When she meets Gideon later that night outside the automatic doors of Kelly's Market, rubbing his hands vigorously over his flanneled arms to generate warmth, he forgets to smile. A flicker of something spreads through her, a maybe that's my fault or he forgot to eat or sleep or live or something. But as she walks within earshot, she catches a glint in his eyes, excitement and fire and nothing short of delight at seeing her. His hands stop warming and he claps them together. A small smile works its way onto her face. It's nice being wanted.

When she's a foot away, he jumps once, unable to contain himself, and this is when she takes pause, presses her chin into her neck in surprise. It's too much, even for him. Especially for him now, after all that exhaustion. "You sure you don't need to get more rest?" she asks, hovering and wary.

"Nope! I feel great!" Dimples drive hollows into his cheeks, and he rushes through the automatic doors. "I've been waiting a long time for you. I'm happy you're here. Come on."

She huffs, but it's content, and follows. Fluorescents and warmth are in stark contrast to the dark chill outside, and the sudden switch makes her skin flush with a hot flash. Gideon waits patiently, expectantly, for her. Reminds her of a loyal hound, almost. And yet, there's a tautness to his features that seems to yell, "Hurry up, we don't have all day," that says he's the leader here and she's to listen. Fair enough. Less work for her.

"What'd you need? Did you find something?" she asks.

He hears her, most definitely, but still he takes off down the aisle just as she catches up, his hands drifting over every object in his sights, eyes darting from one thing to the next. Lacey's brows shoot up. She wouldn't put it past him to be that person, but how can he have so much energy after the last couple days? And isn't his house underwater, too? Shouldn't he be, like, moping around?

On the contrary. He's more unbothered now than he's ever been, humming lowly to the soft melody coming through the speakers. Something must be wrong, then.

He turns to her, examining every inch as he lets a small box shift between his fingers. "Do you like tea? I feel like you like tea." A wide smile breaks his face - too wide. "We should get it."

"Uh...No thanks, bud."

He shrugs, sets the box back, and wheels around into the next aisle. "Oh! That's a cute hat over there. And it's cold, so we need hats. Come look at the hats with me, Lacey."

As far as she can tell, there's no clear purpose to this whatsoever. She quickens her pace. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I told you, I'm good. Try that on, yeah?" A bundle of wool comes flying at her hands and she barely catches it. In her defense, she's more focused on the empty look in his eyes as he watches her fingers curl around the fabric. His gaze shifts, but the deadness remains, and what she'd previously mistaken for life must be nothing at all, unless things have changed in the past two minutes. This is...weird.

He continues on, sliding up near the Lunchables, and she digs her nails into the hat, letting it dangle from one hand while she examines him from a distance. His shoulders don't droop - his posture is straighter than she's ever seen it. But when he turns his face the slightest bit, the dark circles still hang low beneath his eyes, and she even catches a tinge of a five o'clock shadow hanging around his chin. Could just be a manic high. Those are a thing. Which means there'll be a bad crash. I should-

"Did you hear about those dogs? The ones sniffing for that one girl, what was it? Star? Sarah?" This comes from a woman to her right, lingering around the cheese and yogurt with someone she's assuming is her friend, who tries to pay attention while jiggling a toy in front of her infant's face. Naturally, Lacey tunes in completely. Naturally, she also judges their motherly gossip, but that's besides the point.

"Stella," the occupied woman corrects, reaching out to toss a pack of cheese sticks into her cart. "Cadaver dogs, Karen. I know the cops've had them out sniffing all week but that's all. What about them?"

"Well, word around town says they found something, the uh, the what was it? The-"

"Dump site."

"Yes! The dump site. Well, everyone thought they'd just give the riverbank a sweep, since, y'know, that's where the poor thing washed up, bless her soul. But no, they expanded outwards. Turns out, someone took and dumped her body at a dock clear on the side of the lake, ah, you know where all those hiking trails are?" The other woman gives a half-invested nod and a much more dramatic hum of interest than must be real. "Well, right around there. No cameras up that way. My, it could be anyone here. Even people we know. Isn't that just horrifying?"

