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“Sorry, Daddy. I’m fighting back this time.”
Raymond stood defiant in the mist, his knives held out at either
side as the swirling vapor pooled at his feet.

The children on the street reached the
windows, but the fog was too thick to see their faces. It looked as
if the diner had been plunged into a tank of cloudy water. Grace
saw mangled, bloody hands pressed against the glass. Blood smeared
as the broken, twisted fingers scratched at the windows. She saw a
dog’s snout appear where one of the children’s heads should be.

The shadows of children crowded in front of
the diner, but one tall man stood among them. He was impossibly
thin, and his arms draped longer than seemed natural. His head
shuddered, and Grace could hear the chatter of teeth as he
approached. He stood in front of the broken door, but Raymond
blocked his entrance. Green light burned behind the crowd, and
their shadows danced on the walls.

“No,” said Raymond.

Grace felt her throat tighten as the mist
began to fill the diner. It was cold and dry. When it brushed
against her skin it felt like a bed sheet was covering her. She
swiped at it, but it thickened and wrapped around her limbs. She
glanced back at Juan, but didn’t see the cook through the
divide.

“I won’t do it,” said Raymond as if
conversing with the thin man in the mist, though Grace didn’t hear
any response.

The thin man came closer, and his shoulders
rose as his arms bent. She couldn’t see anything more than his
silhouette, but knew he was threatening the boy. Raymond turned,
tears in his eyes, and stared at his father.

“The Skeleton Man wants your eyes,
Daddy.”

Desmond croaked, but Grace couldn’t see him.
She was trapped behind the counter as the mist thickened around
her. She tried to break free, but it constricted her from all
angles. When she tried to speak, her voice was lost, just like
Desmond’s.

Juan’s high pitched screams erupted from the
back room. He never did lock the back door, and Grace listened to
the sound of dogs growling as they tore him apart. She didn’t have
to see to understand what was happening as the dogs fought over his
flesh.

Raymond’s knives reflected the green,
electric light as he knelt down, out of Grace’s view, to slaughter
his father. She could see Raymond’s face, crying and whimpering, as
he dug the knife in. Desmond’s legs twitched, but the fog held him
down.

“I’m so sorry,” said Raymond over and over
as the blood squirted from the incisions. He stood up and tried to
wipe his brow clean on his arm, but just smeared the blood worse.
He set his knives on the counter and walked around as Grace
watched, helplessly restrained by the tendrils of mist.

Raymond glanced at her, but then looked away
as if ashamed. He took a spoon from the silverware cup under the
counter and then returned to his father. Grace didn’t understand
what he was doing until she heard the grotesque sound of Raymond
scooping his father’s eyes out of his skull. The wet sound was bad
enough, but when the spoon collided with the back of Desmond’s eye
socket it caused a scraping sound that sent reverberations of fear
through Grace. She convulsed, her knees weakened, and she flopped
into the mist as if passing out, but was still held aloft.

Raymond tossed two fleshy lumps into the
mist and the Skeleton Man greedily bent to search the ground for
them. The monster laughed as he retrieved the eyeballs, and his
chattering teeth quickened their pace.

“Are we done here?” asked Raymond. His hands
were shaking as he set the spoon on the counter, beside the two
bloody knives.

Then the boy hung his head as his shoulders
slunk. He turned, regretfully, and breathed deep when he looked up
at Grace. “The Skeleton Man wants to ask you something.”

Grace couldn’t speak.

Raymond seemed to be apologizing by the way
he looked at her, forlorn and saddened. “Do you dye your hair, or
is that its real color?” He picked up the steak knife and walked
around the counter.

16 Years Later

March 9th, 2012

“What the fuck did I do?” asked Paul.

“Just, don’t,” said Alma as she headed for
the door. She held her hand up to keep Paul from touching her as
she looked away from him. The sight of him sickened her.

“For Christ’s sake, Alma, two minutes ago
you were all smiles. Now you’re treating me like a jerk. What’d I
do?”

“More like who’d you do?” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She glared at him and then flipped him off.
“Learn to flush the toilet, asshole.”

