"She was so mad last time I left home," JC insisted, thumb finding one of Judas' belt loops. His father had been alive then, and the two of them had come charging into the university where he was lecturing-- He hadn't said very nice things to them then. His temper had always been so bad when it flared even if the Twelve had never had to see it. That was all before. Back when the voice was strongest.

"You're gonna stay right? She can't tell if you're with me." Mary would never yell, period, but JC seemed convinced that he was going to be in trouble. The man was twenty-nine years old. It seemed such an odd thing.

But the inside of his skull felt slick. Itchy. He didn't like it.