"Absolutely scary. It'll just-," a wail breaks out from the child and she sighs, "-drive you mad, huh?"

"Oh, honey, let me get that-"

Lacey tunes out again, grinding her teeth together as she tries to process this new information, but she can't even do that much, since Gideon's off exploring again. She finds him perusing the meats too unimportant to be sold at the deli. Her breath mists in front of the cooler-wall. His doesn't. "So..." she starts. She folds her hands up under her elbows for warmth. Better not ignore me this time. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Hm?"

Keeping her cool is a struggle. "You told me to meet you here. You usually have something important to say or some big epiphany to share. So spill. What is it this time?"

He pauses, half-turned to her. The corner of his mouth twitches, like he finds this amusing but uncomfortable at the same time. Through her periphery, she sees him drum his fingers against his thigh. Finally, he says, "Am I not allowed to just want to spend time with my friend?"

She narrows her eyes. Not when that friends puts you in danger and your boyfriend is locked in some psycho's basement somewhere. Still, maybe he's redeemable yet, so she tries shifting gears. Maybe it'll knock some sense back into him. "How's your mom?"

"My mom?" A pause; he chews on his lip and his empty stare pierces into the ham. "Oh. She's fine, I guess."

But two nights ago he was worried about her health and comfort, the both of them wrecks about their home. It doesn't make sense for his mother to be fine a mere two days later, and it doesn't make sense for him to lie about it, either. Gideon wouldn't lie. Gideon doesn't lie.

He walks past her to another section of the wall and grabs something. On his way there, she catches a sour whiff off of him. Now, it's quite possible he just hasn't showered in a solid three days, but regardless, she adds, "Mm...and your dad?"

"He's fine too." Too nonchalant for something that's never been brought up. Sus as fuck.

A step further as she follows him into another aisle. "And Erie's pet?"

While the other two could be brushed aside, this one seems to make him blank, and he squints hard at the label on the nearest can of beans he picks up. His knuckles grow stark white as he squeezes the metal, and she swears it dents a little under his touch. "Fed, taken care of," he says carefully. "Sweet animal. I stopped by to let her out to pee on my way here."

Lacey's eye twitches with revelations. Sus! Sus! First of all, Erie has a rat. You don't let them out to pee. Second of all, Erie's rat is a dude.

"'Scuse me. I'll be right back, I saw something in the other aisle I wanted to look at."

He nods and she jogs to the other side of the shelf. Once out of sight, she drives her hands into her long locks and tugs. She wants to screech, too, but that'd be too telling, so she settles for a scrunch of the whole face. Any passersby would just think she really hates all of the soup options here, but she knows that sour smell anywhere, and she knows how Gideon would answer all of those questions. None like that. Now, putting two and two together - such as the gap of time in the woods where he was alone with a demon, and now this odd behavior?

"Oh my God," she says. Oops. "This soup is so overpriced!" Gideon is fucking possessed.

"You know what we could do?" he asks, voice muffled through the shelf. "Switch the tags with something cheaper and then insist this is what it was priced at when we get to the check-out."

She squeaks. Definitely a demon. Subtle moves to get her to commit little sins. No! How the fuck is she supposed to stop it?

Palms press to her eyes and she exhales slowly. Then she lets herself peek between her fingers. Idea. Can she get anything out of this while it's going on before she tries to fix this mess she started?

Well. It's not like she has anywhere else to start. So under the hum of fluorescent lights and glass fridges, she turns the corner and settles into a casual interrogative air, trying her damndest not to let the sparks of panic in her chest become self-evident. "While we're together here," she starts, coming up beside him, "I did want to ask you something, you with that big imaginative brain of yours."

"Oh?" He gives her his full attention.

"When we went to collect that salt-" (don't think she doesn't notice the way he stiffens the smallest bit) "-we pissed Darcy off pretty bad, so I doubt she'll listen if we try to summon her again and ask nicely to drop the barrier."

"You're probably right about that."