That helped him understand why she was
angry. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his eyes, and
shook his head. “Fucking low pressure toilet.”

“Have a good life.” Alma opened the
door.

Paul walked behind her and put his hand on
the door to stop it from opening all the way. “Hold up, Alma. You
don’t have the right to be mad at me for this.”

“Excuse me?” She was furious with him for
trying to defend himself.

“You’re the one that walked out on me.”

“Yeah, and I’m about to do it again. Go
ahead and call up your bar sluts. Tell them the party’s back on.”
She forced the door open and a gust of cold air stung her eyes,
drawing forth tears that had been threatening to come anyhow.

“Alma, what about your dad? Are you going
home? Come on, babe, don’t be like this.” He walked onto the deck
with her as she rushed to leave. “God damn it.”

She heard him go back inside and then come
out again before shutting the door. He was barefoot and wore only a
thin t-shirt, jeans, and no coat as he chased her into the gravel
parking lot behind the tattoo parlor.

“What are you doing?” asked Alma. “Go back
inside. I’m not going to talk to you anymore.”

“Fine,” he said from several steps behind.
“I’m just going to follow you home to make sure your dad isn’t
there.”

She stopped and glared at him in
disapproval. “Oh sure, you’re going to ride your bike with no shoes
on. Go back inside and stop being an idiot.”

“I’m not letting you go home alone.”

He stood ten feet away from her as they
faced off in the lonely lot. The wind gusted again and she saw him
shudder, looking pathetic as he stood in the sharp gravel, arms
crossed over his thin shirt.

“Stop it, Paul. You’re being ridiculous. You
can’t ride your bike without shoes on, let alone without a coat or
helmet. You’re going to get pulled over.”

He shrugged.

“Stop it.”

“I’m not letting you go home alone.”

She groaned. “Fine. Go get some shoes on at
least.”

“You promise to wait for me?”

“Yes, for crying out loud, you giant dork.
I’ll wait.”

“Give me your keys.”

“What?” asked Alma.

“Give me your keys so I know you won’t take
off before I get back.”

“Paul, just go get some damn shoes on.
There’s broken glass all over out here.”

“Okay, fine, just give me your keys first.”
He took a step towards her with his hand outstretched.

She glanced at the shards of glass mixed in
with the gravel between them. She walked to Paul so he didn’t have
to cross it. She slammed her keys into his hand. “Hurry up. It’s
cold out here.”

He lifted the keys and tapped the teddy bear
keychain. “Glad to see you kept him.”

“Only because I’m too lazy to take him off
the chain.”

Paul grinned. “Liar.”

“Whatever. Hurry up.” She crossed her arms
and leaned against the side of her car. She wasn’t wearing a coat
and shivered in the chilly night air.

Paul ran up the stairs two at a time and
Alma took the opportunity to examine the damage on the side of her
car. Steve had slammed her father into the side door with enough
force to leave a sizeable dent. She should’ve called her insurance
immediately, but she didn’t want to be forced to be around her
father any longer than she had to. She feared that if a police
report was filed, her father would be given an opportunity to be a
part of her life again. As silly as it sounded, even seeing his
name on a police report was more contact with him than she wanted.
It was better to keep him out of her life entirely.

Unfortunately, the car was leased, and she
would have to get it fixed, which would be expensive. Her
deductible was $500, and her bank account was already dangerously
close to zero.

“Fuck,” she said in frustration as she
passed her palm over the damage. Then she caught sight of a girl
standing on the corner, next to the tattoo parlor. She was smoking
a cigarette and watching Alma. She glanced away, pretending not to
have been watching.

The girl was young, thin, and pretty. She
had dark hair that was bobbed, and bright red lipstick. Her breasts
were too large for her blouse, which was probably on purpose, and
her jean skirt was short enough to reveal most of her long
legs.

Alma didn’t need to ask to understand who
she was. This was the girl Paul had just kicked out of his bed.
Alma knew it by the look of jealousy in the girl’s eyes.

