FROM THE CONFISCATED JOURNAL
OF DEBORAH PHINNEY:

The entire drive to California I can't bring myself to stop crying. Next to me, Joseph is kicking his feet gleefully and pointing out every palm tree and fast food establishment we pass. His voice drones through my head, becoming a rumble, until it suddenly reassembles in my brain and I realize he's looking at me, waiting for me to answer a question.

"What is it, Joseph?" I ask, sniffing and wiping tears from my blood-flushed cheeks.

"I said, are you excited to meet Belial, Mommy?"

A wave tumbles in my stomach. Fear. Anxiety. Both.

"I don't know, honey. I don't know yet."

He looks at me disapprovingly, disappointed with my answer, and shifts his attention back to the window. Under his breath he mumbles, "Well I'm excited."

At home, Darren is probably waking up, maybe finding the note I left him. I hope he comes for us, but he won't stop us. For the last few weeks I've been living with the ghost of my child. He hasn't been the same since he resurfaced from that awful hole in the desert. This was the only thing I knew to do to make him smile again. This is our chance to find a way to be happy.