"My question is if there's anyone else we can try to summon. Maybe..." Carol's struggling words from the park slip through her memory, and she catches them with her teeth. They seemed crazy then, but might be worth playing with now. "Maybe we can try a different entity. One stronger than her."

At this, his nose twitches and he smiles at her in a far-off, curious way. His face curves in a way that says, "I like what you just said." He rephrases, of course. "Well, assuming Darcy got this power of hers from a deal with a malevolent spirit, I'd say you could try your luck with one in the same way. Maybe even the same one, if you can figure that out."

She parts her lips, tastes and tests the air. "But why would I do that if I'm trying to get salt to keep them from trying to eat me?"

"Who's to say they're even trying to do that?" He shrugs. "Maybe their attempts at trying to catch you have been to get you in one spot where they give you pretty much no choice but to agree to do something. You do see the dead, after all. Who knows what sort of things all these ghosty things want to do with that?"

Lacey raises a brow. "One of them sucked my knuckles."

He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling. "Right. Scare tactics, maybe?"

"Yeah...sure." She shakes her head. "So you think I should listen to one of the things trying to kill me." A pause. "And you."

He clearly disregards the last bit. Lacey knows she should be nervous, stomach twisted up in knots, but with Gideon at the helm here, this could almost be normal, is almost unreal. Sure, his demeanor is off, but maybe she's wrong. Maybe he's just... forgetful. No. Wouldn't forget the rat.

"Maybe it's worth a shot," he replies, almost flippantly. "I don't see very many other options. At least ask and listen, that's all I've got to say." If this is a demon at work, he's doing an awfully good job at masking it. The scent and aura, too; he feels alive. If Lacey hadn't been running around with this boy for the past week or so, she wouldn't even have noticed. That's enough to send gooseflesh up her arms, thankfully still sleeved. She needs to act like she doesn't know. Just like with Isaac, she has the upper hand in this sense.

So they continue on, the both of them acting as though nothing's changed, until they get to the check out. She hovers behind him, tense and on guard, but trying to force looseness every time he glances back at her and smiles. It's too repetitive a movement, like he doesn't know what else to do to warrant checking that she's still there and not clear across the building. He's too perfect today, too: excellent posture, bouncing around like he's gotten a full week's worth of rest, glowing with happy health. Lacey knows damn well that's not the case, so clearly, the occult is at work here. Any moment, he could turn on her, rip away his face, drive his teeth into her trachea. She shoves her hands in her pockets to hide the mild trembling as he checks out and makes small talk with the cashier. This demon must've been watching him for a while before latching on, then. I wanna beat its ass so bad but I can't without beating Giddy Boy's ass too. I hate this.

One set of fingers looped through the plastic bag, he beckons her to follow, and they cross the line from warmth to frigidity, blinding white-hot lights to a purple night. There's a light rain floating in the air, more of a mist than anything, and it blurs the tall lamp posts littering the parking lot, splaying light this way and that. Other than a few cars, the wide lot is desolate.

That doesn't account for the other hazy blurs roaming the space, though. Bony fellas sit on car hoods and lean against the tall lamp-posts, a couple of them flickering overhead. Some skip around in the distance, playing a game of tag. One sits folded up in a shopping cart. As the one and a half living creatures walk between them in the lot, they turn their attention to them, watching. Staring. Through the corner of her eye, she can see Gideon's eyes flickering between them. He must be able to see them now, too, but he says nothing and makes no sign that he registers their presence. Bastard.

She doesn't like his silence. The silence in general. So she clears her throat. "You know, you're a target now too, since you hang around me so much. I'm sure Malevolence hasn't let that tidbit slip by." Something clicks and she inhales sharply - she can test something here. One hand digs into her front pocket, and it comes out gripping one of the small rationed packets of salt-breather salt she's been carrying around. She holds it out to him. "I'd feel more comfortable if you kept some of this with you."

However, even the sight of those crystalline specks seems to set him off, and his lip curls in polite disgust as he takes a single step back. "Oh, no, that's fine, I'll be fine. I really don't think anything will happen to me. Now, you, you need it."