All of the hatred Alma felt for Paul was
transferred to this innocent stranger. She hated the bitch.

Paul closed his door, drawing Alma’s
attention away from the pretty stranger. He bounded down the
stairs, his leather boots clopping on the wood, and then threw the
keys to Alma. She caught them, which was a minor miracle, and got
in her car as Paul got on his bike.

Alma’s radio was too loud, like always, and
she quickly turned it down as she watched the stranger approach
Paul. He was dismissive, and Alma watched while pretending not to.
They spoke for a moment, but Paul started his bike to drown out
what the girl was saying. It was an annoying move of his that he
had done to Alma several times in the past when he didn’t want to
argue anymore. The girl scowled and swiped a cigarette out of
Paul’s mouth before walking away. Alma enjoyed a petty victory and
couldn’t help but smile as she backed her car out of the lot.

Paul followed close behind as she headed
home. Through the entire trip, Alma continued to look at Paul in
her rearview. It seemed ridiculous that she’d driven to his
apartment, only to return home with him behind her, planning to let
him go back home again after. She thought about turning around, and
going back to his apartment, but then she recalled the condom in
the toilet. She couldn’t sleep in a bed that stank of sex,
especially not after seeing the slut he’d been with.

The entire night was dizzying. The
reporter’s interest in her past dragged her back into thoughts
she’d been trying to forget. The confrontation with her father
played out similar to how so many of their fights had before. And
now the argument with Paul was happening just as it had so many
times in the past. She felt like she was caught in a spiral,
swirling around again and again, revisiting the mistakes of her
past over and over. It was impossible to break free.

The last three digits of the license plate
on the car ahead of her were 314.

She stared at the number and her heart
quickened. That damn number showed up everywhere. It haunted
her.

Stephen had mentioned the number before she
raced away from the restaurant. He knew about Chaos Magick, and she
assumed he understood the significance of the number as a symbol or
else he wouldn’t have brought it up.

Alma had been introduced to the belief
system known as Chaos Magick by her mother. After Alma’s brother
disappeared, her mother became obsessed with the date. She would
hide the number, or the symbol for pi, around the house, claiming
it was the only way they’d ever know the truth about what happened
to her boy. Alma would wake up to find her mother drawing the
number in permanent marker on Alma’s body. She would insist that
they all focus on the symbol to help bring her son home.

The car ahead turned down a side street, and
Alma was relieved that the number was out of her sight again. It
brought pain with it, every time she saw it. When she could forget
the number she was at peace, but then it would return, forcing her
to recall the details of the worst day of her life. Not only did
the number’s relation to pi represent a circle, but her emotions
revolved around it in a cyclical manner as well. No matter how far
she thought she could get from that date, it always returned.

Alma got home, with Paul behind her. It had
only been a half hour since she left and she stared up at the bugs
that gathered around the light outside of her apartment.

“Back again,” she said, feeling somewhat
helpless.

The bugs swirled around the light, smacking
into it and then retreating, sometimes stopping on the wall, but
always returning; always smacking into the light and spinning
around, like planets in orbit around the sun, over and over. The
dance defined their lives. They couldn’t get away from it.

Paul tapped on her window with his keys,
frightening her. She didn’t realize she’d been staring at the door
long enough for him to get off his bike and approach.

“You scared the shit out of me,” she said as
she got out.

“You all right?” he asked. “You’ve been
sitting here staring at the door for awhile.”

She nodded and locked her car. “Yeah, sorry,
I was just thinking. You didn’t need to come, Paul, honestly. I
feel bad that you had to leave your friend for this.”

“Shush. Like I said, you’re my girl, whether
you like it or not.”

She grimaced as she headed down the concrete
walkway to her apartment building. “That sounds kind of
creepy.”

“Yeah, I guess it does. Maybe you’ve been
right all along, I am a creep.”

She paused on the walkway and looked up at
her apartment. “I’m too tired to fight anymore. I just want to go
to bed. I just want this day to be over.”

“Good news,” said Paul as he looked at his
watch. “It’s tomorrow already. Fresh start.”