*** NEW AND IMPROVED ***
With her father missing, Shay will do anything to get him back, even if that means teaming up with a cruel gang leader and his band of psychotic men.
CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN.
***WARNING*** OFFENSIVE CON...
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SO COLD
"Yolande..." Irvin said carefully, inclining away from her, feet firm on the ground, at an awkward slant. His disposition was calm, a soothing tone, like a teacher talking to a child on the verge of a tantrum. He held his hand out to her not as a demand but as a white flag. "Where is the gun?"
In the dim light with darkening evening skies behind her, she wasn't the wide-eyed, browned skin beauty I once thought she was. Now her cheeks were hallowed out, the shadows accentuating the sharp bone structure, her skin seemingly clinging to her skeleton. Her eyes seemed too large for her face, the gleam unnatural as her gaze darted to him and back to me. She was instability on high-heels. "I thought about it. I really did and it makes sense for us all to go together. The longer we wait here, the more we'll make Bryson wait. So, Shay can drive. Irvin can sit in the passenger seat. And I will direct us on where to go." She paused briefly. "Ivy's not expecting visitors. She'll probably throw a hissy fit. You know what she's like. Cuckoo-crazy." Her laughter was sad and rang out for a long drawn out moment until she closed her mouth, straightened her shoulders and looked at Irvin. "What?" She was defensive like we were bullies silently scorning her.
Well-intentioned, he regarded her with sympathy that could've been mistaken for pity. "He's dead. He died at the start of the year. It's the beginning of December. I can take you to see his grave if you want to but you need to understand that he's dead."
His reaffirmation rubbed her the wrong way. Her forehead creased. "You're wrong. Tell him, Shay. Tell him."
"Pass me the gun." I said, hand outstretched. "We'll go see him and prove Irvin wrong. Just...pass me the gun." My patience for her was a dry well.
She jerked back when Irvin darted forward. "STOP!" She was discomposed, her hair falling in front of her eyes. She pushed it back, holding the gun at Irvin, her expression angry, shoulders shaking with nerves. Her voice was hurt. "Why would you do that?!" Her voice echoed in the empty parking lot.
"Before you hurt yourself–" Irvin tried, never breaking eye contact, trying to tame a frightened wild cat.
"Hurt myself?! I have taken care of myself all my life." Her voice trembled slightly. "Why would you do that? We've been friends for years, Irvin. I would never hurt you. Or you, Shay." The gun swivelled to face me. "Get in the car." She was quiet. She gestured with the gun. "Now."
Irvin didn't move. His stance was predatory and it would only take a single gunshot, the wrong moment, a misjudgement of character for him to be gurgling blood on the ground with soon-to-be lifeless eyes.
"Irvin. C'mon." I insisted and unlocked the doors, walking to the driver's seat, and meeting his gaze mid-stride. "We're going to see Bryson."
It was a tense moment of waiting. The car door was yanked open and he hoisted himself inside, slamming the door shut. "She's fucking insane. Run her over. Repeatedly." He lost all manner of kindness, now harsh-featured and ill-tempered.
