Carl, ever predictable, punted it to me. "Yo, door."

  "Sorry, let me go get this." I maneuvered past Danielle. I opened the door a bit, wary since it was dark and I wasn't expecting anyone.

  The door immediately flew open, knocking me back a step. A small man, just a shade over five feet tall, darted in. He had a scraggle of dirty red hair and patches of facial hair to match. Deep set blue eyes, bright and furtive, darted over the entire room, taking in everything at once. He wore multiple layers of filthy jackets, already filling the room with the smell of very lived-in clothing. I tried to grab for him, out of some shocked reflex, but he batted away my hand, hard.

  "Oh Jesus Christ, it's a serial killer," Carl squawked in fear. "I don't have any money and his skin is much nicer to wear," Carl babbled as he pointed at me.

  "Nice little hole you got here. I’ve been in worse. Slept in worse.” The man remarked suddenly and then turned to me. His voice had a slight lilting accent to it. “Name’s Craig. Craig Baird.” He extended a grubby hand “Assuming you’re the Havenkeeper. Fat guy doesn’t look the type. Not that there can’t be a fat Havenkeeper, but they have a specific clientele. Don’t let my kind in. Keep Haven for the biddies. Real corruptible, those sorts. Guess that makes sense though, wouldn’t be here if we weren’t, eh?”

  I stared at his hand, flummoxed by the outpouring.

  “It’s a handshake, you grab the hand and pump it. Up and down. Easy.” Craig grabbed my hand. “Wait probably doesn’t count if I make you. Gotta both agree I can get some shuteye here. Laws of hospitality and all that. Yeah, yeah?” He stared at me intensely, which was a bit disconcerting given he had to look up at me to do so. A moment passed, a beat. “Well? Can I? I can sleep on the floor, I don't care. Just give me a blanket and something to eat. Starving. I would not fault you for a bed though. Wouldn’t hurt my feelings. Definitely not my back.” He knuckled said back in an exaggerated display.

  “Uh yeah, the couch should be fine. Are you uhh… with Wayward Souls?”

  “Older. Pre-corporate days. But yeah, I’m tight with them. Too tight really. Can’t shake it at all. Kept me going since the forties really.” He grimaced.

  “Oh! You look pretty good for being in your… nineties?”

  “Blew past them a while ago. Not the forties forties, the seventeen forties.”

  “Uh what.”

  “Older than dirt. Not older than sin though. Sin runs deep. You’re clearly new to this. I’m a lemure. If you know anything about those, you’re wrong. We’re souls put to work for Hell. You get ensorcelled by someone with a knife, they get a little stab happy and start knifing your cohorts and suddenly-”

  “But Danielle said,” I started, confused.

  “Probably told you that it’s worthless, yeah. Don’t stab your goons, not worth it. Completely agree by the by. Danielle’s probably a smart lass. That pricked soul still goes to work for the big boys. Not much left of it though. Little tattered soul. A lemure. That’s me. Craig the lemure. Had a master who draped skin over me. Could pretend to be a person again. Got all the bits, but I ain't got no heart." Craig gave a thump to his chest. "Gotta act like a people again. Supposed to spy. No one notices the lemure. Little tattered soul in a skin suit, Craig Baird is. Oh, don't look so skittish- I spy on churches and their ilk. Blessed are the meek for a soup kitchen will never turn you away. Free grub. Free information. Spying on you ain’t worth it. Haven’t had a job in years anyhow. Boss who gave me this guise croaked. Smote by an angel. Was riding a unicorn. Right in the guts." He mimed his innards spilling out, complete with a despairing fall to his knees. "Right, you're new, you could be a new boss for me. I'm not particular. Really enjoy the people watching, does Craig Baird. A warm bed. Nice food. A lass in the sheets." The man gestured as he rose. He was pointing at a mystified Tracy, who had apparently come to listen to this one man act.

  "I really don't think I need a spy, no one knows about me except Carl and Tracy. I don't have anyone after me, and Danielle said I couldn't be spied on here." I felt like getting a few sentences in was an exhausting endeavor in the face of the man's ramblings.