"No! I insist." She splits open the seal with her index finger and he barely manages to withhold a gag. "I won't go home until you take this. Here, hold out your hand."

"I really don't-"

But she grabs his wrist and holds it out, palm up. In a swift movement, she dumps the pile of salt there. He doesn't shake it off or wrench away, no, that'd be too obvious. Instead, he stands there, his palm held out, the dune settling in the creases. She grins at him, nodding. "Was that so hard?" He strains to smile back. Even while his hand shakes and the skin visibly reddens. Even when a hushed sizzling starts to emanate from the interface between the salt and his skin. Even when a slight plume of steam starts to curl into the brisk night.

Eventually, though, he can't take it anymore, and a harsh, "Fuck!" flies out of his mouth, so loud and violent that it's like a crack against her ears. A nearby bony fella scrambles off the car and slips beneath it. She flinches; he flings the salt to the ground. She's ready for this, though, so when his eyes finally tear away from hers, she slashes her arm through the air, throwing out what was in her open packet. Clearly, it has some effect, so when the particles strike his skin, it should dispel the demon the same way it broke down the illusion of Stella on the other one.

It should.

It doesn't.

If there was a pretense of normalcy before, it's gone now. Gideon stumbles back, but even from that distance, she can smell the sickly odor coming from his tongue, from any and every orifice. His mouth parts, and a low rumbling shakes the air between them, a meld of two voices. Fists clench and unclench with violent speed, and he throws his neck back and forth once to crack it. "Augh," Lacey gags.

"You're a tricky one," he says, but who he is now is left up for debate. It drawls and clicks. "Clearly I didn't take on the role of this body well enough. Go ahead, you can boo my performance. I deserve it."

"Get out of my friend, asshole!"

"Aw, now don't be like that." He grins a twisted grin, and clucks his tongue, and tilts his head this way and that, licking around the inside of his cheeks. This isn't Gideon's voice whatsoever; no, it belongs to some gravelly forty-year smoker now. "You've no idea how many times his friend has been readily invited inside. I think he enjoys this, just a little bit."

Another gag comes up her throat, turning into a disgusted shiver halfway through. "I've got plenty more salt, so if you value your existence, I say you better listen to me!"

Instead of withdrawing, he invites the threat, smiling wider. He flares his nostrils, twists his own wrists to the sky. Then, before she can register what's happening, his whole back goes flying backwards, feet still rooted firmly to the ground. She shrieks and he convulses, and then, just like that, he's no longer touching the asphalt, his whole body bent back. He's levitating. He's fucking levitating.

That's enough of this. Horrified, she starts sprinting in the opposite direction, away from Kelly's Market and deeper into the darkness of the lot. On the way, she accidentally bumps into the cart with the bony fella sitting inside. It starts rolling away on squeaky wheels and its bright face vanishes in the darkness. She, too, runs right into the thick of the hollow rain fog, and she doesn't stop. She can't.

Still, she knows well enough that to outrun a demon - especially a demon in the body of a very athletic, long-legged youth - is futile. She'll have to get by with hiding and trickery.

Although the red lights ahead are dim and blurred both by the rain and the windows they hide behind, she runs toward them. The diner is closed. Everyone's packed up and gone home. "Shit," she mutters. She immediately regrets it because it brings her that much closer to running out of breath. She goes around the back, hoping to find some other good enough hiding place, maybe a dumpster, but instead she finds nothing but a door left ajar with a crate. A flutter of I-gotta-go-fast-I-gotta-get-away-before-he-sees-me strikes her in the chest and she slips her fingers through the crack to push it open enough to squeeze herself in. She kicks the crate out of the way and lets the door come to a quiet close.

For a while, there's darkness. She refuses to move for fear of making too loud a noise, but after a while, her eyes begin to adjust, and the stovetops and steel cabinets begin to take on a faint glint of existence. The floppy door to the front of the diner has a single warped window, and through it, the night lights of the diner glare.