I open my eyes. Something tells me I just dreamt of the Toaster Ghost. The tip-offs are my neck and left arm. A sore neck signifies that the dream was a memory; the soreness determining how distant it was. The numbness of my left arm tells me how unpleasant the dream as a whole was.

The neck tells me I'm looking at something about a decade ago. The arm tells me it was unpleasant, but not 'Julie' kind of unpleasant.

Ergo, the Toaster Ghost.

I pull myself out of bed. I'm drenched in sweat. I have this theory that the best time to get some rest in the summer is during a thunderstorm. I figure it cools the air or something. It's supposed to prevent this from happening.

So, either I don't know how anything works, or this is the fourth time in a row the storm conveniently stopped the moment I lost consciousness. I'm going to keep on betting on the latter, in spite of what Dee says.

I look at my watch. 6:50 in the evening. I've overslept. Glancing out the window, I see the sun already setting. The gas station parking lot is already lit up.

I stumble through the door, to the front of the camper. The stumbling almost turns to a fall, as I almost slip on a plastic bottle. Whole room's covered in darkness. As expected, Dee's still there, legs crossed on the couch, typing away at the laptop — the only source of actual light.

"You sleep too much." she murmurs, not bothering to look my way.

I pick up the bottle at my feet. "I like sleep. Sleep's good."

"Stop drinking coffee."

"Coffee gives me what little energy I have."

"The only thing it actually gives you is diarrhea."

I chuckle. "Speaking from your own experience?"

"Yes. My experience watching you."

I gently throw the bottle at her head. It misses her completely.

Her gaze is still pointed firmly at the screen. "You stink."

I plop myself onto the other side of the couch. "You know, I thought women found male odor attractive."

"Have you ever even met a woman?"

"I know you."

"Whether or not you know me is debatable, but I'll concede that we have indeed met. Unfortunately." She finally turns her head my way. "How much further do we have until this friend of yours?"

"Bobby?"

"Whatever his name is."

"We should be there by tomorrow morning, I think. I don't remember the exact name of the place, but I'll recognize it when I see it."

"How many antique stores can there be along a highway?"

I grimace. "You'd. Be surprised."

Dee shakes her head. "Comforting."

"Bobby isn't a friend, by the way."

"I'll make sure to put in air quotes from now on."

"Add a sarcastic tone to it, too. And do a funny face. We wouldn't want the audience getting confused."

"My face is too stiff for funny faces."

"That's what makes them funny."

I glance through the blinds. The parking lot seems empty. The lights at the gas station are on, and I can make out the attendant. The place is small, so I'm assuming he's the only one there. In the corner of my eye, several feet away from the station itself, I spot the payphone I'd taken a mental note of when driving in.

"I need to make a phone call." I say. "You go ahead and have a talk with the attendant."

Dee groans. "Great. Now I gotta do this, too."

"It's your turn, anyway." I point out.

"I did navigation!" she protests.

"And I did the driving. Your point?"

I take no more than two steps outside the camper and already feel out of breath. The sweat from before definitely not helping.

As I approach the payphone, I spy Dee walking towards the gas station, dressed in all black, a bag over her shoulder. Just as she reaches the door, she stops and turns to me. Dial tone already ringing in my ear, I give her a thumbs-up and the best smile I can muster. She pulls the Spider-Man mask over her face and walks inside, the repainted toy gun already in her hand.

I feed the machine and punch in the number.

Through the windows, I see Dee walk over to the counter. She wastes no time. She points the gun at the kid manning it — I see him clearly now — and throws the empty bag into his arms. It takes a few seconds for the kid to register what she's trying to say.

"Hotel Delore." I hear a woman's voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Cassie." I catch myself clearing my throat. "It's Juice."

A beat. "Juice? Juice?! Where the hell have you been? It's been two months! We called the cops! We— My God!"

"Oh." I say. "That's nice of you. I guess."

"Where are you? You just— You just took off! You didn't even tell Da— Why didn't you tell me anything?!"

"Had to get away, I guess."

"Are you in trouble or something?"

The kid's loading the money up. Dee occasionally glances in my direction, probably telepathically trying to tell me I'm a dick.

She must've remembered it wasn't actually her turn to do this.

"No, no, I'm fine." I say.

