no room for ghosts // danger days: book 2

all these things that i've done, yea, y'know you gotta help me out

Wicked sits at the long conference table, taping her fingernails against it. Jet is shuffling through some papers, as Hospital Boy, comes in with a cup of coffee in hand.

"Morning." She says, meeting his eyes.

He looks her over and the cup slides from his hand, shattering on the floor.

"Party?" Jet asks, looking over at his wide-eyed and slack-jawed, friend, "Party what's wrong?"

The black haired Killjoy can't seem to get any words out. It's her. Right in front of him. She's alive. But, she's looking at him with a tilted head and narrowed eyes. She doesn't know. Oh God. She has no idea.

He closes his mouth quickly and sits down, his eyes never leaving hers. The long he stares, the more sure he is. The same infamous wicked gleam. The same mannerisms. He just wanders how he didn't notice before.

Ghoul comes in, side-stepping the small mess, and sits next to Party, looking between his and Wicked's staring contest.

"Who are you?" he asks, flicking a piece of his hair back with a tattooed finger.

"Wicked Sandstorm." she says, turning away from Party. Her eyes travel to Ghoul's hands. She holds her own hand out.

"Gimme your hand."

"What?"

"Your hand."

He looks at her quizzically, but does as he's told.

"You gonna read my future?" He rolls his eyes. Too many people have tried this gimmick on him.

"No." She replies, flipping his hand, back-up, "I'm gonna read your past."

She smirks, and traces over the tattoos, "Desert. Six years. Handy with a gun. Mechanic. You dyed my hair purple."

His eyes are widening as she continues to stare holes through his hands.

"We were hurting someone." she frowns, turning his hands over.

"What?" Ghoul asks, having regained his voice.

"We-You and I-with what we were doing. In secret. It's was hurting him. Because he knew."

"Who?"

"P-Party.."

She looks up at Party from across the table, her face pulled into a frown as she tries to work out the memories and thoughts bouncing around her head.

"And..Kobra. He's..he..we were bad. Oh God. What-What did we do? What did I do?"

Her head is in her hands now, and Jet is cautiously approaching her. Names and faces start to go together.

"Dad." The aviators and thunder voice.

"Fun Ghoul." The drawing hands.

"Kobra Kid." Mikey.

"Cherri." His red leather jacket, littered with bullet holes. Burying him in a shallow grave. The look Kobra gave her afterward. A look of complete and utter despair.

And she's collapsed in a hallway, her chest heaving.

"What have I done?"

I'm back on this story!! Woohoo!! Idk. Procrastination station.

#HowlterFamilyisactualGoals