  "If you don't know who your enemies are– You. Need. A. Spy. To. Find. Them. You got a brain rattling between those ears? I'm older than your country, man. Let's pretend I know what I'm saying. A dangerous notion to be sure. Roll with it. It's been quiet here for decades. Hell got the Hell out. Peckers all droopy. Cheeks all wet. Gave up the ground. Craig Baird? Laying real low like. Didn't run away I didn't. Still hear things. This ain't a new battleground. It's old. Not Craig Baird old but old enough. Plenty of veterans, not many lost steps. Real dangerous game your Danielle is playing. Put the rabbit in the wolf den. Dead!" Craig then snapped his jaws with an almost inhuman growling sound. His teeth clicked as he lunged and bit. He didn't get close, but had moved so swiftly that I withdrew in alarm. "Every man might have a sword. Every woman too. Kids… screw them, will have swords someday. Crosses and holy water. Bibles and ties. Bicycles with the tinkly bells. Angels protecting them. Horrible. Just horrible. Eat all right sometimes. They feed a man okay."

  "Wait, what do you mean old battleground. How is this a wolf den?" I felt a sense of panic, already none too relaxed after the man pretended to bite me.

  "Would have been oh about fifty years ago or so-"

  "Dude, you've just been bumming around for half a century?" Carl cut in.

  “Spying! I have been spying for half a century. Inconsiderate lout.” Craig tsked loudly. “As I was saying. Fifty years ago, lots of movement by the guys upstairs. Started beefing up churches. Had a little inquisition going on. Hell didn’t much like that. Both sides pour in numbers. Conflict breaks out, you get more coming in. Eventually it’s a bloodbath, nearly comes out in the open. Hell cuts its losses and beats feet. Haven’t thought about trying again since… well now, I suppose. Lost my last boss to that. Been keeping quiet, just watching. That’s the tale, here we are.”

  “God, I need to ask Danielle about this,” I turned.

  “Might wanna ease off of that,” Craig cautioned.

  “Asking Danielle, why?”

  “No, appealing to the guy upstairs. You’re kind of on different sides now. You aren’t gonna get struck by lightning or anything, but well. Lots of people listening. They're still vigilant. Don’t want to make him know you. Make them know you. Make yourself known.” Craig brushed at his arms aggressively, as if brushing something off. Plenty of particles of unknown provenance obliged.

  “I’ll uh, keep that in mind.” I walked past Tracy and looked into my room. Of course she was gone. “Fuck her,” I muttered.

  “What say you?” Craig asked, companionably, from right next to me.

  “Jesus Christ!” I yelped, jumping away from him.

  “Tsk! Not his name! I just told you!”

  “Dude, I didn’t fucking see you move there. I should have seen you." Tracy's voice had a horrified tremor of disbelief.

  Craig snorted. "Easy to not see me. I'm good at this! Bring me into your congregation. It might save your life."

  I nodded, slowly. "I think you've made your point. But you want…?"

  "A sense of direction and a place to sleep. More than enough. More than enough. Some victuals wouldn't bother me none. Wine. Would love some good wine."

  "Bed, food, and a mission, got it. You wanna join my congregation?" I managed to cut off Craig before the list grew more.

  “Aye, I suppose. I swear to aid you in your endeavors as a loyal congregant. Eternally yours, Craig Baird, the lemure.”

  “Okay, now Carl, wash his fucking clothes and give him something to wear after he showers. Please.” I was already pondering if it was worth it to go over to CVS and get some kind of air freshener. Tracy looked a little green, and Carl looked utterly defeated as he took in Craig’s attire. Which the lemure swiftly began to doff.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Oh God,” Tracy groaned, sickly. She averted her head.

  "Do you uhh…know how the shower works?" I inquired.

  "Lad, I'm gonna ignore such an insulting question. Pull it out. Twist it 'til it's hot. Like when I get fresh with myself." Craig winked and gave his dick a shake at me.

  "Oh God," Tracy said, in even more revulsion.

  Carl chortled, while collecting the rancid garments. "I like this guy."

  ***

  Seventy-three.

  Seventy-three missed calls.