"Is the mob after you? You always did have that sinister edge to you." Cassie jokes, not without a hint of strain in her voice.

"Is that what you tell people at the book club meetings?"

"Book club? What?"

I shrug. "Never mind." I don't really have the time to remind her that we had our first conversation when she'd caught me reading Dan Brown and said all the people in her book club hated him. I guess even middle-aged women know an easy pick-up when they see it. To be fair, we were having so much sex that even I forgot to ask anything about her reading material. Or her, in general.

"How's Dan?" I ask.

"All three kinds of pissed. Pissed off, pissed drunk and just plain pissed."

"The usual, then." I remark. "When are you two splitting up, again?"

"Honey, we both knew that was just pillow talk."

I crane my neck. "Did we?"

The kid's finished loading the bag. Dee takes it, pulls it over her shoulder and starts pointing the gun to the back room. The kid is hesitant. She's going to waste a solid minute convincing him she's not taking him out back to shoot him.

I take that time to listen to Cassie's breathing. Feels wrong to disturb it.

"Where are you? What's going on?" I can feel her voice fall an octave or so.

"Nothing. Whatever you think I'm doing, I promise you it's got barely anything to do with me." I watch as Dee and the kid go out back. Faster than expected. "I'm just helping out a friend. Trying to find something of hers."

"Yeah, well, you could've given some kind of notice."

"I'm sorry."

"I fucking cried for you for a week. I thought Dan had found out and buried you alive."

"I'm sorry." And I mean it.

"I loved you."

"Past tense?" I ask. Out of courtesy, I guess.

"Past tense."

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry that I don't love you anymore, sorry that you hurt me, sorry that you didn't love me back — what, Juice? What are you sorry for? All of the above?"

"No."

"Doesn't matter now." She sniffs. "Just tell me one thing."

"Shoot."

"Did you take Ferdinand?"

I blink. "What?"

"The hamster. The fucking hamster. Did you take it? Someone took the cage and the food and everything. Right around the time you left. Dan went completely ape-shit. You know he loved that guy. And—"

"It wasn't me." I say simply.

"Okay."

Dee emerges from the back room, alone. Her work isn't done yet, though. She runs to the shelves and starts filling the bag with whatever she can find. I pray she doesn't forget the coffee.

"I wish," I hear Cassie's voice crack, "you'd at least asked. If I wanted to come with you."

"You wouldn't have come. You don't even know where I'm going."

"I don't care."

"And if I had said it's to the ends of the Earth? If I had said I was going to the Moon, would you have considered it? Going penniless for months and driving in an oversized van — would you have done that?"

"I don't know." she admits.

"It's fine. You could've said anything, and it would've been fine. It would've been chalked up to pillow talk one way or another, right?"

A pause.

"Yeah." she says ultimately. "You're right." Her voice is shaky.

Dee's finished. She's heading for the door.

"I have to go." I sigh. "I'll—I'll try calling later."

"Don't." she tells me.

I hang up and run to the camper. I reach it before Dee. By the time she slams the door behind her, I've got the engine already running.

"It wasn't even my turn!" she declares, as I hit the pedal.

I shrug. "My mistake."

"You're a total dick sometimes."

"Yeah." I say. "You're right." And I, unfortunately, mean it. "How's the attendant?"

"Tied up in the back. I also got all the camera footage." She takes a VCR tape out of her bag and smashes it into the wall directly above the trash can.

"Oh, tape? Nice, another point for me. VCR: 3, DVD: 2. I'm in the lead again." I declare.

"I'll win out eventually." she says, rummaging through the bag, laying out the cash on the sofa.

"You're still really overestimating gas station security."

She seemingly ignores the obvious truth. "I couldn't find any food for Ferdinand." she says, shaking the contents of the bag out on the table.

"That's fine. I didn't really expect a gas station to have any."

Looking into the rear-view mirror, I spot the little guy's cage. He's still got some food left from the convenience store we hit a few days ago, but he burns through that shit way too fast. Fat little bastard. Adorable, but fat. Here's to hoping Bobby will help out.

Dee falls onto the couch. "Who were you calling, anyway?"

"Cassie." I tell her.

"Ah."

"Don't."

"I won't. It's okay."

I focus my eyes on the empty highway ahead of us. I gently press the gas pedal, beginning another unwinnable race with the sun.