"This road goes on forever," said Bishop from the front seat.
"I've been to Hell and this... this is worse," said Asmodeus.
"Is he still mad?" Bishop asked.
Asmodeus looked over his shoulder at me and I frowned.
"Yes," he said.
We'd been driving down the Ohio turnpike for a little over four hours when, while sleeping, I'd been thrown into the center console as the car lurched off the road, onto the rumble strip. Asmodeus and Bishop, who was now behind the wheel, had been sharing a Twizzler like "the dogs share spaghetti in that kid's movie." I'd told Bishop that for someone whom Heaven wanted dead, he ought to be more careful.
We passed a sign in the shape of a cactus wearing a Fedora, and suddenly he hit the horn causing the Ford F-150 ahead of us to swerve. It was painted white and proudly displayed an American flag on an eight-foot pole sticking out of the bed of the truck. The back end was covered in bumper stickers. One said "Honk if you love America."
"Now there is a man who loves 'Murica," said Bishop honking again.
"Stop that," I said irritably.
He laughed and positioned the SUV close behind the truck. While my companions struggled to read the stickers, I crammed a chocolate Twinkie in my mouth and cautioned through a full mouth, "How about leaving some space between you and that truck?"
"Chill, Koke. Wow. My honor student carries a gun? What in the NRA heck does that even mean? This guy is nuts," said Bishop. Then, "Hey, let's sing then national anthem!"
"No," I said.
"I'll start," said Bishop.
I reflected on having let him die in that fire.
"America. For spacious skies..." he sang.
"I don't think that is the national anthem or even how that goes," I said. A wave of nausea, that had nothing to do with Bishop's uneven pitch, came over me. I studied the vehicle just feet ahead of ours.
"I think you should pass this guy."
But he continued, "Above the fruits and plains. Your turn, Asmodeus.
"I really think you should pass him," I said again.
"America! America!" the demon belted out in a raspy baritone. "God shed his grace on thee."
He glanced over his shoulder to give me the smug look he was fond of. When his eyes met mine, they opened wide with shock. He turned to Bishop and struck out a hand, grabbing him by the hair. Next, the Tahoe flew into the oncoming lane, narrowly avoiding a collision, and came to rest on the other side of the highway. There was now a metal pole poking out the windshield. On one end, outside the SUV was the American flag, proudly billowing in the breeze, and the other end was driven through Bishop's headrest.
Pulling his face out of the cup holders between the front seats, Bishop yelled "Holy shit, Asmodeus. You just saved my life."
Other cars were beginning to park along the side of the road, and a guy in a yellow shirt walked up to the window.
"Is anyone hurt?" he asked Bishop, who shook his head. He told us he had called 911 then regaled us with highlights from his version of the accident.
"We have to get out of here," said Asmodeus, wiping glass off his arm.
"But the windshield..." I said.
Asmodeus opened the car door, got out, and climbed on the hood. The window had not shattered but there was a hole, plugged with a pole, and a network of webby broken glass around it. Our audience went quiet when the demon, wearing his beautiful man-suit, grabbed the flag end of the pole and ripped it out of the window, sending shards of broken glass down onto the dash. He tossed the pole into the weedy field beside the Tahoe and got back inside, then instructed Bishop to move before the police turned up. Sitting behind the wheel of a stolen car was all the motivation needed. The man in yellow fell back as we sped off toward the nearest exit.
It wasn't far and took us into a town called Clearwater Spring, Ohio. It could best be described as public squalor. A small town, seemingly stuck a decade in the past, with a dollar store on every corner. Tired looking women with pasty faces shuffled dirty children along weed-peppered sidewalks and men, who had probably never held down a job in this town where most the factories were empty, banded together in groups shouting at cars as they drove past.
We found a motel a few blocks after pulling off the highway. It was two stories, sided in tin, and painted a robin's egg blue. Shaped in an L, the motel wrapped around two sides of a large square parking lot covered in cracks and veins of sticky tar. The office was at the center, where the two wings met.
Bishop backed the Tahoe into a spot with its rear facing the row of red doors along the motel's south side, so that any police officers passing by wouldn't read the license plate. To his credit, Asmodeus had been careful, switching them out with unsuspecting travelers at rest stops along the way.
"This looks nice," said the ever-optimistic Bishop.
I looked at the dirty diaper stewing in the puddle of vomit next to my shoes and disagreed.
Asmodeus left it to me to collect the grocery sacks containing the meager supplies we had gathered over the course of our short journey, and went to explore the contents of unlocked cars. Bishop went to the office to get us lodgings.
"Bad news, Koke. Double beds," he said when he came out. He waved key cards in the air.
"I have to share with you two?" I whined.
"I don't have enough money to put you in your own room, Man."
"Yeah," said Asmodeus, coming up beside me and dumping a handful of change and dollar bills into Bishop's upturned palms. "Get a job."
"Larceny isn't a job," I said.
"We need to do something. I am running out of savings," said Bishop. He led us up the stairs to room 158 on the second floor.
"Maybe Asmodeus could sell himself," I offered.
The demon looked at me, aghast.
