“You can’t cage me up. I am like fireflies in the center of night, multitudinous yet coordinated, synchronized. Blink blink off. Blink off off. And so on.”
“Don’t say it. You know who I am.”
“How about Flytrap (then)?” The blue-green gave it away.
She walked backwards into the hole. All she knew tonight was that she had to find Monroe Ray and this was the place to do it.
She made sure her eyes were wide open as the oily thing took her in. (bleh!)
Then out (helb!) and backwards toward the Venus Flytrap statue — can’t look at it directly or else, she knew.
Then: white horse, good. She was there. And she didn’t have to look at its ass coming in; also good.
Tripping over a border between more dark and less dark, she tumbled backwards forwards right into his head. It was the only way to make things work, she realized afterwards — and also before. The Man known as Ray…
… was dead.
“I’ve been waiting on you,” he said mechanically, like a bull.