  Most of them were from Lizzie, some few were from Mom. I snorted when I saw the call from Daryl. Lizzie started by leaving voicemails, but abandoned that tack. Daryl left a long one. Mom left short ones each time. There was no way I was listening to any of them.

  Of the choices presented, Daryl and Mom were both the worst options, so I decided to reach out to Lizzie. First the probing text: "You still around?" Then the waiting game. Not ninety seconds went by before my phone lit up. I picked up.

  "Jeremy, what the Hell. Why would you do that? Why would you do that to Mom? She's been crying nonstop, Daryl is pissed. It's almost Christmas, why are you doing this now? Why are you doing it at all? What the Hell do you think Mom did? Jeremy, why?"

  I let Lizzie's tirade wash over me. "I'm done- that's it. I don't want Mom pretending like it's okay that she went back on her word. I don't want her giving up on Justice for Rhea. I don't want her running away. Dad died for us too. If she can run away, why can't I?"

  "Mom's enjoying her retirement, you idiot!"

  "Then I'm just enjoying retail hell." This wasn't getting anywhere, I shouldn't have called Lizzie, but I didn't want to leave any ambiguity. More the fool me.

  "You can't just disown your family because Mom goes to a few bed and breakfasts, that's insane. You seriously hurt Mom. I haven't seen her crying like that since Dad."

  "Where does Mom live?"

  Lizzie stopped, sputtering. "Erm, with Daryl I guess? Why are you changing the subject?"

  "Because the house is gone, Lizzie. Do you think Daryl will be happy to keep Dad’s stuff? What if Mom sold it all? We don’t even know. When do you think we’re next having Christmas with Mom? Or is she just going to celebrate them in little B&Bs forever?” I took a breath. “You know, where she doesn’t have to remember Dad? Or us?”

  “Oh my God, Jeremy. Heaven forbid she takes a little time for herself. So what if the house is gone, this isn’t about money! Or is it? Oh my God, if this is because you think you’re owed some money-”

  “Aren’t we owed at least one parent? Aren’t we owed at least one home?”

  “Are we? She’s given so much, Jeremy.” Lizzie sounded flat, defeated.

  “Dad gave way more.”

  “You want Mom to die, Jeremy? Is that it?”

  “What would the difference be? She’s already fucking gone, Lizzie.” She was gone. We were kept at arm's length. Whether that was Daryl's doing or Mom's, she was gone all the same. Mom might have actually felt somewhat badly, but it wasn’t because I’d be more distant. That’s what she wanted. She just wanted to still pretend that she was my mother without the emotional responsibility. If she didn't want me in her life, I didn’t want to be in hers. My thoughts were churning, but I wasn’t saying anything. But neither was Lizzie.

  “Liz, you there?”

  “Jeremy, if Mom didn't want us to be in her life, wouldn't she say so? Or Daryl would, at least."

  "Daryl, that'd be rich. Is that what you're waiting on? You want Daryl to do it so you can get more hits on your TikTok? Are you recording this right now to share?"

  Lizzie gasped in indignation. Then hung up. Yup, nailed it. Of course she needed this drama faucet to flow. If I cut things off now, she wouldn’t be able to milk it. She’ll just have to milk it from Mom, and if I didn’t miss my mark, that well would dry up soon enough. Mom could pin it all on me, and break ties cleanly, guilt-free. Was this even a sacrifice? It almost felt liberating.

  “Dude, you’re nuts,” Carl said from the doorway.

  For once I wasn’t startled. “How long were you listening, asshole?” I asked.

  “Long enough, dude. Your mom is just doing the things moms do. They like to go to New England and look at leaves and shit. She’s not abandoning you, dude. She’s just a boring Mom doing boring Mom things. Oh I’m leaving tomorrow, spending Christmas with my pops.”

  “Only if you make lots of money drawing, Carl.” I bit my words off, tersely. “And you don’t know my mom, so fuck off with that.”

  “Whatever makes you feel better dude. And yeah, I have hella commissions lined up. Lots of people want Christmas shit, so I’m gonna have to work overtime.” There was actually a bit of an avaricious gleam in his eyes. Maybe Carl would end up being worth it. “Oh, who gets the couch? Tracy and Craig both want it.”

  “Tracy has a home, she should go back to it,” I said sourly.

