I've been there a hundred times
since I died.
Mickey stands before his bed,
his suitcase open.
"My sister'll kill me if I steal one of her shirts,
so take this.
Keep it."
She unfolds the army-green T-shirt,
and the light spilling from the hall
reveals the skull-and-shamrock logo
of the Keeley Brothers.
I blink hard,
memories bathing my brain
like acid.
"He never wears that," I tell her.
"Why does he have it with him now?"
She asks him.
Mickey slaps shut the suitcase,
but not before I see
the hint of
dull
black
metal
tucked into the corner.
"Don't leave him alone," I tell Krista.
"He's got a gun."
She steps back,
fear in her eyes.
"Is it loaded?" she asks him.
He stares at her,
making the connection.
"Not yet."
She snatches the dry towel splayed across the bed.
"Turn around. Both of you."