"You're the one who wants his own room, Koke," said Bishop, opening the door.
"Well, surely you aren't suggesting I sell myself," I said.
"I'll start charging. When prostitution is legal and sex workers get the health care and legal representation the are owed," said Asmodeus.
"What? You have morals on this one issue?" I said. "I literally saw you take candy from a baby this morning at a Citco."
"I am first and foremost a feminist and a socialist," said Asmodeus.
"Oh, come on," I said skeptically.
Bishop plopped himself face first into the scratchy green blanket covering the bed, nearest the door, and said with a muffled voice, "Please, just stop fighting."
"Oh, we're not fighting," I said, slinging a plastic grocery sack onto the dresser. "If we were, I would banish him."
Asmodeus chuckled. "Yes. You're very good at that."
"I banished your boyfriend."
"It's not my boyfriend."
While I thought of something to say, I snagged a snack cake out of one of the bags and took a huge bite. Asmodeus closed the hideous pea green curtains hanging over the air conditioner and shifted into his demon form. He stretched and watched intently as Bishop got up and changed his clothes in the corner. I politely averted my eyes.
"But just so we are clear," I said. "You lay eggs."
"What of it?" His eyes snapped to me. This was apparently the touchy subject I had hoped it would be.
"Just asking," I said innocently. Bishop groaned.
"You are going to be too heavy to fly on those dainty little bird wings when you become an angel again with all those unhealthy foods you are eating," Asmodeus said acidly.
I thought that was going a bit too far.
"Screw you! Food is my one comfort. I am trapped in this human hell with you. And you." I pointed.
"Well you are certainly no carrousel ride yourself," said Asmodeus. "In fact, if I had to ride you..."
"Shut up!" Bishop yelled.
A shoe struck the wall behind me and the demon grunted as he took one to the abdomen. We both stared at our human in shock.
"I'm so fucking serious. Just be quiet," he said. "Stop fighting all the time. Don't you realize life is too short for fighting."
The demon and I exchanged looks, having both been around for a while.
Then, with his hands in his face, Bishop said, "I'm so sorry, you guys. I am just so tired. And sick of almost dying. And hungry. I just want my... I am just tired."
He looked like he might cry, so as I fished another snack cake out of the bag for him, Asmodeus coaxed him back into bed and rubbed his shoulders.
Eventually we were all laying in comfortable silence, watching the Home Shopping Network and eating food we'd bought that morning at the gas station. Under the thick warm, possibly bed bug filled blankets, I felt myself grow tired and content.
I slept soundly for several hours and woke in the dead of night. The room was quiet, still, and at first, I thought maybe my companions had abandoned me. As my eyes adjusted to the light filtering in through the flimsy curtains, I saw the demon in bed. Bishop was not. I threw the covers off and jumped to my feet.
"Bishop," I whispered while rapping my knuckles against the bathroom door, which opened slightly.
The darkness beyond told me the room was empty so I crept past the sleeping demon to the front door, fumbled with the knob and went out.
Outside moths and mayflies fluttered manically under the bulb of a great streetlight poking out of the parking lot. I blinked the brightness out of my eyes and walked to the rail, ten paces across from our door and painted the same color. Sitting on the stairs below was Bishop, with his chin propped up on his knees like a child. I went down to join him.
"Koke," said Bishop, looking over his shoulder. "Why aren't you wearing pants?"
I studied myself in surprise. "Well at least you have me wearing underwear now."
"Still a hard sell for Asmodeus," he said.
"Why are you out here alone? It might be dangerous," I said.
He sighed. "How long can I run from God?"
I was unsure how to answer that. A large white moth landed on my hand and I held it up to my eyes, watching a its tiny tongue rolled out and tasted my finger.
"What am I even doing? I'm only twenty-four. I am too young to die."
"This is the demon's fault," I said. "If he hadn't exposed himself to you, and that isn't a double entendre, the Holy High wouldn't be after you."
"I am glad I met Asmodeus. I am glad I met you. I have never had this many friends. I just don't want to die. It scares me. I had to watch my mom go. She was the best thing in my life. I miss talking to her. I hate that she is gone," Bishop said.
"So do I," I said.
"Did you know her?"
A wave of sorrow crashed over me. "Of course. I was her guardian before I was yours. Do you know how angels get assigned?"
Bishop shook his head.
"A person has to really want one first. They have to believe that having them is possible. They have to pray to us. The have to hope we are watching them and need us. Your mother wished with her whole heart and I came."
"But I didn't..." he began.
"No, you didn't have to. She had enough faith for two. She asked me to stay by your side, so I did," I said.
"I miss her so much."
The moth flew away into the night and I rested my arm over the back of Bishop's shoulders. "I know. She wanted me to protect you and I will. I won't let anything happen to you."
We sat together for a while listening to the sounds of night, which in Clearwater Springs were mostly vulgar.
"Do you think she is proud of me?" he said finally.
"I know she is."
"Thanks, Koke."
I wondered for a moment whether this would contribute at all to my human heart fund, then realized that even if it didn't, this encounter had been pretty nice.