Siobhan sounds too scared
to be mad,
which is saying a lot.
“Please.”
“Spend the money,” Mickey says,
“if it makes you feel better.”
Our sister’s eyes fill with tears,
and I want to kill him.
“I hate you,” she whispers to her twin.
“I hate you too,” her twin whispers back.
I want to wake Connor,
tell him to make peace.
That’s what bass players are for, right?
But he hasn’t been
our bass player
since the night I died
and killed the Keeley Brothers
forever.
As the car creeps,
and Connor sleeps,
and Siobhan weeps,
Mickey . . .
Mickey exists.
Siobhan has to pee.
But the truck stop is new,
so I can’t follow them.
Ghosts can only go in death
to the places they went in life,
like a hamster in a Habitrail.
Mickey puts on his blinker.