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."