  "I don't think she's leaving, dude. Maybe she wants my dick still.” Carl's grin was equal parts greasy and lecherous.

  “Fuck, fine. I'll talk with her."

  Tracy was sitting awkwardly on the couch, in front of an idle Genshin Impact screen. Carl was probably doing research for those commissions. Tracy’s thumbs flew over her iPhone. Her eyes flicked up and she said “Oh thank fuck, you’re not Carl.”

  “That bad huh?” I sat down on the couch.

  “He thinks that I’m actually into him. He’s good at drawing but that’s about the only good thing I’d say about his hands. And the fucker doesn’t take no for an answer.” Her gaze was flat and accusatory.

  “I’ll tell him to leave you alone. Sorry about that. It’s hard to think of all the things to tell him not to do.”

  “You can’t just fucking say that. ‘Oh it’s so hard having the power to make people follow my every whim, woe is me.’ Fuck that. Fuck you. And then that Asian bitch! There’s no reason I can't be doing what you're doing. You have one person, I'd have so many already." Tracy sounded completely self-pitying, at odds with the uncannily collected woman I had seen the last few days.

  I took a breath. “You think about what she said though? Maybe joining my congregation would get you closer to that.”

  "Nah, not a chance. I’m not playing second fiddle to you.”

  “Danielle did all but come out and say you wouldn't get an Implement. This might be your only in, the closest you get on your own. Besides, it’s been kind of nice having you around. You’d be the first, the founding member of my congregation. Isn’t that something? Better than retail.”

  “Piss off,” Tracy scoffed, churlishly.

  I sighed in frustration. “What about if we try something? Might convince you to stay and even help out a little."

  "Like what." Tracy's tone did not soften.

  "Carl, stop lurking in the hallway."

  Carl stepped out.

  "Carl, do whatever Tracy says, as long as it doesn't harm me." I grasped the Implement as I uttered the words. I looked over to Tracy.

  “Duuuuude,” Carl said warily, as Tracy’s smile incandesced. He took a step backward.

  "Oh Carl, please pluck a hair. Head hair," she added.

  Carl winced as he pulled a hair from his scalp.

  "Okay now roll it up and eat it," Tracy ordered in malicious glee.

  "What the fuck, you're fucked." Carl griped as his hand mechanically balled up the hair. He opened his mouth.

  "Carl stop," I said. Tracy shot me an upset glance. "Needed to see what he does with conflicting orders. Looks like I supersede any order you give."

  Tracy rolled her eyes as Carl dropped the hair gratefully. "What's the point of you are just going to undo anything I do? You suck." Tracy crossed her arms, frowning.

  "I needed to see what happened, I don't give a fuck how much hair you make Carl eat. Go ahead, torment away." Carl's expression of relief melted into one of horror. "But only if you join my congregation now. One time chance, Tracy."

  She hesitated. At least a moment. "All of the people you get? They will do what I say?” I opened my mouth “As long as it doesn’t countermand you, yeah yeah, I get it.” Her countenance wrinkled as conflict was waged across her synapses. “God. Fine. Fine. I’ll do it.” The words came out almost unwillingly, a concession made to herself.

  “Oh thank God, I didn’t want to ask Craig.” Relief was a flood. "Just need one more for my congregation then."

  "About that, I might have a candidate in mind," Tracy suggested. "She'd probably let you use the knife on her if you wanted but you need her to be… not stabbed."

  "Yes, unstabbed. They can probably be moved over later if necessary. I wonder if I can relinquish a soul, give it back." I looked at Carl's hopeful face. "Not gonna test it on you."

  "Dick," Carl muttered.

  I shrugged back. "Your job is to make me money now. You owe me, sex doll boy."

  “That means I get the couch,” Tracy said. “I’m sure Craig’s slept on worse than a floor.”

  "Sleep away," I granted. "You do have a place of your own but if you like the couch that much…"

  "Fuck no, that place sucks ass." Tracy sprawled out a little, taking up all the couch I wasn't sitting on. "If something happens, I'm gonna be here. No getting anything past me. And I swear to God if someone else gets a knife before I do, there will be Hell to pay."