The Quasiverse Blog

The van is stolen, and a few blocks from the bank we abandon it.  Zed’s van, left parked by the strip mall, is a cargo model, windowless in back with ratty seats salvaged from other vans.  I have the foolish idea the hostage will be left with the stolen van, but Ditch hustles her into Zed’s with the rest of us.

“I got it, Nancy,” Ditch says to Grinder as he slams the back doors shut.  Then he gets back beside Zed and we are off again.

Ringing clearly through my head, louder than real sounds: Just stick to the plan.

Good advice, and I’m thankful for the reminder.

Still, I can’t help but be terribly aware of the laws we are breaking as the tally rises.  Mac and the others ridicule me for it, but I don’t care.  They’ve each done some minor jail time, but none of them are as painfully aware of the iron grip of the law as I am.

Before I met them, there had been trouble.  I caused it.  I paid for it.  And I’m still paying.

It was the voices.

While I was locked up, they asked me a lot of questions about why, and when I told them about the voices, they put me in a different part of the jail and I didn’t have to go to court.  People came in to ask about the voices.  A doctor came and gave me pills to make the voices go away, but the pills didn’t work.  They asked how long they’d been plaguing me, and I didn’t know how to answer.

I guess they’ve always been with me, sometimes whispers, sometimes far more urgent.  But they didn’t really bother me until the trouble.  Before that, I knew they were in my head, and sometimes they said horrible things, but I could get away from the people they talked about and take away their inspiration.

Things were okay because I never agreed with them.  They were noisy neighbors I was stuck with, near but separate.

Then there was Rory Scott.

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