds herself torn between feeling relieved that he’s home and worried about why he’s still up so late. Coming up to the worn-down old house she shares with Bryan always leaves Angel feeling dejected, like someone is slowly squeezing all the air out of her. It’s far from the idyllic family home she envisioned they’d share in their teenage years, back when they had the whole world ahead of them. He called it a “fixer-upper” when he first convinced her to buy it with him, promising that he’d transform it into the house of their dreams. “A castle fit for the Prom Queen.” Several years later, and the only thing that’s been “repaired” was a leak in the roof, thanks to Bryan’s ingenious use of duct tape.

It takes her a while to open the front door; a busted front lock is just another thing on the long list Bryan keeps promising to repair. When she finally gets it open, she fills her voice with all the leftover cheer she can muster to sing out, “Honey, I’m home.” The greeting is a long-running joke between the two; Bryan used to blast the Shania Twain song every time he picked her up from one of her part-time jobs in high school. They hadn’t sung together in a long time, but hopefully Bryan was in a good enough mood to reply off-key, “And I had a hard day.”

“—the fuck took you so long?” a grouchy voice calls from the living room. Angel visibly deflates, and immediately feels twice as tired. She hears the way Bryan slurs his words before she notices the empty beer bottles littering the kitchen. He didn’t usually binge-drink, knowing how sensitive she was about it due to her father, but the fight with Bishop has left Bryan acting more destructive than usual. It’s not a good look on him.

Angel doesn’t know if he’s serious with his question or looking to pick another fight. She’s not in the mood either way, too tired and too disappointed to get into it with him. “I, uh, had to walk home,” she says flatly. She doesn’t tell Bryan about how she didn’t want to trouble her coworkers for a ride, slightly embarrassed for them to see just how rundown her home is.

“You couldn’t have called me for a ride?” He stumbles out of the living room as he says that, tripping over his own unsteady feet. Angel flinches at the sight, ugly childhood memories of her father blooming in her mind without her permission. Angel hates it when Bryan gets like this, and he knows it. He of all people knows how her mother was the casualty of a drunk driver, how her father was always too drunk to properly parent her. It’s cruel of him to greet her like this, to act as though this behavior is any way appropriate. Either he’s too upset with himself to care or just that angry with her.

You’re in no shape to give anyone a ride, is what she wants to say, with all the hurt and anger festering deep within her fractured heart. But she has no energy to lash out at him, knowing that in his own way, he’s hurting, too. It’s hard to look at his face, all bruised and swollen — no doubt his pride hurts even more. 

So she schools her face, and tries to keep the ice out of her voice when she responds, “I hope you didn’t drive home like this.” The thought of it makes her hands shake, house keys rattling despite her efforts to keep her cool. Not that Bryan would ever do that, but seeing him like this makes her think the worst. He reminds her too much of her father.

Bryan looks repulsed that she’d even suggest the idea, as if it’s the last thing he’d ever do — even if he just drunkenly offered her a ride. “Are you fucking kidding me right now, Ang? Is that really what you think of me?”

Immediately, she realizes her mistake. The last thing she wanted to do was pile on him even more. “No, I just—”

But it’s too late. His rage gets the better of him, and he goes off at her and her daddy issues and her “weird thing” about alcohol. How all he wanted to do was relax after a stressful day, and she comes home late accusing him of heinous things. He reminds her too much of her father like this, and Angel hates herself for making the comparison. She hates herself even more for feeling like the lost little girl she once was, alone in grieving her mother and taking care of a father who lost all his cares with his wife.

She needs to get far away from Bryan and all the toxicity he breeds. But he keeps blocking her path to their bedroom no matter how many times she tries to walk away from him. It doesn’t occur to her to go out the front door and just leave. After all, where would she go at this hour? How would she explain the mess she got herself in?

I’m trapped, is all she can think as Bryan goes from disparaging her to asking her for her tips from that night. But he doesn’t settle down even after she empties her apron pocket of all the loose change and crumbled bills she has to offer. He begins accusing her of pocketing money without him knowing, and that’s the straw that finally breaks Angel’s back. She starts hoarsely shouting back about how it’s her tips and so what if she wanted to set aside some of it for her meager college fund? And then he gets on her for hiding things from him, and she accuses him of hiding his drinking from her, and that’s when shit hits the fan.

The argument has gotten so heated that neither one of them notices the sudden chill in the air, a blanket of frost covering the room. Then without warning, one of Bryan’s empty glass bottles flies from the living room and shatters against the wall in the kitchen, on the complete opposite side of the house. It’s the unexpected explosion of glass that finally shocks the two of them into silence.

Angel is left frozen in fear, paralyzed by the knowledge that they are not alone. It’s as though a spell has been put on the house, the air thick with something so otherworldly that it’s hard for her to breathe. But Bryan, predictable as ever, merely leers at the mess and grumbles, “Go clean that shit up.” 

He finally trudges back to the worn-down living room couch, repelled by the mess. It’s as though he doesn’t mind the company of any restless spirits so long as they don’t get in the way of his plans to drink the night away. Meanwhile, Angel gapes at the wreckage, as if waiting for something else to come of it. But after several long moments, the spell breaks on its own. The air relaxes, and she finds herself gasping for breath.

No one’s ever thrown a beer bottle at her, but her father had accidentally broken plenty of them in drunken stupors. There’s a scar on Angel’s palm from one of the times when she got cut trying to clumsily pick up the glass. As she cleans up the mess in the kitchen, she doesn’t wonder about how the bottle propelled itself against the wall. Her fatigued mind wanders to dark corners she tried to abandon years ago, but never could. Despite everything that’s happened, all she can think about is her father, with nothing but liquor for company. Wondering if he even notices that no one’s cleaning up his messes anymore.

She wraps herself in blankets when she finally crawls into bed, unable to shake off the chill. She doesn’t sleep at all.

-------------------------------------------------

“You must’ve just knocked the bottle over,” Bryan tells her the next day when she brings it up. The argument is long from settled, but they’d both silently agreed to move past it like they always do. Rehashing it out would just lead to another and besides, it was just one stupid argument. There will be plenty more to look forward to in the future.

“It flew from the living room.” She wants to question just how drunk he was that night, to think she knocked it over. But that would just piss him off again, and the last thing she wants to do is sour his mood when he’s been so sweet to her today.

The two of them are Screamer natives, born and raised, and no stranger to every spooky legend lurking in the town’s history. Angel never thought much of it — every place had its quirks, and she was always too consumed with her father’s demons to deal with any others. But still, Angel couldn’t deny there was something haunting about their little small town.

“Flew?” He stares at her as if her mind just fell out of her pretty little head. “Babe, bottles don’t fly. You take one down, pass it around—”

“Oh, shut up.” And then he kisses her, decidedly ending the discussion for good. It’s always his call, even if she wants to analyze the possible paranormal activity even further. So she doesn’t bring it up again, too exhausted by life to be concerned with the supposed spirits of the dead. And with enough time and no more supernatural interruptions, she begins to remember it the way Bryan told her to. Maybe she did knock over the bottle without realizing it. 

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