“Make sure he’s not dead back there.” I grunted, glancing in the rearview mirror to see Brandon slumped over.

Clara unbuckled her seatbelt and turned around. I could smell her sugary sweet perfume as her curly hair brushed against my shoulder. A few muffled jabs sounded from the backseat, and it took me a few seconds to realize she was poking and prodding at him.

“Get up, Brandon. You lost some blood, quit being a baby. Not all of us have supernatural healing.” She scolded him, “you’re lucky I don’t just throw you out of this car—hunting me down and making a mess of my life.”

Brandon groaned and mumbled something unintelligible, which was proof enough that he hadn’t died in the backseat of this rusted mustang. I’m sure he’d throw a fit knowing he expired on cracked leather that smelled strongly of tobacco and cat piss.

“I’ve called dibs on killing him.” I told