Yesterdays Gone: SEASON TWO (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER) (Yesterday's Gone)

Lord’s blessing. I never had to do no time in the box, but my friend Jimmy Appel had to do a full day on account of him taking the Lord’s name. And my other friend Robby did two days for taking Sleazy Suzy off-campus without a chaperon.”
    Boricio wanted to laugh out loud at how Quiet Eyes wasn’t buying a syllable of his bullshit. Boricio almost took it for granted, how easy it was to fool the foolish, since 49 out of 50 fuckers would believe whatever shit you told them, so long as you stared ‘em in the eyes when you said it, and made sure to throw in an ‘ aw shucks’ every once in a while.  
    “Where in Arkansas?” Quiet Eyes asked.  
    “Up around Subiaco,” Boricio said, not missing a beat.
    Quiet Eyes didn’t push the point. He said, “Yeah, it’s a punishment box. Right now it’s holding a little girl named Rebecca.”
    Boricio whistled. “What’d she do?”  
    “She snuck out of here with an older boy. The two of them went on a picnic.” He turned to Boricio. “What do you think? Does the punishment fit the crime?”
    “Well,” Boricio said. “That does seem mighty harsh to me, but if we ever needed to refine the old rules, it’s now. Wouldn’t you say?”
    Quiet Eyes didn’t answer. Neither did Stuck Up Bitch. A young guy who must’ve been part of his crew answered instead. “That’s my friend, Rebecca, in there. And she doesn’t deserve to be in there at all.”  
    Boricio got a sudden flash of something he didn’t like, and he got it from the kid, who had his hand out before Boricio even knew what he was doing. The kid’s hand was halfway to his when Boricio realized where he’d seen him before.  
    It’s the kid from my fucking dreams.  
    The one who goes from young fucker to old.  
    The one who can see right through to Boricio’s middle.  
    On the outside, the kid looked like he could’ve been anywhere from 17-20. But Boricio could see right through to his middle, too, and could hear the chanting of awe-awe-awe-awesome looping in his mind.
    Boricio shook the kid’s hand, holding it as long as he could, absorbing the boy’s memories, watching him play in the bedroom of an empty house with a young bald girl, Legos assembled in half-finished wedges scattered across the floor. Boricio pulled back with a horrible feeling that he’d lost some of his life as time turned soupy inside him.  
    What the fuck?
    The man-boy stared at Boricio, and the mind fuck he was feeling was like nothing else he’d ever felt before, at least not on this side of being awake.  
    Boricio went on autopilot, answering questions and doing his best to make sure everyone felt comfortable and relaxed around him, except for Man Boy and Quiet Eyes and Stuck Up Bitch, and teenage Stuck Up Bitch who had come up beside her. People thickened around them as more members of the congregation crowed about to hear Boricio’s tales of survival and hunting Demons on the way to his new life at The Sanctuary.  
    The more the congregation laughed, the more Boricio could feel Quiet Eyes and his Three Fuckerteers pulling farther away.  
    Boricio wanted to break from conversation and follow the Fuckerteers so he could see where they were going, but John was suddenly beside Boricio with his hand on his shoulder. Boricio pretended that the hand on his shoulder didn’t make him want to break it off at the wrist and find some wolves to feed it to. He said, “Yes, Brother John, how can I be of service?” instead.
    John said, “I’d like for you to come with me, if you can spare a minute. I think you’d enjoy talking to Brother Rei. He’s dying to learn more about you. Not just your past, but what you’re good at now. He wants to make sure you’re as happy here at The Sanctuary as you can be. He’d like to talk to you about how you see yourself fitting in.”
    John walked off toward the main house, and Boricio followed.  
    He had to get his shit together. He was losing himself to the mess in his mind. He didn’t know what to do, where to go, whom to kill, or how to do it. As is, shit was bad. Boricio always had the edge because he was always in control. If Boricio lost control, he’d lose the edge, and anything could happen then.
    Boricio was also pissed as fuck that his crew had decided to bail. Maybe he’d made a mistake coming back out here to find them. Sure would be fucking nice to have some back-up right about now. Maybe Chuckie Fuckstick would have an idea or two.  
    What the fuck,